Cops and Robbers

Cops and Robbers (Guardie e ladri) is a 1951 Italian film directed by Mario Monicelli (1915–2010, considered one of the greatest Italian comedy directors) and Steno (1915–1988, Steno was the stage name of Stefano Vanzina).

The film is categorized on IMDb as a Comedy and Drama.

It is considered part of the Italian neorealist cinema movement. This refers to the post-war cinema that spanned from 1945 until approximately the early 1960s. Neorealism shows social reality as something one must commit to, raising issues that demand reflection (Rossellini).
At the same time, it is classified within the genre known as Commedia all'italiana, an Italian film genre that lasted from the early 1950s to the early 1980s.

It won the Best Screenplay award (Pietro Tellini) at the 1951 Cannes Film Festival.
The plot revolves around a thief (Totò, Antonio de Curtis) who robs tourists and has the bad luck of crossing paths again with one of his victims—an American—who pursues him alongside a police officer (Aldo Fabrizi). The officer catches him, but the thief manages to escape. The chief of police informs the officer that he is suspended and will face prosecution in thirty days unless he recaptures the thief who escaped within that timeframe. Thus, he begins a personal search.

At first, the film feels quite naive, almost crude, and somewhat childish. However, a few aspects should be kept in mind: the translation issue—perhaps watching it with subtitles in the original language changes things. It is also worth considering that both lead actors are comedic professionals. Even the supporting cast delivers good performances, especially the wives of both main characters and the children.

Later, the film takes a turn, and the acting becomes more believable; there is a shift in tone, which occurs after the foot chase.

The foot chase is somewhat strange: it features an overweight police officer who naturally runs slowly, chasing an older and potentially ill thief who also runs slowly. The same applies to the secondary characters involved.

One must consider that the events take place in post-war Italy, while the Marshall Plan is in effect across Europe. The American influence can be seen through the robbery victim, the distribution of supplies to children, and the music the young woman listens to on the radio. Italy is in a period of reconstruction, and this is depicted throughout the film. Keep in mind that the children in the film were born almost entirely during the war.

It is interesting to observe life at that time: the way people dressed, the houses, the interior and exterior settings, the suburbs, the transition from the city to the surrounding areas, and the lives of ordinary people. In fact, everyone is of humble means—some could be considered middle class and others lower class. Everything that makes up the urban landscape—from car traffic and neighborhood soccer to the warehouses and the buildings (large, old structures, meaning four or five stories tall, but with high dimensions)—adds to the atmosphere.

During the foot chase, it is best to listen to it entirely in Italian; I enjoyed it more than the Spanish translation. It is far more enjoyable.

After the scene in the precinct office between the officer and his chief—which is, by the way, very good—the comedy shifts: the dialogues become more sophisticated, meaningful, and elaborated. The situation transforms from that point on, marking, in my opinion, where the film truly gets good.

The musical score is also very appropriate for every scene—when the foot chase begins, when he enters his home, etc.

Something that caught my attention was when the police officer orders a coffee at the local neighborhood bar and it is served in a low, round cup. I wondered: was that custom at the time? Is it still served that way in some places? Did they simply not have any other cups? My only reference point is the coffee served today in any Buenos Aires cafe in 2014.

Another detail that caught my attention was the absence of handcuffs on the police officer; he used a chain instead. Was it really like that? Was that how police officers operated? Or was it just a comedic device to generate humor by pushing things to the absurd? I imagine traditional handcuffs used by a regular police officer—an indispensable fixture in American cinema—although nowadays, in 2014, some police forces can be seen using regular plastic zip ties during arrests.

Links to the movie page on FilmAffinity and IMDb: http://www.filmaffinity.com/es/film935768.html http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0043606/

This film is included in the "100 Italian Films to be Saved" list—a project created by Venice Days (Giornate degli Autori) at the Venice Film Festival. Its purpose is to record the "100 films that changed the collective memory of the country between 1942 and 1978," supported by the Ministry of Cultural Heritage.

Naturally, like any definitive list, it may have left out some other films, but it remains an added recognition for those selected and included on the list.

Link to the list of "100 Italian Films to be Saved": http://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/100_film_italiani_da_salvare http://www.repubblica.it/popup/servizi/2008/lista_film/lista.html

Trip to Bernal

 (5 nov 2014 ) Today, I took a trip from Capital Federal to Bernal in the Province of Buenos Aires. After learning how to get there early in the morning, I went to the Retiro terminal area, specifically where the local bus stops are located. There, I found Line 22, which was the one that would take me.
Line 22 briefly covers the route Retiro-Microcentro-Avellaneda-Wilde-Bernal-Quilmes. Its buses are light green. When I arrived, there was a small queue boarding one of the buses, so I decided to wait for the next one, which arrived immediately and was soon boarding.

To read a brief historical review of this line, you can visit this link: www.loscolectivos.com.ar/22.htm

Since it wasn't a sightseeing trip, I didn't take photos, but I couldn't stop observing from the bus, and it occurred to me that I could comment on the route—at least what I remember—using Google Maps screenshots instead of photos.

The first thing you see leaving Capital and entering Avellaneda is a gigantic iron structure rising in front of the Riachuelo. The work is called "Coloso de Avellaneda" (Colossus of Avellaneda), and it is a monument located on the Pueyrredón Bridge paying homage to "the shirtless (descamisados) of the 21st century." The work was created by artists Alejandro Marmo and Daniel Santoro, and the figure represents a 15-meter-tall shirtless man holding a picture of Evita under his arm. It is located crossing the Riachuelo. It was inaugurated in 2013.www.perfil.com/politica/Un-descamisado-de-15-metros-se-levanta-en-Avellaneda-20130508-0028.html As seen in the image, Google Maps blurred the monument's face so that it wouldn't be recognized.

The bus takes a long time to complete the route until leaving Capital; after that, it speeds up since it travels almost entirely along routes and highways—less traffic and higher speed make the journey faster.

I don't remember if it passes along Mitre Ave. in front of Plaza Alsina on the way there, but I know it does on the return route. In Plaza Alsina, you can find the monument to Nicolás Avellaneda, a 1913 work created by the sculptor Lola Mora. Nicolás Avellaneda was President of the Argentine Nation from 1874 to 1880, and Adolfo Alsina was Minister of War during part of Avellaneda's presidency, from 1874 to 1878. The monument is made of Carrara marble with a granite base and stands 10.5 meters high. To learn more about this work, you can visit this webpage with abundant information: www.lolamorawine.com.ar/historia/obras/laindependenciaobra/194-monumento-avellaneda.html

A few blocks from Plaza Alsina, but on another avenue, Belgrano Ave., is the "Dr. Pedro Fiorito" General Interzonal Acute Care Hospital. I don't have much to say about this hospital. I've heard its name a lot, mostly in the media, but nothing more than that.

The bus continues and reaches the intersection of Belgrano Ave. and General Paz Ave., still in Avellaneda. At this intersection, the first thing we see is a colorful municipal water tank. They certainly brought joy and visibility to the boring grays or whites as they are usually seen. There are no major additional references.

In front of the Water Tank, practically on the corner of what appears to be a very small boulevard (though its name is not indicated, and I doubt whether it is closed to traffic at the end or if it just can't be seen, as no vehicles are seen driving through and even the Google Maps car didn't enter), there is a small monument that also cannot be identified. It seems to be a figure with indigenous features—at least in the way it is presented. Only the face is visible, and I couldn't identify the material it's made of—whether it is wood, cement, or something else. It is brown and looks like wood, but I cannot confirm it.

In this second photograph, you can better see the features of the small monument. It is something relatively recent because I searched on Google Maps and it appears, but searching on Panoramio, I found that a few years ago it wasn't there, and in that same place or very nearby, there was another monument that is no longer there.

Indeed, on Panoramio, user Tintapixel.com.ar uploaded a photo in 2007 as a documentary record of that other white monument representing a female figure. Who knows if it had a name and/or author, or if it was just another standard decorative piece like any of those sold to decorate gardens. www.panoramio.com/user/246378http://www.panoramio.com/photo/2110242

Back around 2007–2008, comments on that photo (which can still be seen on the web) mentioned some small pieces of wood barely visible in the photo, stuck to the wall with something written on them. Apparently, some bus passed by there, and an observant passenger saw the wooden pieces on the wall but couldn't read their text. Today, they are no longer there.

Crossing General Paz Ave., still along Belgrano Ave., is Plaza Lolita Torres, where you can see a sort of Owl, or something similar, fairly rudimentary, but with clearly marked eyes and beak, as well as the top of its head.

Some plaques can also be seen along the plaza path, impossible to read from the bus.

Reaching Castelli Street on Mitre Ave., right on that corner enclosed by a wall, rises a sort of brick chimney that gives the impression of being very old. Indeed, it is a sewer ventilation pipe—a ventilation chimney for the main sewer trunk, built as a National Health and Sanitation work at the end of the 19th century.

One block further, you spot a red metallic bridge. There is more than one of these; they are viaducts belonging to the Bullrich Circuit of the General Roca Line. This particular bridge is located right before reaching Aquino Street. Crossing this viaduct, we enter what is known as Crucesita or Crucecita. How is it spelled? Crucesita or Crucecita? Depending on what you read on the web, it appears both ways; the RAE dictionary has no definition for either. I will call it Crucecita. It is a neighborhood in the Avellaneda Municipality.

The bus continues all along Mitre Ave., the main avenue in Avellaneda. It passes Sarandí Station, Villa Domínico, Wilde, and Bernal before reaching Quilmes. Once in Sarandí, on Mitre Ave. at the intersection with Supisiche, there is a small monument, apparently from a Rotary Club, identified by the cogwheel emblem that marks Rotary clubs.

Further ahead, at Mitre Ave. and Gral. Chenault, we find the figure of a mother holding a child in her arms with another by her side. It has no plaque, so it's impossible to know what it is, what it represents, or who it honors. Someone uploaded a photo of the same monument on Panoramio titled "Monumento a la Madre" (Monument to the Mother), but is that really it? There is no plaque indicating it. Apparently, it is the "Monumento a la Madre" by Vergottini, installed in 1962 in the Paseo Almirante Brown park in Crucecita (Avellaneda). In that green space, the first "To the Mother" monument was erected, surrounded by a small tiled fountain. The statue was later moved to Domínico Park, according to a blog.
In the previous block, along the boulevard, there is also a bust, but it's impossible to tell whose it is. It stands in a small plaza named "Combatientes de Malvinas."

The bus continues its route; there isn't much to see—just streets and houses. And trees. Some have a kind of green fruit—could they be avocados? Truth is, I don't know. Perhaps it's a different plant. There are also many aloe vera plants, as well as silk floss trees (palos borrachos), jacarandas, and even a cockspur coral tree (ceibo) that I managed to spot. It reaches the corner of Mitre Ave. and Pierres. On one side begins Presidente Sarmiento Park. On the opposite corner is another small Rotary monument. This time it's clear: Rotary Domínico. We are in the middle of Villa Domínico. A few blocks further, and we pass into Wilde.

Although we haven't strictly entered Bernal yet, we are quite close, leaving Wilde. We are now in what is known as the Triángulo de Bernal (Bernal Triangle). There is a monument to a mate—it would be the Monumento al Mate. Behind it, a flagpole with the Argentine flag. According to what I read online, someone wrote in 2012 (quoted verbatim): "The famous mate monument was originally an advertisement for a yerba brand, I think Amanda, and later they declared it a 'monumento'."  foursquare.com/user/20479227 

Another comment from someone going by the nickname Tía Nela, from 2007, tells a similar story (quoted verbatim): "Coming from Capital, on the right-hand side next to the bridge, I remember there was a monument on a pillar consisting of a hand holding a mate. It was all made of cement, except the bombilla which was iron. If I remember correctly, it was an ad for 'Nobleza Gaucha' yerba mate—that ad was over 2 meters tall! Over time the hand broke, neighbors cleaned it up and reattached only the mate, then the bombilla disappeared, and a few years ago the cement mate vanished too. Only the half-crumbled pillar remains, if that. A shame, because even after the paint wore off the cement, it had become the mate monument and served as a landmark—people would tell you: 'When you're on the bus and see the mate, get off." https://ar.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20071205195425AAmBcQj

On Los Quilmes Ave., right around the corner from the mate, is this bridge. It has no street crossing over it; it's a dead bridge, standing alone with grass on both sides. Next to it is a sort of tower—what is it? I don't know. Regarding the bridge, I found a comment by someone nicknamed Tía Nela from back in 2007, which I transcribe in full: "That bridge dates back to around the 1950s! The original Access Sudeste highway was supposed to continue across that bridge. They said they were going to open a road all the way to Ezeiza Airport, serving as a quick connection to Gral. Belgrano roads, Hipólito Yrigoyen Ave. (in Témperley), and Route 4 (or Camino de Cintura, which starts in San Isidro, circles Capital, and ends in Florencio Varela). In the end, I think the project came to nothing because the Bs. As.-Ezeiza highway was built inside Capital. When I was a girl, west of the bridge was completely unpopulated—houses only went a couple of blocks in from Calchaquí Ave., and beyond that was all brushland and puddles... later those areas were occupied, and building started, even along the future route of this road. And toward what is now Access Sudeste, there was a shantytown that the military removed; it eventually moved to what is now the longest shantytown in Argentina, starting in Avellaneda and ending near Berazategui along the Bs. As.-La Plata highway". ar.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20071205195425AAmBcQj

When the bus turns onto Pilcomayo Street, there's a pedestrian crossing with a novel structure—I have no idea what it could be. There is a flagpole with the flag, and in front, a triangle that could well refer to the Bernal Triangle, but that's just speculation. At the end, there's a light blue circle with a wave underneath. What is it, what does it mean, or what does it represent? I don't know. I could guess it's a "Q" for Quilmes, but that might be a stretch—who knows.

Now in Bernal, the last thing we see at the intersection of Dardo Rocha Ave. and Cerrito is the Plazoleta Eslovenia (Slovenia Small Plaza). You can see the vandalism it suffered from local graffiti artists and the neglect by responsible authorities—broken brick pieces lying around, grass where it shouldn't be, lack of gardens, and rusty signs with peeling paint.

Approaching the station, another small plaza whose name I don't know. It's painted in bright colors, with a few benches and children's playground equipment. There's also a bust of someone without identification—it looks like Alberdi, but I wouldn't dare confirm it.

In the same plaza as above, steps away from the Station on one side, stands the next monument: a small obelisk with what appears to be religious images on two of its sides. It looks like it carries the Papal flag on one side.

Bernal Station, located in the Quilmes Municipality. Inaugurated in 1878. It features two platforms and an underground pedestrian crossing leading from one side of the tracks to the other.

At the end of the route, right at the entrance of Bernal Station—next to the Line 22 bus stop for the trip back to Retiro—there is a bust of a military figure. Unrecognizable, with no plaque or name. What is clearly visible is its poor state, neglect, grime, dirt, empty flower planters filled with trash where plants should be, and poster papers glued everywhere, with broken planter sections and ugly graffiti in the background. Yet, someone from history was honored there, only to be left forgotten and disregarded.

Something about museums during the year 2007.

(I wrote this back in January 2008).

2007 came to an end—one more year gone—and 2008 began. It occurred to me to do, as many people do, a recap of the year that passed, but I didn't know on what topic. So I began remembering events. I kept discarding the nice events so they would remain as good memories, so I thought about some of the not-so-nice events, which would be good to remember as a sign of caution, although I think it's something those who should care about don't really care much about.

Starting in the final quarter that would close out the year, an event called "La noche de los museos" (The Night of the Museums) http://www.lanochedelosmuseos.com.ar/ took place—an event in which 414,000 visitors toured 102 museums and art spaces in Buenos Aires that opened their doors from 7:00 PM until 2:00 AM with free admission. This event struck me as the right starting point for this message, especially since the blog has a dedicated space for commenting on museums.

We can accompany this first piece of news with an even better one: an article published in the newspaper La Nación on January 12, 2008, titled "Los museos desplegaron su poderoso imán" (Museums unleashed their powerful magnet) http://www.lanacion.com.ar/EdicionImpresa/cultura/nota.asp?nota_id=978307, which tells us that in 2007, visits increased by 15% compared to the previous year. That is good news; it means there is a slightly greater interest than last year among the general public in visiting them. Let's say that people are interested in and attracted to something housed in the museums, always of cultural value. How nice!

Well, with the good news concluded, I move on to the ugly part—the negative recap, which is abundant when it shouldn't be. Although criminals and saboteurs have existed and will exist, some people are there to prevent them with various tools, the most important perhaps being good social conditions. Since these always fail in developing countries, one must resort to care and prevention; however, it seems this also failed. Let us look back and remember a bit.

I'll start when, in late June 2007, a criminal or criminals took General Belgrano's watch from a museum. The news article titled "Roban del Museo Histórico Nacional el reloj de Belgrano" (Belgrano's watch stolen from the National Historical Museum) http://www.lanacion.com.ar/archivo/Nota.asp?nota_id=922346 states in its introduction: The missing item was discovered on Saturday; the thieves had broken the glass of the display case where it was exhibited; it was the national hero's only belonging when he died. In another newspaper, one can read "¿Quién le robó el reloj al general?" (Who stole the general's watch?) http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/sociedad/3-87522-2007-07-03.html.

Just a few days into July, we can read the following news item in another newspaper: "Robaron varias reliquias del siglo XVII de una parroquia de Purmamarca" (Several 17th-century relics stolen from a Purmamarca parish) http://www.clarin.com/diario/2007/07/12/sociedad/s-03501.htm.

It was not an isolated incident; the interior of the country had more victims: El Museo de Luján en estado de alerta (Luján Museum on high alert). The community of Luján felt the unconsulted handover of the doors of the Casa de Tucumán as an insult. Now, three copper cauldrons weighing 100 kg each have disappeared. http://www.igooh.com.ar/Nota.aspx?IdNota=9161. This news didn't get much coverage in the media, but it appears mentioned in other reports, adding to the overall wave of thefts.

It seems that the lack of security, the lack of control, the disinterest, or whatever it was no longer intimidated criminals, who went to the Casa Rosada itself. Here, the news article titled "Otro robo en un museo histórico, esta vez en la propia Casa Rosada" (Another theft in a historical museum, this time at the Casa Rosada itself) http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/sociedad/3-90628-2007-09-01.html begins by saying: This time they took two watches, both gold, and a gold-plated fountain pen. The relics had belonged to three Argentine presidents.

Someone woke up from their nap, and the following headline reads: "Declaran el 'estado de alerta general' en todos los museos por la ola de robos" ('General state of alert' declared in all museums due to crime wave) http://www.clarin.com/diario/2007/08/31/um/m-01489613.htm, so the National Secretariat of Culture placed all the country's museums under a "general state of alert."

By December: "Habilitan la reapertura del Museo Histórico Nacional" (Reopening of the National Historical Museum authorized) http://www.lanacion.com.ar/archivo/Nota.asp?nota_id=971137. Despite this: "El Museo Histórico seguirá cerrado al público hasta abril" (The Historical Museum will remain closed to the public until April) http://www.lanacion.com.ar/974800.

By September, criminals didn't feel intimidated in the slightest. The news tells us: "Estatuas robadas del Parque Lezama" (Statues stolen from Parque Lezama). The bronze figures of Romulus and Remus that were part of the 'Capitoline Wolf' statue, located in the center of Parque Lezama between the Buenos Aires neighborhoods of La Boca and San Telmo, were stolen by unknown individuals in recent hours. http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/ultimas/20-91373-2007-09-14.html and http://www.lanacion.com.ar/informaciongeneral/nota.asp?nota_id=944127 (New theft of a historical piece).

This statue issue has precedents: in 2004, a bust was taken, and earlier, between 2002 and 2003 (when the country was emerging from the 2001 crisis), 137 plaques and six busts were taken. http://www.lanacion.com.ar/591893

In 2007, they also targeted the artwork of painter Quinquela Martín. This time it was in Mar del Plata in the month of May when it was stolen. In July, those who sold it were captured, and consequently, the work was recovered. News of this event can be found at these links: http://www.clarin.com/diario/2007/07/13/um/m-01456834.htm, http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/sociedad/3-88227-2007-07-17.html, and http://msn-list.te.verweg.com/2007-July/007734.html. The obsession with Quinquela Martín's paintings goes back further—perhaps someone is displeased with his works. Unfortunately, impunity arrived for some in 2005; I don't know what the ultimate fate of a stolen Quinquela Martín painting was: http://www.elojodigital.com/sociedad/2005/07/14/544.html, and in 1992 there is another precedent I stumbled upon: [suspicious link removed].

It was also in September that another news story was published, this time not about theft, but about the poor condition of a museum: "El Museo del Cine en peligro" (The Cinema Museum in danger). The fate of the national film heritage has historically been tied to absolute official apathy. Now, on top of a traditionally critical picture, a new alarm is raised. http://www.boletinargentino.com/index.php?p=1346 and http://elrevisionista.blogspot.com/2007/09/museo-del-cine-de-buenos-aires-en.html, plus one more among many on the same topic: http://www.loquesomos.org/candilejas/nuestrocine/Cineenpeligro.htm.

Since Belgrano was one of the victims of the museum thefts through the stealing of one of his belongings, I am going to copy an excerpt from one of his letters where he talks about education:

I left the coats of arms being painted for the school door. The inscription that should be placed around them is as follows: "Come, for freely given to you is the pleasant nectar and the divine liquor of wisdom." Make sure the painter places it, and that it is mounted according to my wishes. Each day I yearn more for the opening of these establishments and to see their results, because daily I realize how much we need them.

(Letter to Teodoro Sánchez de Bustamante, Secretary General of the Army of the North. Requesting an inscription on the coat of arms of the school founded by him. Potosí, July 10, 1813)

Sometimes education is not enough. Education is necessary as a primary measure to prevent the actions of those who steal, but it is always insufficient. And considering that the last museum mentioned—the one facing trouble—is the Cinema Museum (an art form that constantly gives us masterpieces), I would say it is also worth watching one of the finest war films ever made, The Train (1964), in which the looters were certainly not uneducated people.

Juan B. Ambrosetti Ethnographic Museum

(September, 2007). I visited the Juan B. Ambrosetti Ethnographic Museum. The museum is located at 350 Moreno Street, in the Monserrat neighborhood, and is managed by the Faculty of Philosophy and Letters of the UBA (University of Buenos Aires).

The building, constructed in 1870, is in the Italianate Historicist style.

According to its website, the museum brings together 10,000 pieces belonging to various societies around the world, mostly produced between the late 19th century and the early 20th century. Regarding biological anthropology, it holds 10,000 bone pieces and some mummified bodies; regarding archaeology, about 40,000 objects, 1,000 archaeological textiles from Andean cultures, a documentary and photographic archive, and objects from Asia and Africa. Needless to say, not all of this quantity is on display, but rather a small sample; I suppose the entirety is available to researchers, since it has a staff dedicated to research, teaching, and outreach.

The museum's website is http://museoetnografico.filo.uba.ar/index.html Compared to the web pages of other museums, this one is quite rustic, but it contains the necessary information to get to know it.

This museum in particular allows you to download some text files in PDF format for free, one of them very interesting called “Going to the Museum, notes for teachers” by Marta Dujovne, Silvia Calvo, and Verónica Stáffora (Ministry of Education, Buenos Aires, 2001). This booklet includes a brief introduction to the history and activities of museums, and some considerations for including them when preparing teaching proposals from institutions. The booklet consists of 50 pages and is very illustrative, not only for teachers—who I imagine will pass it on to their students—but for anyone wanting to learn about museums.

To get to the museum, I took the number 152 bus, which has a pleasant route—meaning you can even use it as a sightseeing tour. The truth is that taking the 152 on its route, after passing through Retiro, it goes all the way down (i.e., Alem Avenue and then Paseo Colón Avenue) until it ends in the La Boca neighborhood. In my case, I got off in the Government House area, crossed Plaza de Mayo, and from there walked the few blocks to arrive.

A ride on the 152 surrounded by a group of young tourists who, judging by their accent, were likely from some Latin American country, happy because they had bought clothes at a fair—who knows which one of all the existing ones.

On weekends there are no people, no movement; it is quiet, ideal for walking peacefully, taking photos, enjoying the scenery, very interesting architectural works, and seeing that many people do the same thing. Along the way, you can find—actually, you do encounter—some homeless people and a good number of cardboard collectors (now called urban recyclers), the current reality of the country, an underdeveloped country of course. We also encounter some police officers and a fence surrounding the Government House, something that for a hundred years was not necessary to do, even in situations of severe violence, but now it seems to be in fashion to fence off squares, monuments, and the national government house. And from there, crossing Plaza de Mayo, with another anti-protest cordon, a second barrier made of a mobile fence that only gives a bad visual appearance, in my opinion, unnecessary (except in cases of obvious crisis), but they have already installed them there permanently as a divider, deterrent, prevention, or whatever it may be.

The museum is housed in an old building painted yellow with a large gate at the entrance; its architecture and warm color catch your attention, and there is a palm tree at the entrance. This museum is dedicated to the research, dissemination, and conservation of historical and anthropological heritage. Thus, among various objects, you can find elements belonging to ancient pre-Columbian cultures, indigenous cultures, and everything related to them.
In the photograph, you can see the representation of an indigenous person wearing what appears to be jaguar skin, holding an axe and, in the other hand, the representation of a head, along with some jars and fragments of others. To be honest, I don't remember the exact room; I didn't take notes to be more precise.

The museum opened at 1 PM; I arrived right at that time, and there were already about three or four visitors. It is small, but its size does not make it any less interesting. It was inaugurated in 1904. It has few rooms—if I remember correctly, there are only four or five rooms, at least those open to visitors.

When I walked in, there was a kind of polite competition among the museum staff, all of them very respectful, debating over who would attend to me better—too polite, I would say. Admission is free, although they offer an optional donation ticket for the value of 2 pesos, so of course I bought one. You can take photos, but without flash, and bags must be left in lockers provided for that purpose.

In the following photograph, another of the displays in one of the rooms, with objects likely from ancient indigenous cultures.

When you arrive, at the beginning, just as the tour is about to start upon entering, the people there give you a very precise and brief explanation of each room and its contents—an explanation that, when listening to it carefully at first, you might forget, but immediately remember once you start walking through the museum.

The visitors were mostly students—at least the ones I saw that day, that was what it seemed to me, that was my intuition after seeing them take notes of everything written in the exhibitions, in texts, and photographs. Something that I regret not doing, and which now would be useful to relate photos with topics; I didn't take meticulous notes either, but I did write down a few keywords. To each their own, but these youngsters were taking lots of notes, surely for some assignment.

The rooms are somewhat dark, but that is the idea, I imagine, to create an atmosphere more suited to what the museum deals with, which broadly speaking is past cultures. A distant atmosphere—at least that was the feeling I had while being there. It also escapes me that the need for low light, or special lighting, and even a certain level of air conditioning is necessary for the proper preservation of the objects, or at least some of the objects on display.

As soon as I left my backpack in the locker, since the staircase was right there, I headed upwards. The staircase features a handrail entirely decorated in black iron, old construction, with stained glass and large windows "like the old days," the same as the doors—double and tall doors. You go up the stairs to the second floor (first floor in Argentine terms), and you enter the only room, the largest exhibition hall, which in turn consisted of two floors, and on both sides, in the center, there was also a space for exhibition, but on this occasion it was under renovation, and the windows facing the street were closed.

Among the objects are photos, clothing, pipes, pottery, a primitive native canoe made from a single log, and even some objects belonging to the conquistadors. There is also a room dedicated to world anthropology; it is small but has curious and attractive items, such as a set of samurai clothing. Among the rarities, we can see replicas of facial features of American indigenous heads, among other objects.

The day I visited, the exhibition At the Edge of the World was available, which showcases the clash of cultures and the extermination of the indigenous cultures of Tierra del Fuego.
It is not a big museum, which is good because it doesn't get boring and doesn't take much time to walk through, and bad because it doesn't have much space to exhibit and explore. Of course, I widely recommend visiting it.

The Seven Dishes of Rice Pudding

(September, 2011). While walking a month ago, during some downtime I had at the moment, I bought a book. While browsing around a small new and used bookstore, and digging through a box of used and budget books in the back, I started looking to see if any of them were worth it. That’s how, for only $3, I acquired this little book that is well worth reading: "The Seven Dishes of Rice Pudding and Other Talks" written by Lucio V. Mansilla.

This book is currently in the public domain and has been digitized and made available on many official websites. 

Actually, "The Seven Dishes of Rice Pudding" is just one of the stories that make up the book; the rest are other tales and some of them are excerpts from his masterpiece, "An Expedition to the Ranquel Indians".

The edition I found is a selection by Luis Franco (I don't know who he is or was; it's a 1961 edition), consisting of 150 pages with black-and-white illustrations. Eudeba Publishing House. Century and a Half Series. 1961.

The image corresponds to the book's cover, a color illustration by Carlos Alonso, which I didn't quite understand what it aims to reflect, mostly because the text selection offers broad possibilities of inspiration for portraiture.

The book is an easy, light, and engaging read. As I mentioned, some chapters are taken from his most important work, "An Expedition to the Ranquel Indians", so if you have already read it, you can skip them—chapters like "Corporal Gómez", "The White Indian", "Miguelito"—though it's good to reread them, especially if it's been a long time since you read that work. And if you haven't read it, it's a good idea to read them. The last five chapters are the ones that impacted me the most, especially "The Captive Women" and "Chañilao".

At the beginning, he writes a phrase in parentheses that I found very funny, which says: ("(The devil wouldn't think of it, but it occurred to Sarmiento to put a school in a park)")
I will leave a small excerpt of how the chapter called "The Expedition" begins.
For a long time now I had been mulling over the thought of going to the Inland.
My dealings with the Indians who came and went to Río Cuarto, on account of the peace negotiations that had been initiated, had awakened in me an unspeakable curiosity.
One must have gone through certain things, must have found oneself in certain positions, to understand with what vigor certain ideas take hold of certain men; to understand that a mission to the Ranquels can become for a man like me, moderately civilized, a desire as vehement as a secretaryship in the Paris embassy might be for any petty clerk.

Time, that great instrument of good and bad enterprises, whose course we would like to precipitate, anticipating events so that they devour or sink us, had already made me contract several relationships that I can call intimate.

Thus it begins, but the reader, without realizing it, is taken down a path with many surprises, moving one by one through very interesting topics, such as the role Carmen played, what happens to Linconao, the chief Ramón's brother, what a parliament is, an introduction to what an interpreter is (which he discusses further in another chapter), passing through various customs and/or beliefs such as the gualicho (curse/charm), among others, which invite re-reading due to how interesting they are.

Mercenaries Play Dirty

Mercenaries Play Dirty is a 1968 film directed by André De Toth. The original title is Play Dirty; it is an English drama, adventure, and war film set in World War II. It was filmed in Spain and England, and it successfully recreated the North African desert. It was the final film of this Hungarian-born American director. It begins with a well-known German song called "Lili Marleen." The use of songs is recurrent, given that every time they tune into a radio (usually Italian or German), a song is heard. The plot revolves around a commando group that infiltrates German-controlled territory to blow up some fuel tanks. Everything is set in North Africa. Now, the catch is that the commando group is formally commanded by an English engineer, Captain Douglas (Michael Caine), while the actual command is in the hands of a criminal working for the British, Captain Leech (Nigel Davenport). The rest of the group is made up of other criminals—all mercenaries fighting for the British army in exchange for money. The English captain is more rational and measured, while the mercenary captain is more savage and rough. This tension prevails throughout the film. From what I read, the idea for the group is inspired by a real British ground unit that actually existed called the Long Range Desert Group, whose emblem was a scorpion. The film features a representation of the scorpion surrounded by fire, trying to escape while everyone present watches. Although in reality, this unit's task was to infiltrate enemy territory, its purpose was reconnaissance. The film features visual passages without dialogue; in general, the dialogue is very poor, rather classic and even rudimentary. The long periods without any communication are meant to emphasize the visuals, the landscape, or the action taking place, generating a sense of the hardship being experienced. Simple facts that must be lived through, and while in other movies they are overlooked, in this one, the emphasis is placed on them. At times, it becomes somewhat slow-paced. The general idea revolves around the notion that everything is criminal in war (and I don't think that is wrong at all), and in this way, it shows the criminal actions of the mercenary group and how the character who would be the most rational of the entire group progressively becomes corrupted and/or brutalized. At the same time, it portrays the corruption in the upper echelons of command, who give orders but do not participate in the events, participating instead in lies. Betrayal is also present. Broadly speaking, if one wants to find something good, some good or laudable attitude, you won't find it in this movie. It is a film with a critical view against commanders and hierarchies. The movie leaves behind a chain of disillusionments and doesn't stop until the very end. If you will, it can be viewed as a provocative film, and that is due to various situations presented within it. The ending can be read as presenting an anti-war idea.

Something that caught my attention and that I am unfamiliar with is the matter of the jeeps and trucks—in this case, all Italian (and/or German)—which had metal sheets full of holes on their sides forming a kind of metal mesh. What was their use? Were they really like that? Did they use them to cross bumps or ruts in the terrain? At one point, when they drive the jeep up, it seems that was their function at the end of the ravine, but I'm not sure if that's the case. They were not classic armor plating plates, since these were full of holes.

Vagando por la Patagonia.

(14/09/2014) Finalicé la lectura de este libro titulado Vagando por la Patagonia escrito por Julius Beerbohm. Recorriendo los estantes de una librería, en la sección Relatos de Viajes, encontré este pequeño libro, de la Editorial Claridad S.A. Me llamó la atención la tapa que contiene la fotografía de parte del paisaje de la Patagonia Argentina. Y cuando leí la contratapa me convencí que debía leerlo.
El autor fue contratado por el gobierno argentino en 1877 para realizar unos estudios sobre recursos naturales al norte de Santa Cruz. Cuando llega, recibe la noticia que debe regresar, como no había buque de regreso y el próximo pasaba por el sur de Santa Cruz, decide unirse a un grupo de cazadores de avestruces y con ellos parte para el sur hasta abordar el barco que lo traiga de regreso. El libro cuenta todas las peripecias de dicho viaje. Si bien es un libro breve, lo leí en dos días, no tiene desperdicio para los que gustan relatos de aventuras, viajes, historias, y todo verídico.
El título original es Wanderings in Patagonia or Life among the Ostrich-hunters. La vida entre los cazadores de ñandúes, y realmente es muy interesante las descripciones que realiza de los paisajes que va conociendo, la descripción de la fauna local, las costumbre de los lugareños, más que nada de los cuatro acompañantes con quienes realiza el viaje, incluso a uno de ellos lo describe como participante mencionado en otro libro de otro aventurero como fue el capitán Musters, también realiza comentarios y descripciones de los indios que se va cruzando en su camino, todos ellos tehuelches. Posee una forma lisa y llana de redacción, lo que vuelve fácil su lectura, suele incluir alguna frases populares en latín, al menos para su tiempo cuando escribió el libro (y seguramente para personas con algún conocimiento como tenía él).
El autor nació en 1854 y realizó el viaje en 1877, contaba solo con 23 años, era muy joven, al menos visto desde la actualidad. Cuando regresó del viaje, se volvió a Inglaterra, pasó gran parte del tiempo viajando por Europa, en 1881 publicó el libro, luego dilapidó su dinero jugando en los casinos, después creó proyectos fabulosos (y algunos fantasiosos), vivió del recitado de poemas y hasta escribió la letra de una canción titulada Blue-Eyes, Berceuse  (o Bright-Eyes, Berceuse Words) entre otras vivencias.
Volviendo al libro, cuando parece que está terminando el relato de su viaje, cuando uno da por sentado la finalización del mismo, nos sorprende con un giro sobre un suceso poco conocido y del que tuvo una participación solo por estar de casualidad allí en ese lugar, se podría decir estaba en el momento y lugar equivocado. De repente y luego de un día de suma tranquilidad, se produce un sangriento motín de presos y soldados. Esto da lugar a un relato impresionante de lo que vivió él y sus acompañantes, y los riesgos que corrieron. Para conocer más sobre este acontecimiento dejo los siguientes links http://www.puntaarenas.cl/motin.htm  y http://www.oni.escuelas.edu.ar/olimpi2000/santa-cruz/relatos/pages/motin.htm
En un momento del libro dice “y los harapos alrededor de mis pies aparentaban poseer de pronto las virtudes de las famosas “botas de las siete leguas””. Me preguntaba ¿a qué hacía referencia con aquellas “botas de las siete leguas”? Ahora lo sé, se refiere a un objeto mágico en un cuento de Charles Perrault. Quien se ponía las botas, de un solo paso, hacía siete leguas de distancia.
La presente edición posee algunas ilustraciones que aparecieron en la primera edición de libro y fueron hechas sobre la base de bocetos que el mismo Julius Beerbohm realizó.
A quienes gustan de leer aventuras, costumbres, historias y viajes, es un buen libro para pasar un buen rato disfrutando de su lectura.

XXI Pan-American Railway Congress

I had seen the advertisement for this exhibition, the XXI Pan-American Railway Congress, from a bus. It wasn't far away, it was free, and it was about railways—which I didn't know if it would be interesting or not, but curiosity called me, so I decided to visit the place. It was something I don't regret because it turned out to be really great.

Although I went with little time, I walked through the whole thing. I imagined there would be a few scale models, propaganda stands, and some museum-style exhibits with small station items, but I was surprised that they had opened a courtyard where they displayed several new and old train cars.

Flyer of the XXI Pan-American Railway Congress. This is the one they were handing out, which seemed to be the main one, made of two pages that open like a book, measuring 20 x 28 cm, making it quite large. The cover features an invitation indicating free admission in blue, and on the left side, you can see those yellow signals so characteristic of railways, at least from railways of a few years back. On the back, it includes a map of the area of La Rural where the exhibition was held.

The exhibition was very good. Among the train cars outside that you could visit and even board, they had mounted them on tracks on the ground, specifically created for them, with stairs leading into them.

In the case of two cars, which I didn't board, there were very long lines, easily no less than 10 to 15 meters, because of the number of people who wanted to visit them and see their interior.

Something interesting and novel was seeing a double-decker train car manufactured in Argentina. Apparently, it is meant to be used on the subway; I can't imagine people crammed into it, but it looked very comfortable. I don't know if it has already been authorized to circulate, or if it is already circulating, which I doubt. These cars have the capacity to transport 100 more people than a standard one. Actually, they didn't use them on the subways, but on the Sarmiento line (updated as of 2014). Although they have now revamped the train sets again, I don't know if they will continue to be used or not; I would think so.

There were a couple of stands from foreign companies. I remember a fairly large one, I don't know if it was the largest of all, belonging to China. There were also stands from other countries, which I don't recall with exact precision now, but they were European. I don't want to get it wrong, but if I remember correctly, they belonged to Nordic countries, Germany, Italy, France—it was one of those, but I forgot which. They had scale models of locomotives and many photographs.

Unfortunately, the railway system in Argentina was dismantled across its entire extent. The few lines still operating carry freight or run in the vicinity of large urban centers. Currently, as of 2014, it seems there is a push to revive it, but I see it as far off—more talk than anything else.

In the indoor hall was the locomotive La Porteña. It is famous and widely mentioned, although I had no idea what it was about; it seems it was the first locomotive to enter the country.

The first railway was inaugurated in 1857, and the route covered 10 km.

The locomotive reached a speed of 25 km per hour.

Here are a few links detailing its history: http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ferrocarril_Oeste_de_Buenos_Aires http://www.lanacion.com.ar/935258-el-regreso-de-la-primera-locomotora-la-portena http://www.suteba.org.ar/29-de-agosto-de-1857-ndash-la-locomotora-la-portea-hace-su-viaje-inaugural-7147.html

All the stands, or rather, a large portion of them, had brochures for people to take, so I grabbed a few. The truth is that when I read some of them, all the statistics and bar graphs showed that freight rail transport has been steadily increasing practically year after year, even during the crisis periods the country went through. I was always convinced it was the opposite, but it makes sense due to economic activity: if it grows, the transport related to that activity consequently grows. Regarding passenger rail, there wasn't a single mention; in that case, it was indeed disastrous for the country—it practically disappeared, isolated many towns, and people even stole the ties supporting the rails as well as the rails themselves, abandoned stations, and so on.

There were some tourist railways. And in the courtyard where the train cars were located, there was an interesting one—old, very robust, yet somehow not very friendly or cheerful—that could be visited. Although I didn't get on, it was an attraction due to the long line of people waiting to board; given how interesting the car was, it surely brought nostalgia to more than one person, especially older folks.

Then, on display, there were objects commonly found in museums—small items related to railways. One I remember was a seat from an old train, located in a section with three other objects, surrounded by a ribbon. As always happens, irresponsible people jumped over the ribbon and sat down to rest. I don't know if it's nerve, necessity, idiocy, disrespect, irresponsibility, or what, but there was no lack of seating; there were even areas to get a drink—two areas to sit down. They should have stayed home or looked for a place meant for that purpose, but what is on display is precisely there to be observed and to learn how things were in the past. People like that make you wonder if they are provocateurs, if they feel superior, or if they are just mindless.

Something I knew by the name of zorra was the vehicle track workers use to travel along the tracks to reach wherever they need to go for whatever reason. In fact, I've seen several operating over time; the most common ones I've seen are powered by a kind of lever operated by two people. Newer ones are powered by a motor.

Here, two old models were exhibited. The correct name for these vehicles is Draisienne (or Draisine), and they are locally known as track inspection cars or rail handcars.

One of them was among the oldest, early pedal-powered models, and another was also old, three-wheeled, more robust, and painted in a very striking orange color.

It was not a huge exhibition, but a very good one that was well worth visiting. It lasted for a short time, just a few days—I think only a week or less.

(Originally Published on 09-01-2007)

National Museum of Fine Arts (II)

(February, 2007). We concluded our tour of the Recoleta-Plaza Francia area and its surroundings at the National Museum of Fine Arts, where I was able to take two photos that I had missed last time and wanted to have: photos from the Hirsch Collection, 17th-century art.

In the photograph, an oil painting titled "Saint Francis in Meditation" by the artist Francisco de Zurbarán. Year 1632. Located in the Mannerism and Baroque room. Interesting to see this and two other paintings related to Saint Francis, now in the year 2014, when there is a Pope who chose the name Francis.
The art ranging from 1945 to the present is the one I like the least of what the museum exhibits. According to the museum's webpage, it features a total of 400 works, and some are truly good, but the rest do not catch my attention; I find them incomprehensible. Senseless, that's just my subjectivity. For example, the photograph—a set of metal spikes, roughly shaped like a sphere, hanging from the ceiling. What meaning does that have? To me, none. Yet there it is, in the Museum of Fine Arts. Obviously, art experts have seen the beauty in it, and the artistic value as well. I believe that some artists build their careers, and then their name alone is enough to allow themselves certain liberties in their creations. This particular work is a sculpture from 1968 by the artist León Ferrari, made of stainless steel. Style: Abstraction, Conceptualism. Something like "the idea prevails over its form." This work is called Moon.

In one of the rooms of the National Museum of Fine Arts, one of the last ones on our tour, I saw a small statuette representing a person with a bow. A 19th-century French sculpture (Mercedes Santamarina Collection). The work is titled "Herakles, The Archer," made in bronze by the artist Émile Antoine Bourdelle. Created in 1909 and acquired in 1943. This work caught my attention, on the one hand due to its small size, 58 x 60 x 27.5 cm, and on the other because it reminded me of another work I had seen somewhere else.

The Archer (Square) It reminded me of another very similar work—actually identical, but differing in size, the latter being much larger—located less than a block away from the museum, outdoors, specifically in a public square. It is located in Dante Square. It is also a bronze sculpture from 1909 by the same artist, Émile Antoine Bourdelle. This sculpture was acquired by the City Municipality in the late 1930s.
The Archer. The work Herakles, The Archer is considered one of the most important works by this artist, Émile Antoine Bourdelle. Émile Antoine Bourdelle (1861–1929) was a French sculptor during the period known as the Belle Époque. Herakles, The Archer (1909) is inspired by Greek mythology, representing Heracles (Hercules) shooting an arrow with his bow, kneeling on his right knee with his left leg resting on a rock. Heracles kills the birds of Lake Stymphalis. This work is considered a turning point in the shift toward modernity.

Gladiators

(March, 2008). I read a book called Gladiators and its author is Daniel P. Mannix. The book belongs to a collection called BreveHistoria [Short History], which has a website at www.brevehistoria.com that is promoted in the book; it says you can participate in its forums, which I visited but they are very poor in content, and the book also says you can download parts (introduction and first chapters only) of the books that make up the collection—and in fact I downloaded the available chapters of three more books that I am initially interested in.
The book Gladiators is around 200 pages long, and it is quick and easy to read. The original title is The Way of the Gladiator, and the translation is by Manuel de la Pascua.

The downside is that it is expensive, very expensive—I imagine because it is new, from 2007, and I suppose imported. The cover is made of plasticized cardboard with a nice drawing. It is a section, a crop of a painting called Pollice Verso (Thumbs Down), by Jean-Léon Gérôme, representing the end of a gladiator combat. Cover design and production by Carlos Peydró.

The book is well told in a very particular way; it recreates lives and events, always based on real facts, and on one occasion it invents an ending.

It gives a general overview of gladiators and everything the Roman circus represented, from its beginnings to its decline. It tells of the entire holocaust, everything they did, so we are going to find mostly blood and sex. A lot of savagery. Everything takes place during the Empire period. It repeatedly mentions no more than three emperors on several occasions. On some opportunities, it draws parallels with modern times. I liked the way it was written. It dwells a lot on the subject of animals. Regarding the persecution of Christianity, it deals with it very little. And as for the gladiators, it does not develop the topic as much as one might expect; Spartacus is only mentioned in passing, for example—in other words, it talks more about the animals in relation to the gladiators, but perhaps there wasn't much to develop about the latter or they were only used for the text. It mentions various authors as sources, of which I have some of the books but haven't read them yet.

I liked a quote by Juvenal: the people only want "bread and circuses". When it talks about what we can call the people, it refers to them as the mob, along with other adjectives, meaning the most vulgar people of the city who were the ones asking for these spectacles.
These holocausts of people and animals happened when Rome had already conquered everything, and it seems that life in the city was boring and they had nothing better to do. Even some emperors did not approve of them, but they had to do it by force to win the public's favor. Ultimately, they were not only a business, part of the economy because of everything they moved, but they were also—above all—used for political purposes, both to gain votes and favors, as well as an effective means of distracting the mob.

The day I acquired the book, a Sunday, when I was walking, there was a street corner crowded with people up to almost half the street, watching a football match. Facts like this and many others are mentioned by the author when he draws parallels to the present day, even though these mass murders of people and animals are forbidden. Still, cruelty in people persists; let's look at, for example, the case of illegal dog fighting, or cockfighting, with their also illegal bets, or the legal ones in some countries, bullfights—the latter of which the author mentions. And why not mention "vale tudo" [mixed martial arts], a fighting system that sometimes ends badly. And he goes further and mentions 20th-century holocausts. But not only regarding deaths, but also sex; in one of the current parallels, he mentions the case of revue theater and how it changed from acting numbers to semi-nude dancers, among other examples.
It exposes and discusses situations; it is not a novelized book, but it teaches what a political career was like—at least a partial view, related to spending money to get votes and climb up.

As the collection points out, it is a brief book, which is why it is called "Breve Historia"; whoever expects something in-depth has to read other books or turn to other sources. Anyone who read this book and was disappointed due to a lack of details or deeper investigations is because they didn't understand what the book is about. For those looking for an approach to the subject that is simple, makes you want to read, and when you think everything has been covered, surprises you with more, this is the right book.

It helped me learn about customs—almost all of them bad and banished, but which I was totally unaware of.

(Originally published on 03-11-2008)