Picture the seven of us living in a 24 foot motorhome for four months right in central Buenos Aires. It actually wasn’t as bad as it sounds. I continued with my housewife chores, cooking meals, cleaning, separating the kids, shopping, which took half of a day, and doing some laundry by hand. The big laundry items we sent to a laundress. Using Nellie’s washer and dryer all the time would have been a big imposition, besides the fact the dryer turned the whole place into a sauna. We watched TV and listened to the radio and played 8-track tapes and read. Played a lot of card games on rainy days. We all got good at cribbage. The stove and oven, microwave, refrigerator/freezer all worked fine, just a little smaller than I was used to. We had both air conditioning and a good heater so we were pretty comfortable. The biggest problem was at night when everyone had to go to bed at the same time. Bill and I in the big back bed, John on the bunk bed, Paul and Gil on the fold down dinette table, John Mc on the bench seat and Randy on the floor (they would trade places every couple of weeks.) Didn’t leave much room for anyone to move around.
Once in a while we would take the subway downtown and take in a movie. Usually the subtitles were in Spanish and the movie in English. One that had been translated with English subtitles was a Walter Mathow movie “House Calls” - weird to hear him speaking Spanish. The movies were rated strange. Most movies were rated18 and a very few 14 and just about none for kids under 14. They couldn't even get in with their parents. It was strictly enforced. To get into a bowling alley you had to be 18 too. There really is not much for kids to do if they don’t belong to one of the clubs. Randy took up knitting, Nestor’s wife taught him. He sat for hours knitting away on a black wool neck scarf. He would take it to Nellie for inspection and she would rip it out to the first mistake and he would start over again. He finally finished it before we came home.
Our kids didn’t go to school while we were there. Randy graduated from high school just before we left California. John was in 6th grade, Paul in 4th and Gil in 2nd. We thought about enrolling them but then realized we wouldn’t be able to do much traveling. Were they ever glad. To show up for school in Buenos Aires the kids had to wear white, blousy, long sleeved smocks over their clothes. We really couldn’t picture them dressed that way. When we got back to the states John and Paul were promoted to where they would have been if we hadn’t left. Everyone considered the education they received while traveling would make up for it. Only Gil had to go back into 2nd grade as there were so many basics he missed. It worked out okay though because before we left he had been the youngest in his grade.
Bill’s cousins’ apartment was a couple of blocks from where we were parked and it was empty. They lived in Mar del Plata. So they told us we could use it to take showers and baths if we would paint it for them. So we did - kept us busy for a while. It was always a pleasure to take a real shower and use a lot of water.
Randy and John Mc inquired about getting jobs. But without residency papers they couldn’t work. We didn’t want to touch that can of worms until we knew for sure what we were going to do - stay or go back. Randy’s motorcycle was still in Mar del Plata so they were limited to public transportation to get around.
We spent quite a bit of time at the customs agency Aduanas trying to legalize the motorhome for importation. One time the official would say, “No problem. I’ll show all the papers to the next higher official and he will okay them. Come back next week and we’ll have everything ready.” So back we would go, speak to a different bureaucrat and the answer would be, “No way, it can’t be done.” No one wanted to take the responsibility of issuing the authorization. Every time we were there we would see two to three different people, each one passing us on to someone else. Meanwhile, Bill had to renew his Argentine passport while in Buenos Aires. So we also spent some time at the Immigration office. No problems there, just routine rubber stamping. What might have been a problem came up a few months later when Argentina and Chile decided to have a major dispute over territory and kind of started fighting each other. Technically he could have been recalled to active duty. Nice thought. Nothing came of it though.
Another time we went out into the country to a cattle ranch. It belonged to a friend of Bill’s brother, Francisco. We were treated to a real Argentine Asado.
The older ranch foreman and ranch hands were dressed in authentic Gaucho attire, black blousy pants falling over tall black leather boots and a white shirt with a colorful scarf tied around the neck. The outfit was completed with a leather belt studded with silver wrapped around the waist. The foreman, Carlos, demonstrated to the kids how to use a Boleadora. It is used by the Argentine cowboys instead of a rope like in the US. It has three hard balls made of stone which are then covered with leather and attached to long ropes - the ropes are attached at the end. He made it look so easy, just swing it around over head and let it go. It then flies through the air and wraps around whatever he wants to catch - in this case a fence post. I thought Paul was going to kill himself when he tried it. The balls were bouncing off his head and he was tangled in the ropes before we could say NO!
The Asado has a traditional way to be eaten. A definite order for the food. We had beef and lamb, roasted on spit. Also chorizos (Italian sausage), Morcillas (blood sausage), chinchulines (braided cows intestines), and mollejas (sweet breads). All this accompanied by chimichurri sauce and fresh bread baked in an adobe oven. The food was wonderful, well some of it anyway - didn't think much of the blood sausage myself. All the gauchos had their own silverware - a steak knife and a fork made out of silver and carried in a leather pouch. When they started eating they really dug in, no talking, no slowing down until finished. They were done and we were barely started.
We had another very interesting experience. One of Bill’s childhood friends, Cookie was a Capitan de Navio, a Captain of a naval frigate. He invited us to have lunch with him on the ship. We took the subway down to the harbor and got to the Navy port. After giving our passports to the gate guards we were delayed for a time. A Marine officer came out of the guard house. He had our passports in his hand and wanted to know our business with the ship. Bill told him the Captain had invited us to lunch. “No, no that would not be true. That does not happen. You’re American you must be CIA. You can’t enter this area. “
Bill asked the Marine, “Please call the ship and talk to Capitan Chiocci. Tell him his American cousin is here for lunch. He invited us.”
Finally the Marine went back into the guard house and picked up the phone. He talked and listened all the time never taking his eyes off of us. The guard he left with us was standing at attention and never moved while we were waiting. The Marine saluted the phone, hung it up and came back out to us. He thrust our passports at us and turned to stare down the dock. Never saying a word. At the end we could see a man walking towards us. It was Capitan Chiocci. As he neared the Marine officer stood at attention, completely ignoring us. He and his guard saluted, Capitan Chiocci returned the salute. The guard sharply turned and returned to his post. The Marine walked into the guard house. Bill and Cookie embraced. Introductions were made and we accompanied him to his ship. We ate in the captain’s dining room on linen tablecloths with linen napkins. We had a traditional meal of the country Locro. It is a stew of white corn, vegetables and meats. The ships cook was from the pampas where this stew originated and evolved with the gauchos.
As winter passed into spring we settled into living as normal a life as we could. Writing (unfortunately the electric typewriter decided not to work with the converter - so letters I wrote home got shorter and sloppier) and receiving letters. Filling and emptying tanks. Nester would take Bill to fill the propane tanks when needed. Randy and John Mc would visit the American Embassy to pick up John MCs mail and money from home. The tennis lessons continued - except for Gil - he twisted his foot and it took a while to heal. The older guys learned to play Pelota Paleta- kind of Jaialai like game - but played with wooden paddles instead of baskets. It’s played in a large empty room and is very fast moving. I learned to make gnocchi from scratch and Bill made delicious sauces for them. I also learned to make empanadas, kind of a folded over meat pie that could be deep fried or oven baked. We had found a little store that sometimes had American magazines and books in English so we would visit it and I would stock up. The guys spent time going to soccer games and movies. Everything of course interspersed with visits to government agencies for one thing or another.
We would get our mail sporadically - some within a week, some took a month. Some never came. Some came to Nester’s place, some to the Embassy. All was a pleasure to receive and be read and reread.
As I mentioned before we were also painting the apartment for his cousin. It was almost done and when we finished it we were leaving central Buenos Aires and going to visit friends. In exchange for painting it we got to use the tub and shower. That made a big improvement in our daily living.
Once in a while we would take the subway downtown and take in a movie. Usually the subtitles were in Spanish and the movie in English. One that had been translated with English subtitles was a Walter Mathow movie “House Calls” - weird to hear him speaking Spanish. The movies were rated strange. Most movies were rated18 and a very few 14 and just about none for kids under 14. They couldn't even get in with their parents. It was strictly enforced. To get into a bowling alley you had to be 18 too. There really is not much for kids to do if they don’t belong to one of the clubs. Randy took up knitting, Nestor’s wife taught him. He sat for hours knitting away on a black wool neck scarf. He would take it to Nellie for inspection and she would rip it out to the first mistake and he would start over again. He finally finished it before we came home.
Our kids didn’t go to school while we were there. Randy graduated from high school just before we left California. John was in 6th grade, Paul in 4th and Gil in 2nd. We thought about enrolling them but then realized we wouldn’t be able to do much traveling. Were they ever glad. To show up for school in Buenos Aires the kids had to wear white, blousy, long sleeved smocks over their clothes. We really couldn’t picture them dressed that way. When we got back to the states John and Paul were promoted to where they would have been if we hadn’t left. Everyone considered the education they received while traveling would make up for it. Only Gil had to go back into 2nd grade as there were so many basics he missed. It worked out okay though because before we left he had been the youngest in his grade.
Bill’s cousins’ apartment was a couple of blocks from where we were parked and it was empty. They lived in Mar del Plata. So they told us we could use it to take showers and baths if we would paint it for them. So we did - kept us busy for a while. It was always a pleasure to take a real shower and use a lot of water.
Randy and John Mc inquired about getting jobs. But without residency papers they couldn’t work. We didn’t want to touch that can of worms until we knew for sure what we were going to do - stay or go back. Randy’s motorcycle was still in Mar del Plata so they were limited to public transportation to get around.
We spent quite a bit of time at the customs agency Aduanas trying to legalize the motorhome for importation. One time the official would say, “No problem. I’ll show all the papers to the next higher official and he will okay them. Come back next week and we’ll have everything ready.” So back we would go, speak to a different bureaucrat and the answer would be, “No way, it can’t be done.” No one wanted to take the responsibility of issuing the authorization. Every time we were there we would see two to three different people, each one passing us on to someone else. Meanwhile, Bill had to renew his Argentine passport while in Buenos Aires. So we also spent some time at the Immigration office. No problems there, just routine rubber stamping. What might have been a problem came up a few months later when Argentina and Chile decided to have a major dispute over territory and kind of started fighting each other. Technically he could have been recalled to active duty. Nice thought. Nothing came of it though.
Another time we went out into the country to a cattle ranch. It belonged to a friend of Bill’s brother, Francisco. We were treated to a real Argentine Asado.
The older ranch foreman and ranch hands were dressed in authentic Gaucho attire, black blousy pants falling over tall black leather boots and a white shirt with a colorful scarf tied around the neck. The outfit was completed with a leather belt studded with silver wrapped around the waist. The foreman, Carlos, demonstrated to the kids how to use a Boleadora. It is used by the Argentine cowboys instead of a rope like in the US. It has three hard balls made of stone which are then covered with leather and attached to long ropes - the ropes are attached at the end. He made it look so easy, just swing it around over head and let it go. It then flies through the air and wraps around whatever he wants to catch - in this case a fence post. I thought Paul was going to kill himself when he tried it. The balls were bouncing off his head and he was tangled in the ropes before we could say NO!
The Asado has a traditional way to be eaten. A definite order for the food. We had beef and lamb, roasted on spit. Also chorizos (Italian sausage), Morcillas (blood sausage), chinchulines (braided cows intestines), and mollejas (sweet breads). All this accompanied by chimichurri sauce and fresh bread baked in an adobe oven. The food was wonderful, well some of it anyway - didn't think much of the blood sausage myself. All the gauchos had their own silverware - a steak knife and a fork made out of silver and carried in a leather pouch. When they started eating they really dug in, no talking, no slowing down until finished. They were done and we were barely started.
We had another very interesting experience. One of Bill’s childhood friends, Cookie was a Capitan de Navio, a Captain of a naval frigate. He invited us to have lunch with him on the ship. We took the subway down to the harbor and got to the Navy port. After giving our passports to the gate guards we were delayed for a time. A Marine officer came out of the guard house. He had our passports in his hand and wanted to know our business with the ship. Bill told him the Captain had invited us to lunch. “No, no that would not be true. That does not happen. You’re American you must be CIA. You can’t enter this area. “
Bill asked the Marine, “Please call the ship and talk to Capitan Chiocci. Tell him his American cousin is here for lunch. He invited us.”
Finally the Marine went back into the guard house and picked up the phone. He talked and listened all the time never taking his eyes off of us. The guard he left with us was standing at attention and never moved while we were waiting. The Marine saluted the phone, hung it up and came back out to us. He thrust our passports at us and turned to stare down the dock. Never saying a word. At the end we could see a man walking towards us. It was Capitan Chiocci. As he neared the Marine officer stood at attention, completely ignoring us. He and his guard saluted, Capitan Chiocci returned the salute. The guard sharply turned and returned to his post. The Marine walked into the guard house. Bill and Cookie embraced. Introductions were made and we accompanied him to his ship. We ate in the captain’s dining room on linen tablecloths with linen napkins. We had a traditional meal of the country Locro. It is a stew of white corn, vegetables and meats. The ships cook was from the pampas where this stew originated and evolved with the gauchos.
As winter passed into spring we settled into living as normal a life as we could. Writing (unfortunately the electric typewriter decided not to work with the converter - so letters I wrote home got shorter and sloppier) and receiving letters. Filling and emptying tanks. Nester would take Bill to fill the propane tanks when needed. Randy and John Mc would visit the American Embassy to pick up John MCs mail and money from home. The tennis lessons continued - except for Gil - he twisted his foot and it took a while to heal. The older guys learned to play Pelota Paleta- kind of Jaialai like game - but played with wooden paddles instead of baskets. It’s played in a large empty room and is very fast moving. I learned to make gnocchi from scratch and Bill made delicious sauces for them. I also learned to make empanadas, kind of a folded over meat pie that could be deep fried or oven baked. We had found a little store that sometimes had American magazines and books in English so we would visit it and I would stock up. The guys spent time going to soccer games and movies. Everything of course interspersed with visits to government agencies for one thing or another.
We would get our mail sporadically - some within a week, some took a month. Some never came. Some came to Nester’s place, some to the Embassy. All was a pleasure to receive and be read and reread.
As I mentioned before we were also painting the apartment for his cousin. It was almost done and when we finished it we were leaving central Buenos Aires and going to visit friends. In exchange for painting it we got to use the tub and shower. That made a big improvement in our daily living.
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