At dusk on our second night at La Estancia, we drive down the main road past the Heath Club. As we cross a patch of wet road, a flight of Whistling Herons rises before us. I’ve never seen this bird except in Argentina.
§
¿Donde está la farmacía? Where is the pharmacy?
Around the corner, the woman says, one half block plus a quarter.
To the left? I say.
Si. She nods & grips my upper arm. Where are you from?
The United States.
Have a wonderful visit.
Smiles & smiles.
§
I ask the young pharmacist for Suphedrin, & he brings me a box of 10 tablets. I tell him that my husband has had a fever for three days, that he is coughing badly. The pharmacist goes to the back & brings out Refrianex Compuesto, a cold remedy containing paracetamol for fever, ephedrine for congestion, chlorpheniramine for allergy, & bromhexine hydrochloride for coughing. Even though I don’t recognize 2 out of the 4 ingredients, I agree to try it instead of the Suphedrin. When I ask for Mentholatum, he brings me Otrivina, an Argentine equivalent. 70 pesos.
§
At la pulpería, which is what general stores, country stores, have been called for three or four centuries in Argentina, the owner breaks away from the circle of old men drinking beer & mate to ask how he can help me. Fruta seca, dried fruit, I say. We go back & forth in Spanish until I understand to say higo for fig. He walks between barrels to a countertop covered with dried fruit in plastic bags. He offers me a fig, which is delicious. I decide to buy 200 grams of dried figs & 4 dried whole peaches. Later the peaches prove to be magnificent.
As we turn back to the main counter, he says what else, & I choose a bottle of the excellent Burra Roja beer from San Carlos & a half dozen eggs. Bastante, I say. ¿No mas? he says. He adds it up, 43 pesos, & when I see the sum on his notepad, I say cuarenta tres. He congratulates me on my eyesight, explains that blue eyes mean good eyesight, & recites a longish poem in Spanish about blue eyes. I understand some, not all of it, smile with delight. Un poeta, I say. He assumes a small proud smile.
On my way out he escorts me, points to a bag of dark plant material that he says is good for cough. I explain that my husband is sick with a cold & that he has been coughing for many years. My new friend turns back behind the main counter, reaches up, & pulls down a dark brown bottle labeled Arrope de Chañar. He points to a large plastic bag full of small round orange fruits: chañar, 1 kilo for 5 pesos. I decline the kilo but accept the 12 peso bottle of fruit syrup. 1-2 teaspoons in warm water 3-4 times a day. I suspect this remedy will work better than what I bought at the pharmacy.
§
Back home, I strip last night’s roasted chicken from the carcass & drop the bones into a soup pot with an onion, salt, peppercorns, & plenty of water. I don’t have any herbs. The bones boil for 2-3 hours, fill the house with the wonderful smell of chicken stock. Later I strain the stock, let it cool, remove most of the chicken fat, add fresh onion & fresh vegetables from Juan Romero Sr.’s garden — red & green sweet peppers, round green zucchini, hubbard squash — & cook the vegetables for 10 minutes before I add the coarsely chopped leftover chicken for the final 5 minutes. My first chicken soup in Argentina. It will feed us for 3 meals.
§
This morning a large white sheep, oveja, probably the grownup version of the small white lamb we saw with its black sibling last October, jogs into Ginny’s yard. A long dirty white rope trails from its collar. I run outside & snag the rope, only to be jerked hither & thither while I try to lead the sheep off the newly leveled, about-to-be-landscaped yard & back into the meadow across the street. Everyone is laughing, los trabajadores (workers) & Mike, who wishes he had the camera which is bouncing on its strap around my neck. I want to tie up the sheep but don't see a good place. God forbid I should tie the sheep to a metal utility box, & the sheep should pull the box cattywampus or out of the ground entirely.
§
The black bird in the tree looks like a Red-winged Blackbird, but when it flies, I see that the bright-colored patches are yellow, a Yellow-winged Blackbird.
 |
| Syrigma sibilatrix, Chiflón, Whistling Heron |
§
¿Donde está la farmacía? Where is the pharmacy?
Around the corner, the woman says, one half block plus a quarter.
To the left? I say.
Si. She nods & grips my upper arm. Where are you from?
The United States.
Have a wonderful visit.
Smiles & smiles.
§
I ask the young pharmacist for Suphedrin, & he brings me a box of 10 tablets. I tell him that my husband has had a fever for three days, that he is coughing badly. The pharmacist goes to the back & brings out Refrianex Compuesto, a cold remedy containing paracetamol for fever, ephedrine for congestion, chlorpheniramine for allergy, & bromhexine hydrochloride for coughing. Even though I don’t recognize 2 out of the 4 ingredients, I agree to try it instead of the Suphedrin. When I ask for Mentholatum, he brings me Otrivina, an Argentine equivalent. 70 pesos.
§
At la pulpería, which is what general stores, country stores, have been called for three or four centuries in Argentina, the owner breaks away from the circle of old men drinking beer & mate to ask how he can help me. Fruta seca, dried fruit, I say. We go back & forth in Spanish until I understand to say higo for fig. He walks between barrels to a countertop covered with dried fruit in plastic bags. He offers me a fig, which is delicious. I decide to buy 200 grams of dried figs & 4 dried whole peaches. Later the peaches prove to be magnificent.
As we turn back to the main counter, he says what else, & I choose a bottle of the excellent Burra Roja beer from San Carlos & a half dozen eggs. Bastante, I say. ¿No mas? he says. He adds it up, 43 pesos, & when I see the sum on his notepad, I say cuarenta tres. He congratulates me on my eyesight, explains that blue eyes mean good eyesight, & recites a longish poem in Spanish about blue eyes. I understand some, not all of it, smile with delight. Un poeta, I say. He assumes a small proud smile.
On my way out he escorts me, points to a bag of dark plant material that he says is good for cough. I explain that my husband is sick with a cold & that he has been coughing for many years. My new friend turns back behind the main counter, reaches up, & pulls down a dark brown bottle labeled Arrope de Chañar. He points to a large plastic bag full of small round orange fruits: chañar, 1 kilo for 5 pesos. I decline the kilo but accept the 12 peso bottle of fruit syrup. 1-2 teaspoons in warm water 3-4 times a day. I suspect this remedy will work better than what I bought at the pharmacy.
§
Back home, I strip last night’s roasted chicken from the carcass & drop the bones into a soup pot with an onion, salt, peppercorns, & plenty of water. I don’t have any herbs. The bones boil for 2-3 hours, fill the house with the wonderful smell of chicken stock. Later I strain the stock, let it cool, remove most of the chicken fat, add fresh onion & fresh vegetables from Juan Romero Sr.’s garden — red & green sweet peppers, round green zucchini, hubbard squash — & cook the vegetables for 10 minutes before I add the coarsely chopped leftover chicken for the final 5 minutes. My first chicken soup in Argentina. It will feed us for 3 meals.
 |
| chicken soup for a cold |
This morning a large white sheep, oveja, probably the grownup version of the small white lamb we saw with its black sibling last October, jogs into Ginny’s yard. A long dirty white rope trails from its collar. I run outside & snag the rope, only to be jerked hither & thither while I try to lead the sheep off the newly leveled, about-to-be-landscaped yard & back into the meadow across the street. Everyone is laughing, los trabajadores (workers) & Mike, who wishes he had the camera which is bouncing on its strap around my neck. I want to tie up the sheep but don't see a good place. God forbid I should tie the sheep to a metal utility box, & the sheep should pull the box cattywampus or out of the ground entirely.
§
The black bird in the tree looks like a Red-winged Blackbird, but when it flies, I see that the bright-colored patches are yellow, a Yellow-winged Blackbird.
 |
| Agelaius thilius, Varillero ala Amarilla, Yellow-winged Blackbird |
