Patagonia and Goodbye

Hola chicos,


Ok, so I know I said that the last post was going to be my last, but I just returned from 10 days in Patagonia and I think it's pretty blog-worthy. Plus I'm bored in the Santiago airport with a six-hour layover:


My parents flew in to Buenos Aires on the 30th, so the three days before, when literally all of my friends in this city had already left for Patagonia, were spent frantically trying to finish all of my academic work so that I wouldn't have to worry about it.  Anyways, my parents miraculously found their way to my house from the airport without speaking a word of Spanish (and not having a functioning cell phone, either), and we set off for our hotel in Palermo.  Our flight to El Calafate left the following day at 8am, so we spent the afternoon at the Jardín Japonés (Japanese Garden).  There, I taught my parents the basics of how to serve and drink mate, and felt like such a pro Argentine.  It turns out that the greatest part about having my parents in Argentina was that everything I did impressed them.  My Spanish improved when my parents were around because I had more confidence -- for real, I was using subjunctive all OVER the place.

It's a little bitter the first time

Being that our flight to Patagonia left very early the next morning, I of course decided to go out to a bar with an Argentine friend and a Belgian friend after eating the most delicious and tender steak ever at a parilla with my parents.  I justified this by thinking about how it was an opportunity to speak Spanish for three hours.  The things you can rationalize on study abroad...  This started a precedent of sleep deprivation that came to be an integral aspect of this vacation.


The first stop in our Patagonian tour was El Chaltén, a town of about 800 residents that exists only for tourism.  It sits at the base of Mount Fitz Roy, and the area is known as the "National Capital of Trekking."  And trek we did.  The first day, I cajoled my parents into joining me on a 12-mile round-trip hike to Laguna Torre, a glacier-fed lake that gave a nice view of Cerro Torre.  My parents were dying during and after this hike, and honestly I was more than a little stressed -- Room Draw was scheduled for that afternoon, and if anything is more stressful than Room Draw it's Room Draw in a Foreign Country with Spotty Access to Internet.  But all turned out well - come visit me in Clark I 212 next semester!

Cerro Torre and Fitz Roy

Worth the 12 miles

Day 2, I left my parents to do something a little calmer around town while I hiked 15 miles round-trip to the top of a mountain called Lomo del Pliegue, the highest lookout in the area.  This was one of the most challenging day hikes I've ever done -- the altitude increase was insane, and at the top we had to hike a few hundred feet up a very steep incline covered in snow.  I ended up getting two really annoying leg cramps during the hike, one of which happened about 25 feet from the summit.

This is the same lake as in the above pictures

So it looks like we forgot to include the breathtaking scenery in this photo

The following day I left my friends behind and went with the 'rents to El Calafate to visit the Perito Moreno Glacier.  The size of the glacier was absolutely staggering, and we were lucky enough to get to hike atop the ice.  And when we finished the trek, they gave us whisky and alfajores!

This photo can't even do it justice

A cool ice cave // perfect prof pic opportunity

We had the luck to see gigantic chunks of ice break off the glacier and fall dramatically to the water below.  It was an absolutely otherworldly experience.


From Calafate, my parents and I split up.  I met up with friends again in Torres del Paine National Park in Southern Chile while my parents went to the more tranquil town of Ushuaia, otherwise known as the southernmost city in the world.


Torres del Paine is one of the most famous national parks in South America, and for good reason.  We decided to do the famous 'W' trek - a four-day backpacking trip.  To get to the park, we had to take a two hour bus ride from Puerto Natales, the nearest town, and then take a 30 minute ferry ride across a lake.  That first day was quite a spectacle; a storm was brewing, and an eerie fog shrouded the mountaintops.  An incredibly violent wind blew water off the surface of the teal-colored lake.  The scene made for a very epic introduction to the park.

lolz

Lots of jokes about going to Mordor were made on this trip

The lighthearted moods soon wore off, as the unceasing wind and the cold rain beat us mercilessly on the two hour walk to our campsite.  When we arrived, cold, wet, and hungry, we hurriedly set up our tents and climbed inside.  Then we discovered I was the only one with a mostly dry sleeping bag, so we crammed four people into a two person tent and tried to keep warm.  Needless to say it was a little uncomfortable, but the complaining to each other was cathartic.  Eventually, the rain stopped and we were (mostly) able to dry our bags and clothes, although it was still a very cold night sans pantalones (they were wet) and a slightly damp sleeping bag.

One of the most important aspects of planning for a backpacking trip like this is to pack appropriate food.  We discovered that this is not our strong suit.  We had the bright idea of bringing several kilos of rice and beans, which we thought was a perfect plan -- healthy, tasty, and calorically dense.  However, those beans turned out to be the scourge of our trip.


The first night we cooked up half of the ill-fated beans, and they turned out just as we planned - filling and healthy.  Unfortunately, those beans caused a bit of a problem inside of our tents during the night.  Let's just say it was the worst pipe-breath I've ever experienced.  I spent the night with my nose pressed against the vented part of the tent in search of non-toxic air, and once even had to unzip the entire tent flap to avoid suffocation.  But the worst was yet to come.


On day 2, we hiked into Valle Francés, which gives an amazing view of the mountains that surround it on three sides:

When we returned to camp, we cooked up some pasta for dinner.  Seeing that we still had the other half of the beans, we decided we should cook them that night and eat them the next day for breakfast and lunch. Long story short, our gas canister ran out, and the replacement that we thought we had brought with us was nowhere to be found.  The next morning, Will and Zach insisted on eating a bowl of half-cooked beans, and spent the rest of the day complaining about their horrible stomachaches.  We all agreed to never mention those beans until the trip was over.

The Torres at sunset

The Torres' impressive shadows

Chau


I left Buenos Aires today.  Last night I went to Zach and Imran's house to drink wine, and then Zach and I went out one last time.  We ended up falling asleep on the concrete floor of his terrace, and I woke up just in time to take a taxi back to my house and gather my bags.  After I said goodbye to Zach and headed towards my house, the combination of physical and emotional exhaustion brought me to the point of crying.  In the taxi to my house, I thought about what an absolutely amazing experience I have had here in the last five months and the friends that I will miss SO MUCH, and I started legitimately crying for the first time since I was a little kid.  Even now, writing about it, I feel like crying again.  I cannot believe that I am already gone.  I left just this morning, but Buenos Aires already feels like a dream.  I'm having trouble expressing exactly the emotions I feel right now;  I think I am ready to go back to the United States, but knowing that study abroad is over is an overwhelming thought.  I am so absolutely grateful to have had this opportunity, and I will never forget the friends that I made and all of the goals I achieved.  Thank you so much to everyone who made this such a special five months.


To everyone back at home: After 36 hours of traveling, I'll finally arrive back home to Idaho.  And next, I'm make my way back to Pomona to start another chapter in my life.


Love to y'all,
Ryan

Vale la pena

The title of this week's post is the Spanish equivalent of "Worth it," but literally means "Worth the pain."  And thus, I think it is an apt way to sum up my experience here in Buenos Aires.  This may or may not be my last post, seeing that I've become incredibly inconsistent in finding time to write and that my last month here promises to be very busy.


First, let's talk about la pena.  I came to Buenos Aires four months ago, with no friends, no idea how to navigate the city, and no ability to communicate without sounding like a complete idiot.  At first it was fun and exciting, but it quickly grew old.  I thought about the United States a lot, and for the first time in my life I was homesick.  Other than the language barrier, there wasn't anything really obvious about what I missed; rather, an every growing list of "small things" -- a shortage of yogurt that could be eaten with a spoon instead of a straw, the inability to recycle all of the plastic bottles that I had to buy because Nalgenes don't exist here, and the lack of people that I could talk with and relate to.  A month passed, then two, yet things hadn't really gotten better.  I felt like I was wasting my time here.  I knew that I would leave Argentina with no friends, without having learned a single thing in my classes, and, worst of all, without the ability to speak Spanish.


But, thankfully, things got better.  Much better.  And now, as I write this, I'm feeling a bit melancholic about the fact that I'm leaving so soon.  I don't want to leave my friends from the program, who have become some of my best friends.  Although there aren't yet any Argentines that I would call friends, there are a few acquaintances with potential.  And unbelievably, I can actually speak Spanish.  Not always well, and always with a few grammatical or syntactical errors, but I can maintain legitimate conversations.  Taxi drivers, hostel workers, and people met in the airport have started saying that I speak Spanish very well -- last week, my taxi driver said I spoke perfectly.  Yes, perfectly.  Obviously I just hadn't been speaking to him very long, but still, it's a huge step.


There are so many things that I will miss when I leave.  I will miss mornings spent at my neighborhood café, drinking strong coffee and eating medialunas while reading about Argentine news in Página 12.  I will miss the afternoons spent on the beautiful terrace on the roof of my house, doing homework while enjoying the refreshing breeze.  I will miss conversations with taxi drivers, my excuse for not taking the bus, even when they are really racist and tell me that Bolivians are dirty yet hard-working, while Peruvians are dirty AND are drug-traffickers and thieves (in English this sounds much more horrible and less funny, but just trust me).  I will miss Marxist classmates explaining to be how literally every social ill can be traced back to the capitalist exploitation of workers.  I will miss my host siblings saying "te quiero" and asking for a hug.  I will miss cheap wine, delicious steak (always with a mountain of chimichurri), swearing in Spanish (infinitely more entertaining than in English), and inconspicuously drinking fernet and coke on the colectivo to Palermo while kids in the back pass around a box (yes, a box) of Fiesta Vodka.  Perhaps most of all I will miss mate and its lengthy list of customs, best of which is that you share with anyone, even complete strangers, and no one thinks twice.  I will miss the one-kiss-on-the-cheek rule, which everyone follows, even the sweaty bodybuilders at the gym, and which eliminates those awkward moments when you walk into a room and don't  directly acknowledge everyone present.  Also, the fact that there is no word for "awkward" here.  How different I would be if I had grown up here...


Anyways, I love Buenos Aires.  This experience has been one of the best of my life, and I'm so grateful for everything I've learned and experienced.  I have a feeling that once I get back to the U.S. there will be an unceasing tug coming from the Southern Hemisphere.


Let's get down to specific things I've done since the last post:

Football
I went to another fútbol game, this time to see my hometown team, San Lorenzo de Almagro.  Our tickets were entradas populares, which meant that we were surrounded by the most rabid fans in the stadium.  The experience is best explained through video evidence:

A calm moment before the match even started

And the colectivo ride after the match was fantastic, filled with intoxicated fans and lots of shouting and singing, despite the fact that the game ended in a 0-0 tie:

Speaking of fútbol, I had the chance to go to a World Cup Qualifier match between Argentina and Chile with a few friends.  The highlight was, of course, seeing Leo Messi, the greatest futbolista in the world, play in real life and even score one of Argentina's four goals.  The goal shown here was an absolutely beautiful score by Gonzalo Higuaín:

The only guys in Argentina that can make me feel short

Politics
The majority of my time in Buenos Aires was spent in the midst of election season, meaning that student activists spent a lot of time interrupting classes to plead their candidate's case and plastering the walls of la UBA with propagandas políticas.  The elections finally happened three weeks ago, and the incumbent, la presidenta Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, unsurprisingly won a landslide victory, 40% ahead of the nearest competition.  Being that the election provided una oportunidad imperdible, I of course went to Plaza de Mayo with some friends on election night, where Cristina's supporters gathered to celebrate.  There was much drinking, singing, and flag-waving in anticipation of her address to the crowd.  I got really into it, shouting some of the ridiculous campaign slogans whenever I felt it appropriate.  If you understand Spanish, watch the below example (and if not, it's a campaign ad featuring a woman dramatically telling the story of the government installing a satellite dish at her house.  Real quote: "Now, I have more channels than children!"):

Adventuring
Two weekends ago I went to Iguazú Falls, in the northwest region of the country, with my friends Will, Zach, and Imran.  The falls are located on the border of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay, so there is a small airport in each country.  It so happens that when I bought my plane ticket online, I didn't think to double-check the country in which I would be landing, and I accidentally paid for a flight to the Paraguayan side.  Unfortunately, Americans need a visa to travel to Paraguay, and the company that I bought the ticket from wouldn't change my flight without a ridiculous charge.  So I instead paid the $100 USD for a Paraguayan visa.  Two days before I left, I decided to look at the Google Earth image of Iguazú, and realized that there is no bridge that crosses directly from Paraguay to Argentina without passing through Brazil, which also requires a visa.  Not believing my incredible lack of luck and foresight, I asked several people if there were any way to cross directly to Argentina, but no one seemed to know.  As it was too late to get a Brazilian visa, and I didn't much feel like paying the $150 either, I decided to not worry about how I was going to get back to Argentina and cross that bridge when I came to it (lolpunz).  At the airport, I found a taxi driver to take to me to the main city, and while we drove, I asked him what I could do.  He told me it was no problem, and he would drive to all the way to my hostel on the Argentina side.  As we approached the Brazilian border, he told me that people cross all the time without a visa, failing to mention until we had snuck past an unattended window that it was, in fact, definitely illegal.  As we came to the area to exit Brazil, we parked, and he told me to stay in the car, staying completely silent, while he went to talk to the attendant.  As I pondered the inanity of my situation, my taxi driver was explaining that he was crossing the border without passengers, so they let us pass through another unattended window.  He told me that even we had been caught, we could have just bribed the cops and they would have let me go.  I guess that's Latin America for ya, right?

The Three Borders.  To illustrate, I started in Paraguay (top left), crossed
 illegally through Brasil (right), and finally arrived back in Argentina

Our first full day we went to Parque Nacional de Iguazú to see the falls.  La Garganta del Diablo, shown in the video below, is without a doubt one of the most amazing places I have ever seen.  The sheer volume of water crashing violently over the cliffs, sending an enormous cloud of mist in our direction, was absolutely humbling.  You can sort of get a feel for it from the video:

One of the smaller falls.  Honestly

These kids are actually pretty cool

La Garganta del Diablo

Our second day, we awoke to the sound of light rain, so we spent the morning hanging around the hostel, chatting with the other guests and the hostel staff.  As we sat around the table talking, someone feverishly motioned for us to look outside.  If I hadn't known better, I might have said that it was 11pm instead of 11am.  Thirty seconds later, the power went out, and we realized that the light shower had gone; in its place was a hurricane-like thunderstorm, complete with sideways rain and a growing river running through the middle of the street.  Being us, we of course decided that this was a once-in-a-lifetime storm, and that we should surely strip off all of our clothes and run outside to fully experience it.  Within ten seconds we were completely soaked and freezing cold, so we came back inside and sent Imran to fetch towels from our room, a semi-basement, several steps lower than the rest of the building which opened directly up to the courtyard.  He came running back a few seconds later without our towels, saying that our room was flooding.  The stairs had become a mini-Iguazú.  We frantically threw our belongings on the top bunk, and as the water rapidly rose we became children, swimming around and laughing uncontrollably.  Realizing that the room would probably not be inhabitable, we decided that we should run to a hostel up the street to reserve a room there.  Of course we didn't put on any more clothes, and the sight of 4 lanky, mostly naked American boys running barefoot uphill in such a huge storm must have made the days of quite a few locals.

I will never forget this scene.  Or this trip in general

How much awkwardness do my boxers add to this photo?

Cover art for the debut album of our boy band Carne sin Nombre.  
Not pictured: backup dancer Zachary Solomon, aka El Gran Atún

Last weekend Creamfields came to town, the largest electronic music festival in Latin America.  It was one the most fun nights I've had in Buenos Aires, and I'm proud to say that I finally pulled off a truly porteño night: We arrived at 11pm, danced like fools for hours, and watched the sun rise before we headed home.  Passing porteños on their way to work as I walked through my neighborhood at 7am, covered in dirt and glowsticks, I felt truly accomplished.  The video below of David Guetta and Afrojack demonstrates well how insane of a party it was (note especially the robots):

Instead of blogging, I really should be starting on the mountain of readings I have to do about the Chinese revolution, the New Deal, and the Socialist betrayal of Trotskyist ideals in modern-day China and the Soviet Union, but this is more fun.  Luckily, once I finish this paper and another for my internship, I will be completely free and on my way to Patagonia with my parents and my friends.  But until then, ceaseless studying is in order, with a small break to celebrate Thanksgiving, complete with roasted chicken and pumpkin pie (though probably made with squash instead of real pumpkin).


The idea of leaving Argentina gives me anxiety.  There are many things and people that I miss in the United States, but I have grown to love a lot about this place, too.  If anything is bittersweet, the day I head to the airport will be.


But I will absolutely be coming back -- perhaps next summer?


Vamos a ver.

Suck it, Northern Hemisphere!

Yeah, that's right.  Summer is coming my way, no matter how much you northerners try to cling to it.  Today was El Dia del Primavera, in which we celebrate Spring's much-anticipated arrival.  And so, of course, school was cancelled.  I'm not so sure I want to go back to Pomona and never ever ever get a day off. Ever. But I digress.


It has been an eventful few weeks, and I have been extraordinarily busy, so blog-writing has taken a back-seat.  There's a ton to get through in this post, and I better just jump right in:


Artsy-Fartsy Cultural Stuff
A few Saturdays ago, I went to a free tango performance put on by the Buenos Aires World Tango Festival, which takes place the last two weeks of August.


Then, I went to MALBA (Museum of Latin American Fine Arts) to watch an Argentine art film.  The good news: I understand almost all of the dialogue.  The bad: There were probably 20 minutes of dialogue in the entire movie, which included a nearly 30 minute word-free scene in which the protagonist gets his car repaired.  Needless to say, I started to run out of patience toward the end. But I felt really cultured and snooty.

Sunset in Buenos Aires taken from inside La Bombanera

Fútbol
The following day, some friends and I went to a fútbol match, Boca vs San Lorenzo.  We didn't buy tickets beforehand, because the web site is completely unnavigable (seriously, try to figure out how to buy tickets to the next match.  I dare you).  Assuming that there would be myriad ticket-scalpers willing to rip us off outside the gates, we didn't think there would be any problem.  And there wasn't, I guess; it's just that Argentines do their ticket scalping a bit differently.  You see, there are these soccer gangs here in Buenos Aires.  As we walked around looking lost, confused, and ticket-less, a friendly, tweaked-out Argentine approached us and said we could get into the match for 200 pesos.  This was a bit steep (around 50 US$), but after going all the way to La Boca and hearing the incredible noise emanating from inside, we couldn't say no.  The man told us we needed to go to a less-public alley so that we wouldn't be seen while we waited for his partner who had the tickets.  At that point we began to think that maybe this wasn't the safest idea, especially since we hadn't yet grown out of our oh-my-god-i'm-in-a-foreign-country-and-therefore-i'm-paranoid-of-everything phase.  As the sun started to go down and the alley became more and more dimly lit, Will and I continued to scan the street around us to make sure that we would be able to make an escape if we needed.  (I might be making this sound more dramatic than it actually was.  Yes, we were hesitant and a little bit worried, but we obviously wouldn't have stayed there if we had actually been terrified of being robbed and murdered).  Anyways, the associate finally shows up, we give our money to the other guy and hope that we aren't being ripped off, then we ask for our tickets.  He says something in Spanish that none of us really understand, but it's clear that he doesn't have any tickets.  He tells us to follow him; we oblige.  We reach security, the man says something to them quickly, and security lets us pass.  And just like that, we get into the stadium.  Without any sort of ticket or legitimate payment.  At that point we realize that we had been dealing with the corrupt barras bravas (read the above link to learn more), and decide that the 200 pesos was worth it, considering it included several adrenaline rushes as well as entrance to the match.

The very loud Bombonera, home of the Boca Juniors

Now for the match. It probably won't surprise you to hear that Argentine fútbol is intense.  Like, really intense.  Just watch this video of the aftermath of Boca's only goal to understand what I mean:

Now I know how football can be so popular, even though goals are rare and ties (gasp!) are possible: the passion and fervent devotion of the fans creates an inexplicable tension in which even the slightest opportunity for a goal is a thrilling experience.  Even as someone who never followed the sport before, I'm hooked, and wish that I hadn't stopped played in fourth grade.  Soccer fandom is a one of many parts of Argentina that will surely return to the United States with me.

A shop in La Boca painted the hometown team's colors

La Boca is known for its colorfulness.  Obligatory photo.

Speaking of the United States, that place seems so far away and foreign nowadays.  I saw an American flag yesterday, and it was a bizarre experience -- an omnipresent symbol in the U.S., yet I realized that I hadn't seen one for over two months.  I also haven't heard "God Bless America" or seen Jersey Shore and I'm not sure I still meet the requirements for citizenship.  When my dwindling supply of peanut butter is exhausted I might have nothing left of my American-ness.


That, luckily, means that I'm building up my Argentine-ness.  I fit in better now; I have my San Lorenzo jacket, my mate and thermos, and my tendency to be late to everything.  Now I just need to learn the hardest part: speaking like a porteño.


Actually, one of the things I've enjoyed greatly is learning the slang, or lunfardo, of BsAs.  Mostly obscenities, really.  The soccer match was a  great opportunity to hear every bad word under the sun put to good use, even by four-foot tall pre-adolescent boys.  But the language in general has been a pain.  I had this deluded idea that I would come to Argentina, struggle for a few days, then be fluent and have tons of Argentine friends after a month.  Not so.  Two months in, I still have no Argentine friends, and sometimes struggle pathetically to communicate.  As it goes with anything, there are good days and bad, but it seems that the emotions are magnified here.  One moment I'll feel like I'm wasting five months of my life and will leave with neither friends nor an ability to speak Spanish, and the next I'll feel overjoyed because I made conversation with an Argentine.  This experience has been much more difficult than anything I expected, but I think and hope that once I do start to catch on the things more that it will be that much more rewarding.  Cross your fingers.

Will and I hate Guidos. Also photos that pertain to the text surrounding them

I did learn that a way to make friends is to just do very strange things and use them as conversation starters.  For example, last week there were elections at UBA to choose student government, and it's much more serious business here.  There are legitimate parties, and they plaster their campaign posters over every imaginable surface in the building.  So, of course, I wanted to take some of these posters as keepsakes.  As I stood on a handrail to reach an especially high poster, a girl came by and asked if the poster (with President Cristina Kirchner's face) really bothered me that much.  A little embarrassed, I explained, and she offered to give me one of the extra advertisements that they had never put up, and we had a legitimate conversation.  hashtag winning


Viaje a Córdoba
Two weekends ago the program took us all on a trip to Córdoba, which is 10 hours away by bus.  We took an overnight bus, and of course it was impossible to sleep despite the relative comfort of the seats. We arrived at our hostel at 5am to find that we were not allowed to check-in until noon, so a few of us drank mate until the sun rose.  After we finally began our day, we headed off for the first event on our agenda: touring the Universidad de Córdoba.  And yes, we were as confused as you are as to why we were spending our vacation time in a place very similar to our own universities.  Our tour guide spoke to us as if we were 5 year olds (¿Saben lo que es el NÚCLEO DE LA CÉLULA?), which proved to us that we had, in fact, progressed beyond a kindergarden comprehension level.  The small things in life, amirite?


The next day we took a bus to the nearby sierra to hacer trekking (hiking, but hacer trekking is so much more fun to say). It was a welcome change to leave city life and get out into nature for a bit. Also, there were some absolutely fantastic meal times with great friends, and there are many silly photos which document this fact.  Our excuse is that we were severely sleep-deprived the entire weekend, so don't judge.  On Sunday, we had a free day, and chose to go to the nearby town of Alta Gracia to see Che Guevera's childhood home.  It was a worthwhile excursion, and I learned a lot about a man that Argentines are very proud to claim as their own.

WHAT?! A candy/liquor store? I can die now
Also not related to surrounding text, sorry

Star Struck 
Last Monday, I went to my internship to find all of my co-workers leaving the building.  They told me to leave my backpack in the office and to come with them, so I did.  As we walked, they explained to me that MTV Latin America was doing a filming a few blocks away, and this was an opportunity for publicity.  We all put on our Conciencia t-shirts and headed to Plaza General San Martin, where we found a crowd surrounding Axel, who I later discovered has the #4 song in Argentina right now.  If you watch the music video below, you'll probably be unsurprised to know that I was one of very few guys in the crowd, surrounding by screaming teenage girls who demanded Axel's sweaty tissues. Ick.

We Become Celebrities
On Thursday Leah and I went on an art tour of San Telmo, a barrio that is filled with really cool street art and graffiti.  Since I had forgotten to charge my camera, I have no pictures to share, unfortunately.  However, you may soon be able to see a really embarrassing video of us: A film crew followed us throughout the tour, as they tried to collect material for their tourism video promoting Buenos Aires.  The kicker is that they needed to interview people, and especially people who spoke Spanish, and I foolishly revealed that we were here studying Spanish.  Of course this meant that we had to be interviewed.  The conversation went something like this:


Interviewer: Where are you from?
Ryan: Los Angeles
Leah: New York
(note: neither of those answers is true)
I: Do you like art?
R: Oh yeah, I go to museums all the time.  There are many museums in Los Angeles.  And in New York.
I: What do you like best about Buenos Aires?
R: Food.  And mate.
L: Yeah I have my thermos! (turns 180 degrees to show her thermos)
I: What kind of food do you like here?
R: Meat.
L: And carbohydrates.


....Yeah, it was as awkward as it sounds.

El Ateneo, a former opera theater that has been converted into a bookstore. Right up my alley.

Quilombo at the post office
My dear Aunt Kim was kind enough to send me a care package, so I received a notice at my house saying that I needed to go to the International Package Center to retrieve it.  I was warned that this could be a lengthy process, so I brought along some medialunas, some mate, and, as always, Harry Potter y el prisionero de Azkaban.  When I arrived there was a crowd inside and out of the post-office.  I entered, took a number (73), and looked at the board to see how long it would be before I was called.  Alas, 99 was being served at that time, and I could tell that it would be awhile before 73 came around again, considering that there were only three windows open. After reading HP for around an hour, 73 was called, and I took my ticket to the window.  The man shook his head at me, and explained that I had ticket 73 E, and they had just called 73 D, which meant I had to wait another 100 numbers, or 1.5 hours.  When I was finally called, I went to the window to pay my small tax and was given a number which corresponded to my package.  The man at the counter told me to wait in another room until my package was ready.


The problem this time was that these new package numbers were not in chronological order, so you had to listen to every number that was called until you heard yours, or you would never know that your number had been called.  After two more hours waiting in that room, I made the classic foreigner's mistake: I dozed off for a few minutes as I sat on the floor against the wall.  Regaining consciousness, I panicked.  Had my number been called in the preceding minutes?  I went to the back room and told a man that yes, I had heard my number called (because they refused to even look if you weren't sure).  He looked, didn't find it, and directed me to another section, where my package also was not located.  So I returned to the first place, stood in line again, and found another worker to look for my package.  I repeated this process several times to no avail.  At this point, it was 6:00pm (an hour after the post office had officially closed), and I had to catch the bus to Córdoba at 8 and had some errands to run beforehand.  I thus made the painful (well, not really) decision to leave without my package.  Yes, I waited in the post office for FIVE HOURS and left empty-handed.  Well, that isn't completely true: I did get a good story out of it.  Also an understanding of the horrific Argentine bureaucracy.  And I had some great moments in which I complained with other Argentines about the insanity of the situation, so I'd say it's a win overall. Thanks Aunt Kim! (and if you're reading this, no, that really isn't sarcastic, and I appreciated the sentiment!)

Walking down/Attempting to cross Avenida de Julio is one of my favorite things to do

The famous Obelisco, Buenos Aires's defining landmark

A small plaza in the middle of Avenida de Julio, with the beloved Eva Peron in the background

School and Stuff
So I really do go to school here.  And it's pretty hard and in Spanish.  I know I harp on this "It's in Spanish" theme a lot, but seriously it can put a damper on things.  And I have a midterm coming up at an unspecified but imminent date, so wish me luck on that, since I've understood approximately 10% of what's happened so far in class.  The next few weeks will be spent trying to discern a mountain of readings that are sitting on my desk.


In case anyone made it through this monster of a post, congratulations! I will have nothing original to tell you when I get back.  But I kid.

Chau!


PS This article is really interesting and is somewhat related to what I'm doing here. Read it if you have time.

Baby Steps

I have been in Buenos Aires for more than a month now, and I have that strange sensation of having been here forever and having just arrived.  I'm reminded every day that I'm not from here, by both the things that I don't understand and the people who don't understand me and ask, "De donde sos?"  In some ways, however, I'm settling in.  I am almost never lost thanks to the fairly intuitive street grid of Buenos Aires and countless hours of staring at my bus map and wandering around new parts of town.  I've started all of my classes, and I started my internship today at political education/activism organization called Conciencia, where I'll be working 10-12 hours a week.  I even have a gym membership, which comes with some comical observations.  My capacity to look like a porteño has even improved, now that I own a mate, an alpaca sweater, and some sweet argentine slippers, all courtesy of a Sunday feria, or market.  Most astoundingly, I passed the Level One test for basic language ability -- I went to a barber shop and left without a mullet.  Baby steps.

It's been awhile since I last updated this blog, mostly because I don't want to be tiresome and write 1000 words every time I learn the word for lizard (el lagarto, if you were wondering).  I have done and seen some cool things, though, that you might be interested in hearing about.

During the military dictatorship's rule in Argentina between 1976 and 1983, thousands of young Argentine men and women were kidnapped by the government.  Presumably they were tortured and killed, but the truth of what happened to them has never been uncovered.  Now, every Thursday afternoon, the mothers of these desaparecidos march around the Plaza de Mayo, directly in front of the Casa Rosada, the Argentine version of the White House, as a way of demanding answers about their sons' and daughters' whereabouts.  Last week I went to see the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo, and I honestly cannot adequately describe the haunting sight of 80- and 90-year-old women defiantly chanting their demands for the truth.  Each madre wears a white bonnet with the name of her son or daughter and they are joined by other protestors, mostly friends and family of the desaparecidos, who hold up signs with pictures of their lost loved ones.  Here are some pictures:

Monument in Plaza de Mayo; Madres in bottom right

A madre speaking to the crowd

La Casa Rosada

Las madres de la Plaza de Mayo

I visited Puerto Madero with some friends, and finally saw the riverfront (not counting the time I took the boat to Uruguay).  I can see why Buenos Aires was trying to hide it from me -- it's kinda dirty and gross.  Because of this, Buenos Aires doesn't have much of a scenic riverfront area, and Puerto Madero is about as close as it gets.  Though there are supposedly some very nice restaurants, a TGI Friday's, inexplicably; a cool pedestrian bridge, and some old boats that now serve as museums.

The cool bridge

Will, Leah, Jenny, me, and the results of ten-second auto timer

The aforementioned market was amazing.  I had been to a few different ferias, but they were all filled with tourists and I was paranoid that the vendors were trying to rip me off.  Last weekend, though, I went to the market in Mataderos, a barrio on the southwest fringe of the city.  It was a little far, maybe 20 or 30 minutes by bus, but it was well worth the trip.  It was much more authentic than the ferias in San Telmo or Recoleta, which are more upscale and touristy.  The quality and prices were also better; I bought my second alpaca sweater for $30 because I realized that my first one was cheap quality.  I also bought those comfy slippers for $15, a cool souvenir mate for $5, and a bottle of delicious homemade wine for $6.  I restrained myself from buying a hand-carved guitar (it wasn't that hard, since I didn't have enough dinero), but I might go back next week and buy one.  In addition to all of the friendly vendors, there was live music, traditional dancing, and gauchos riding their horses through a section of the street.  Watch the video below of the folk dancers. Unfortunately, I turned off my camera just before I heard a girl behind me ask, in very American English, "How come our culture isn't cool like this?"

Yesterday was El Día del Niño, which is just a day when everyone pays attention to the kids and is nice to them.  HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS?! I demand two decades of owed kid's days.  But anyways, we celebrated at my house by having french fries for dinner.  When Moira ran into my room and excitedly told me that we were having french fries and lettuce for dinner, I thought I must have misunderstood.  But no, it was true.  And with Ketchup Hot too! (side note: it's really strange to pronounce English words with a Spanish accent; e.g. kay-choop HHHoht; dayleevayree (delivery), etc. (also difficult to spell out pronunciation differences...))  I think we need to bring this tradition to the United States while I have a chance at passing as a niño...

Funny story about my gym.  It's called Gym Coliseum (again with the pronunciation thing), and it's located on the second floor of a movie theater.  Yes, you heard right.  And yes, it is strange to open the door to leave the gym and be met with the sweet odor of stale popcorn.  The membership only costs $20 a month, so I've been learning a bit about what exercise was like in the 50's with a stationary bike made out of real bike parts.  To increase the difficulty you don't press the up arrow like the spoiled Americans, but tighten the break; not too much, though, or the pedals on your bike become stationary too.  The gym keeps me connected to what's happening in the American music scene, too; ABBA and Cheap Trick are still big there, right? I am also learning about kilograms; for example, 50 kilograms is really heavy.  Baby steps.

Classes are going well, although I haven't done much homework yet, owing to the fact that it's kind of complicated to figure out which readings you're supposed to do and where to obtain these readings.  The profesor of my "Capitalism, socialism, and social revolution" class is a 70-year-old chainsmoker, and what a hoot he is.  As he stands directly in front of the sign proclaiming the rule against smoking in the building, he proceeds to smoke no fewer than ELEVEN cigarettes during our class, tapping his ashes nonchalantly onto the floor.  He is also nearly deaf, so when you ask a question you either have to shout (a daunting task when you aren't confident about your language skills) or ask your question with his face 6 inches from yours (also uncomfortable).  The building itself is very interesting, and nothing like Pomona; the hallways are narrow and dimly lit, and the classrooms are covered with political graffiti and posters.  It's a completely different experience, but I do wish that students in the U.S. were as deeply invested in their country's political system.  Even Pomona kids seem incredibly apathetic in comparison to the students of UBA.

A typical classroom at la UBA

Political graffiti everywhere

I was finally able to successfully stay awake for a porteño-like night out, as I returned Sunday morning at 6:30am and fell asleep just dawn was breaking outside my window.  The key is to sleep in the day before, drink an outrageous amount of mate beforehand, and try to not sit on any comfortable surfaces.  It was fun, but not something I can see myself doing multiple times a week... Pasos pequeños.

In other news, my parents are probably coming to visit!  Turns out they have an Argentine friend in Boise that owns an apartment in Recoleta, 15 minutes from my house.  I'm excited to be able to show off my mastery of Spanish and Buenos Aires when they come in December.  Now I just have to master Spanish and Buenos Aires... I have spent un montón of time thinking about dates for when they can come, and I think I have schemed a way to fit their 10-day trip here in between a trip to Mendoza, Santiago, and Valparaiso and 10-12 days in Patagonia.  It is thus decided that my last month in South America will consist almost entirely of traveling outside of Buenos Aires (because my parents want to visit the beaches of Uruguay, where we can bathe in warm sunlight in December).

In the week ahead: If it doesn't rain/isn't repressively cold tomorrow, I'm going to finally check out the ultimate frisbee team in Buenos Aires.  On Sunday I'm going to see some real football (ahem, futból), cheering on my neighborhood's very own San Lorenzo against the famed Boca Juniors.  And next week, I'm going to do something completely out of my comfort zone -- start taking tango lessons at a nearby milonga.  The things I'll do in search of porteño friends.  Once again, baby steps.

Hasta luego, chau!