Roll back a few years in history, make that nearly 20, and I was in art school in New York, and with my first boyfriend Robert, still waking up about my sexuality and other things of adulthood. As a California native, my family was far away, but Robert’s family instantly accepted me and embraced me. For 6 and a half years, he and I were never open about our relationship to his parents, but later, after it had ended, we found out that we were fooling no one. It really didn’t matter one way or another, as I always have felt a strong love from Jim and Maggie, as family. We spent countless weekends in their home in suburban New Jersey, combing yard sales, grilling hamburgers, telling stories, and just spending a quiet time in an oasis away from the city.

Being that his parents were 40 years older than Robert, they were already retired when I met them. Maggie has an engaging colorful personality. Well, a charming nuttiness, maddening to Robert at times, but a person completely unmasked. Jim was a World War II navy veteran and had recently retired as chief of the local fire department when I first met him. Both never traveled farther than a few hundred miles from home, but Jim told stories about his days in the Pacific with the merchant marines and before that growing up in Long Island City, Queens, as the son of Irish immigrants. And he and I shared many glasses of Jim Beam.

Robert and I were also partners in art, and our collaborative work was well received. We were graduating with honors from the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan in 1990, but shrugged off attending the graduation to receive that recognition. Instead we went to Europe for a few weeks. In Ireland, we looked for the home of Jim’s parents or grandparents. Along the way we were received generously by members of his family, and made our way to an out-of-the-way corner in th northwest, crisscrossing the infamous border with Northern Ireland, guarded by soldiers with large canons. Incredibly verdant and beautiful, the countryside that is. We arrived at what appeared to be an ancient ruin, a stone house that was once the home of James McCormack’s family. After returning to New York (and New Jersey) we had stories to share with Robert’s parents on the front porch in the evening with the familiar concert of cicades and crickets in the background.

I have not been as close touch with Robert and his family for several years, but chat with Robert at times, and occasionally visit his folks in New Jersey. (Nothing has changed in that house.) Back when Robert and I were together, Jim had successfully battled throat cancer, not from smoking but from fire-fighting. Robert has been out of touch for a while, and I found just a couple weeks ago why. His dad has not been doing so well, due to his heart and other complications, and Robert has been his full-time care-giver. Well, just last Thursday evening James Michael McCormack passed away. I am thousands of miles away from New Jersey, but I miss Jim.

We have just arrived safely in Buenos Aires. Thursday before last, my boyfriend Guille (Guillermo) and I set out to visit his friend Pato who lives in the province of Chaco. We call her “Pato Chaco” so as not to confuse her with my friend Pato, who we refer to as “Pato Macho.” He’s hardly seething with machismo, actually sensitive and gay, but macho here means male. My dog Clyde is un perro macho, though he’s castrated. The full name of Pato Macho is Patricio and Pato Chaco’s is Patricia, the final “o” and “a” signify male or female. To confuse things more, Patricia’s last name is Blanco, the male form of the word for white.

Back to the near present: Last Thursday we left for the province of Chaco, more than 1000 kilometers north of Buenos Aires. Though I have been living in Argentina for a few years now I had only driven a car once before here, and aside from adjusting to the given that stop signs here meaning nothing, it was not terribly difficult. I rented the car from a place in the neighborhood, a nearly new Ford Ka compact. With Fernando Peña on the radio, we set out on Avenue 9 de Julio during rush hour; with 10 lanes in either direction and no one paying attention to the lanes, it was a real derby, but soon enough we were on the highway leaving the city.

Leaving the province of Buenos Aires one crosses a spectacular bridge in the direction we are going and after paying the toll, you are instantly greeted by a checkpoint. The police confront each car and either wave you past or motion you to stop or pullover. Well, we were stopped.

The officer asked for the car registration and insurance and my drivers license. He slowly looked through it all and asked us for a blue card. I asked what that was. He said it’s an official authentication, stamped by a legal agent, from the owner of the vehicle that proves that I am authorized to drive the car. According to him, without that there is no way to tell that we had not stolen the car. It did not matter that I presented the rental contract from the agency with my name on it. He suggested that since we were only 1 hour from where we started that we return to ask for the blue card. We thanked him and continued on our way with no intent of returning to Buenos Aires. We knew that was chamuyo (bullshit) but we didn’t know that that was only the beginning of our tense encounters with the police of the province of Entre Ríos.

Entre Ríos is a very green province. There is a lot of cows and farms there, like in most of rural Argentina, but like the name of the province suggests, it is surrounded by two large rivers. On the east boundary is the River Uruguay, and the city of Gualeguaychu which has the best-known Carnaval of Argentina. It attracts tourists from all over the world, and has also more topically it has been famous for blockading bridges to neighboring Uruguay. These protests are to prevent the construction of paper mills on the Uruguay side of the river, by Spanish and Finish corporations, which could seriously harm the environment of the river for both countries. Not even meetings between the presidents of Argentina, Uruguay, and Spain, and hearings in the Hague, have been able to resolve this conflict. A little further up the River Uruguay is the town Colón is a popular riverfront town with pristine beaches that attract thousands of Argentine visitors from Buenos Aires.

On the west boundary is the River Paraná. It is a river with roots in the Amazon in Brasil and cascades over the spectacular Iguazú Falls. Downstream in Entre Ríos it’s transformed somewhat into a red-brown color from the turbidity of the soil. Rich with fish, the Paraná is popular for sport fishing. At the south end of Entre Ríos both rivers merge into a delta and form the Rio de la Plata, the immense river that runs past the city of Buenos Aires and eventually into the Atlantic Ocean.

We head between the two rivers, and straight into the middle of the province, where there is not too much more than farms, ranches and more farms and ranches. And a lot of hardly touched forest and plains. Argentina has such a low population density, that there are many areas that are untouched or hardly touched. I like traveling through desolation, something meditative about it. But also this was the most direct route to where we were heading northward to the provinces of Corrientes and Chaco. This day we planned to stop over in La Paz. At the north end of Entre Ríos, along the River Paraná, La Paz has beaches and forest and hot springs. A seemingly perfect retreat to pass an afternoon and night.

Well, that experience with the first police checkpoint put a small damper on all this, but not too bad, we played it as well as possible. Except for one thing. We were on the wrong route. After 10 kilometers or so we realized this and turned around to pass the same checkpoint and same toll bridge. We were all ready to explain that we were heading back to Buenos Aires to get a blue card, even though the police officer probably had never expected us to actually do that. Like people in the US who travel with a thermos of coffee, all Argentines travel with a mate and a thermos of hot water. At this point Guille began the practice to lift our mate at each checkpoint, to make it visible so that we would appear as much like normal drivers as possible. We didn’t even see the cop who had recently greeted us at the bridge, and made our way back to the Buenos Aires side of the river, and then back over to the Entre Ríos side via another bridge.

We were now on our way finally. Totally relaxed, driving along, looking forward to arriving in La Paz in the afternoon. But very soon we hit another checkpoint. This cop told us to pull over between two other cars that were recently pulled over. I had to put the mate down and handed over the registration, insurance card, and my New York State license, as the police officer had asked for. I began to make stupid comments about whatever I observed as a way to relax us. Directly along side of us were a couple dozen cars that looked like they had been there some time, and Guille and I wondered aloud if they had all been seized.

The officer returned and mentioned nothing about a blue card as did his colleague previously, so it seemed to be going ok. After asking me questions about why a yanqui like me is in Argentina and Entre Ríos, he explained in nice words that in Argentina it is the law to have the headlights on even during the day. Not just on, but with high-beams, he emphasized several times. Mine were off. I respectfully agreed and apologized, and added that more than being the law, that driving with headlights lit is safer. My Spanish is pretty good now, but when he started walking away and Guille followed him it was obvious I didn’t understand something, and Guille had to come back to explain to me that we were asked to get out of the car and follow him.

We went to the side of the road to a small brick and plaster building where we all sat around a desk like civilized people. The officer was pretty fat with the reddest eyes I have ever seen in someone who didn’t reek of alcohol. I guess he’s an officer with training. He pulled out a sheet of paper to show us, a grid of numbers and dollar amounts. He pointed to the top of the paper where there was an official number, as if to demonstrate that it was in fact authentic, just in case we had doubts. The paper was confusing enough to appear official, with law descriptions accompanied by their codes, and with columns of various prices. Basically every infraction had a base price of 300 pesos, with discounts or increases, depending on when you pay it. He pointed to the one that corresponded to my infraction, and explained that I could pay something like 268 pesos now or later on pay 380 pesos. I understood immediately what the game was to tempt me with the lesser of 2 evils, and though it was significantly more money I asked to pay 380 pesos later. Later on, Guille explained that this is also a good strategy because these infractions are easy to get dismissed.

But Gordo didn’t want me to take that option. He knew that we were at the beginning of a travel and primed with cash, and I even admitted that we had enough on hand. But I added that we would rather not cut short the trip. He was very understanding and invited us into another room. At that point I realized it was best that I keep my mouth shut and let Guille manage things. The cop asked about how much money we had and sympathized with us that the fine is very extreme. He suggested that with a “colobración” (handout) he could send us on our way. 100 pesos even did the trick, and we wasted no time getting back to the car and driving off. Even though fastened seat belts are also prescribed by law, it was wiser to take care of that detail a few hundred meters down the road. But the high-beams were definitely lit.

We were on our way into the middle of Entre Ríos. It is not the busiest route but important enough that gigantic buses and trucks pass through this part. We passed through a few more checkpoints and in addition to holding the mate visible, we adopted a laugh. The cops in Entre Ríos do not take well to people who get all heavy and serious. The laugh we adopted, and used in every instance we spotted a police officer, was not a guffaw; a civilized ha-ha-ha-ha (that’s “jajajaja” in spanish) that says, “I am amused by all this just like you are.”

We arrived in La Paz without being stopped again. The beaches there were small and not so sandy, and Guille refused to go in, but I was all too eager to get in the water. I loved it, knowing the fish in me. We camped in this enchanted eucalyptus forest that overlooks the river, in a modest campground that was very peaceful with few people. At night we cooked asado (barbecue) over wood and it was “espectacular.” After a good night’s sleep in the tent, the next day we went to the thermal baths. This was a complex of 9 pools, some like large swimming pools, and others smaller. All were clean and well-maintained, and distinct temperatures were posted. It was hot and humid, semi-tropical, so I was skeptical about throwing myself in hot water. But it was so sublime, floating in saline hot mineral water. Blissful is a good word. I tried every pool from the hottest at 39C (102F) to the mildest at 34C. We ate sandwiches of leftover meat from the night before and walked a trail down the the river front where I threw myself into the cooler fresh water. After several hours at this retreat, the foot I broke 3-1/2 years ago never felt better and we hit the road, feeling all relaxed and rubbery and re-charged.

To the north we went, eventually to meet up with Pato Chaco late that night. Coincidentally, in front of an asado restaurant named Chori Pato. Though she lives in the province of Chaco, we traveled with her to the province of Corrientes, just across the river. This is the same river, the Paraná, but here it’s upstream, and even more tropical. The water is clear and turns along the north border between Argentina and Paraguay, a bit closer to Iguazú Falls and the Amazon much further upstream. We had another 2 days of bliss, camping again on a cliff overlooking the river in a town named Itá Ibaté.

The campsite was a lot more crowded than the in La Paz, but generally friendly. There were many Correntinos (from the province of Corrientes) and Brazilian tourists. We cooked asado again, but this time with more vegetables than meat since Pato is vegeterian, sort of. The riverfront was just steps down a short trail so we made several trips down to the beach during the day, and even enjoyed midnight swims in the tepid water under the moonlight. There was even a simple bar there that served ice cold beer till late at night.

In Corrientes the police were very pancho (laid back). We never encountered a problem, and when driving most checkpoints seemed abandoned, with the officers sitting off to the side in the shade sipping mate or whatever. After a few days, we were on our way back to Buenos Aires, and the entire province Entre Ríos was between us and our destination, but so was La Paz and its thermal waters, which we decided deserved an encore. Guille and I arrived in La Paz late afternoon the same day, and went directly to the hot springs. The complex is open till 11:30 pm and you can leave and return as much as you want with a single admission of 12 pesos per person. We stayed till closing and camped in the Eucalyptus forest that night.

We left very early the next morning, before the sun rose, and set out into the middle of Entre Ríos again. The road has many potholes in parts, but I enjoyed the drive. I spotted lots of interesting birds that I could not identify. At one point we napped on the side of the road, savoring the fresh air.

After that, we began to cross police checkpoints at various junctions, and at one they stopped us and asked for the documentation. I couldn’t find my license. I thought the police officer had asked me to come with him so I followed him. Between all the other checkpoints, my license ended up shuffled in with registration and insurance card. The moment I located the license I proudly presented it to him. He turned to me puzzled because, he had already said I could go. Realizing that, I snapped back to the car and we took off.

Further along, we hit more checkpoints and at one there was a menacing fat guy looking us down. This gordo was not so pleasant, and motioned to me to pull over to the side of the road, and requested the usuals. He said nothing about the blue card, the lights were lit, our seat-belts on, everything in order. He takes all my identification over to the side to confer with the other officers. This took maybe 5 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. He comes back and says that my foreign drivers license is not valid in Argentina. We explained that the rental agency said it was OK, and not one other police officer questioned it before. He asked me to get out of the car and Guille followed. We had just filled up for gas for the final time, and I as careful to keep only about 50 pesos in my wallet. As Guille coached me, I had the rest of my cash stashed in another place, safe from the police.

I soon realized why the first cop was such a jerk, it was the “good-cop/bad-cop” game. We went into a small office constructed below the bank of the road where there was an older, more pleasant gentleman, Sergeant Fernando Veldez. Here he pulled out the official sheet and indicated prices similar to the one before. But he wouldn’t grant me the option to pay later since I was not a citizen. We hemmed and hawed and I showed him how little money I had. Still no resolution so Guille went to the car and brought back some more money, actually the last few pesos he had. In all we gave up 110 pesos this time. We had asked the sergeant to leave us a few pesos for the tolls and to eat, and he did. That reminded me of some years ago when two friends of mine were mugged in New York and they begged the mugger to leave them with subway fare, and he obliged.

He gave us an official receipt with official-looking figures on it that totaled to 110.43 pesos. With that, if there was a problem again, my license we would be fine, supposedly. We drove on and passed a few more checkpoints and when we finally crossed the bridge to the province of Buenos Aires, I felt safe again. And we said “fuck you” to Entre Ríos. (Though, I am am told that the only police in Argentina worse than the ones in Entre Ríos are the ones in the province of Buenos Aires, outside of the capital.)

It is a shame. Entre Ríos is a beautiful place, and reasonably close to where I live in the city of Buenos Aires, but I will never go back. At least not in an auto.

Sigue mi propuesta para el “Festival de la Luz,” el agosto de 2008.
Y por ahí­ hay un ejemplo como instalar la obra.

Como un varon, yo entro a baños publicos con mingitorios casi todos los dias. Varias cosas allá me llaman la atención. Empecé con la obra en 2004 en mis primeros dias en Buenos Aires. En muchos baños de Argentina hay justo dos mingitorios, uno al lado del otro, de un diseño sencillo. Es como un dí­ptico preparado para una operación bastante personal.

Seguí­ después de las primeras imágenes, la mayoria en Buenos Aires, y algunas de otros lugares incluyendo New York City. Este proyecto todaví­a no termina, y no sé si va a terminar. En cualquier momento que estoy en un baño, en un restaurante, bar, lo que sea, y me da una composicion que corresponde con la obra, y en ausencia de otra gente, la registro.

Hace noventa años Marcel Duchamp presentó “La Fuente” (y por casualidad pasó un tiempo en Buenos Aires en la misma epoca), y mi obra es en parte un homenaje a él. Pero hoy tenemos estas fotos sobre las formas, las manchas, el ambiente, la repeticion y los cambios. Entre las imagenes hay temas recurientes y distintas diferencias.

Para exponer estas imagenes, las armo todas en forma de grilla, cada foto de un tamaño de 15 por 10 centí­metros.

Michael Kay
Buenos Aires, Noviembre, 2007

The holiday season is near in Buenos Aires so it’s getting hot. Makes for nice walks with my dog Clyde no matter what the hour. We pass through Parque Lezama near where I live a couple times a week. It is a big lush park, with Jacaranda and Ceibo trees now in bloom. There are several stray dogs there I know, and sometimes I think of grabbing one.

For example, there is this cute creature you see to the right. It’s this stray I see in the park all the time with Clyde. And there is another one named “Chicho” who is much more sizeable, a dark shepherdish mutt, and 100% amor. Sometimes Chicho follows us home and waits outside. The first time this happened I was concerned since I at the time lived on a very busy street. I phoned my friend Nacho, who knows Chicho, and assured me that he does the same with many dog owners, always making his way back to the park. For some reason all the dogs here, female and male, seem to love licking Clyde’s genitals. Not sure what it is. I love when it makes the owners uncomfortable that their macho dog is being “gay.”

I have started collecting photos of stray dogs in Buenos Aires. (Certainly that will be the subject an upcoming photo series here.) There are so many strays here, but most are well-cared-for. People leave food out for these cats and dogs, and the strays are usually not too skinny. One time Clyde consumed an entire plate on gnochi in the park, and another time a slab of beef ribs. The street animals eat better than some people here. Seriously. And Clyde doesn’t help the imbalance, as he always seems to charm food from homeless people, like this dude who took out this slab of ham and served Clyde a big chunk (after taking a bite himself to prove it was ok). Furthermore, every police station in Buenos Aires has at least one or a few strays outside accompanying the police officers.

Maybe there will eventually be fewer strays here. I have seen a change of awareness over the 3 years as Argentines used to be so surprised that I had had my dog castrated. Now I see signs insisting that people not abandon their animals; and there is a van that comes to within a block of my apartment every few months to offer free castration to dogs and cats. People line up for this. The government also offer free rabies shots at times. Not too bad a deal.

I came across this new browser today, Flock. I haven’t heard much buzz about it yet, but it seems pretty cool. It uses the Mozilla rendering engine (same as Firefox) and adds features such as integration with Facebook, Flickr, de.licio.us, and a few other such sites, plus other features like an integrated clipboard and blog editor. And many Mozilla Add-ons will work with Flock too.

I tried to used the blog editor to post this item, and failed. Well, that may be because it doesn’t specifically support WordPress, which I use. Still, I am wondering what advantage it has, since many options are not available here that I would have by directly editing it in the web page, which I can open in any browser. But the integration with Flickr and Facebook seems more compelling as well-thought-out modules in the browser.

I’ll see how it goes from more use, but at first glance it seems like a good fruit from the Mozilla project being open source.