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. 

Hodgepodge of Updates

I wouldn't say that I have necessarily left you in the dust because the air in Buenos Aires doesn't stop long enough to collect. However, I realize that my blog has found a comfortable place chilling in the back of the fridge (I couldn't resist such a terrible pun). So, now that Mom and Dad are safely back in the US after a wonderful 2.5 week visit in Argentina, I am starting to get my routine (if that word even exists in the Argentine) back in order.

Here are some highlights from the last few weeks/month:

Mendoza: Mom and Dad came to visit and we headed to Mendoza which you could say is the Napa Valley of Argentina well known for its Malbec, most of which goes down very smoothly. We toured a winery, sat in the sun, drank wine, and enjoyed the countryside without the craziness of the city. They liked it so much that they changed their flights to stay an extra few days while I headed back for class. I was forced to actually do homework for six hours waiting for another flight after mine was cancelled. That was an experience. I showed up at the desk to check in after saying goodbye to Mom and Dad and watching them drive off back towards the Andes, and the attendants at the counter told me to come back in about 15 minutes, they weren't ready to check people in. I sit down and wait a few minutes and look up at the monitor to see "Flight Cancelled." I head back to the counter and there was absolutely no one, and I repeat no one. We all started calling the airline but no one answered because they were calling the desk at the airport, but no one was there to answer their calls. It was a big quilombo as we call it here. Eventually I made it home.

Oh hey wine.

Aren't they adorable

Lewis and Clarke

The next weekend the three of us headed to an estancia or working ranch 2 hours Northeast of Buenos Aires. It has been my dream to get on a horse and take off riding in the open fields of the countryside, and aside from eating amazing food, that is exactly what we did that weekend. Wake up, eat, ride, eat, ride, eat, sleep. Quite the schedule.

Oscar the gaucho

We got some good mate drinking in.

The last night before they left, we headed to La Viruta a Milonga where porteños unite to dance the tango. The tennis shoe wearing foreigners stick to their beginner group while those who actually know what they are doing move with ease across the dance floor. I plan to return soon.

The weekend after they left I headed with my study abroad program to Rosario where the Monument of the Flag stands and the city where Che Guevara took his first breath of life. Apart from exploring the monument and enjoying the nice view from atop, we went to El Museo de la Memoria, a museum dedicated to remembrance of the 30,000 people who were kidnapped from their houses never to be seen again during the 1976-1983 military dictatorship.

The names of los desaparecidos are etched on the copper cilinders.

This last weekend I went to Jazmín's house in the country. She grew up in a tiny little down about two hours outside of Buenos Aires and graciously called up a gaucho friend asking if I could ride one of his horses since she would be riding her yegua or mare. Within a few hours I found myself atop a retired polo horse that loved to run and whose breaks could use some WD-40, but it was an absolute blast. Jazmín and I rode in the fields for almost two hours until the sun started to go down and we all, two gauchos included, headed back to her house for some facturas (pastries) and lots of mate. It was surreal. Later that night we met up with one of Jazmín's friends, Eugenia and went dancing until 7 in the morning. Once again, a blast. The next afternoon when we finally woke up, it was parilla or BBQ time and we ate some amazing meat topped off with some good ol' estadounidense s'mores.

 

I´m in the midst of packing...

but I thought I should probably let you all know that I am still alive before I head back out to the countryside to stay with Jazmín and her family for the weekend.

For your entertainment here are some photos from last weekend. Any takers on where I went? Hint: I saw Che Guevara´s house...

Converse, welcome to Buenos Aires...

I am alive and well and promised I would write a post on Thursday, which technically for me was yesterday, but for the US is valid, therefore in the next 9 minutes that I have left I will add some photos for your enjoyment.
Updates:
-Mom and Dad arrived last week (which means that they brought my favorite turquoise converse that I forgot to pack!!!) and we all headed to Mendoza aka wine country
-Last night we had a lovely dinner with my host family, Mom made German Chocolate Cake aka Yum
-The weekend of the 16th I went here:

Iguazu Falls

Iguazu Falls- the adventure included two 18+ hour bus rides and living on 20 pesos for two days. between two people.

-Tomorrow bright and early we are headed to an estancia or old working ranch outside of Buenos Aires.

Time's up. Toon in in a few days.

Celebrity for a Day

Highlights from the past week:

-Friday (April 1): Went to a party at Jack's (friend from BC who is randomly in one of my classes here) apartment that he shares with five other international students. As I wove through the thirty plus people, I felt as if I were touring the world as students from Amsterdam conversed with Parisians to my left, Spaniards charlaban (chatted) with Germans to my right. For once, English was not the common language; together we all spoke Spanish.   

-Saturday: Lena and I took a bus-train combination North to the river delta of Tigre. It was nice to get out of the city. We sat by the water and enjoyed a fruit salad with ice cream as we each trudged through Manuel Puig's Boquitas Pintadas.

-Lazy Sunday

-Thursday (April 7): After three hours of a Spanish Grammar class, and before a three hour story writing workshop I headed to San Martin de Tours school for girls, were my host mother teaches English in the afternoons. She had invited me to come in and talk with her fifth and sixth graders about where I am from, what I like to do in my spare time, etc. The second I walked onto the school property, girls flocked to me asking if I was Emily and wanted to make sure and say hi. Both groups of students ooed and awed at the pictures that I showed them of Oregon's mountains, beaches, and Walla Walla's wheat fields.  They all gasped in horror when I told them that we don't have Dulce de Leche nor Alfajores in the US and were intrigued that we eat eggs in the morning rather than later in the day. I had given two independent presentations and two questions overlapped: "Do you have a boyfriend?" and "Do you have a best friend?" Neither of which has a definite answer. 

I got home in time to grab by rain shell before heading to class once again. By the time I left the house it was pouring, but I had purposely left the umbrella in its bucket because I wanted to walk in the rain. And walk in the rain with a smile on my face I did. Everyone I passed probably thought I was crazy, but I embraced its shower of home. My mood only improved when I got to my writing workshop to hear the professor suggest a remedy for writers block: inebriate, write, and postpone editing until sobriety finds you once again.  Also, something that he mentioned that struck me: if someone is such a good writer that you, the reader, pause midway through a paragraph to reflect on how well what you are reading is written, and therefore leave the literary world in which you had been intently immersed, does it mean that the author is a good writer?

After class I returned home to find a pile of papers written by hand all with my name as the title summarizing in broken English everything that I had said in my presentations. Apparently the pictures of my dog and cat made quite an impression. 

Random cobblestone street I came across on my way home one day.

-Saturday: Walked through the Saturday market in front of the famous Recoleta cemetery, which houses the remains of those who the main streets were named after. After getting my fill of artisan crafts, I took a stroll through the cemetery. It is its own miniature city with walls that walls kept all the furious noises of city traffic from reaching my ears. It was surprisingly quiet, and as eerie and strange as it might sound, it was the calmest I have felt in a long while.  After my rendezvous, I met up with Jazmín to study, which for the first hour turned into us filling each other in on the past two weeks. We eventually ordered in empanadas and talked more until it was time for me to venture off to meet up with the Villa Gesell crowd. We ended up going to play Bingo. If you don't know your numbers in Spanish and you want to learn, go play Bingo...and don't expect to win.

-Sunday (today): Jazmín and I headed to Boca, a barrio in the southern part of the city famous for its colorful buildings.

El Mundo es un Pañuelo

     There is nothing like waking up blurry-eyed from the dreamlike state of a good book to find yourself surrounded by even more books in the renovated theater of El Ateneo. 

El Ateneo

    I wandered in on a lazy Sunday and lucked out with a leather chair on the third floor balcony overlooking rows and rows of books and the cafe that rests on the center stage. I opened Water for the Elephants and left the world of Buenos Aires for a magical two hours as I delved into the circus. Eventually, the novel came to an end and I wandered the rows of books as my sleepiness burned off. I have been trying to make a Bucket List for my time here so I browsed a slim book on Buenos Aires taking note of the famous cafes and tango bars. So far some tasks on the list include attending a Polo Match, cheering emotionally at a soccer game, and learning how to tango. The latter is a bit iffy, it seems that most people, me included, come here with idea that everyone in Argentina knows how to tango; I think I have met two people from here who have actually semi mastered the dance steps. 

     Before drifting home I ended up buying a Spanish Spanish dictionary, I figure I will learn more words that way? Hopefully? As far as the improvement of my Castellano goes, I feel like I have hit a bit of a plateau. I have learned a lot of the everyday slang and the colloquial phrases and apart from the game of Pictionary we played yesterday with the guys, the pages in my vocabulary notebook have not been filling up as rapidly as I would like. However, now that classes have actually commenced, the unfamiliar words have started to trickle in; I have no doubt that the flooding will begin momentarily. 

     With my fellow students from the US gone on grand adventures to the unknown for the long weekend, I walked home expecting a relaxing (which was starting to turn into boring) evening, when I got a message from Jazmín asking if I wanted to come over for dinner. Within ten minutes I was on the bus headed to her homey apartment for some delicious Milanesa (breaded meat) followed by a pajama party sleepover, which included some scrumpcious chocolate pudding and the highly recommended Argentinean movie Nueve Reinas.

Pajama Party

   Monday meant class and after a delicious breakfast, and lunch, made once again by chef Jazmín, I was off to European Art History which I am afraid to say was rather dull. The professor was as animated as the two dimensional prehistoric stick figures he was lecturing about. The literature concentration that I am enrolled in allows room for two other classes in any field, and I have ended up with art history and Argentinian History. The History professor is a kick, he lectures without notes and meanders with a focus that often leads to insightful tangents. Today as he moved from behind his desk to then sit on it, he enlightened us on the time that he did the same in front of 80 students and it toppled over and laid him on his back, his legs sticking straight up in the air and his dress pants scrunched by gravity revealing his sock covered ankles.

Yesterday I sat captivated by another professor in my Argentinean Literature class. He is an author of sorts, and guided us through poems after giving us dating advice while in Argentina which included for the girls, that we not break any Argentinean hearts, and for the boys not to get theirs broken. I am not usually one who jumps in joy for poesy, but the way he toured the lines was great fun. First off he read through the poem, then asked that we, a group of foreigners from abroad programs from around the globe, ask him the definition of any and all words we did not know, the picture translation of which he then drew on the chalk board. Turns out he is quite the artist. His images erased the fuzzy world that my mind had created and introduced a completely new paradigm.

     Also, I nearly left out one of the best parts of that class. Before reading through the texts, and just before he started talking about the modernization of Buenos Aires and how in a big city there is an element of anonymity because one can walk the streets and not run into anyone familiar etc., in walks Jack Casey, a friend from my first year at Boston College. I hadn't seen him since I ran into him in the dinning hall when I visited last spring. I sat still in my chair for a second as my mind processed what exactly was going on. Jack and I had History and Spanish together freshmen year, and now, a year and a half later in another hemisphere we would be colleagues once again. 

Small world. Or, as they say here: el mundo es un pañuelo.

(the world is a handkerchief).

They have rain in Buenos Aires.

     I have been asked a lot recently if they have this or that in Buenos Aires and for the most part all my responses have been yes. It reminds me quite a bit of the multiple people who I met in Boston who, after discovering that I was from OrYgon, asked me if we used covered wagons and if we had electricity. My response was that on Tuesdays and Thursdays I rode my pig to school, the other days we "carpooled" in the covered wagon. I haven't seen too many covered wagons, but they do have a brilliantly laid out public transportation and one heck of a lot of traffic, which they call transito. It's is actually pretty bad depending on the time of day, and when taking the bus sometimes it makes more sense just to get off and walk. The Subte or Subway here is quick and efficient and often packed like sardines, but keep a hand on your bag and it is the fastest mode of transportation around the city. Apart from the occasional being packed like a fish, the Subte can also be sweltering hot. A few days ago I walked outside after class and was pelted by cold air now that the weather is changing, walked across the street and down the stairs of the D line. I left the darkness of the night and was completely engulfed by the light of the underground, I felt as if every step brought be closer to Inferno as a wind tunnel of heat pulsed out of the Subte. Lucky for me, my house is only two stops away.

Random picture that I didn´t write about in this blog. St. Patrick´s Day, which they have only been celebrating here for six years, was out of control, so Sarah, fom the program, and I decided to duck into a "calmer" bar and chat with some Spaniards we met. I had forgotten what Spanish without all the slang and accent really sounds like, it was actually quite refreshing to hear.

     

     I have not yet been asked if they have rain, but I can confirm by looking out the window behind me as I sit in the living room sipping coffee, that they do indeed have this phenomenon called rain. They treat it differently here than in Portland, and for all you web footed Oregonians out there, you may have also been surprised, as I was today, by how many people use umbrellas here. At home when I look out the window (I don't know why I even bother to look) and see that once again it is raining, I grab my Northface shell and walk out the door. I did that today and no doubt marked myself as someone not from here as I continued calmly in the misty rain while my fellow commuters walked briskly under the shelter of their umbrellas. It does make a lot more sense to give in and buy an umbrella...we will see how long my Oregon pride lasts.

    Speaking of Oregon pride, one of my favorite bands, Pink Martini came to Buenos Aires last Saturday to play in the Fall Music Festival at the Buenos Aires Lawn Tennis Club and of course I had to go. Kevin Johansen, who was actually born in Alaska but has lived here for most of his life opened for them and got the crowd warmed up. Once again, like at La Bomba de Tiempo it was hard not to move, and I have decided that Argentineans like to dance; they like to dance and are always looking for a good time. Actually, I don't think that they even have to look, or even try, they can just naturally postpone stress and planning, and can relax and let loose. That is the general feeling I get anyway.

Kevin Johansen

     Lena, who is also from Alaska, graciously tagged along and got a good laugh out of me singing along to every song they played. We had arrived early and were in general seating, so by the time Pink Martini started playing we were located dead center about five people away from the stage. I think China Forbes must have thought I was some crazy fan of theirs because a.) we definitely, at multiple points in the show, watched each other sing, and b.) most of their songs are in different languages so I probably looked hideous as I tried to pronounce Turkish, French, Japanese, etc. Also, I have now decided, after reflecting on all the concerts I have been to, that it is worth it to either pay for the good seats up close, or if general seating is an option, go for it and get there early. The concert experience isn't even comparable when you can see the performer's eyes and the expressions on their faces without needing a pair of hawkeyed binoculars. The concert was a great taste of home, I felt like I was in my living room, but instead of preparing to sit down and relax with some wine and cheese by the fireplace, my night was just starting.

Pink Martini

    We exited the concert having no idea how to get to our next destination. Typical. We had options of a train bus combination, the bus, or a taxi. We settled on the latter which took us directly to the birthday gathering of Julian, one of the Villa Gesell crew. We enjoyed ourselves as we chatted with all of his friends. It eventually turned into more of me and Lena sitting on a bench at the table while the semi circle of friends focused intently on every word that left our mouths as we answered their questions about the US, how we liked Argentina, where we were living, how one can acquire a visa to study at Berklee College of Music, etc. Eventually after everyone had left, the eight of us who had gone camping to Gualeguaychu, headed out of the city to Alan's country home. It was so nice to escape the craziness of this jungle of cement and actually be able to fall asleep to the frog orchestra at night and wake up to the birds in the morning.  We played some quality four on four soccer, or as they say here, and I think makes so much more sense because you actually do use your feet, futbol. The team I was on lost, but the mosquitoes once again kept me distracted from the defeat, I have a few more bites to show off. 

    Great company, fantastic food, open country, and moving music made for yet again, a fantastic weekend in la Argentina.

Time to Rally for La Bomba de Tiempo

         Before this last Monday I had ever gone out on the first day of the week, especially with a looming 7:45am class the next morning, but La Bomba de Tiempo aka "The Time Bomb" was well worth it. Exhausted from a day full of classes, (I am in the process of trying out about 15 classes to then choose two, it was to choose four but as you will see, that plan has also changed) the last thing I wanted to do was get thrown around in a mosh pit while my ear drums took a beating at a drum concert, in fact I was about to lie down for a nap when I got the text to rally. And rally I did.

     I met up with Lena and two other girls from the study abroad program outside of the old rehabbed factory and as we waited in line at least 10 street vendors approached us hoping to sell us brownies, although these were not mom's ordinary homemade brownies if you catch my drift. We entered, and since it is not common to arrive anywhere on time, we walked a few rows from the front. Have you ever gone to a concert and midway through thought, "man I feel bad for the people all squished in the crowd near the front who are getting thrown back and forth like blueberries in a blender?" Yeah, that was us. It was like trying to stay upright on a boat on the high seas after someone had hit the fast forward button... if that makes any sense. It was crazy until we managed to break through the thin layer of people in front of us and hold on to the metal fence that prohibited us from climbing onstage and dancing with the maestro. From the front row we left the craziness behind us as we got an untainted view of the sixteen dancing musicians. It was hard to stop moving, not because of the sea of people, but because the music had taken over, it was wild. So wild that I came home from class the next day and crashed for 4 hours.

La Bomba de Tiempo

     Speaking of class, and yes, I am studying abroad, it has been an adventure. I am in the middle of working down a list of 20 courses that I have chosen that are at 4 different Universities between 7 different buildings spread out all over the city. Originally I was supposed to choose three or four, but today I jumped ship and switched to the Literature concentration organized by my program (IFSA Butler)which leaves me with room for one or two other classes after the set schedule of Argentinean Literature and Fiction writing. With that said, I still have absolutely no idea what I am taking... once again, I am practicing the art of living day by day. Yesterday I went to an Art and Design class at the Catholic University of Argentina, (UCA) which went from 7:45am to 1:00pm with two ten minute breaks in between. It was a first year course and after the first break we were instructed to make a collage to turn in within the hour. Earlier that morning I had trouble finding the room number because I had to search for the department in one of the three buildings at UCA in order to find the room, and walked in more than a few minutes late. It had not been my intention of arrive tardy on the first day of class, but my attempt at a sly entry did give students time to study me up and down enough that on the break while I was searching for yogurt in the cafeteria, one of them approached me and we started chatting. Her name has escaped me but she too was an exchange student, from Colombia, and boy had I forgotten what Spanish without the crazy Argentinean accent nor the overuse of slang sounded like. 
     We returned to class to find an assignment written on the board: we had the next hour to create a collage that represented ourselves. We looked at each other with puzzled faces as all the other students began rummaging in their bags for newspapers, magazines, scissors, glue, and the specified sized paper. How on earth did they know to bring that to the first day of class? And what better way to make friends than to sit on the floor surrounded by scraps of paper while you ask if you can't borrow scissors, or glue, or a magazine? The fact that I had absolutely no material was an instant ice breaker and a group of four of us sat and chatted while we handed around the scissors. At the end of the hour we turned the attempts at art in and were released for another break before the technical part of the class started. We returned to find the definitions of basic shapes and drawing terms such as line, plane, volume, etc. written on the board and my eyes instantly glazed over, I had no idea how I would stand another hour and a half of this and I couldn't imagine coming to this class everyweek. I really enjoy art and anything creative, but I decided then and there that this wasn't going to cut it, so I tried to figure out how I could possible duck out early and make it to another class that I had planned to miss, without being rude. I wrote a note and passed it to my Colombian friend, she had no idea. And then, lo and behold the cage door creaked open: the professor stopped to pass out some packets, it was then or never. I grabbed my stuff, attempted to quietly say thank you and that I had to go. All she said was, "Chau, chau," and I was off. I felt like zebra that had just escaped from the zoo and was on its way to a grammar class.

   On top of those individual class experiences, the next two weeks are filled with IFSA's mandatory grammar classes. Our professor Darío, however, makes it well worth it. His Italian fluctuation in tone as he uses his hands to speak keeps us well engaged, and he often strays from the lesson plan, which we all, he included, think is rather pavo, direct translation: turkey, colloquial translation: something silly/worthless. Despite the repetitive worksheets, classes are comprised more of us asking him questions about the Argentinean culture and colloquial phrases or terms and him correcting and explaining his alterations to our Spanish as we speak. The sun brings another one of those classes with it when it rises tomorrow.

Eduardo Catalano's Floralis Generica

Other eventful experiences this past week:

   I had decided to give up Dulce de Leche  and Alfajores for Lent. I wouldn't say that I am very religious, nor Catholic, but I usually like to take the challenge and stick with it... but this year's commitment fell to shambles, rapidly. My collapse wasn't out of a lack of ability but an excess of stupidity. How could I go live in another country for six months and deprive myself of two delicacies/parts of the culture that do not exist in the United States? Pure ludicrous. That foolishness ended when Jazmín, the Argentinean who I met on that crazy crazy day at the Perito Moreno Glacier, and I met up for coffee at a little cafe called, "Como en Casa." The moment I walked in I knew it was game over, it was like the Papa Haydns of Buenos Aires. Chocolate cake with Dulce de Leche, chocolate mousse, lemon tart, my mouth is watering just thinking about it. There was no way I was going to refuse delicious desserts, especially if we were going to each order one and swap.

     The cakes were divine, as was the coffee, and we talked for a good two and a half hours. I felt like I was sitting down with someone I had known my entire life, not someone who I had only just met a few weeks before. After witnessing my chaotic adventure at Perito Moreno and hearing about my spontaneous weekend in Gualeguaychu, she was intrigued with my lack of organization. We plan to go adventuring soon, perhaps to Tigre, a delta north of Buenos Aires.

   

    After coffee I headed home to change and meet up once again with two of the guys from Villa Gesell. We decided on billiards for the evening and ended up playing five games. Out of those five games, Lena and Javier managed to win one. All of those games that my cousins and I used to play at the ranch until the pool table turned into western art display must have paid off. Either that, or I probably shouldn't forget that Allan is a very good pool player. Every time that he pointed to the exact spot that I needed to hit, the ball went in, ever time.

     I think bowling might be up next on the competitive agenda...

Ganadores.

    Also, my crazy life in Buenos Aires has left me in a bit of a self absorbed bubble. Happy Aniversary Mom and Dad! 23 years and going strong. Oh and Grandma, Feliz Cumpleaños!!!! I send my love from Argentina.