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Thursday, Oct 25, 2001
Biology
October 25, 2001
While in Argentina's Sierra de la Ventana I spent time working with rodent traps. Out of 84 traps, only one little mouse was actually caught, but much time was spent deploying, pre-baiting, baiting, checking, and recovering the traps.
On the expedition I learned many new Spanish words which have limited value outside the context of camping and wildlife research. Among these are "trampa" (a trap) and "cebo" (a bait). We made little "cebitos" (my first coining of a Spanish word) out of a candy called Maricol, also known as halvah, or the crunchy stuff inside a Butterfinger.
If my audience had been a bit more tuned into American television, I could have used the line "Nobody better lay a finger on my cebito". But the ever popular "Halvah, I need the halvah, I need the halvah, I need the ha-alvah" did get a chuckle.
I've known about hantavirus for a number of years. This family of viruses causes particularly nasty and often fatal rodent-borne diseases little known until recently. The US medical community first became aware of hanta during an outbreak in 1993 in the Four Corners area of the southwest US. But hantaviruses have certainly been around much longer than that.
I first read about it in an article about nasty viruses we can't do much about, like HIV, hantavirus, and list of others longer than you would really like to think about. These "new" diseases can become widespread problems due to the convergence of two trends: people in large numbers venturing into and inhabiting parts of the world previously "unused", and the ease of global shipping and travel.
So there I was, spending hours working with dozens of rodent traps. The presence of strong light and strong breezes minimized the odds of survival of the hantavirus. And although hanta exists in Argentina, the particular geography and rodent species we were dealing with were not known to be hanta risks. And the mesh design of the box traps minimized the possibility of contamination with urine, feces or saliva. And jokes about "cebitos" helped keep my mind off hanta. But I wore a mask and two sets of latex gloves anyway.
Little did I know that postal workers would soon be treating mail with the same care I used with rodent traps.
I don't want to be alarmist, but here's something else to keep in mind: if you receive an envelope containing trace amounts of dried rodent saliva, don't open it.
Juan Manuel Fangio
October 24, 2001
Argentina has a few national heros which it holds in great reverence. Evita is perhaps the most famous of these. Her husband, some guy named Peron, is a few notches down from Evita.
Despite the passage of over 40 years since his retirement, fIve-time world champion driverJuan Manuel Fangio is one of the bright stars in this national pantheon. Fangio's greatness is that he was dominant for several years at a time when simply surviving a single year of racing was quite a feat.
I think at least half of Argentina's drivers are inspired by Fangio. And the premium grade of one brand of gasoline is called
"Fangio XXI". A large billboard near the rough equivalent of Times Square in Buenos Aires features an oversized scale model of Fangio at the wheel of a 50's gran prix car.
For most of my trip I travelled by bus, air, taxi or on foot, so I only experienced Argentine driving as a spectator. But for the last few days, I decided to rent a vehicle. The Argentines are very personable, and relationship oriented. So an introduction as a "friend of a friend" held great value at the car rental shop I visited in Salta.
Sadly, they were out of cars. But Fernando did have an SUV to offer me. It still wasn't cheap, but Fernando let me rent it at half the list price. And he recommended a route which gave his truck quite a workout. At first it felt unwieldy, but after crossing some high mountains, and driving on winding unpaved roads for a couple dozen kilometers, I seemed to have the measure of the Nissan Patrol.
I thought about Fangio as I chased a bus up a twisty mountain road from Cafayete to Tafi del Valle. Granted, it was a very small bus, based on a van frame. And the driver knew every nuance of the road. And I was driving an unfamiliar vehicle with a high center of gravity. But still, it surprised me how hard I had to work to catch up with the bus.
The advantage of chasing another driver is that you can learn much of what they know just by observation. The road was twisty, with rough pavement, and had numerous hairpins. But the lack of large vegetation on this arid mountain yielded excellent visibility. The bus driver carefully plotted a line through each corner, considering not only the geometry of the turn, but its unique pattern of bumps, dips and gravel. And he used the entire available surface of the highway. The lack of a stripe down the middle of this particular highway may have provided extra encouragement, but in general the stripes on Argentine roads are considered suggestions.
As I learned his technique, I was easily able to better the speed of the bus driver. But being able to drive faster and being able to pass are entirely different things. A couple of times I backed off to give him a lead, and then reeled him back in. But I just didn't have the huevos to attempt a pass, and he certainly wasn't going to make it easy.
As we drove on towards Tafi, the mountain rose up into the clouds. I had slowed down a bit to give the bus driver a bit of a lead again, so as I entered the clouds, the bus was out of sight. I realized that he now had the advantage. He could drive by braille, while I was suddenly blind, unable to see 10 meters in front of me. Although I made a feeble attempt to continue giving chase, I never even saw a distant tail light of the bus in the mist. Perhaps it was the ghost of Fangio I was chasing that night.
I decided that Tafi was not worth the effort of driving 30 km in the clouds, so I turned back to Cafayete as darkness fell. A red Peugeot sedan, driven at a brisk pace, appeared in my mirrors. I yielded some room for a pass, and then proceeded to give chase down the mountain. Now it was the Peugeot pilot's turn to be surprised. Despite obvious efforts, he was unable to prevent the Nissan Patrol from shadowing him down the mountain. I kept a respectful distance, and had to reel him back a couple of times when he slipped away a bit, but matched his speed for a good 10 km's until we reached the populated stretch at the bottom of the valley.
And like an addict who had just gotten a nice, clean fix after a dry spell, I had a broad smile planted on my face.
Military Checkpoints
October 24, 2001
Israel
The Tel Aviv airport is also a military base. The same runways are used by the Israeli airforce and civilian aircraft. Military hangers and aircraft are visible from the passenger waiting areas.
The security points are manned by uniformed and non-uniformed military personnel. I say non-uniformed, because I saw a man in business attire who was lingering in the taxi drop-off area eyeing people. Some of the personnel are armed with small automatic weapons.
In addition to the metal detector and xray checks common in US airports, arriving and departing passengers are subject to interrogation. Arriving passengers typically are not interrogated, unless they appear to be of Arab, Turkish, etc., extraction. But each departing passenger is interrogated for 15-30 minutes.
The questions I was asked were of a confidential nature. Normally I would not have revealed the nature of my business discussions without a non-disclosure agreement in force. Since I was eager to get home, I spilled all sorts of information about business negotiations -- who, where, why, what.
Argentina
The government of Argentina doesn't have a lot of money. In fact, a couple of provinces have started printing their own money. This is reflected in the vehicles, or lack thereof, in the police force. Rather than patrolling the highways, they set up checkpoints along the road, and let the traffic come to them. These check points are notorious for corruption.
The military also has its own check points. On my way from the town of Libertador General San Martin to the city of Salta, I used a free-lance remis (aka taxi) rather than waiting a few hours for the bus. At a military check point en route, the remis was stopped for inspection. Each passenger and the driver showed ID papers, and submitted to a search of their belongings. In a country with a recent history of military dictatorship, people don't backtalk at these check points.
A middle-aged officer was in charge of a small squad of young men, who looked not much older than 18, and who appeared to be local boys. They went through my knapsack and backpack, opening the smaller packages they found inside: binoculars case, toiletries kit, first aid kit, etc. I had to explain the purpose of some mysterious objects, such as dental floss and a lint brush.
I have a theory, backed by my Lonely Planet guide book, that our remis was singled out for inspection because of the novelty of a Norte Americano travelling in a private car. I provided much more entertainment value than just another Salteņo on the road.
I was polite, friendly and submissive. This seemed an effective strategy to get me through the process without any exchange of funds.
USA
In addition to the crews of underpaid security workers, the federal government has reinforced the checkpoints in our nation's airports with armed military personnel. They carry enormous assault rifles, which seem ill-suited to the task of close quarters fire. Their body language indicated they weren't quite sure of their role, other than as symbols. They certainly didn't have the focused and deliberate demeanor I encountered in Israel.
The Congress is on the verge of passing broad new powers for the government in the war on terrorism. As the government assumes much greater power to search and detain people, I wonder just how much freedom the American public is willing to relinquish.