Prepare the landing pad...this adventurer is on her way home.

Houston, we can confirm a landing.

I just landed back in the US, Houston to be exact, and I am not sure how to explain the feeling. I am thinking reintegration is going to be more of a process than a switch and I can already feel the character that came to be in South America being shaped and molded by my country. Its not good, its not bad, it just is.

The first shock came on the airplane when I heard new tones of voices that I haven't heard in a long time, many of which don't exist or are not used in Castellano. The tone of voice that comes from saying the same thing over and over and obligating passangers to fasten their seatbelts and obey the seatbelt indication light because it was turned on my someone with more experience and far "superior knowledge of weather patterns"...then again, that could just be a different culture of the US talking.

I guess you could say that I am not the same person now as I was when I came. Nor do I think that I have experienced any drastic transformations. I have however, learned how to love, learned how to feel, and learned how to live.

I am getting called to board my flight to Portland. All in all, my abroad experience is one that I will never forget. It has become a part of who I am today and I would suggest that anyone who has the opportunity to do so should take advantage of the experience. 

After 17 days of nonstop travel and nearly 6 months of adventuring, Jazmín and I said a tearfull goodbye at the airport. I am not usually one to cry in public, but I cried. I think it has something to do with the fact that I have lived 6 months in a culture that is not embarassed to feel and it has rubbed off on my. Speaking the language is more emotional too, each sentance unravels with emotion and is accompanied by gestures of all kind. 

As Mom always says:

Goodbye is never goodbye, its just a "see you later." 

Machu Picchu

Machu Picchu

Cusco, Peru

After a pleasant 12 hour bus ride from La Paz, Bolivia we found ourselves in Cusco, Peru. I have never seen so many people hanging out in the fields and watching their cows as I saw along the way.  Why don't we ever just lay in the fields and watch out cows eat and enjoy the sun? I guess we are too busy doing what we think is "productive"??

Updates to come.

Headed North

If you were following a GPS of me, a little red dot would currently be blinking in the capital city of La Paz, Bolivia. Jazmín and I are on our way North to Peru (which the last two times I have planned to travel there, something has come up and my plans changed, so I will let you know if we ever make it there tomorrow). 


Here is a quick breakdown of the trip so far considering that I am in an internet cafe surrounded by teenage boys playing online computer games...


Day 1 Buenos Aires (sniff) to Salta, Argentina

Day 2 Salta

Day 3 Cafayate, Argentina

Day 4 Purmamarca, Argentina- hill of the seven colors (pictures to come)

Day 5 Salt Flats (pictued below-better pics to come, I just nabbed this one off of my facebook)

Day 6 Humahuaca, Argentina- not too much there, but their is a song about a cow (vaca) from Humahuaca

 Day 7 (Sunday) Visit to Tilcara, Argentina, another cute little town and then headed to Jujuy in preparation for an early morning departure to Chile en route to Peru only to get to the bus station the night before to find out that the pass is closed on account of snow and will not be opening until Tuesday (which I guess is today). I return home the 20th and have my mind set on Machu Picchu.

Day 8 We jumped on a bus that took us back through Purmamarca, Tilcara, and Humahuaca and to the border city of La Quiaca where we would begin the journey through Bolivia. Andy, a Brit in our hostel tagged along since his travel plans also hit a bump in the road with Chile out of the question. We had heard from multiple people that you can just walk over the border, travel through Bolivia and walk through to Peru without visas, exit/entry stamps, etc. False.I mean maybe it is true, the people at border control said that if we were passing into Bolivia for the day and returning, that we could pass the line and walk right over the bridge. We would be entering and exiting Bolivia in a day but not leaving from where we came from, so that was not an option. An hour and a half and $135US later, my hiking boots said hello to Bolivia while my mind kept me in a bad mood. My two fellow companions obtained the pretty and shinny Bolivian sticker without even trying and chatted as they waited for the American to fill out her two long papers and pay up. Thank you USoA, I don´t know what we did, but we must have done something. Anyway, we made it to the bus station, jumped on a bus and enjoyed the beautiful rural Bolivian landscape. As the sun tucked itself into bed, dusk outlined the hills with a light blue that slowly turned into the deep darkness of the sky that was speckled with stars. My nose glued itself to the window to see the brilliant shadows cast by the moon in the desert. An occasional cooking fire passed by, accompanied by quiet stoned huts. We left Villazon, Bolivia at 3:30pm yesterday and arrived in La Paz, absolutely frozen solid at 11:30am this morning. We failed to bring along our think llama wool blanket that everyone on the bus had.

Day 9 La Paz, Bolivia and if all goes according to plan, we jump on an 11 hour bus to Cusco, Peru tomorrow morning!!!

Hasta pronto.
-Em

Chau Buenos Aires

The Obelisk at Sunset

La Casa Rosada- lowering of the flag 

I feel like I just broke up with the love of my life. Sunday afternoon I said a blurry-eyed goodbye to Buenos Aires and all the fantastic people that had become fixtures in my life since I arrived in February.

I have decided that living in a different language is learning a new way to feel. There is something about the way that Argentineans speak. Every sentence dips and summits the extremes of passion, and after nearly six months of speaking more or less like an Argentinean, the emotional bit has started to rub off on me. Rarely do I cry, but my eyes stung as I entered the taxi to the airport with Jazmín, there were still tears left from my going away party the night before.

Lucky for us, the volcano in Chile decided to cool its jets for a while, and I waved goodbye to Buenos Aires from the plane on the way north to Salta, our first of many destinations on our way to Peru.

Salta

Today's drive from Salta to Cafayate

Today's adventure included eating wine ice cream and searching ALL OVER town for someone who could sew patches on Jazmín's pants that had some lovely looking holes after she got too close to the heater since it was absolutely freezing last night in the hostel.

Hi, Reality? Its getting cold...have you considered hibernating?

     The last few weeks have been a blur of class, papers, and exams, and now that yesterday marked by two-week countdown in Buenos Aires, I am desperately searching for the slow motion button.

Its a bitter-sweet feeling. When I arrived in Argentina there was a distinct difference between my life in the US and my life here. Buenos Aires as a city is the polar opposite of Walla Walla or Portland, English is not my primary language, I don't drive, I take the bus or subtes, and rarely can I see the sunset. But this world that was at first the foreign other is now the normal lived experience. I have friends, family, responsibilities, a routine, homework, and all the sentiments that come along with them. The label Argentinean friends that I used subconsciously when I first arrived has completely dissolved and they are just like any other, people who have impacted my life and who I will never forget. Despite our geographical differences, I plan to keep in touch.

Barrio Puerto Madero, Buenos Aires

    My host family also has become genuinely my family. Don't get me wrong in any way, shape, or form, I love my family in the US, but during my time in Buenos Aires I have felt 100% like part of the Caillon family. Also, I realize that I never did elaborate much on the people who I interact with on a daily basis. In two sentences, I live with a host mother, two siblings who are both 24, and a grandmother who came to Argentina from Poland in 1948. I live in an apartment a block away from any bus I need to take, a major subte stop, a grocery store, the store to buy minutes for my phone, and a spiffy gym. 

Recent random updates/adventures/ tidbits:

-I have become addicted to something that was once illegal in Argentina...the Tango. With a lack of sports in my life here in Buenos Aires, the Tango has become my latest challenge that I have set out to tackle. An underground milonga (Tango bar) called La Viruta has become my go to place. While most students who study abroad in Buenos Aires head for the boliches or dance clubs (we're talking reggetone/cumbia/America's Top 40 songs) on a Friday night, you can find me at La Viruta. 29 pesos covers any and all dance classes that you take for the night which could mean that at 7:00pm on a Saturday you walk in for a Milonga (faster version of the Tango) class, at 9:00pm you jump into a Rock class, and at 10:30 you can join me in a Tango class followed by open dance often to live music, all for U$S 7. There are classes of all levels. At the moment I am hanging out with the intermediates and am learning how to follow the different leads. Since the Argentinean Tango is completely improvised the man needs to mark his leads decisively and the woman then needs to know how to react.  A good partner can make any woman look like she has danced for ages and man is it fun...a not so practiced lead on the other hand looks something like trying to navigate a map in a town with no street signs.

-Last weekend Lena and I headed to Colonia and Punta del Este Uruguay. As it is winter, there were not too many people out and about, but we appeased our body's hunger for  Vitamin D as we walked along the beach/boardwalk and took in for the first time in a long time, fresh ocean air. After walking along the beach we headed to Casapueblo, a house/museum/hotel built along the water by Uruguayan artist Carlos Páez Vilaró and after treating our eyes to artistic bliss, we spoiled our taste buds with a cappuchinos on the deck above the water.

Casapueblo

Punta del Este

- Pick-up line of the month:

Young Argentinean: "Excuse me, do you have a dictionary?"

Young blue eyed girl from the US studying in Argentina for six months: "Um, no...??"

Young Argentinean: "Because you eyes have left me without words."

Guys, do with this one what you will...

T minus 9 days in Buenos Aires. Sleep is for the plane ride home, for now its time to aprovecha la vida! (Take advantage of what life has to offer!) 

Casapueblo

A Thrusday in the Life of Me.

     My phone twinkles its wind chime alarm and my hand hits it like a sledgehammer as I roll over and with blurry eyes attempt to make out the Spanish snooze button. Half an hour later it sounds again, then two minutes after that. I pull myself out of bed and trudge on into the kitchen, slip a piece of bread in the toaster, grab a yogurt out of the fridge and head back to my room to concoct a new combination of the same old clothes. I decide on something that probably involves boots and throw my notebooks, electronic dictionary, Guía T (bus map of Buenos Aires), phone, and wallet in by gray bag. I throw it over my shoulder as I grab my keys and head out the apartment door. I call the elevator and hit the timed switch for the hall light. The car jolts to a stop and I slide open the metal grate and the solid sliding door with a clatter, enter, and close them both behind me. For five floors I have no option but to inspect my appearance in the mirrors that cover all three solid walls of the elevator. Once again I slide open and close the doors, walk down the hall, insert and turn my flat golden key to the right, haul open the heavy door, and take a breath of the morning air of Buenos Aires. As I walk down the block to the right, I sift through the change in the key chain’s leather pouch until I find 1.25 worth of monedas. I stick the combination of metal in my right jean pocket and look up to see a glance of my number 29 bus jog down the street perpendicular to me. La *@#$ #@*$! As I near the corner, the smell of freshly baked media lunas (croissants but fluffier) over stimulates my olfactory senses, but my dreams of warm dough dissolve as I respond to Julian's (the doorman of the apartment building next to the bakery), "Hola Emi, ¿cómo andás?"

             I turn the corner and pass the huge random statue of Homer Simpson before crossing the street. I get to the end of the next block, wait for the light to change, cross Santa Fe Ave., turn to the left, and avoid any dog doo until I reach the bus stop. My arm fishes for my book in my bag and I continue the reading that I need to finish before my 10:00 class as I wait. and wait... and wait until the 29 decides to pick up some passengers. I dig out the coins from my pocket, step on to the bus, and tell the driver my faire. The bus lurches forward and I insert and reinsert the monedas into the ticket machine until swallows the coins and spits out a little piece of carbon paper. I move towards the back until an available handle, seat, or space against the handicap wall opens up. 35-40 minutes later I disembark and walk three blocks to a three-hour Spanish Language and Grammar course after which I cruise to the corner Parilla (Argentinean BBQ) where I order a quick, juicy, and hot off the grill Vacio Chico (steak sandwich). The Asador literally removes the meat from the grill, slices off what becomes the contents of my sandwich, and hugs it with a delicious roll.

            I walk 15 minutes to the Subte, which I ride for 20 minutes until it drops me off right in front of my apartment building. I enter the apartment, find my bed, and crash until I leave for a story writing workshop from 6-9 after which I hustle home, grab my tango shoes, and head to La Viruta, an underground dance hall for a lesson. And that concludes a Thursday in the life of Me.