“Don’t Cry for Me Argentina”

Jingchen Zhou

Really, I had no plan; neither did I know what to do and where to go. All popped up spontaneously. I just

wanted to go, going Southern so badly, and very Southern this time, strolling around and killing time. It

wasn’t clear to me what exactly inspired me going Southern. Was I seduced by Tango? Was it Evita or

the beauty of “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” that once stolen my heart? Or it was some kind of fantasy? I

knew I have some interest in tracking down the history of European conquering, colonizing, local

rebelling, and revolution, etc., such bloody things, in general. Maybe I just wanted to complete a circle

around the South Hemisphere to have a feeling of accomplishment. Perhaps nothing, but just for wine?

One thing absolutely for sure is that I didn’t go for “Goal …”

So, here I was in Argentina Republic and Republic of Uruguay, entirely Spanish speaking, each with an

estimated 90% of the population being of European descent, and an intensified history of turmoil and

revolutions. It was a striking to see that people there, although White by definition, are somehow

showing no sensibility of White. Were they brainwashed, or the weather in South Hemisphere not only

tanned skin but also changed gene? God knows. They are still Gaucho, maybe? Any indigenous people

left there? Again, God knows the number.

$140

It was nearly 14 hours flight via Lima, Peru, from SF. The Buenos Aires Airport is small and crowed. While

I was waiting in a long zigzag line to pass the custom, I spotted a sign, saying “Lane A for U.S. Citizens

Only …” Wow, there was virtually none in Lane A; how wonderful to be a U.S. Citizen? Without little

hesitation, I walked right to Lane A window, and handed over my passport; all felt great, until I was

asked to pay $140 for an entry fee. “What?” Both Argentina and US Government official web site clearly

state that “U.S. citizens do not need a visa for visits of up to 90 days for tourism or business in

Argentina …” i.e., it is free! “Why do I have to pay $140? What is for? Isn’t true the visa is free for U.S.

Citizens”, I queried the immigration officer. “Yes sir, you don’t need a visa and it is free, but you have to

pay the reciprocal entry fee as U.S. government charges us $140 visa fee. We just want to be fair, and

this is a diplomatic equality” I dug out the amount and handed it over reluctantly. This was completely

not in my budget, and turned out to be the largest amount I spent on one thing - but for nothing. My

honor to be a U.S. citizen was quickly diminished. What a heck!

“Don’t Cry for Me Argentina…”

1800s?

“Am I in 1800s?” I kept asking myself while I was scrolling on cobbled roads and snooping around

corners whether in Argentina or Uruguay.

I felt like the clock ticked back at least 100 years ago, or everything was frozen at one point 100 years

ago within a flash. Overwhelmed by aristocratic and magnificent architectural heritage posed in front of

me everywhere, I seemed peeking into its history which was once so glory. How did get stuck? Sadly,

nearly all appeared decaying at one point (that is what I meant “frozen point”), and crumbled into an

impression of glory. Some were just abandoned, leaving time to rot its majestic beauty, to disintegrate

the awesome historic figures casted in sculptures; others, once aristocratic palace, were converted into

apartments packed with hundreds of families (筒子楼). Looking at the clothes hanging out of windows,

one can tell its current inhabitants are far from noble.

Wouldn’t it great to preserve and turn them into museums? Ironically, finding historic museums (or

Mueo in Spanish) there, is like finding a way out in maze. Either it was too insignificant to pass by or too

causal to position correctly on a map. One good thing, though, is that nearly all museums are free, that

really helped keeping my budget in control.

Hoping on and off subway is a great way to get round in Buenos Aires. It costs as little as a quarter (25

cents) to get you from one end to another. Its wooden cabin, hardly seen anywhere in 21 Century, still

plays the major role, reminding me of Moscow in Stalin era.

Evita

A controversial figure in her own homeland, Evita Peron, is the symbol of Argentina to the world. She is popularly referred to as simply Eva, or by the affectionate Spanish, Evita, which literally translates into English as "Little Eva". She was the First Lady of Argentine President Peron who revolutionized Argentina,

like Mao Zedong (毛主席), and brought suppressed working class to the national center stage. Listen what Evita said in public, “I am only a simple woman who lives to serve Peron and my people”. So simple yet powerfully put! She was as brave as any man; listen “Answer violence with violence. If one of us falls today, five of them must fall tomorrow.” A gladiator, wasn’t she? Yet, she was shining and radiant; her beauty - I mean beauty - not only crashed Argentina men and but also conquered many European gentlemen. Such her passionate speeches stirred a generation of the poor working class

line behind Peron. I would like to quote a few more here: “When the rich think about the poor, they have poor ideas”; “I had watched for many years and seen how a few rich families held much of Argentina's wealth and power in their hands. So Peron and the government brought in an eight hour working day, sickness pay

and fair wages to give poor workers a fair go “; “Keeping books on social aid is capitalistic nonsense. I just use the money for the poor. I can't stop to count it”. Again, it was Evita who ultimately won the right for women to vote in Argentina history. She died on 26th July 1952, aged just at 32. Public grief was intense, and unprecedented in Argentina. Her precise role in Argentina politics is still hotly debated, and her supporters and enemies battle it out to write her legacy. There is no doubt, however, that she was a remarkable woman who made her mark on history. Evita rested in Recoleta Cemetery, Buenos Aires.

It took me a while to find her tomb among the thousands in the cemetery. I stood in front for long time, trying to feel any spirit round, and I hold my tears to pay my respect to her, an icon of my own. At that moment, I suddenly realized it was her, Evita, who may have inspired me to come to Argentina. In 1996, “Evita”, the hit musical based on the life of Evita, directed by Alan Park, staring Madonna and Antonio Banderas, broken my heart. That beautiful affectionate song “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” completely filled my soul with fantasy. With the song playing in my iPod and tears running down, I took a last bow to her – Evita, this time for nothing, but for her absolute beauty!

Dr. Zheng’s Passion

San Temple, a spiritual area in Buenos Area, shows the deepest root of colony culture: a unique

architecture heritage, historic bars, tango bars, antique shops. It is particular well known for its Sunday

antique fair on Plaza Dorrego, hardly for anyone digging out treasures to resist. So, I made one Sunday

available to see if I could hunt any Chinese Empirical pieces that were fallen into European hands during

Opium War, and make a fortune. I poked from one stand to another on Plaza Dorrego, and shop by shop

along Defensa Street; everywhere was packed with crowds coming from nowhere. My excitement soon

dimed away, as I found nothing really stood out, attempting for me to make an offer. Only exception

was a few Song Dynasty porcelains in one shop; however, owner’s asking prices were beyond my

financial capacity.

There, I bumped into a Chinese, speaking Spanish with little accent; he looked and dressed like a

gentleman. I greeted him with Chinese very politely and he responded with Chinese with some surprise

– we were connected, leaving other locals alone. Our conversation started from antiques, extended to

art, personal interest and background, eventually turned into a “long time no see” friendship climate.

He is Mr. Zheng, aged at 58, known as Dr. Zheng locally. He immigrated to Argentina from Shanghai

away back in 1984, and married a local Argentina lady. Over years, he managed to become a doctor in

Physical Therapy, performing therapy massage and other physical treatment. He maintains a large pool

of wealthy clients, bringing him $6000 monthly, which is considered to be top income in Argentina. He

pays virtually no tax. He lives in an upscale neighborhood. He told me that he has little or no contact

with other Chinese fellas and that I was the only Chinese who ever entered his house. He clearly

maintains a decent life style, having a hobby of collecting European Vantage furniture, and copying

European Impressionist’s painting. On his annual trip back to Shanghai, he would bring back some his

collections and sell to wealthy Chinese, making a significant profit.

A big back white picture hanging in the living room caught my eye. “That is me”, he said, in a delightful

tone. “Is that you?” I was skeptical. “Yes, that was from a poster of Chinese movie “海囚”, and I was a

major actor in that movie”. “Cool, you were a movie star?” He smiled. That really kicked off our

conversation going wild, and I found no way to halt. It was 9:00 PM; I was trying to find a pause to be

prepared for next ventures in Uruguay starting next morning. His hospitality and offering of good wine

were too attempting for me to say anything but yes. We ended up in a nearby restaurant. He seemed

knowing everyone there, exchanging hug with the owner, showing he is more than an old customer.

That is a very typical upscale European restaurant; food was like home prepared, wine was top graded,

followed by a free dessert and free sparkling wine, really indicating his special relationship with the

owner. Powered with such top graded wine, our chat went wild. He confessed his secret of staying

young and attributed to two ingredients “wine and girl”. He shared his knowledge of wine tasting,

stating that the prime time to taste is one hour after a bottle is opened, an instant tasting right after

opening is a false and nonsense, etc. His passion for Argentina girls, “the best of the best in the world”,

according to him, would prompt me for a different write-up, likely rated in R++. I must say that his skill

to juggle among a multiplicity is truly an art. Dr Zheng, solute!

A Craftsman (我靠手艺吃饭)

Packed with all needed, and having a direction in map showing me where to rent a bike in Montevideo,

Uruguay, a day after I arrived via Ferry from Argentina, I was well prepared to have a pleasant bike hang

out in Montevideo, and beyond. On my way to the bike rental shop near Plaza De la Constitucion, I was

greeted from nowhere with “你好！你到那里去?” I was frozen and turned around to pin point any

Chinese. None in sight. Ah! I must have heard my own voice? I almost made a move. “要帮忙吗？”

Apparently this time, it came from a man sitting by a street floor vendor, smiling and waving his hands.

“You speak Chinese?” I hesitated.“是”My curiosity and his warmness got me hooked. I sat there for

three hours, learning that he used to be a monk, practicing Buddha in Taiwan in 1970’s over 10 years. He,

preferred to be called “老罗”, was basically embedded in Chinese culture for a decade, which

“converted” him into a local Chinese. Our three hour long conversation was completely conducted in

Chinese with neither English nor Spanish mingled. I tell you, he can speak anything, yes anything in any

mean, openly and freely, in Chinese, my mother language. Within one hour, my knowledge of Uruguay

was boosted up, adding bonus of South America history and culture in general. He is very chatty, that

one simple question could trigger him minutes of speech, nonstop. It was like a volcano! He kept telling

me that “you Chinese are the smartest, and the hardest working people in the world, and Taiwan will be

back to China, and China will eventually step on USA …” Holly cow! I was certainly complimented, not

sure if I should leave him some money. Instead, I offered him a lunch, the best one he said he ever had.

I felt relaxed after lunch, with a cigarette in my hand, asking why he ended up here in Uruguay, making a

marginal living by selling “bugs” by street. He did go to the root, instead telling me how much he likes to

make “bugs” with a skill he learned in Taiwan countryside and how much he enjoys a life with no boss.

He ended with “我靠手艺吃饭”. I almost recommended that he should consider working for China, say,

for Chinese Embassy, or teaching Spanish in China. There was quite crowd built up, mostly college girls,

around us, curious what we were talking in a language alien to them, and asked for picture taken.

By then I realized that I had a mission to go beyond Montevideo by bike! When he learned I was going to

rent a bike nearby, he said bike rental only available during summer, and offered lend me his bike. He

promised to bring his bike at 10:00 next morning the same spot. I felt so lucky and so grateful.

Next morning, I got up with a pleasant mode, and bought him a box of breakfast in a café shop, and

went straight to the spot where he sells the “bugs”, precisely at 10:00, no more, no less. None there, a

vacant spot! 30 minutes passed, none showed up. “老罗, where are you?” That day, I decided to bus

around, hopping on and off.

工人阶级 in Strike

It was a Wednesday morning, and I was set about to hunt for fun street by street, corner by corner.

Hanging out on the main avenue, Av.18 De Julio, close to Plaza Independencia, I noticed a humongous

truck made L turn, and blocked the entire avenue. With minutes, the truck was turned into a platform,

which in turn magically turned into a stage. What a heck. Just when I was wandering what show was set

for, a louder speaker broke out with a marching song – a kind like what I heard in Mao’s Era. Shortly, an

ocean of people with sea of red flag emerged from distance, marching toward the stage like a tsunami.

With my dictionary, I figured out that was a strike by workers, mostly cleaners and construction workers，

100% 无产阶级. I had no direct evidence to prove that was masterminded by communists (共产党); but

all the signs, red star cap (红五星), revolution songs, red flags, pointed me that Mao’s seed took a root

in Uruguay. A rain of fliers (传单) was falling from sky, demanding more pay; the thunder powered songs,

out of tens of thousands workers in one tone, really pumped my blood, reminding me of Chinese Culture

Revolution when I was rallying with my grandmother to liberate world. Selected worker representatives

from the mass jumped up the stage and took turn to deliver pounding speeches, inflaming 无产阶级 to

an explosion point. My tears could no longer hold on when “国际歌(International)” was broke out.

Among them, in between, Uruguay 工人阶级, I was a comrade 周.

That was not alone. In fact, I have run into a number of demonstrations, including another massive one

in front of the President House, known as Pink House in Argentina. This time it was launched by landless

peasants (农民无产阶级), demanding more lands for farming. Again, the Mao’s red was theme color.

In front of the same Pink House, there are a silent walking demonstration, every Thursday at 3:00pm, by

a large number of families whose loved ones “disappeared” or “evaporated” during a dictatorship not a

long ago. I heard the disappeared number was strikingly large, probably over thousands, mostly college

students and intellectuals. A version of “Tiananmen Event”?

I make no conclusion, but the way I look at South America in a fashion of Universe Evolution, its

dynamics seems showing it is still in an explosive young age. Mao’s Thoughts（毛泽东思想）has a rich

soil to blossom there.

Palermo Viejo and Jews

Palermo Viejo, yet another fashionable area in Buenos Aires, hooked me for one night. But soon I got

bored by walking on the streets, lined with informal restaurants and a great number of bars that took

party and music out onto the sidewalks. A few blocks away from Palermo Viejo, on my way out the area,

I encountered a flock of Jews walking on streets, then another flock, and more flocks from all directions

from somewhere and going somewhere. They all dressed very nicely, men in formal suite, and women in

beautiful dress. Mostly in flock, some like whole family, I would say hundreds more if not thousands; I

assumed they were attending some kind of religion services or parties. “Is it a Jewish town?” It turns

out that Argentina is home to a Jewish community of 200,000, the largest probably outside Israel.

Argentina is known to be a safe heaven for Jews, and ironically also a hideout for Nazi after World War II.

I greeted with smile and felt so happy for them to find another wonderful settlement. I didn’t take out

my cameras to take a few snapshots as I felt improper.

Yet, the peace didn’t last - there was a worst terror attacks in Argentina that was targeted to Jews and

killed 85 and injured hundreds in the Jewish Community Center. It was Argentina’s deadliest bombing.

There is a sculpture in Plaza Lavalle, dedicated to the victims.

On the same plaza, there was another sculpture, facing Teatro Colon, attributed to a troupe of National

Ballet dancers, all killed in a plane crash. Quite a touching picture. Teatro Colon, Argentina’s pride,

inaugurated in 1908 with a performance of Verdi’s Aida. Through the century, it has welcomed some of

greatest performers including Caruso, Toscanini and Pavarotti. I didn’t challenge myself with a number

of coins in my pocket to take a seat in Teatro Colon – you will know what I mean later.

La Boca and Tango

Got a Tango? Why not in La Boca! Yes, I made it, in a Sunday afternoon. That is a point in Argentina, isn’t

it? La Boca is a distant neighborhood, or barrio of Buenos Aires. It retains a strong European flavor, with

many of its early settlers being from the Italian city of Genoa. Caminito is the most picturesque corner of

La Boca; years ago, it was the setting of Tangos and street theatre performances. At weekends, artisan

fairs and tango brighten up the alleys. A few meters away, on Garibaldi Street, one may see how La Boca

looked at the beginning of the last century with its typical corrugated steel houses in bright colors. Do

you know La Boca is indeed the birthplace of Tango? It is unlike any Tango in the world, Argentina Tango

is absolutely seducible and sensational. I would rather attribute it to a form of “sex” with music and in

evening dress.

Wine and Beef

The picture shows. Why need for a word? I still have to say, its beef, roasted or grilled in open fire,

seduced me to abuse my stomach. The Argentine barbecue, asado, as well as parriada, includes various

types of meats, among them Chorizo, sweetbread, chitterlings, and morcilla (blood sausage). With the

top rated wine entertaining, I was saturated, eventually burned my mouth, crunching my stomach,

pushing myself to the edge of sickness. For days, I didn’t even like to hear about beef; a week after I

returned back to USA, I was still shy of beef.

“我们走在大路上…”

Walking with my backpack weighted 40 pounds miles and miles each day was not an entertaining.

Thanks to the public bus system, I was able to stretch out to many distant places. Walking alone on road,

something leading to nowhere, I was listening to my iPod, loaded with “我们走在大路上…“，or “五星

红旗迎风飘扬”to keep myself marching on.

A Snapshoot of Argentina and Uruguay – why serious?

This is Plaza San Martin, the monument behind the Guards are like “人民英雄纪念碑”, to pay tribute to

national heroes.

Now, take a close look at its Guards – isn’t he falling sleep? Yes, he did actually – I watched him for quite

a white – he was standing there, rock solid, thanks to the sword that kept him in balance.

OK. Why not? This is South America. Why take so seriously. Informal, casual, spontaneous, are the best

words to describe. Here are a few more snapshots, proving I am not biased.

“What do you know about Argentina?” given you ask any Chinese in China. The response would be

mostly like: “Soccer （足球）” This is also true for Uruguay, a small country which won twice

championships in World Cup, one in 1930 and one in 1950. The latest glory was 2010 World Cup, in

which Uruguay made into semifinal. How come? Now if you look at the picture below, you will dig out

the answer: the basketball court has no hoop! Kids turned it into a soccer field. That is what I saw in

many places, schools and colleges, in Argentina and Uruguay. “Gaol …”.

It is common for girls at age 13 or so, entering into a romantic paradise. It really stroke me when I

spotted an old man was entertaining with a teen by the beach. “老罗”told me that many teens in

Uruguay got pregnant.

It was striking me that many houses were built in water, in Tigre area, bordering the Parana delta. Some

houses were basically sunk in water, others floating there like an island. Quite a scene in the world.

Don’t be surprised if at any moment in any corner, drumming and street dancing pop up. That is

Argentina: “Wine, beef, dance, and sex. What else?” Doctor Zheng told me.

These school kids are absolutely cute. Their schools uniform, in medical white robe, caught my attention.

Do they all like little nurses?

Oh, Dear!

Now look. This is a copy of the official police report from Policia Federal Argentina, stating something

like that “… Jingchen Zhou’s wallet was stolen on Sept 10, 2010, approximately around 10 AM, in Buenos

Aires Retiro Train Station; things stolen include Credit Card, Debit Card (ATM), Driver License, and cash …”

Oh, Dear. That is me.

Yes, that was Sept 10; I boarded a bus to Retire Train station where I was about to hop on a train

bouncing to Tigre. Just when I stepped out the bus, my intuition told me that something not right with

pocket – it was unzipped and my wallet was stolen. “Oh, My”. I looked up sky, hoping for any message.

Gone, completely gone: credit card, debit card, driver license and cash! “Fxxx”. I was lost, frozen, heart

nearly stopped. That was in a country totally alien to me in every single mean. Realizing that I kept my

passport and $200 in my hotel room, I managed to stay cool, thinking of next action. Finding and

catching the thief was like looking for a needle in deep sea. Instead, I decided to grab a police to help me

find a way to block my credit card and debit card. I was racing against clock. With seconds, I spotted a

policeman by the bus station. I rushed to him, using all possible body languages and a few surviving

Spanish words and phase, convincing him that I was stolen and I needed help. He showed little surprise

and pointed me to a building. With no time to waste, I dashed to the building, a police station, big one

with possible 100 more officers. I felt that I could get help one way or another; soon it turned out that I

was too optimistic. None spoken English – I mean none out of 100 public officers in a capital! I was

basically thrown into a black hole, transferring from one office to another. One thing for sure was that

they knew I was stolen – as stealing is so common there! The question is how could they help me out in

a logical sequence: 1) help me get online to find phone numbers for my credit card and debit card, 2)

help me to make international phone calls so I can request blocking my cards. OK. 1) was simply not an

option – there was either no online in office, or not allowing me to use. I was dead in the water. In the

end, they got me hooked with one officer in the Headquarter who spoke English. It was three ways

talking, with the officer in the Headquarter as an interpreter, guiding the site officer in the train station

to help me step by step. First, they found a phone number for Visa, and we made a call, which turned

out to be completely in Spanish and for domestic only (i.e., Argentina people), and had little to do with

my bank in USA which issued me the credit card. With rounds of queries, they finally helped me finding

a phone number for my bank in USA. With another round of effort, we managed making an international

phone call via a line through the Headquarter. Finally, I heard “Welcome…, please enter your 16 digit

account number …” a robot voice. “Fxxx”, I desperately loved to hear human voice, man or lady!

Eventually, I was connected to a lady, after many button pressing and holding, and I broke out my

demanding: “I am in Argentina, my credit was stolen, please block my card as soon as possible”. “Sorry

to hear that, let me transfer to fraudulent department which can handle the stolen case …” she replied.

Then it was forwarded to another automatic voice, asking me press this and enter that …, and the worst

occurred – the line dropped. “Fxxx”, I had started from ground zero. By the time, my card was blocked, it

was three hours after, and there were already three fraudulent purchases made by the thief on my

credit card. “Fxxx” The same hassle for my debit card! That was my day, Sept 10, 2010. Walking out of

the police station, I realized I had no penny in my pocket to take bus back. What then … I walked all the

way from the train station to my hotel room, many miles. Surely with $200, I couldn’t afford to stay in

hotel – I had six nights to go before bouncing back home. I went to the front desk, showing the copy of

the police report, the casher frowned and looked at me “No pay, no stay”. So, I got out – precisely

speaking, I was kicked out of the hotel.

Boy! I walked around to hunt for any hostel. In the end, I found one “Hostel Suites” on Florida St. That

was about $15/night, sharing room with four beds. I was spared from street. 6 x 15 = $90 for room for

six nights. Leaving $20 for transferring to Airport aside, that is to say, I had another $90 left for food,

bottle water, public transportation, and others for 6 days! Each coin was counted. It is too painful for

me to going on here any deeper. One fact is that I went to MacDonald twice during 6 days – that was the

most luxurious food I had. I eaten so slowly to feel the texture of grain and fries, and took a sip of coke

like heavenly.

Each day was a challenge; I was like nomad, hanging on the streets. With no money to cover any public

transportation, I “blanketed” the entire Buenos Aires by foot. My original plan to hop on a bus to Chile

was aborted, consequently. I was struck in Buenos Aires. The nights were nightmare. The evening time

when I took shower to go to bed was the time my three Brazilian roommates took shower ready for

parties: two came back at 2 am; one came back at 4 am with girls.

The last day was liberation. With $20 secured for transferring to the Airport, I had a number of coins left;

I wandered in Puerto Madero to make a last kiss of Argentina and settled myself in a café, sipping a cup

of cappuccino, watching time going by. There, I completed reading a book “中国梦”.