A cup of Mate in Argentina
Before I left Argentina I met Agustin again, the young man from the cemetery that introduced me to the mysterious Maria. Sorry, no encounters with her this time.
Again Agustin was a great guide showing me several towns throughout Buenos Aires and introducing me to life outside of the tourist districts, and it was a real change from the disturbing sight of homeless people and young children asking for money. What I saw was normal petronos(sp?) the residents of Buenos Aires living their lives not much unlike people in Brooklyn.
They weren’t rich, but they looked happy and comfortable going to the grocery store, walking with their child in hand. Most of the stores were closed because it was a national holiday (May Day) so I felt like I was only getting a partial view of what everyday life was like for an average Argentine. I felt more comfortable in the run down neighborhood then I had in the rest of Buenos Aires. It reminded me of home.
I thought I would never get a glimpse of something “unique” to Argentina that I could talk about, an experience that I had only had in Argentina and no where else. That was until Agustin and I met with Elisa, one of the women I met at the “meeting”.
Elisa is in her late 40’s and lives alone in an average apartment building in an average neighborhood. Her studio was just big enough for me to put my bag down, turn a bit and sit down. Of course I might be over exaggerating a bit, but you get the idea. Inside she has a tiny twin bed that doubled as a chair in the bedroom that doubled as the dinning room. But Elisa’s apartment had something special. A view from her balcony that could inspire a thousand movies.
The window to the Balcony opened as wide as the room itself and sun shined in on every corner of the studio, from the balcony I could see the square, a park that looked a little like a parking lot, or was it a parking lot that looked like a park? Surrounding the square was European architecture of varying time periods that stretched back as far as I could see. I quickly snapped a few pictures but I don’t think a picture could do justice to what it felt like to stand there floating above the city.
I walked back inside the studio where Agustin and Elisa prepared a traditional tea in inside what Argentine’s call Mate, it’s a small hollowed out fruit transformed into a cup. They place the entire cup full of the tea leafs, the name of the tea leafs escape me now, a metal straw is pushed underneath the herb. The metal straw has a built in strainer at the base so you don’t suck up a mouth full of crushed leaves. Then they full the cup with sweetened hot water.
Apparently there are rules to drinking this tea, most of which I learned unknowingly by breaking them. We sat down to at the table, I with my back to the balcony sitting on the bed and Elisa facing me, Agustin was sitting between us facing the wall.
Agustin started the pouring and it was explained to me that since he started, no one else could touch the thermos. He was the thermos handler, for me to try and handle the thermos would have been an insult worthy of a duel, if we were gauchos (cowboys) in the outback. Luckily we weren’t, but I decided not to touch the thermos anyway.
The three of us shared the same Mate cup, which made me felt a bit uneasy at first, I don’t even share straws with my grandmother, but I got used to it mostly because when we were supposed to drink, or rather suck the tea up through the metal straw we sucked out all the liquid, so there was no residual saliva. So I was safe. That’s what I told myself.
Eventually I begin to understand the ritual. Drinking and eating pastries was one part of it, but being with friends, relaxing with the sun on your back and just talking was the most important.
We passed the Mate cup around and talked about politics and Argentina, and the fact that I was really American, they didn’t bring up American politics though. So I was able to just enjoy the Mate, with the warm sun on my back and on that day, as I sucked Mate juice through a straw I realized something I will never forget. Hot metal straws burn the lips.
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