In the Wee Small Hours

by Karl Heiland ´10

We´ve all heard about those San Francisco nights, New York nights, Paris nights, even Queen Creek nights; but what about the Santa Fe nights?  Well ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you, when the sun goes down in Argentina, the spirit of love, mystery, and milenesa (fried steak) comes out.


One of the more calm streets of Santa Fe

On one of our first days in Argentina, I recieved a unique introduction to the city not soon to
be forgotten. It was the early evening and my host brother, Guillermo, and I were passing around the mate gourd. Mate is a loose-floating tea that is consumed with a uniquely-shaped cup and a special metal straw. My first impression of the taste was green tea with a pinch of dirt; however, as I write this sentence, my body trembles in anticipation for my next cup. Park benches, the halls of Immaculada... this drink pervades all of Argentina. We were relaxing when Guillermo received a call from a friend who was having a small, impromptu birthday celebration. Donning jackets, we began our walk to this friend´s house. The sidewalks of Argentina are anything but uniform; one minute brick, the next marble tiles. However, it´s not the sidewalks that drew my attention, it was the streets, asphalt canvases of compact cars, buses, motorcycles, and bicycles. Stray dogs are very commonplace, and on one of our walks, we made a friend out of one that enthusiastically hopped alongside us using three legs. At dusk, there is a slight chill in the air that you feel through your sweatshirt and on your cheeks.


Our biggest fan, promised us that he didn´t have rabies

We arrived at Pablo´s house and were greeted by all in attendence. Los hombres de
Argentina greet each other with a customary handshake that is a variation of the ¨Soul Power¨ shake. It has become obvious to me that the exchange group from Brophy was selected based on attractiveness because all of the women that we meet want to give us a kiss on the cheek. Even some men want to kiss us! The group sat around the table and talked about all the regular subjects. The cake was a large brownie covered in dulce de leche, a special carmel sauce. I given questions about the culture of the United States, from Barack Obama to Lady Gaga. After some more cheek-kissing, we went outside to find a cab.

The air had cooled considerably since we had been in. As a result of Santa Fe´s poverty, there is a relative amount of crime; however, the poor can also be benevolent. In one instance, a homeless man found our group to return a warm hat that we had left behind. Just as the cold was starting to make my nose run, Guillermo spotted a cab a block away. We hurriedly opened the door and got inside of this French compact, plastic seat-covered sanctuary. The driver, who looked like a leftover from the Cuban Revolution, greeted us with a customary ¨Ay che,¨and proceeded to fill the cab with pungent ciggarette smoke. It was the perfect carriage for the situation. Looking out the windows, the city was a bittersweet mosaic of life. Buildings that have stood for centuries, profane fútbol graffiti, the poor collecting garbage in horse-drawn carriages, a young couple kissing up against a department store, and a vast collection of cars lining the street that you would be just as apt to see in Paris or Rome. These are only a few elements. Such a dense concentration of life is something that we aren´t accustomed to seeing in Phoenix, and it had a strange intoxicating effect. Either I was getting light-headed from the driver´s ciggarrette or the nights in Argentina really are something that you can´t quite get across in a radio-friendly 1980s love ballad.