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).