Ramblings through and about Buenos Aires

Last weekend my trip was to Colonia del Sacramento, the colonial town across the river in Uruguay.  You might say that I went to Old Sacramento.  I hadn’t realized that the Portuguese got this far south and that Uruguay was the borderland where the Portuguese and Spanish fought it out.  Eventually the Spanish prevailed, so I don’t really understand why Argentina and Uruguay are separate countries. 

As I wander around, I end up with a list of questions to ask my teacher in school the next day.  Sometimes it is about some behavior I can’t understand but usually it is language related.  I took a picture of this sign for my teacher because I had trouble translating it.  It says:  I couldn’t figure out what to wear so I put on happy.

I hadn’t bothered changing any money in Uruguay, so when I went into a minimart to buy a Diet Coke, I asked if they would take Argentine pesos.  They did, but gave me my change in Uruguayan pesos.  No problem.  Later I went to a different minimart that would not take Argentine pesos.  Nor would they take dollars or a credit card.  Only Uruguayan pesos or a debit card.  It is a surreal experience to have hundreds of dollars in my pocket and not be able to afford a soda.

This weekend I made an excursion to an estancia (ranch) for an "authentic gaucho experience."  We did a trail ride where I kept hoping my horse would stay in line and not trot. He did seem to want to once, but I found the brakes, I mean the rein things.   After riding through the fields, we were served “the best empanadas in Argentina.”  I have to say they were the best I have had here.  Then an asada lunch.  First three kinds of sausage.  Then chicken.  Then spare ribs.  When they brought out steak I thought we were done, and I was disappointed that it was a little tough.  But then they brought out another steak that was delicious.  I should have paced myself so I could have had seconds on the real steak.  But I was stuffed by then.  And there was still dessert.

Last weekend I also went to a few museums. The big surprise for me was the Eva Peron Museum. There are still a lot of Peronistas here and I was having trouble understanding what exactly the movement is and why Eva Peron was and remains so popular. I had understood that she was "just" an actress when she met Peron. It turns out that she was a cross between Eleanor Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan. She was "just" an actress for ten years and was quite successful and popular. But she became concerned about the working conditions and low pay for actors, so she joined the union and eventually became president of the actors' union. By the time she met Peron, she had been an activist for years on behalf of women and the working class. Together they created a movement aimed to help the working class and that is why there are still Peronistas, still fighting for the same issues. Among other things, Evita created a halfway house for homeless people with the goal that they would be helped to get work so they could move on to self sufficiency. I saw the same thing when I visited Eleanor Roosevelt's home in Val-Kill. Amazing how the brilliant idea of helping people find work so they can support themselves keeps getting "discovered" in so many different locations and times.

There are a lot of homeless people in Buenos Aires sleeping on the sidewalks or on park benches and as near as I can tell, no one has a problem with them.  They also seem incredibly mess-free. As I have walked around, I have gotten to recognize a few of the regulars.  The most interesting to me is a woman who sleeps on a very high mattress under an arcade across the street from Plaza Mayor which is the big plaza in front of the Casa Rosa.  Literally, the Pink House, it is the Argentine White House named for its distinctive rose colored stones.

I was alternating my route to and from school since there are a lot of parallel streets that I can take, but lately I have taken the same route every day to see what this woman is doing.  On crowded weekday mornings, she is frequently still asleep when I walk by around 9:15.  When I snapped this picture, I thought she was under the covers, but she was up and across the sidewalk, smiling sweetly at me. 

 

The next day, she was reading in bed when I came by.  Another day, she was apparently doing laundry in one of the several large Home Depot sized buckets full of water she has along the curb.  One morning it was raining and I got soaked in my non-waterproof raincoat.  When I turned the corner, she was sitting on her bed reading the newspaper.  I have started to walk this way at other times, too.  On the weekends, the area is deserted, but when I walked by late Saturday afternoon, she had a pizza in a box and was sitting on her bed eating.  There are several things stacked around her and a dog that is always sleeping.  And she is always smiling sweetly.

Most of the homeless that I see are men and they sleep right on the sidewalk, sometimes in a doorway or under an overhang.  Unlike in other Latin American countries I have visited, I have not seen any public bathrooms, so I am rather mystified.  Unlike in America, there are not messes in the street where the homeless are. I had not seen any other elaborate establishments like hers until today, when I took a slightly different route and saw these neatly made beds with no garbage strewn around and no people either.

Needless to say, there are a lot of beggars as well, and not infrequently I see a nursing mother sitting on the sidewalk.  A lot of people, including quite a few children, walk around selling socks or packages of tissues, although I have never seen anyone buying.  When I am sitting in the park, or even inside a restaurant, every five or ten minutes someone tries to sell something to me or just asks for money. And again, I recognize the regulars in my neighborhood.

Right after I moved into my apartment, I realized that I had forgotten to ask when and how the garbage goes out.  I’m such a suburban American! I expect garbage pickup.  It took me three days, but I suddenly realized that there were two large dumpsters practically in front of my front door - one for garbage and one for recycling.  There are similar dumpsters on every block.  You take out your garbage whenever you want and put it in the dumpster, and the trucks come by whenever to empty them.

But … not infrequently, I see people going through the garbage, presumably looking for something to eat or anything that has value.  Sometimes, it is a team of two men - one inside the dumpster and one holding it open and receiving items.  Most mornings, sanitation workers sweep around the dumpsters and the area is completely clean, but by the evening, bags of garbage are strewn about from the men taking out bags and going through them.

No conclusions.  Homelessness and poverty are universal and Argentina’s economy is really bad right now.  I wish I understood better how things are handled here.  Where and how do the homeless eat?

Back to my daily life ... My school is on the fourth floor (that would be the fifth floor in America) of a building two blocks from Plaza Mayor.  It has an ancient cage elevator that has two doors that you slide to open and close.  The elevator will not go unless you close both doors, and when you get off, you have to make sure you close them both.

The more I have walked around Buenos Aires, the more I appreciate my slightly rundown but charming neighborhood of San Telmo. Similarly, I find this antique elevator with two doors that you have to slide closed manually charming except ... on the two occasions in the month that I have been here when the elevator was out of service and I had to walk up (and down) four flights.

Finally in the "I'm definitely an old fogy now" category ... Practically everyone here under the age of 30 or so has tattoos and I find most of them somewhere between unattractive and mystifying. Some people have so many that you can't see any; it is all just a blur. One man had his extremities tattooed in a solid block - no design. Some seem very random. And a lot are words or sentences. The other day I sat behind a young woman wearing a sundress and across her shoulder blades was written: Sitting is allowed standing is obligatory. If you are going to write something on your body you could choose something profound by the Beatles like "love is all you need" or "imagine all the people sharing all the world." But "sitting is allowed standing is obligatory?" This is the message you want to share for your whole life? Am I missing the point? Does it mean stand for something? I am totally mystified, and not just in Spanish.

Iguazu Falls

My plan is to spend a month in Buenos Aires, taking trips each weekend to a different, relatively close place.  Essentially, Buenos Aires is the hub for all flights in Argentina, so while you cannot go directly between two other places, from Buenos Aires I can get anywhere easily.  Even Santiago, Chile, is less than a two hour flight.  So this weekend was … Iguazu Falls.

I ended up booking the weekend with a random travel agency that I found online because the price they quoted me was less than it would have cost me to book everything myself and they coordinated everything.  I got the flights to Iguazu, two nights in a hotel, touring the falls from both sides (Argentina and Brazil),  and transportation to and from the airports.  I was a little nervous on Friday wondering if a driver would show up, but he did - in an air conditioned sedan, practically a limo here.  The airline tickets worked, the hotel expected me, what could go wrong?

Argentine side of Iguazu Falls

Really nothing, but it turned out to be a moderately frustrating weekend.  On Saturday, a van picked me up along with ten other people and the guide took us on a walk on the Upper Circuit on the Argentine side.  The Upper Circuit goes along the top of the falls, with spectacular views down and around.  After lunch, I was scheduled to go on a boat ride to see the falls up close and personal.  But since it was a hot day, I had my hair in a ponytail, and an eagle eyed boat official noticed my hearing aids.  So I got kicked out.  Turns out you can’t go on the boat if you have hearing aids.  I planned on taking them out anyway so they wouldn’t get wet, but it didn’t matter.  It is a safety issue!  What if there is an emergency and they have to yell instructions over the roar of the water?  They wouldn’t believe that I can hear without them.  If I have hearing aids, I must have a “condition” so I couldn’t go on the boat.  I wanted to sneak on anyway but the guide said I had argued too much and they all knew me.  She said I could go the next day from the Brazil side because “they have different rules there.”  Second choice for the few of us who were not on the boat was a walk on the Lower Circuit which really gave a good view.  I would have enjoyed it more if I were not pissed.

On Sunday, we went to the Brazil side which turned out to be spectacular.  Since most of the falls are in Argentina, you can see them better from Brazil.  Also, the best falls are behind an island that you cannot see from Argentina.  Simply spectacular.

Great view from walkway on Brazil side

Then I finally went on my boat ride.  They warned us that we would get wet and suggested leaving everything in a locker.  I decided to bring everything (passport, wallet, phone, and hearing aids (which I took out to keep dry) in my leather daypack and wear my rain slicker over it.  They also encouraged flip flops or barefoot.  Once I got on the boat and realized I was the only one wearing sneakers, I took them off and put them under my slicker as well.

Then we went off for our ride and … it was not what I expected at all.  I thought it was like the Maid of the Mist in Niagara.  We would see the falls from the water level and get a little misty and damp.  Wrong.  It was an amusement park ride.  They took us to one tall cascade and went into it.  Ha Ha.  We got drenched.  So they did it four more times.  I discovered that my rain slicker was not waterproof as I got soaked to the skin.  All of my clothes were sopping wet.  Ha ha.  The only good news is that my leather bag did keep my passport, wallet, and everything else inside dry.  Whew!

Under the waterfall

I had been checking the weather forecast all week before I came to Iguazu and it called for rain and thunderstorms on Saturday and Sunday.  I dressed accordingly.  On Saturday, it never rained and was hot.  I should have worn shorts instead of the black lightweight pants that I thought would be good for rain.  After I got back to the hotel on Saturday, I went to an outdoor restaurant and sat in the sun.  Five minutes after I ordered, it started to rain, and I had to move to a table with an umbrella.  On Sunday morning, my phone said it was drizzling when I was getting dressed, but when I walked outside, it was nice out.  It stayed warm (but I didn’t wear a ponytail near the boat ride) through the ride under the falls.  With the wind and the sun, we started drying out on the ride back when … it started pouring.  It was like still being under the falls.  And when I got back to my hotel, the sun was out and everyone was at the pool.  But of course I had not brought a bathing suit because the weather forecast was for rain all weekend!

The moral of the story:  the gods and the weather were conspiring against me this weekend? Maybe. I always say that every trip cannot be wonderful or you would not know what wonderful is.  Iguazu Falls is one of the seven wonders of the natural world and was incredible to see.  This weekend may have been a bit frustrating but, oh well. I know what wonderful is.  Coincidentally, thanks to my trip to Africa in 2017 and the Salem wedding a few years ago, I have seen the big three falls - Victoria, Niagara, and Iguazu - all in the last six years.  Iguazu was spectacular and Niagara is powerful, but Victoria has my vote for the most impressive.

I have been underwhelmed by Argentine food.  Everyone told me that I would love it because there is so much steak.  But … since I can’t eat dinner at 9:00 at night, I can never go to a really good restaurant.  They don’t even open until 8:30.  I have found enough restaurants that serve food all day, but every Argentine restaurant has the exact same fairly limited menu.  The best steak is confusingly called bife de chorizo.  I thought chorizo was pork sausage, but even in the kosher restaurant Rabbi Ernesto told me to get bife de chorizo.  That turns out to be strip steak which I find tough.  It is harder to find rib eye.  The side dish is always potatoes, usually fries.  When I ask for a salad instead, it is not instead.  I get charged for a salad which is always lettuce, tomatoes, shredded carrots, and sliced onion with oil and vinegar.  The second meat on the menu is called milanesa and is essentially breaded fried steak (or chicken).  And the third meat is bandiola which our bike guide translated as pig elbow. I didn't know pigs had elbows or any meat on them. One day for a change, I ordered costillas which is ribs and got pork chops.  The more casual cafes have a great variety of sandwiches - ten variations of ham and cheese. Argentina does, however, have really good chocolate.

On a happier food note, a young woman in my class last week was the first person I have ever met who eats NO potatoes.  She will eat fries if they are really fried, and not thick and potatoey.  I can forgive that failing.  I was happy to finally meet someone with such a discerning palate.  Also on a happier note, they put onions in everything here.

Back to the economy.  Since the largest bill is $1,000 pesos, the $33,000 pesos I got when I exchanged $100 was more than I could put in my wallet.  But since the banking system is somewhere between inefficient and nonexistent, you cannot transfer large sums of money.  If you are buying a house, you have to hire a private guard, get a suitcase full of bills from the bank, and take it to your closing.

My school has no afternoon activities on Mondays, and it was sunny and 90 degrees, so I went back to Parque Norte to swim after class. I did make it to the park with just one subway ride and a bus transfer, and made it back to my apartment with one, albeit long, bus ride. In order to swim at Parque Norte, you need a “health” inspection.  Last week, a young woman (a nurse?) had me spread the toes on each of my feet, and then bend over and swish my hair around.  Checking for athlete’s foot and head lice?  Not sure, but I passed last week, and got a certificate good for a month. This week I just showed my official certificate and waltzed in.  Although I have to say, the pool is shallow and filled with hundreds of little kids. I suspect the pool has a fair amount of "impurities" in it that the health inspection cannot prevent.

Out and About in Buenos Aires

On my first day of school, I knew that the class they had assigned me to was too basic and I talked to the director about moving up, but she said they didn’t have any groups at my level.  They offered me a private class, but in general, I prefer a group, so I chose to stay and have an easy review week.  That turned out to be a good decision.  On Tuesday, a woman came into the class who had had Covid the week before and did zoom classes, but was now back in person.  Daria turned out to be from San Francisco and had just left her position of thirteen years as Assistant Director of Development at … drumroll … Berkeley Rep.  Since I have been attending plays there for years, we had lots to talk about (in English).  Besides Spanish, this week I learned a lot about what goes on behind the scenes at a theater.

Ricardo, the guide from my bicycle tour, also leads tango tours.  I told him to let me know when he had a group and I would go.  On Monday he texted me that he was taking a British couple on Tuesday night.  Would I like to join them?  Duh!  There are lots of tourist tango shows with professional dancers, but locals go to tango clubs called milongas.  Ricardo is a tango dancer himself, and he explained to us the traditions and subtleties involved.

We met at 10 pm at a milonga aptly named El Beso (The Kiss) where the dance floor is far more crowded than it appears in this picture.  There is not a live band, so there are chairs along all four walls.  The women sit in two long rows on two opposite walls and the men sit on the other two opposite walls.  Even if you come as a couple, dancers do not sit together nor dance only with each other.  There are sets of four dances, with a few minutes break between each set.  During the break, everyone returns to their (separate sex) chairs.  When the music starts for the new set, each man issues a silent invitation to a woman with just his eyes.  The woman nods imperceptibly or looks away.  No public rejections. Only after he has been accepted, does the man walk to the woman and extend his hand.  They dance the set, with a few minutes to talk (and find out each other’s names) during the short interlude between each of the four dances.  Then they all sit down and partner with someone else for the next set.

The tango dance that they do is very stylized, and unlike in the tourist shows, the dancers improvise as they go along.  Ricardo explained the hierachy:  a good woman dancer will not dance with a beginner or an unknown, so although he is a good dancer, if he goes to a new club, he has to be introduced or somehow work his way up.  Also, each milonga has its own personality.  Some are for seniors; some are for younger dancers and the smell of pot permeates.  El Beso was middle of the road and starts at an early hour:  9:30.  Others do not open until midnight or later.  The British couple were tired and left around 11:30.  I had seen a good show and did not want to crimp Ricardo’s action, so I left around midnight too.  Fascinating evening.

Talking between tangos in a set

Each week, a teacher at the school gives a tour (in Spanish) of a different neighborhood of Buenos Aires.  On Wednesday, we went to La Boca - the old, poor neighborhood that is home to the Boca Juniors and their crazy fans. 

It also has a colorful, touristy section and it is the next neighborhood to mine so I had wanted to walk there, but I had heard that La Boca dangerous, and had not been back since my bike tour went there.  The guide said it is safe and well policed until 6 at night, just don’t stay after dark.  Not milonga hours but I am looking forward to wandering around there.

On Saturday Daria and I took a train ride to Tigre, the area that is the gateway to the vast Parana Delta.  Only an hour from downtown Buenos Aires, it also has summer homes and resorts.  From Tigre we took a boat ride to see both the beauty of the delta and the interesting houses.  Then we sat for a while in a cafe and I learned even more about the working of a theater.

My neighborhood, San Telmo, is one of the few to still have old colonial style buildings.  Needless to say, the buildings are not in good shape and the neighborhood was getting a bad reputation.  So someone came up with the idea of holding an antiques market every Sunday, and it worked.  On Sunday I went to the biggest antiques/art market I have ever seen.  The stalls literally went on for a mile on the main street with dozens more on the side streets.  The park where I hang out most nights was stripped of its usual restaurant tables and chairs, and full of antiques.  The only sad thing is that the antiques are relics of MY childhood.  Pushbutton phones.  Are they really antiques?

There were street musicians and a rousing drum band.  It was a huge party all day long.  I had been told that everything is closed on Sundays in Buenos Aires, and that may be true in other neighborhoods, but mine was hopping.

On Monday I went to the local (sorta) public swimming pool - a huge pool complex with soccer fields and basketball courts as well.  It does take two bus rides to get there - if you have a sense of direction and can follow the transportation app on your phone.  Next time I hope to make it in only two rides each way.  Sitting at poolside and reading, I am so happy not to be in the massive storms in Sacramento this week. Another new Spanish word: a swimming pool is a piscina in most places, an alberca in Mexico, and a pileta in Argentina. It is a conspiracy to confuse me.

One last thing about Argentine which makes absolutely no sense.  The official rate of exchange is 175 pesos to the dollar but there is another rate, not exactly black market, which is between 300 and 360 pesos to the dollar.  The second rate is called the blue rate.  All of my guides (including Rabbi Ernesto) said to use the blue rate, and that taking money out of the ATM is the stupidest thing you can do.  (Of course that is exactly what I did when I landed at the airport.) I had not researched this before I came and did not bring a lot of dollars with me to exchange.  It turns out that there are long lines at Western Union because you can somehow transfer money to yourself there and get the blue rate.  I do have a few hundred dollars cash on me, so one day I changed $100 at a local exchange kiosk. They gave me over $33,000 pesos, but since the largest bill is $1,000 pesos, I received a wad that was far too large to fit into my wallet. I did happen to get lucky, however.  Totally unbeknownst to me, two weeks before I got here, the credit card companies started offering close to the blue rate.  So as long as I charge everything, it costs half as much as taking money out of the bank and paying cash.  Go figure.  Does this make any sense at all?

Touring Buenos Aires

My quick orientation to Buenos Aires included a Wednesday afternoon tour of the Plaza Major (historic downtown), an all day bike tour of the city on Thursday, a Saturday morning walking tour of the upper class neighborhoods, and a Sunday morning walking tour of my decidedly not upper class neighborhood - San Telmo.  The highlight, however, turned out to be the all day tour I took on Friday of Jewish Buenos Aires.

The tour seemed a bit mysterious to me.  There was no central meeting point; instead, I was to be picked up at my apartment.  Hmmm.  I confirmed the pickup with the guide, Ernesto Yattah, and he dutifully arrived at 10 in a taxi - a slightly schlumpy man of about sixty in blue slacks and a blue polo shirt.   I got in the taxi with him and we returned to the Plaza Major.  It turned out that there was supposed to be another couple with us but they had canceled.  Needless to say, I was not the least bit disappointed to have a private guide for a day.

Before beginning the tour, Ernesto suggested that we tell each other about ourselves.  I’m not good at elevator talks, but I tried to give my background in a few minutes.  Then he told me his which I found far more interesting.  Ernesto was the youngest of five children in a non-religious Syrian Jewish family that had left Syria, I believe, in the 1930’s.  After one’s bar mitzvah in Buenos Aires, a boy is expected to lay tefillin for a month.  Ernesto did so and was so moved that he continued to pray daily, much to his parents’ disappointment.  They then sent him to the top high school in Buenos Aires, which is very Christian.  He excelled at school, but did not lose his fire for Judaism and decided to become a rabbi.

After high school, Ernesto went to Bar Ilan University in Israel and wanted to stay.  He told his parents he would not leave Israel unless they came to get him.  So they did.  I’m unclear of the transition here, but he ended up in New York where he attended Columbia and JTS (Jewish Theological Seminary), fulfilling his goal of becoming a rabbi.

Good side story:  The high school Ernesto attended in Buenos Aires has an extra year so graduates usually entered college with a year of college credit.  Ernesto lost this benefit when he went to Bar Ilan and then Columbia, but when he arrived at the latter, he heard about AP credit.  So he went to the dean and asked to have his advanced high school classes accepted for college credit.  Besides, he spoke English, Spanish, and Hebrew fluently and was versed in a few other languages.  The dean laughed at him.  AP credit for high school in South America!!! Who are you kidding?  But the dean told him to go to the various department heads and see if he could test out of some classes.  He started with the math department, took a test, and received 9 credits (three classes).  Next the physics department - 9 credits.  In chemistry, only 6 credits (he said he wasn’t as strong in chemistry.)  At the end of the day, after visiting several other departments, Ernesto had 36 credits - an entire year’s worth.

After graduating from Columbia and receiving smicha from JTS, Ernesto took a position in Houston, as the second rabbi at the largest Conservative synagogue in the US.  He stayed there for many years.  Again, I can’t remember the number of years or the transition, but eventually, he decided to return to Buenos Aires but not to a pulpit.  In part, because the lifestyle is so difficult.  But also, he came up with the idea of offering tours of Jewish Buenos Aires.  Look, he said, when I was a pulpit rabbi, no matter how brilliant my sermon was, after ten minutes everyone started looking at their watches and saying, time to wrap up now.  As a tour guide, people want me to talk to them, and I can go into depth to explain things.  I can attest that he lectured to me for over five hours and I never looked at my watch once.

And last detail … Ernesto is a tour guide in the summer, which of course it is now.  During the academic year he is busy with his day job - dean of the rabbinic school in Buenos Aires.  He is also involved in international ecumenical work and showed me his picture with Pope Francis last year.

Did I stumble onto the perfect guide for me?

I can’t do justice to Argentine and Jewish Argentine history in this post.  Buenos Aires was founded twice.  The original settlors in 1536 did not survive, many succumbing (literally) to the local cannibal tribes.  The second settlement in 1580 was successful, and Ernesto attributed much of the commercial success to Portuguese crypto-Jews.  When he first mentioned crypto-Jews I politely informed him that I thought they were more myth than reality.  He asked me why I thought that, and I gave him two cogent reasons.  He, equally politely, accepted those reasons, and then over the course of the next hour explained the specifics of Portuguese crypto-Jews in Argentina.  I’m still skeptical about Spanish crypto-Jews, but I’m sold completely on his theory and explanations.

Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi
The Franciscans aided the crypto-Jews

The anomalous Greek temple facade of the Cathedral of Buenos Aires

Inside is a memorial to the Holocaust

The crypto-Jews, of course, left little documentary evidence and did eventually disappear from history.  The story of modern Argentine Jews is very similar to the US experience that I know well:  German Jews beginning around 1860 and Eastern Europeans starting in the 1880’s.  Living in the Buenos Aires equivalent of the Lower East Side, with the children moving uptown to better neighborhoods.

The recent history of the Jews in Buenos Aires was marred by the bombing of the Israeli Embassy in 1992 and the bombing of the Jewish Community Center (AMIA) in 1994. We visited the latter site and had a fascinating discussion (well, mostly Ernesto talked and I listened) about whodunnit. No one has ever claimed "responsibility" and the two most likely perpetrators are the Syrian government and the Iranian government. Fascinating political background.

It does appear to me that Buenos Aires is the most melting pot place I have ever been.  While the Spanish were the first settlors and established the language, there was open immigration for years that attracted not only Jews but Italians (half the immigrants) British, Scots, and a host of others - primarily European.  There was a genocide of the native population and much racial intermarriage, so everyone looks vaguely European, but not from a specific country.  Unlike in Mexico, I do not stand out here.

Thanks to the huge Italian immigration, Italian names are common here.  Maradona?  Messi?  These are not Spanish names.  Also, the Argentinian accent (in Spanish) sounds a lot like Italian; the Argentinians talk loud and throw their hands around a lot. Somewhat bizarrely, Argentina was part of the British Empire for 46 days after a British invasion in 1806.  They could have joined the English speaking world.  Argentina was an economic powerhouse from 1860 to 1930 and, for a while, it was not clear which Western Hemisphere country would become a world superpower.  Sadly, bad government and horrendous economic policies have turned Argentina into a third world country.  But with a first world population.