Category Archives: South America

South America

Del Submarino a las Películas

Stepping into the low degrees of a Selknam night had Lisa McKenzie-McKenzie and Matt Pfarrer bundling inside heavy coats PDQ. He yanked his watch cap from a coat pocket and rolled it down his ears. Like any magician pulling a rabbit out of her tophat, McKenzie Squared jerked a trapper hat from somewhere then set it deeply upon her head. Had the flaps been any longer both would’ve draped her chest.

When they exhaled or spoke, their breath condensed.

Seeing her headgear, Pfarrer asked, “Is that your Sergeant Preston of the Yukon hat? Can dogsleds be far away?”

McKenzie Squared made a face. The kind that showed what she thought of his weary jibe. Continue reading Del Submarino a las Películas →

South America

Saliendo el submarino

Upon reaching the driver’s scheduled break stop where passengers might stretch their legs as well as grab compressed bites to eat, that was while letting off those who’d reached their destination but before boarding any joining the journey, strange thoughts of oxidation and reduction struck Matt Pfarrer. He hadn’t needed to consider the processes since high school. He wondered why they arose on the way to Near the End of Argentina.

The motorcoach to Selknam had steadily emptied southward bound. Watching the transport’s rows open up after every arrival, he noticed replacement passengers never equaled the departures. Standing in the midst of one of those towns anywhere in the world that solely seem to exist, no, to serve as way stations for long-haul busses, modern-day stagecoaches really, Pfarrer asked himself did those boarding them ever balance or, better, exceed the departures.

He asked himself had there ever been a full bus whose terminus was Selknam. Continue reading Saliendo el submarino →

South America

El submarino está detrás de nosotros

Each sailor’s recollection started sometime in early April 1945. And he remembered exactly where he was, doing what, if any, task he performed on that fateful May 8th when the news that became known as Zero Hour arrived.

To a man, none thought he’d survive the war. The submariners knew Germany had lost World War II on D-Day. While there were fanatics, hardcore Nazis among them, most sailors remained clearheaded. They must. Putting ideology ahead of seamanship increased the likelihood of disaster.

God never entered their deliberations. There would be no absolution asked from Him. Everyone knew what he’d done for Germany. Better to express that sentiment as “for Germany” than the leader. Duty to country made their conduct palatable.

In their minds, at least. Continue reading El submarino está detrás de nosotros →

South America

Hier Ist ein U-Boot

A few days after dining with Lisa McKenzie-McKenzie, Matt Pfarrer sat at a workspace desk. There, he made final preparations for his portion of their southbound journey. Recalling what McKenzie Squared had told him about Florencia Cardinale, the workspace receptionist, her circumnavigations around the office floor when he appeared, this time he charted her various courses.

Indeed, the Porteña did manage turning every room crossing into station-to-station ellipticals which invariably swung by his desk. Coming and going.

He did what he could to avoid any gazes McKenzie Squared cut at him. However, her determination outlasted his. Her ruthless smirk ignited his uncontainable guffaw. If the object of their observation noticed, she remained coolly undemonstrative. Continue reading Hier Ist ein U-Boot →

South America

Dies Ist kein U-Boot, sondern ein Feuilleton

Dropping in at the Buenos Aires Film Museum (Museo del Cine), a beleaguered Argentine cinematic facility bearing its sponsor’s name, Pablo Ducrós Hickens, either inspired or led Matt Pfarrer astray.

Although the repository rising by an elevated roadway had now occupied constant premises since the 1990s after years of being spread across several sites before permanence, it didn’t enjoy any real centralized catalogue. After upwards of four decades, staffers and researchers were still coming across new easter eggs among its shelves. In fact, nearly a generation ago missing elements of Fritz Lang’s German silent classic Metropolis were discovered there then reintroduced to cineastes after almost 80 years of absence. That is after almost 80 years of knowing those spools had disappeared but not a whit of knowing to where they’d vanished.

Pfarrer roughly likened el Museo del Cine to a played-out gold mine. One some prospector makes a quit claim hunch on in mere hopes of finding nuggets enough to make his efforts pan out but then strikes a seam instead.

And yes, the gold mine analogy proved more apt than a box of chocolates. Continue reading Dies Ist kein U-Boot, sondern ein Feuilleton →

South America

Dies Ist kein U-Boot

Matt Pfarrer’s week started the best way possible. After awakening then brewing his morning coffee, he checked his laptop for emails that had arrived overnight.

One of the subject lines consisted of welcome news. Another article he’d written had been accepted by the syndicate.

The subject of his authorship wasn’t much. Not that he considered any paying topic beneath him. It was a travel piece. Another travel article. Can’t stuff the world with too many of those.

If the destination someplace remote, just known in general terms, or better, only known to a precious few, the activity involved uncovered mysteries or presented adventures, those were the travel pieces Pfarrer enjoyed reading.

So why shouldn’t other readers? Continue reading Dies Ist kein U-Boot →

South America

This Is not a Submarine but Scheme-a-Rama

A couple of afternoons later, Mick phoned. Me being out at the time again exploring the fabulous beauty of Belle Époque Buenos Aires, the Briton left a message to meet. Not where we’d first crossed. No. At an address I suspected housed some likely blind tiger. One west of my apartment. Maybe it was in Once. All the times I’ve visited Buenos Aires I’ve barely been cognizant of respective neighborhoods. Except for Boca. The locals, especially trendy girls, had such demarcations ingrained in them.

Vast a metropolis as BA is, when done through targeted explorations the city is quite walkable. Its melded blocks contrast nicely against distinct enclaves.

I spent little time nor exerted much effort in government or commercial zones. Not one to be cowed or impressed amid edifices initially erected to serve the people but now exist to make them bow. Continue reading This Is not a Submarine but Scheme-a-Rama →

South America

This Is Not a Submarine

Back when Argentina ruled as the “it” country for Western travelers seeking as of then “undiscovered” or “neglected” destinations, I nearly could’ve contributed towards the realization of a Rene Magritte moment. Sort of.

The Belgian artist wouldn’t have played a major part in the endeavor. He just would’ve been a reference. The impetus to get the ball rolling as it were. Continue reading This Is Not a Submarine →

Quarropas, South America

Antipodes: Aftermath and End

Party people milled throughout Axman’s house. Then, he and an assemblage of housemates rented a structure only a cheery paint job saved from being judged Gothic.

This event occurred on a December 2009 night, in Quarropas. Our host had convened what we’d come to call “a gathering.” He scheduled “gatherings” once or twice a month.

From about the late 90s into the farthest aughts, how many party Friday and Saturday nights slid into late next morning inside his house? Looking back from June 2019? Too few and not damned near enough! Continue reading Antipodes: Aftermath and End →