Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes

So both yesterday and today, I spent a few hours at the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes.
Warning that the rest of this post will not be interesting to someone not interested in art. And even then its probably going to be rough trip.


My personal theme was light. For whatever reason I walked into that museum, looked at two peices of work, and was like ' wait a minute - it's all about light! I get it!' That became my focus - every painting/image was evaluated in terms of light. How light is used to give shape, to set mood, to focus.

My favourite van gogh there was Moulin de la Galette. This picture of it sucks - but in the museum - the blue sky practically hums with energy and lightness, giving it this wonderful whimisical, airy feeling. I also really like the composition, with the stairs almost being the third wind vane.



I also spent some time looking at Monet's Le berge de La Seine 's - and his approach to light here. Monet is generally seen as being *the impressionist* of the impressionist (well, at least by his fans) influencing the others more than he was influenced by them. But his treatment of light here is a scattering of it. Its bouncing and reflecting off everything - leaves, grass, water, clouds - whereas I like it when the light serves to focus and highlight, creating 'stronger values' in my painting.


Although I have to say, there are some Monet paintings where the light seems to add an entirely different dimension to the painting. Like in this - one of his Japanese Gardens - where - it somehow seems like the painting is breathing.

I mean - what can you say about that???? Magical? Possessed? Its vibrating with energy.

Rodin
The museum had a nice selection of Rodins, including
A full size of the kiss. I thought it was marble, but the website says terracotta. Don't ask me how I can confuse those two.



Rodin, who believed ""Nothing, really, is more moving than the maddened beast, dying from unfulfilled desire and asking in vain for grace to quell its passion."

The dynamic physicality of his sculptures - how they never seem at rest. Speaking of The Thinker, "What makes my Thinker think is that he thinks not only with his brain, with his knitted brow, his distended nostrils and compressed lips, but with every muscle of his arms, back, and legs, with his clenched fist and gripping toes." Like the early everest summiter who crashed his plane as high as he could and then started to climb - Rodin's figures are committed.


Degas
Degas was also fairly well represented



and even had this sketch that I've spent hours struggling with to copy - the woman's face. Is so tricky here. Degas is celebrated for many things - his ability to capture/represent movement, I love his use of colour and line, his compositions - but something that I find wonderous is his ability to sketch in the face with the minutest level of detail, in really challenging perspectives, and just utterly nail it. It's really annoying. I mean - an arm, a leg, to greater or lesser extents they are cylinders - basic shapes - that can be rotated predictably and rather easily by the mind. But the human face? Ohmygod. There are just many angles, planes, subtle shifts. Boggles the mind how he could catch it with a squiggle and a bit of shading.

This is also interesting cause you can see his mistake. The upper arm wasn't connecting to the torso properly. He just kept on going.

And the use of light! To define the shapes - from the face down to the upper torso - there isn't a single defining 'cartoon' like line. The shape is completely conveyed through shading.

I really like Degas' work. Unfortunately he was an anti-semite, and a unhappy loner.
Renoir said of him: "What a creature he was, that Degas! All his friends had to leave him; I was one of the last to go, but even I couldn't stay till the end." Never married and spent the last years of his life, nearly blind, restlessly wandering the streets of Paris.

Gratuitous Degas





Cezanne

I took a little sketch book and pencil with me, and when I do that I find it really helpful to sketch other sketches (if they are available). As a learning tool, you can see the barebones that the artist laid down. What they were thinking, even their mistakes, where they made adjustments - stuff that's hidden by days, weeks and layers in the final paintings. Here is a little sketch by Cezanne, observing his son drawing. A generational self-portrait?




But what about all the south american art??
Luckily I have tomorrow!

Today I was either the subject of an elaborate scam, or the victim of an unfortunate incident, who was then kindly helped by strangers. I just can't decide.

The scene:
Pouring rain out, around midday, I'm walking down deserted blvds, heading for the Museum of Beaux Arts. Stop at a corner. Two people approach me. Man, Woman - ask me 'Hora?'

I respond by pointing at my watch, indicating both that its 12:15 and that I'm a tourist, albeit it not one with an expensive watch. I wait, they wait. Light starts to flash, I realize that I've misunderstood the traffic lights *again* am about to miss my walk signal. I rush to catch the last of the light as I cross the street and head into a (wide open) park. They follow.

At this point, the three of us are pretty much the only people walking through this park - I'm a bit suspecious because of the hora thing - two people, no watch? Seems unlikely - and the way they didn't cross the street until I did. But I'm not overly concerned. I'm not exactly in a tourist hotspot, and the weather was so bad, it would be hard to beleive they were targeting the area. It seems more likely that they are tourists as well. Plus they were pretty well put together for what was about to happen next.

Namely that I realize that somehow, someway, I've been mi mierda by a bird. And not just a little mierda. There is mierda on my jacket, on my backpack, on my *legs* and in my *hair*. I've beeen mierda carpet-bombed.

How could I have not noticed this when it happened? I don't know - but it was pouring rain out, so possible.

Enter my two possible thiefs/friends. Who exclaim and rush up to me, offering napkins and aqua. So I'm trying to mentally calculate the probabilty of these people having trained a bird to mierda on tourists, and weighing it against accepting their help to get this crap off of me as soon as possible. They are pulling on my jacket and my bag, which there is nothing in my jacket pockets, so I give them that to wipe down, while I hang onto my bag (camera). My wallet, which I wear across my chest, was under my jacket but is now in the open, and I'm trying to keep an eye on that and my bag as these two people find more and more mierda on me and my stuff. For about three minutes they help me clean up my jacket, bag, pants, hair, sometimes in front of me, sometimes behind me, until I finally am like 'gracias, gracias es bueno'. I say it a couple of times, and they eventually leave - walking back they way they came (odd) but handing me the rest of the napkins (nice).


I take a few minutes and make sure nothing is missing. Now - nothing is missing, but zippers were open. I can't swear they were all closed before, but its likely they were. A backpack zipper (one of six zippers- so tough odds for them) was open, and a zipper on my wallet was open (my wallet is a mess that I can barely find anything in, so again not easy to get stuff out of without taking the whole thing.

I honestly can not decide. Training a bird just seems so bizarre and resource intensive, unless *they* somehow sprayed me with it (and who knows what exactly it was), or boby trapped a tree in the park - but I don't know, none of those seems all that likely to be worth the effort.

Its the mystery of the day for me.

[had a great time at the art musuem - post for another time!]

ETA: Update! It is a scam! Google-able, no less.

At least now I feel better about NOT going back to the hostel for a shower before continuing on my way to the museum.

GOAAAAL!

I scored a goal today. In polo. When I - from a walking horse, swung a mallet, connected with an IMPOSSIBLY small ball, and knocked it 10 meters.

It wobbled, it teetored, it rambled, but in the end it made it through the goal posts.

My instructor Fernando let out a shout of incredibility. This moment, three hours in the making, crafted by his patience to explain in spanish, english and french, in as many different ways as possible how to sit on a horse, swing a mallet, hit a ball while I responded by swinging at the air, knocking clods of dirt, hitting him, hitting myself, and hitting poor Zeta the pony (a steadfast soul, if understandably unenthusiastic about me), while dropping reins, crops, and mallets.

I am amazed that anyone can gallop around and hit that only-slightly-larger-than a ping-pong-ball at ALL much less with reliability and accuracy. BUT I had proof that it was possible as out with me on the field was a team practising for a match this weekend.

So my pony and I would be on our third attempt to hit a ball (walk, swing, miss, circle back, repeat), when I'd hear this crack, see the white flash of a ball flying past our heads. Next would be the pounding of eight hooves, then suddenly we'd be in the midst of two over-heated ponies and their .... errr.. rather sexily swarthy riders careening about. A flurry of mallets, spanish oaths, straining limbs, tossed heads, precariously fought balance points, and CRACK the ball would be off down the field again, the ponies spun around and chasing it down.

call me a fan!

Video of other people playing polo

dilemna

I have a dilemna.
For 240 pesos, roughly $80 CDN - I can take a Polo lesson.
It's not really the money that is making me hesitate.

It's the fact that when I get there, and there are real life polo fields and polo horses, facing my one chance to play polo in Argentina, I'll think back to all the horses I've ridden - the ponies that used to run me under branches, or the one that would jump *in* to the In-and-Out but go no further (although i frequently did), or the off-the-track racehorses that would take off on my 13 year old self, or my first horse show when the horse stepped on my foot and I cried, and then cried because I was crying AT MY FIRST HORSESHOW (I was eight).

I'll remember all of these incidents as signs of my unique bond with horses.
I will completely ignore the fact that I haven't ridden consistently in something like 15 years, and when asked about my experience will consolidate my hazy horsey memories into a statement like "Oh yes I ride. hmmm? Pretty well. Pretty well, I'd say. Certainly Not Bad."

I know this because approximately 10 years ago I was in Hungary, in not dissimilar circumstances and THAT WAS EXACTLY WHAT I SAID. A short while later this horse is making its bid for freedom while I, stirrups lost, reins and mane gripped together, pray that there are no groundhogs in Hungary as we dash across the great plains.

Of course, none of this would really be a problem EXCEPT I've got four months of skiing coming up. And the only thing worse than injuring yourself on the first day of skiing is injuring yourself two weeks before the first day.

But.... com'on. It's Argentina!!! It's POLO. NO ONE is that strong.

random

This is a random post because random is all I got.

- Fake 100 peso bills. David (from France) picked up a fake 100 p bill in the first hour he was in Buenos Aires. Getting out of a taxi, he handed the driver a 100 p bill. The driver handed it back saying 'too big'. David paid the fare with smaller bills. Later he finds out that between taking it and handing it back, the taxi driver switched the 100 p bill with a fake one.

- If you want to bond with your fellow travellors - just mention India. Anyone who has been there can not wait to share their unique India horror stories. Language barriers crumble under the overwhelming desire to talk to someone who has actually been there and who understands! I went sightseeing with David (France) and Dan (Calgary). All three of us had been to India. We spent 90 mins in the Plaza de Mayo talking about India. My best India tip was always: Never acccept help from someone who offers, always find someone who isn't offering and ask. David's was: Only ask Sikhs for help.
David: "In India, I only ask Sikhs. Since every Sikh man's name ends in Singh - i just look for a man in a turban and then I say: 'Excuse me very much, Mr. Singh, but could you please help me.' Never had any problems. Very good people, the Sikhs. The taxi driver who gave me the fake bill? Not a sikh."

Dan (Calgary's) peice of India travel advice was: "Tell the taxi driver that you will go to any store, if he will then take you to where you want to go. They get paid if you walk into a store regardless if you buy something or not. It just saves all the hassel of them trying to trick and argue you into going to the store. You can get free rides if you visit enough stores."

Then there are all the medical horror stories - like Dan's friend who, despite having her typhoid vaccinations, still came down with this extremely rare form of typhoid. After trying Indian hospitals where they kept on telling her it was food-related, she got on the phone with her parents, told them to book her a ticket home, and managed to get onto the plane before passing out. It took US doctors another month before they were able to diagnose what she had. Like some horrible episode of House.

Botanical Gardens. Ever since my short but enthusiastic tenure on the board of Columbia Valley Botanical Gardens and Centre for Sustainable Living, I've been interested in Botanical Gardens. Walked through Buenos Aires' todays. The most interesting aspect of it is not the flowers/grass/shrubery but the cats! Apparently it doubles as a cat refuge. A charity provides for food and vet care for dozens and dozens of cats. So you are walking as herds of playful fat cats chase birds, or sleep in relaxed heaps of fur on the sun-baked paths. It is overrun by these cats. They are very good with people. I watched one two year old, upon being relased from her stroller, scream gleefully and toddle towards a cat, hands out stretched. The cat didn't move. The kid got to the cat, froze, then after studing the cat for a long minute, reached out with her chubby hand and gave one very long, deliberate, stroke. Then she started grabbing fur, at which point the cat rose, looked at me with askance, and padded away.


My roomates are currently: A brazilian who isn't snobby at all, an Frenchwoman who is awesome (its like – all French women are Juliette Binoche), and a Chilean (who I can't communicate with). The thing that all three have in common? The abliity to pull dresses and high heeled shoes out of backpacks, brush their hair and look ridiculously glamourous. (my long underwear, t-shirt and runners are not cutting it)

My current French roommate, (who has worn three different outfits today alone), was rushing out of the shower, getting dressed – a date with an Argentinean.

“You must try these Argentineans before you leave.” She said. “But they joke.”
“Joke?”
“They say stuff like : I want you to meet my mother. Or I want to marry you. But it’s a joke. They do not want you to meet their mother.”

“Ok.”

“Like, this guy. Normally, after, a French guy, or an English guy, they would say ‘I had a great time. I really like you, I am happy around you. This guy he says: You are the only person I’ve felt sexually connected to. Who says that? So weird. But I can not help it. It’s true, I am very sexually attracted to him, even though I know he jokes, you still want to believe it right?” She points to her eyes, “he has, I do not know the word, but one eye does not match when he looks.”

“He has a lazy eye?”

“Yes. I am so attracted to that. Now. My hair is wet. What to do? I am very late.”
She shrugs. “He will wait.”

LOVE HER!

eta: almost forgot the most important thing - 16 cms of snow expected in Las Lenas over the next six days!

and we're back

The blog continues. I was thinking about starting another blog focused on skiing for my current trip down to las lenas, Argentina. But couldn't think of a good name, ('lost in las lenas' while attractively lllll sounding, seemed unnecessarily pessismistic). Decided instead to revive the old one.

mini-catch up - since finishing my bike trip in seattle. I boxed merle up for fedex-ing (for bikes, use fedex, way cheaper internationally) to Ontario, bussed myself up to Invermere, picked up my car, and drove myself back to Ontario. Spent two and a half months making noises about finding an apartment (hey I looked at TWO) while living in one sister's guest room and on another sister's couch.

Then in November circumstances aligned such that I decided to spend the winter out west skiing. So packed up the car AGAIN and headed out to Revelstoke where I did precisely that and almost nothing else. Sometime around March, feeling like the season was already winding down and not satisfied with that, I googled Skiing, South America and stumbled upon Las Lenas. A resort hopefully more substantial than the information available on it. Booked a ticket. Drove the car back to Toronto. Spent three weeks mostly at my parents (excellent service, four stars). Then two days ago, after making me promise to 'Think About my Future' (by which he did not mean the next four months of skiing) my dad drove me to the airport and I got on a plane.

And so here I am. Buenos Aires. Migrating my way across the country to the Chilian border (where Las Lenas is located) with nothing but my trusty hiking boots, the clothes on my back and -

- Skis -2 (XXLs, Heads)
- Poles - (1 touring poles)
- Avy gear & skins
- helmet
- goggles (2 pairs - cloudy lense, sunny lense)
- Lange boots (hang in there please!!!)
- Ski Jacket and Ski Pants
- Mitts and liners
- One fleece
- One long sleeve slightly oderous bike jersey
- 3 sets of long underwear
- 3 t-shirts
- 1 pair of jeans
- 1 pair of capris
- 1 pair of boxers
- 1 little black dress (I'm worried about spontaneous charity events!)
- 1 pajama bottom
- 3 pairs of ski socks
- 3 pairs of regular socks
- all half decent underwear
- sunglasses/sunscreen/glasses/contacts
- my/heather's white and pink knitted hat
- my green knitted hat
- my blue ski hat
- my canada baseball cap
- neck warmer
- laptop
- video camera
- sleeping bag
- towel
- bathing suit
- my mug
- misc toiletries
- one hacky sac
- Two books - Gulliver's Travels and The Three Pillars of Zen
- my skiing mojo & my beginner spanish

so to answer the burning question:

No, I did not bring the bike. :(

Here is what I was told today about Las Lenas - from Pablo - who was seated one row a head of me in the airplane yesterday, and who I then bumped into at Plaza Italia today ('small 12.5 million city')

"Las Lenas!" he said. "You do not want to go there. Go to Bariloche. Las Lenas is nothing but snobby brazilians and europeons jetting. Rich people on vacation. The people will bore you. Go to Bariloche it has art, culture - there is ok skiing there and it is Patagonia. Patagonia!! Las Lenas has nothing."

Pablo's vote of confidence in my plans aside, I still figure - he's not a skier, so doesn't really get it, and two, generally, the more remote, unlikely, hard to get to, a place is, the better it is! At least that's my Philosophy of Travelling, and it hasn't failed me yet.... more or less. Balance of probability at least!

Today I wandered through some parks. I am rusty in my traveling. I was aiming for the Argentinian Polo fields, and instead ended up at the Center for Islam. Which in my defence, has some beautifully manicured grounds.

Tomorrow - Botanical Gardens and Japanese Gardens, and if all else fails - my safety tourist destination is Malba - Musuem of Art Latin-American Buenos Aires.

So uh. To the old readers. Welcome back. To those who are linking here to learn the ins and out of solo cycling touring in America, just go to the beginning of this blog and start reading.

Adios for now (or - Go! GO AWAY ! as the Argentinian custom agent shouted at me.)

[I mistook his wave for a friendly greeting, so naturally waved back. He kept on waving. I kept on waving too. Turns out his wave was really 'welcome to my country and I have no questions for you']