Easter or Pascuas in Buenos Aires is a very important time of the year. As a vehemently Catholic nation, images of Christ’s bloody figure on the cross are as Argentine as empanadas; while the capitalist tradition of changing holy-days into opportunities for Disney characters to hand out candy is just as ubiquitous. With the city’s Parisian store front architecture, it’s easy to appreciate the season that Christ died with….the windows of each panaderia, supermarcado, and confiterias plastered with White Bunnies, and shimmering with silver and gold egg-shaped cellophane.
More so than overpriced candy, Easter has always meant a time to sit in fellowship with loved ones. It is a time to slow down and appreciate a meal together, and to begin to look towards birthing positive changes. Even when I was in Buenos Aires for Easter in 2008, it was an incredibly special event. Two friends had arrived to visit the day before Easter with their suitcases stuffed full of awesomely colorful Easter candies from the US. In exchange, we cooked them a deliciously southern-tine dinner (for two Southern girls) of Milansea (essentially a chicken fried steak), puree de papas (mashed taters), and choclo (corn).
Because of the incredibly fond memories I have I felt particularly encouraged to follow upon the tradition…
The early afternoon I spent with the atheists. J
We eat a slightly spicy tomato based pasta with meijlliones, vino, homemade flan, and enough gin and tonic to drown out the spirit of Jesus. (Father Forvigve me…but we finished of all of your blood…)
Then I was baptized into the second most important religion in Argentina—futbol. No seriously, Futbol is a religious experience here. There are even those who belong to the “semi” facetious Iglesia de Maradona or Church of Maradona.
Check out a wedding here:
My roommate, raised a Catholic, but a self proclaimed atheist has been moved to speak in tongues during some truly emotional games. Being from a city of CHAMPIONS (GO STEELERS!), I can compare the experience but there is something a bit different about the sport here. People literally lay their lives on the line for their teams up here; they become martyrs for the game! Each local team has their “barra bravas” dangerous gangs or hinchas. Deaths at serious games are not uncommon.
Now that’s some gansta ass silliness.
After our worship for the day, Emi had to go to work, and I moved on to the next gluttonous activity. All of the American Fulbrighters in Buenos Aires turned out to be chicks…so we came together to indulge in our domestication by cooking some BOMB comida.
There was chipotle pulled pork, deviled eggs, rice, milanesa, and delicious desserst of vegan cake and apple cinnamon empanadas in phyllo dough. Needless to say, I ate until my heart was overflowing with gratitude for the life that were living as researchers in Buenos Aires. Or maybe I just ate until my frontal lobe failed.
The itus was on and strong, but I knew I had an assignment to get to. I cabbed it over to the Niceto Club, and with my camera and a bit of help from Fidel, I got into the “overly crowded show” where Reke and Onechot of Venezuela would be performing again.
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