For the rest of my story check out The Real Argentina.

Argentina also hosts the annual Mar del Plata international film festival – an A-grade affair that jostles with the big boys from Berlin, Cannes, and Cairo – which has been taking place since 1954: a sure indication that the country has long had a romance with cinema.

Despite the short-lived glamour and obvious boost that awards bring, Argentina offers an ideal platform to see local and regional films made on a shoestring at the Buenos Aires Independent and International Film Festival (Bafici).

You can check out the rest of Big screen dreams in the March 2011 issue of Oryx.

Will and his flat mates were two floors below.

When the superintendent of 1947 Aráoz street and three members of her family were taken hostage on the sixth floor of that building early in the morning, Will Aquino was in the right place at the right time to document the unravelling events online by default —as his apartment two floors down was used as a base by an armed police team while they prepared for the rescue operation.

Micro-blogging site Twitter — where users have just 140 characters to express themselves and “follow” other users (US singer Britney Spears has the most followers, topping in excess of five million yesterday afternoon) — was an ideal way for him to recount by-the-second action to his followers eager to find out how the operation was progressing.

The first “tweet” from @AquinoWill, as the US events organiser is known on the site, was self-explanatory: “HOLY SHIT! There are 3 people that took a family hostage 2 floors above my place! Shots were fired earlier. SHIT IS GOING DOWN.” In fact, there were four hostage-takers aged between 19 and 25 who had entered the building under the illusion that the superintendent was storing a large sum of cash in her home.

@AquinoWill originally posted messages on social networking website Facebook, but moved to the micro-blogging site as it was a more efficient way to record events, calling the former “too hectic.” Short, sharp bursts of commentary documenting every movement took journalism to a different level, however, it probably served equally as a distraction during a unique yet tense situation in which he was inadvertently involved.

Although specific information doesn’t always appear in the Twitter monologue, “the cops [who] set up shop in my apt” were in fact the Federal Police Special Operations’ Group (GEOF), armed with machine-guns and the “latest technology with meter long antennae.”

Despite the gravity of the situation which lasted around six hours, @AquinoWill tried to maintain a sense of humour. When @sorrelmw asked how he and his two flatmates were, @AquinoWill replied: “We are ok, id like to think the now 15 or so guys with semi automatic weapons in my living room got my back haha.”

Privvy to all aspects of the drawn-out operation, AquinoWill was “listening to everything going on upstairs via walkie talkie. Sounds like all of the guys are talking about giving up except one”, but the hostage situation started reaching its conclusion when @AquinoWill posted an “UPDATE. Masks are going on, guns in hand. We were just asked to go to our rooms.”

Just 15 minutes later at 3.57pm, the four armed men, who had previous records for similar situations, gave themselves up and were arrested. Referring to his flatmates, @AquinoWill’s final post stated: “@jpgninja @miguelsalas are safe and the bad guys are in police custody.”

First published in the Buenos Aires Herald on August 16, 2010.

Will Aquino will also be talking to me about his experience on BA live, on Urbana 89.5FM, on Thursday, August 19, 2010.

But until now, a word has never been publically uttered about Escobar by the people closest to him: his family. Following his 1993 death after a prolonged effort from the Colombian military, US special forces and death squad Los Pepes, Victoria Henao Vallejos, Juan Pablo Escobar and Manuela Escobar, respectively the drug baron’s wife, son and daughter, fled the country.

To cut to the end, the family moved to Mozambique but ended up in Argentina. And 16 years on, after countless proposals, Escobar’s son has finally agreed to share his memories in Pecados de mi padre (Sins of My Father), a documentary by Argentine director Nicolás Entel, in the hope of ending the violence in Colombia.

Preferring to be interviewed in Spanish as “we are talking about very delicate subject matter and I might not be able to communicate the correct message if I don’t do it in my language,” Sebastián Marroquín, as Juan Pablo is now known, is polite, calm and maintains eye contact throughout.

RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW. Saying that “everybody thought it logical I would become ‘Escobar 2.0’,” Sebastián is now an architect, married and based in the Palermo neighbourhood of Buenos Aires. But why has he chosen now to speak out?

“I’ve rejected lots of money-making projects because they glorified the gangster style and image of my father. I never agreed with that idea because it seemed the opposite message to the lifestyle that I’ve chosen to lead. So I’ve always said ‘no’ to those kinds of proposals.

“But Nicolás suggested telling the story from the children’s point of view, not just mine, so as to integrate everybody else’s point of view. And that’s when I thought this story could have an interesting turn.”

By the children, he is referring to Rodrigo Lara Restrepo and the Galán brothers, Juan Manuel, Carlos and Claudio, sons of the murdered politicians who meet Sebastián for the first time in Pecados.

“Nicolás in fact called me a year before and I said ‘no’. I’ve never hidden what has happened to me from anyone, but I realised this would give a vision to other families who have suffered at the hands of violence. But I think everything happens for a reason with specific synchrony.

“So I wanted to tell the story but not more of the same in which they simply tell the story and don’t leave you with a message. I always wanted to find another way of telling it — not so I was putting my father on a pedestal — but so we become aware of it so it doesn’t happen again.

“We were still exposed when we changed our identity and residency and when your secret place is no longer secret, and neither is your name, that let me to realise that there is nothing left to hide. The only thing that remained was to advance and share with the next generation what has happened.”

Sebastián has returned twice to Colombia: once to meet the Galán brothers and second, for the premiere. He left his homeland aged 16 and although he doesn’t sound obviously Colombian, he also has no distinctive Argentine accent either.

“I spent half my life in Colombia as Juan Pablo and the other half here as Sebastián so I feel I’ve learnt from both places and I feel part of both. I miss Colombia. It has changed for the better and has more hope than before, in terms of its security, economy and healthcare. Which is why I miss it even more. But I think I can be more useful for Colombia by being outside of the country. I’d like to return, when I’m older. But it isn’t possible for the moment, and I don’t think it’s prudent, either.”

CHANGES. After such upheaval from a young age, including the adoption of a new identity, surely documenting his current life means his life will change again following the international release of Pecados?

He says simply: “It already has changed. With respect to my names. But there is nothing else to hide which gives us the peace of mind to do a project, to share it. They’ve already discovered who we are here, they’ve investigated us for the past 13 years, and there is nothing more to hide so the only thing to do is move on and share this story.”

But putting himself in the spotlight after all this time still seems contradictory. Why do it? “For several reasons. I’ve learnt a lot of lessons from the worlds of violence and drug trafficking. And I chose not to continue down those paths. Not because I’m afraid or fear the law but because I have an intimate and human conviction that to enter those games is not the right thing to do. That’s what the violence I’ve suffered has taught me. I feel I have a social and moral task to return the message that life has taught me.

“Turn on the TV and you’ll see programmes that allude to the cartels and they show everything through rose-tinted spectacles. Beautiful girls, cars, mansions, money. It’s all wonderful. That’s the height of being a drug dealer. The suffering and death comes after that if you’re successful. So it’s important to me to show the opposite to what everybody thinks, the glamour, and all that.

“Kids enter the game as if nothing has ever happened before and I can see generation after generation clashing, and we’re in the same situation. I want the violence to stop, not just for me but for Colombia.

“There is also the necessity to ask for forgiveness for my father’s actions. They aren’t mine but I have to say to you that society has persecuted and punished us as if we were Pablo Escobar. The film allows a minute’s silence to hear our voices and to say ‘this is our story, this is how we live, please understand that to be someone’s son doesn’t mean they are also an accomplice’.

“The documentary is a way for us to send this message to society that they separate us as individuals and not as cartel members. We are members of the boss’ family, but we aren’t the cartel.”

MOVING ON. Following 16 years as Juan Pablo and another 16 as Sebastián, is this a new stage for him? “I don’t even know who I am!” he laughs. “We don’t know where we’re going! But does anyone really know? I think it’s important to live with both sides of the story, the negative and positive from the first part of my life and apply that experience on a daily basis. I’m going to continue working and making money in the correct way without hurting anyone and this new life gives the opportunity of a profession here in Argentina with this identity. I have to live with this mixture. I’ll never be able to escape from my past, nor from my father, but if I can transform the present and also the future, well…

“I am trying to transform the reality that everybody thought it logical I would be come ‘Escobar 2.0’. Everybody expected that. Even me. But I realised in time, what we could do meant we could invite Colombians to understand that violence must not be generated. ‘Someone killed your dad, so when you’re older you go and kill someone else’s dad.’ The circle never ends.

“What takes places in the documentary is important. The children, we sit down, important characters in Colombia’s life, to end the violence. Let’s take a new path, unexplored, but we talk about a new path in order to inspire others.”

Even though many people expected Sebastián to follow in his father’s footsteps, a moment of choice had to occur for the young man. “I never considered the possibility of abandoning my father. I would not allow that as a son, as it would be an unforgivable disloyalty for me. I wouldn’t be able to sleep today if I didn’t have the clear conscience of having a been a loving and respectful son towards my father, despite everything he did to society. That is the test of family values.

“But I could never have produced that violence. In life I criticised him. But it wasn’t in my hands, aged 14, to tell my father, because the FBI, the CIA, not even all the police in Colombia, nor all of his enemies could stop him. But I used to fight with him about the violence going on in Colombia. However, he was full of excuses for justifying it. That he’d suffered at the hands of violence that justified to him what he was doing. The same circle…”

NEW DAWN. Starting life anew didn’t come without its complications. Having lived briefly in Mozambique, a war-torn country which at that time didn’t have any food on supermarket shelves, according to Sebastián, they headed back to South America. Given a three-month tourist visa by Argentina, the family decided to stay here. “At that point , three months seemed like a lifetime to us,” he says.

But at least they would have had money on their side to help them start afresh? He says: “We came here with what any plane passenger can bring. We were a family of four travelling and brought everything we physically could plus US$40,000. And with that we started a new life.” Although he is now a Palermo-based architect who happened to be investigated for 13 years by the Argentine Supreme Court because of his family connections, Sebastián and his family also make a living from the rights to his father’s image.

Discussing the documentary, how did the relationship work out with Nicolás ? “Well I did say to him, ‘please don’t lie about my father’s story.’ I’m used to that happening. And I wanted it to be dedicated to telling the truth but I didn’t have any control over the editing. Of course, lots of information was left out. A 30-year story can’t be squeezed into 90 minutes — it’s impossible.

“But the idea was always to tell it from the children’s point of view. I haven’t just met with Rodrigo, Juan Manuel, Carlos and Claudio. I’ve met lots of people — before I filmed anything — to ask their forgiveness that nobody is ever going to know about, people who prefer to remain anonymous, and I haven’t excluded anybody. I haven’t just met victims of my father but also people who caused damage to my father, conversations in which I forgive but have also asked for forgiveness.”

Also read it in today’s Herald, Thursday, April 22, 2010.

This trip was organised fun, a tour operator taking five coach loads of fun seekers to the world’s third-largest Oktoberfest, and the idea of obligatory activity participation in the search for frolics and fun is less than appealing. Fortunately, our three-day weekend was disorganised fun from the start: first, we went to the wrong pick-up point on Friday in Plaza San Martín and then our tickets and itinerary were stashed away at the bottom of our team leader’s suitcase, which was buried underneath everyone else’s luggage. (Rich was first in line, so keen was he to get this show on the road.) Boarding the coach was touch and go, given that the drivers weren’t prepared to begin excavating for anybody…

The last package tour I took was to Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast in 1998, so despite bad thoughts directed towards enforced volleyball games and obstacle courses, it was refreshing to allow someone else the helm, just for a few days. I haven’t unearthed any statistics as to the number of alcohol-related Oktoberfest accidents per year, but health insurance was also included in the deal. But that wretched itinerary was nowhere to be found so meal and bus times involved guesswork, and to top it off the six of us hadn’t the least idea as to where we were actually heading. A genuine magical mystery tour ending some 10 hours later.

WHERE IN THE WORLD? Córdoba province was destination in general at some 770km from Buenos Aires, and despite a hazy guess of an estimated arrival time between nine and 11 in the morning from the co-ordinator, we rumbled up a two-km drive at precisely nine-oh-two in Villa del Dique, a half-hour drive from Villa General Belgrano, the heart and soul of Oktoberfest. This Bavarian-style town’s numbers swell from 6,000 to around four times that over the two-week Oktoberfest period as revellers from Argentina and other nooks of the world looking to down some beers in the garden head there.

So what makes the Córdoba province town’s festival, now in its 46th year, so popular? Founded by Paul Heintze and Jorge Kappuhn in the 1930s, the physical landscape is pure Bavaria: Villa General Belgrano is a small town nestling in the Calamuchita valley with that typical Germanic geometrical architecture of square church steeples, cones atop roofs and plenty of wood. But residents’ roots don’t just stem from Deutschland but also Austria, Switzerland, Russia and Hungary, so the blend of pageant participants who dance and sing and play their hearts out is truly international – and it’s this racial mixture that makes Argentina’s Oktoberfest stand out from Munich’s. Besides the designated beer garden, the whole town turns into a watering hole (although it is illegal to walk down the street with a beer in hand) and it has an intimate feel to it, although you are sharing this little piece of southern hemisphere Bavaria with thousands of other boozers. The added bonus, thanks to its compact size, means that it’s practically impossible to get lost, no matter how drunken your haze.

WILL RAIN STOP PLAY? Shipped into Villa General Belgrano late Saturday afternoon, no sooner than we stepped off the bus than the heavens well and truly delivered. Our group, comprising four Brits, a North American and an Argentine, brazened it out as we weaved our way down the street. Squelching along in flip-flops, I reflected that at least my footwear would dry out quickly. A white minibus roared up next to us. “Come on, get in,” the driver shouted. We threw away our barely smoking cigarettes and clambered on, sitting on laps or anywhere there was a space, happy to be getting closer to our goal of the sacred beet garden. That little act of generosity was a sure sign of things to come, and the nature of going drinking in Villa General Belgrano. These guys simply loaded up their bus with strangers, happy to help and make new friends. We didn’t see them again, although they also gave a lift to some guys staying in Villa del Dique with us who did keep popping up. By coincidence, on the walk down to the beer garden on San Martín street, I bumped into a South African friend who had been on the sauce since lunchtime, and was headed home as the clouds decided to play ball.

Our organised fun providers had already given out admission tickets so there was no need to queue to pay the $30 entrance, the price for the final weekend. A quick frisk and we were walking under the famous Oktoberfest sign and into the beer garden! The plan was to head directly to one of the many wooden stands selling sausages bursting at the seams and laden with chucrut and fill our jugs with the main reason for our being there: beer. But two metres in and we were drawn to the very first hut that was selling red, black and yellow belts to sling diagonally across your body and then attach your glass to. “I want one,” Verónica and I said, as if we were one. At $15, it seemed a great souvenir to show the grandchildren although on reflection pointless, given that the aim of my game was to have a foamy and frothy jug on the go, not a barren, empty one with a musty smell of hops. A cowboy hat plus tankard plus belt combo were snapped up for a reasonable $40 by both Vero and Harry.

REASON FOR EXISTENCE. The grassy beer garden had taken a hammering with the downpour, and there was plenty more to come. As we finally got to a beer stand, down it came again, and people were grabbing white plastic chairs and covering themselves with light-blue plastic sheets as makeshift protection. Only those who I’d call smug foreigners, prepared for every travelling eventuality, were wearing sensible outdoor coats to beat off the unexpected elements.

Turns out the rain wasn’t unexpected at all and everyone I met knew it always rained on the second Saturday of Oktoberfest. So why hadn’t anyone mentioned that to us? In the end it was all part of the disorganised fun, as the men in our group built a variety of Wendy house out of tables and trestles, we women cleaned and dried the seats and the group of six took up residence. I was thankful for the allocated health insurance when a “roof” fell on my head although it may have simply knocked some sense into me.

Being unprepared for a storm sounds like no fun at the best of times, but frankly it couldn’t have worked out any better. Harry and I wandered off to watch the outstanding Russian male dancers buck and leap about on stage – my word, what admirable upper-arm strength – and I started chatting to a student journalist about said upper-arm strength. Once my half-litre tankard of porter beer had run dry (refills varied between $15 and an outrageous $25 depending on the stand) and my new drinking partner had reached the end of his one-and-a-half litre lager ceramic jug (refill $60), we headed back to camp to find a new bunch of friends taking refuge, some kilted, shivering Cordobeses chatting animatedly about The Beatles and conversely, death metal. Our Wendy house was a good ‘un and attracted a surprisingly eloquent mix of people to pass through its non-existent doors.

By dark, Oktoberfest had morphed into a miniature Glastonbury, that most famous of muddy music festivals, and all those people who had put on their best white trainers for the occasion would be regretting it by dawn. But that didn’t stop the good times from rolling, oh no, there was dancing and jigging with jugs, and beer bongs (a sliced plastic bottle with a funnel attached), and the small crowd braving the rain at the front of the stage roared their approval at the Russians. Nobody’s spirits were dampened.

MORE BEER, DEAR? Once the rain relented and the threat of squatters moving in had passed, it was time to find pastures new. To the right of the main stage were some independent breweries, including local companies Interlaken (red, dark beer), Viejo Munich (double bock, honey and strawberry), Brunnen (fruit beer, lager, honey) and Cassaro from Córdoba city (pilsen, stock, red), which all specialise in artesenal beers. More recognisable brands included the Mar del Plata microbrewery Antares, which will open up a bar in Pinamar this summer, and Duff, the fictitious beer drunk by Homer Simpson now turned into reality by some enterprising Argentines. Dave bought a litre of Duff strawberry beer for $35, overly sweet for his palate, but I managed to help him out with it substantially. Mmm, beer.

When drinking at Oktoberfest one needs a tankard and not a family heirloom which is bound to end up in smithereens. Try to take one that denotes an experienced drinker, one with a lid or a musical one. Something attention-grabbing. We’d been on a pre-Oktoberfest shopping spree in San Telmo to pick up some original ceramics but needless to say my dreams were shattered Saturday night when a guy staggered into me and my tankard, which was swinging about at hip level (and I’m damn certain it wasn’t the other way round). The indignity of treading on my own broken tankard and cutting the sole of my left foot remains with me three days later.

Bella had in her possession a charming chunky moss-green tankard, which she managed to convince most of the bar staff measured just 330ml. The same capacity as a can of coke, she could top up for $10 a pop, but remains convinced it was a bottomless pit, a deceptive half-litre jug. Strong as an ox, that little green baby made it back to BA safe and sound.

My San Telmo find, however, was replaced Sunday with a brand new one for the price of $18. The weather was now impeccable and despite the infamous second Saturday Oktoberfest downpours, a precise 49,438 tickets had been bought up by Sunday, the day before Oktoberfest shut up for another year.

Organised fun meant that there simply wasn’t enough time to wander the streets or celebrate the different nations’ traditions: our emphasis was strictly drinking and we had a timetable to stick to.

But socialising in the enormous beer garden gave us the chance to meet and make merry with people from all over Argentina, all friendly, happy, charming and interested in the four Brits, the North American and the Argentine and why we were at Oktoberfest together. Although we didn’t see as many parades or dance shows as we should have, plenty of new friends were introduced to traditional British drinking games such as “21” and “I’ve Never.” If Oktoberfest is about anything, it’s about an exchange of culture and we certainly played our part in that.

Revellers reveal:
Chris from the US: “This is my first time at the Córdoba Oktoberfest and Saturday, my first day, as far as I recall, was fairly epic. There was a lot of pre-party which is a bit foggy but the set-up was great although the weather was touch and go. There was a lot of mud and I was watching my step where I walked. I tried about six beers but Antares was my favourite. We also did some post-partying at a warehouse in ruins that had been converted into a disco. Now I’m on the second day and I think I might make it to about 4am. We North Americans tend to peak earlier than the Latinos.”
José from Buenos Aires province: “This is the first day I’m here and I am with some friends on a stag do. In fact they’re just buying beer right now. I think it’s good that people aren’t allowed to drink in the street because whatever can ensure everyone’s safety is fine. I don’t know if there were problems previously, but it’s good that it is all very civilised.”

All photos by Christopher Harry Kemp.

'But some of us are looking at the stars’

A phone call a few weeks ago with Dulli reveals him to to be sharp, dry and amusing. A singer and musician originally from Ohio, he now divides his time between Los Angeles and New Orleans. “I’ve lived on and off between the two cities for about 20 years,” he says. But isn’t LA overly superficial? It seems odd that a songwriter known for his dark, depressing lyrics would call it home. “No. I live on the east side which is a series of artistic and bohemia neighbourhoods. Some amazing people live there.” They seem two juxtaposing places to live. “I moved to New Orleans 12 years ago then six years ago I got a place and kept it, and I’ve been coastal ever since. Sometimes I stay in New Orleans for eight months without leaving but often I don’t go there for a year. It keeps it interesting.”

Two figures as a magical number for Dulli, what with two homes and his current band incorporating best friend Lanegan. Although tonight is billed as “An Evening With Greg Dulli and Mark Lanegan” a third wheel will be in motion in the shape of Twilight Singers’ guitarist Dave Rosser. This isn’t the first time Rosser has stepped on board the Good Ship Gutter. “Dave’s from New Orleans, Mark doesn’t play an instrument and last time we toured I needed some help. Dave sings, Mark was also in the Twilight Singers…” tails off Dulli so it should all work out.

Provided La Trastienda isn’t closed tonight due to the health scare, what’s on the cards? Dulli says: “Mark and I will be playing an overview of our careers, incorporating Whigs and Screaming Trees songs.” Twelve months ago the Gutter Twins released their debut album Saturnalia which will also be on the agenda.

Comments left by fans on the Twins’ MySpace website refer to last week’s shows in Chile and Brazil and they’ve come away from the debut South American tour thrilled to have been on the receiving end of a Whigs-Trees mash-up.

FUTURE PERFECT. Once this tour ends Down Under, Dulli will return to the studio. “My next formal project is a Twilight record that I hope will come out next year, and then we’ll tour. What inspires me after all this time? Inspiration is waking every day. As for Mark, he’s working with his next project Soulsavers so although he’s my best friend, after this tour we’ll both go off and do our own things.”

But never mind albums coming out in 2010, we’ve got to get through 2009. What with H1N1 causing havoc in Argentina and foreigners spotting filled body bags coming out of Buenos Aires basements, assurances about tonight’s San Telmo show are necessary.

I drop Dulli an email. Subject: “Are you still coming to BA?” Message: “Swine flu and wine flu are taking over the country, that’s why I ask…” That was 7.30pm Sunday. A little later, not the most syllabic of replies but it was enough. “GD” sends a short, informative email: “I am here, Sorrel Moseley-Williams…”

http://www.buenosairesherald.com/PrintedEdition/View/5776