El Calafate

When I was about nine years old, my family took a trip to Blackwater Falls, West Virginia. We went in March and there was a blizzard, but we were only there for a few days, so one afternoon we went tobogganing. No one was around so they hadn’t turned on the lift (like a ski lift, only for sleds!), so we had to trudge to the top of the hill, and once we got up there, there was so much snow the toboggans wouldn't go. By the time we started walking back to our cabin, my brother, who was six, and I were very cold and unhappy, and it was a long walk, so, to keep us going, my mom taught us “The Jeep Song,” a song she had learned in Girl Scouts. This song is full of nonsense lines, like “If Easter eggs don’t wash their legs their children will have ducks (quack quack!) / I’d rather buy a lemon pie for forty-seven bucks,” and “Oh loop-d-loop in your noodle soup just to give your socks a shine / I’m guilty, judge, I ate the fudge, three cheers for Auld Lang Syne.” In case you’re wondering, the song doesn’t have a single reference to a jeep. The strategy worked, we survived the walk back. And, as an extra bonus, I still remember the entire song.

I bring this up, because last weekend I went with friends Michael and Martín to El Calafate in Patagonia, and it was so cold that I considered breaking out into The Jeep Song on more than one occasion. I spent the entire weekend in six shirts/sweaters and three pairs of leggings/pants (as evident by the photos). In the last few years I have been lucky enough to see some really beautiful places, but for the most part these places have been beautiful because they’ve been lush and green. Patagonia is beautiful in its emptiness. I have never seen so much open space in my life. Also, it is far enough south that we experienced a very strange phenomenon: the sun came up over the lake around 10am and set around 5pm in almost the same spot.

Sunrise

Sunset

On Friday we went to see the famous Perito Moreno glacier. The glacier is about 3 miles wide and 250 feet high. It is also the world’s third largest fresh water reserve and one of only three glaciers in Patagonia that is not retreating. It is, in fact, advancing, and because of this it makes a lot of noise. It creaks and groans and occasionally you can hear ice breaking off and falling. The strangest thing about the sounds is that we never actually saw anything move. We were standing in front of this massive ice formation in one of those huge silences that happens when it is very very cold, and then we would hear a loud crash without a source and then it would be silent again.

Martín, me, and Michael

On Saturday we did a 5-hour horseback tour through the area outside of El Calafate. I have been on “horse treks” before, and usually you get on a very docile horse that just follows the horse in front of it and you walk along a trail for a couple hours. This was not that kind of tour. First of all, there was no trail. We walked along the road for about ten minutes and then we were just off in the vast emptiness that is Patagonia.


We walked along the Lago Argentino, the largest lake in the country, and picnicked by the shore. Our guide’s name was Luís, and he was a lesson in stereotypical Latino male chauvinism. Usually I can smile and ignore certain things, chalking them up to cultural difference, but I was pretty sick of him calling me “mujer” the whole time. Especially since I was the only mujer there. But other than that it was a lovely afternoon.


There was a flock of big bird floating in the water near where we were eating, and when Luís told us they were flamingos I thought he was just giving us a hard time. But it turns out he was serious! Who would have thought that the first place I saw wild flamingos would be the place I went to to see glaciers?

Two particularly exciting things happen on our “cabalgato” tour. First, about six of Luís’s dogs (he owns 16) came with us. While the dogs in El Calafate are domesticated, they are still pretty wild, and these particular dogs hunted down a jackrabbit. If someone had asked me, hey do you want to watch a pack of dogs hunt down a jackrabbit?, I would have said, no, gross! But actually it was pretty cool. It was right out of a National Geographic special. The dogs circled the rabbit and then cornered it, and got it by the throat. Then the guide broke its neck, to make sure it wasn’t suffering, and tied it to his horse to take home and cook for dinner.


The other exciting thing is that I fell off my horse. My horse, Dogo, did not like walking, or following my instructions. If any of the other horses starting going faster, or even just got ahead of us, he would start trotting, which I could handle, or galloping, which I couldn’t really handle. We had galloped a few times and I was fine, but this time he took off down a sandy hill, veered around a bush, and jumped over another bush. Upon landing, I managed to hold on for a couple more seconds before falling sideways. I have a very clear visual image of the ground coming up quickly and Dogo’s hoofs very close to my face.

My entry in the guest book back at the tour office (aka Luís's house)

I was only off the horse for about three minutes before Luís helped me back on and we were off again.

Sunday morning was drearier than the other days, but also warmer. The town was pretty quiet because it was Election Day, and most things were closed. We went on a lovely walk in the morning, and a couple local dogs adopted us.


We got back Sunday night and I’ve spent the week hanging out with friends. Michael left on Tuesday, which was very sad. But I've been hanging out with my other lovely friends, and I'm going to Uruguay for a couple of days tomorrow, so look forward to another update!

Don't forget to live

Today a cab driver asked me if I have a boyfriend. When I answered no, he asked me why. I said because I don't have time. He said, yes, you're young, focus on school, be your own person. He laughed. Then he looked at me in the rear view mirror and said, don't forget to live.

Shail, The Big Move, and MALBA

I would like to start by sharing a quick anecdote. In choir rehearsal yesterday, one of the men in the group came up to me excitedly and told me that on Wednesday he had seen the Shail choir perform. “The Shail choir!” he said, and then looked at me expectantly, as if I should know what he was talking about. “¡El coro de Shail! ¡De los Estados Unidos!” I kind of nodded. Clearly unsatisfied with my reaction, he solicited the help of a woman who speaks English. “He went last week to see the choir from Shail,” she told me. “I understood him,” I said. “I am not familiar with them, but I’m sure it was great!” Now she seemed surprised as well. “Shail,” she pushed. “From the university! They are muy conocido. Shail!” At which point it dawned on me that he had gone to see the Yale University choir. Stupid Argentine accent.

Anyway, this past week has been quite eventful. Well, it really just involved one big event that has greatly impacted everything here. Due to some really unfortunate circumstances, which I would happy to discuss via email, but probably shouldn’t write on the world wide web, I moved last Monday. It happened very quickly. I notified my program director of the situation on Friday, I went in to speak with him at noon on Monday, at two I met with the housing coordinator, at three I went back to my apartment to pack, and at 3:45 I was in my new apartment. It was a really uncomfortable few hours, but my program director and housing coordinator were really supportive, and the new homestay is fantastic.

The apartment is only about eight blocks away from where I lived before, which is nice because I don’t have to completely learn a new neighborhood or, more importantly, new colectivo and subte routes. I’m living with a lovely woman named Paz (it means peace--the IFSA housing coordinator and I decided it was a good sign) and her 22-year-old son, Juan. I have already spoken with them more than I did with all four members of the last family combined in three months. They chat with me, help me with Spanish, and have made me feel really welcome. They actually both speak perfect English, but are happy to let me practice Spanish. The apartment is bigger (not difficult), but my room is much smaller. It’s cozy, though, and I have my own bathroom and shower and much better pillows. The thing I am most excited about, though, is that we eat fruits and vegetables! There were never any in the other apartment (we’re not going to talk about weight-gain….). So this is going to be a much better situation. I am so much more comfortable and confident then I have been for months, and I’m kicking myself for not moving in March.

Other things are going pretty well. I am finished with my internship. Not really much to say about that. School is stressing me out, but school always stresses me out. I’ve met some good people in the last two weeks (in addition to Paz and Juan). Last weekend I went to a dinner party with my friend Meg and had one of the best nights I’ve had here. Meg is part of the Catholic student group at la UCA, and on Friday night she invited me (well, actually she begged me to come…this is how I know if you’re reading, Meg!) to a dinner they were having. The group was really nice, and a lot of them made a point to come and make conversation and get to know me. By the end of the night someone had brought out a guitar and everyone was singing! I want to go to the group meetings to hang out with them, even though I’m not Catholic, which Meg assures me is not a problem.

Yesterday I had choir rehearsal (concert’s coming up!) and then had a lovely day hanging out with my friend Mariano. I am embarrassed to say that I haven’t been to very many of the numerous museums in Bs.As., so we decided it was high time to visit the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires, aka MALBA. The inside of the building itself is similar to the east wing of the National Gallery in D.C., so it was familiar to me (reference this post). As in any museum there were pieces I really liked and pieces I really didn’t, but I really enjoyed the collection as a whole. I’m sure my grandmother could have told me a lot about the paintings. I really enjoyed the pieces by Uruguayan artist Joaquín Torres-García (if you can read Spanish, check out this website). The two paintings of his that I really liked were called Calle de Nueva York (New York Street) and Compsition symétrique universelle en blanc et noir (that's in French, I think it's Universal Symmetry in White and Black). I couldn't find photos of either painting, but this painting is similar to the latter and seems to be typical of his style:

Arte universal--image stolen from Wikipedia

We also saw this painting by Argentine painter Emilio Pettoruti:

La canción del pueblo--image stolen from
http://lazarillomochilero.blogspot.com/2008/10/emilio-pettoruti-1er-post.html

We both recognized the painting, but we weren’t sure where we had seen it before. There were also paintings by Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. It’s a great museum!

Today I explored my new neighborhood and found a very cute cafetería (coffee shop) a few blocks away with wifi! I love Sundays in this city. Everyone comes out to cafetererías and just sits and reads and chats and generally relaxes. Not a bad culture.

Devil's Throat

Well, it’s been a very long time since my last update. My apologies. After three months this really feels more like living than traveling and I have fewer exciting stories to share. Also, I’ve had to stop pretending that I’m not really in school. This week I have a paper due and an exam, and next week I have two exams. I am super excited about it.

Last weekend, however, I traveled! I haven’t been traveling much, mostly because it’s expensive. But last weekend I went to Iguazú Falls, usually referred to here simply as las cataratas, or the waterfalls. Iguazú Falls is one of the biggest (are some of the biggest? Does one refer to waterfalls in the plural or singular?) in the world. Supposedly when Eleanor Roosevelt saw them, she said, “Poor Niagra!” (that tidbit courtesy of Wikipedia). There are three main sections of falls and many more minor falls; in total the whole thing measures over 2km across. The Guaraní legend—they’re the indigenous group native to this region—is something about a god being in love with a Guaraní woman, but she fled with her lover in a boat down the river and in anger and god slashed through the earth and the woman and her lover fell to their deaths.

I went with my friends Michael and Martín, and Martín’s girlfriend, Arina. After a 20-hour overnight bus ride, we arrived on Friday afternoon at a charming little hostel. We had a very international moment when showing our passports to check in—I carry a US passport, Michael is from the UK, Arina is Russian, and Martín gets to choose between his Peruvian and German documents. After grabbing some lunch we walked to a spot a little outside town where the Rio Iguazú meets the Rio Paraná, forming a T. Argentina makes up one of the riverbanks, while Brasil sits across the Iguazú and Paraguay sits across the Paraná.

Paraguay on the left, Brasil on the right

Each country has erected a small monument painted in their respective national colors, and you can see all three from from the riverbank.

Argentina

This spot is lovely and muy tranquilo, and we stayed for a while and watched the sun go down over Paraguay.

Michael, Arina, Martín

The next day we got up bright and early to go to the Parque Nacional Iguazú. In the morning we walked around the forest and found some small waterfalls. The weather was beautiful and these paths were pretty empty since most people just go straight to the main event and fail to explore the rest of the park.

Michael was a jungle explorer

In the afternoon we saw the cataratas. You get to the falls via a small train and an extensive network of raised walkways that allow you to see the falls from above and below. We went first to the biggest of the falls, called Garganta del Diablo, or Devil’s Throat. The walk there was beautiful:

We could see the spray from Garganta long before we could see the falls.

The falls, of course, were incredible. Truly awesome. I’m not sure I’m a good enough writer to describe them. I would say that they (it?) were definitely one of those natural wonders that makes you feel very small. These walkways are at the top of Garganta and there is so much water creating so much splash and spray that you can’t even see the bottom of it. And it is very loud. I think I’ll just let the photographs and video speak for themselves:

After Garganta we went to the other set of falls, which are not quite as awe-inspiring, but beautiful nonetheless. Unfortunately the sun was going down by this time, so my photographs don’t really do them justice:

These falls are great, however, because you can go on a boat, which we decided to do. The boat first takes you to see Garganta from the bottom:





Then you go under one of the [not much] smaller falls. I knew we were going to get wet, but I thought it would be mostly from the spray, like the Lady of the Mists boat or whatever it’s called at Niagra. But in Argentina, you actually go under. I was not at all expecting the amount of water that was suddenly pouring down on my head. We got thoroughly soaked to the bone and had a great time!

Martín, Arina, me, and Michael, after the boat ride

In other news, the other day I went to the movies. When the movie was over, I left the theatre quickly because I was late for dinner. I was one of the first people leaving the theatre and I stumbled and fell down the stairs, sort of flopping onto the side of one of the seats. In front of everyone. I have a big scrape on my knee, and a bruise on my chest where I hit the seat. Graceful.

I’ve been missing home a lot lately and having some problems have arisen that I would prefer not to post on the world wide web, but it would meana lot to hear from you and I'll tell you all about it. ¡Hasta la proxima!

Great food

Buenos Aires has great food. Argentina is, of course, most famous in North America for its beef and its wine. I have to say, I’m not sure I really know how to judge the quality of beef. Growing up, my family’s red meat consumption was mostly in the form of hamburgers (my dad makes the best, and I’ll fight you on that) and the occasional pot roast or stew. Actually, my mother would eat stew every day if she had her way, but my brother and I went on strike at a young age after it was the only dish we ate for an entire winter. At least that’s how it goes in my memory. I have eaten steak only four or five times in my life. I had filet mignon once at one of those Japanese restaurants where the chef juggles knives and cooks the food at the table. I was probably eleven or twelve years old and went with my aunt and cousins. They, being good Cubans, ordered their steaks rare; I, taking a cue from my Irish mother who microwaves her meat after my father cooks it, even if it’s already crispy, asked for mine well-done. Apparently this is a filet mignon faux pas, and the chef made a big deal of serving everyone’s food and then having to wait around for mine to finish cooking. I distinctly remember him slapping it with the spatula, perhaps to prove that it was good and dry. But I digress.

So Buenos Aires is known for its beef, which comes from cattle that graze in the pampas, the vast plains to the west and south. Actually, Argentina has a gaucho, or cowboy, culture that is alive and well; I often see gaucho paraphernalia decorating the windshields of busses and there is a gaucho market a little outside Bs.As. The most traditional ways to eat Argentine beef are asado and parrilla; both are kinds of barbeque. I’m a little embarrassed to say that I have not actually had either. Well, I sort of had parrilla, but I went with a vegetarian and we shared a vegetable version. The grilled veggies were yummy, but did not quite constitute the traditional Argentine experience. I have, however, eaten my fair share of beef. My host mother makes an excellent roast, and meat is served at La Alameda on a regular basis. As I said, I’m not an experienced judge of beef, but I can say that meat here is very good. Also, they like it well-done.

Wine is a subject with which, while I know just as little about it as I do about beef, I have more experience. I really like wine and, although I usually buy cheap wine because I am a poor student, I can taste the difference between good wine and cheap wine. Here, the cheap wine is good wine, while expensive wine is really good wine. I can buy a bottle of wine for nine pesos (a little less than three dollars), and it tastes just fine to my finely attuned college student taste buds. Really, most college students are just excited by wine that doesn’t come in a box with a pour spout. The price also means there is a lot of incentive to drink wine over other beverages because, as I said, an entire bottle of wine can be had for nine pesos while a 20-oz bottle of water (a glass of tap water is difficult to come by in restaurants) or soda is between six and eight pesos.

As wonderful as Argentine beef and wine are, there are three other food items that, in my opinion, make a trip to Bs.As. worth it. The first is empanadas. I’m going to go ahead and assume you all are familiar with empanadas—if you’re not and you live in Arlington, take a drive down Columbia Pike. Here they are stuffed with the traditional ground beef or chicken, but can also be found with mozzarella, basil and tomato, tuna, bleu cheese, ham and cheese, spinach, and a whole array of other ingredients.

The second amazing food is helado, known in English-speaking places as ice cream. Here you can really see the city’s Italian influence, as the ice cream is more like gelato. There are helado shops on almost every street corner, which means it is a daily struggle to eat anything else. My favorite flavors are chocolate suiza (dark chocolate with dulce de leche), coco con dulce (coconut with dulce de leche), and dulce de leche (dulce de leche with dulce de leche).

Which brings me to the third: dulce de leche. Dulce de leche is made from milk and sugar that has been boiled down and boiled down until it turns into a thick, gooey, delicious caramel (the name means milk sweet, or milk candy). It is put in or on top of everything from cookies to bread to fruit. I love it. I hear other foreigners complain that dulce de leche is too sweet, but, as a Cuban, I have no concept of “too sweet.” In case you’re wondering, as a Cuban I also have no concept of “too loud,” “too close,” “too much garlic,” or “none of your business.” It appears the only trait I picked up from my mother is my strong aversion to meat that is still bleeding.

I could go on and on about Argentine dishes. The pasta, the pizza, the tortas, the pastries—all the things that Argentines are miraculously able to eat and still maintain their size 4 figures. But I’ll sign off for now, I hear a salad calling my name.

Tell Me More (a shameless plug for NPR)

For those of you who don't know, I am an avid listener of NPR and, thanks to podcasts, I have been able to keep up with my shows down here. One of my favorite shows is Tell Me More with Michel Martin. If you've never heard it, I highly recommend listening to her. Anyway, Michel has been following the South African elections and the other day she interviewed two women from the country about their experiences on election day. Something one of them said made me reflect on my own experiences during election day here in the U.S., and I wrote Michel and the Tell Me More crew an e-mail. I wanted to share it here:

Dear Michel and everyone else at Tell Me More,

First of all, I want to thank you so much for the show. I am a self-proclaimed NPR junkie, and Tell Me More is my absolute favorite. I am currently studying in Argentina, but I tote my computer to an internet cafe every few days to download the podcast!

The other day you did a piece on the elections in South Africa and you had a conversation with Nanette Sabidys. She spoke about her first voting experience, which happened to be in the first democratic election. She talked about standing in line behind an 87-year-old man who was voting for the first time in his life. She said that it felt "really really good and very humbling."

I was very touched by this story, and I felt humbled myself hearing it because I have been lucky enough to grow up in a country that has held democratic elections for a long time. Her story made me think of my experiences during the U.S. presidential election last year. I know it's been five months since November and that we've all heard a million stories about Election Day, but I wanted to share mine because I found parallels between Nanette's story and my own.

I am a university student in Richmond, VA, where I worked for a well known progressive nonprofit organization, canvassing neighborhoods to register voters. I canvassed almost exclusively in African American neighborhoods; unfortunately in Richmond this is often synonymous with low-income neighborhoods. The reception my fellow canvassers and I received was astounding. People were thrilled we were there and would often come back to us with their children, parents, neighbors...anyone they knew who wasn't registered. We got smiles, hugs, and many cheers of "We can do it!" I don't think for a minute that it was really about us. People were just so excited to be getting involved in the election. I've never felt such a strong sense of solidarity--of really being part of something important. What's more, I registered many people who were in their 40s or older who had never been registered. I cannot tell you how many times I heard things like, "I've never voted before. I never thought it made a difference and I never cared who got elected. But this year I'm going to vote." They were so proud and, thanks to them, Virginia went blue for the first time in 44 years. Like Nanette's story, I found the whole experience extremely humbling--not only to have elected a man who inspired people to believe in their power and gave them renewed faith in their government, but to be with people who were discovering and believing for the first time that they do have a voice and the ability to make a change and to make history.

Thanks again!

Lina Rodriguez, from Arlington, VA (and Richmond and currently Buenos Aires)

Tengo ganas de hacer anything but schoolwork

I’ve had quite an eventful week.  I started my internship, attended a peña with the folks from said internship, got invited to join another choir, went to a South African theatre festival, and made my first two Argentine Facebook Friends.

I have now worked two days at La Alameda.  If you’ve missed earlier posts, La Alameda is a community center that works mostly with Bolivian immigrants who have been working in sweatshops in BA.  The center also serves community meals, has sweat-free ceramics and clothing workshops, runs a small library, and offers classes for adults and children.  I am interning there eight hours per week with David, another IFSA student.  We will primarily be working on two projects: reorganizing the library and translating parts of the website and other materials into English.  So far we’ve only been working in the library.  We are completely reorganizing the books, both physically on the shelves, and in terms of updating their records system, including organizing them by subject and figuring out a numbering/tracking system.  This is quite a daunting task, although David seems to have a little more patience for it than I do.  I think it’s pretty boring, but I also know that it’s something that needs to be done and that it will make a big difference to La Alameda and to the people who use the library, so I’m happy to do it.  I really like the other people that work there, and I’ve made friends with Jorge, the center’s media guy (Argentine Facebook Friend #1).  He makes videos and slideshows and things like that.  He also gave me 2 gigs of Argentine music—that’s about 500 tracks.

La Alameda hosts and sponsors many events to raise funds or just to raise awareness and support for their causes.  Friday night they hosted a peña, or folkloric music concert, to raise awareness about child labor and the terrible working conditions under which some immigrants work (all you grammar nerds can correct the construction of that sentence).  A few artists played and the music was wonderful.  Then there was a video about child labor and a Bolivian man who had been working under pretty terrible conditions on a farm spoke.  I got to play with his children!  It was a good event. I'm starting to learn a lot about sweatshops and labor and, although sometimes it's so hard to hear these terrible stories, I think it's an important thing to know about and I'm interested in doing more work in this area.

Choir rehearsal on Saturday was exciting.  If you missed my last entry, I’m singing with a choir that needed more people to perform Carmina Burana in July—they rehearse their own music on Saturday mornings and then the rest of us join them in the afternoon to practice Carmina.  On Saturday the director invited me to join the small choir!  It turns out that I won’t actually be here for any of their concerts, but he told me that if I have “ganas de cantar,” I’m welcome to join them on Saturday mornings.

I would like to take a quick moment to explain the phrase “tener ganas de.”  It is one of my favorite phrases in Spanish and we really don’t have an English equivalent, so I find myself using it often in English conversation.  It essentially means to have a desire to do something, but it’s used pretty casually.  The word “gana” means a desire or an inclination.  It can also mean an appetite or a hunger.  It’s like saying you want to do something, but it implies a little more than just a casual inkling.  I’m not very good at explaining things like this, but it is a phrase I love, so I gave it my best shot.

To tie back into my story, Daniel, the director, told me that if I had ganas to sing, I was welcome to rehearse with the small group on Saturday mornings.  I am very excited (and a bit nervous), although getting there at ten in the morning is going to be a bear.  It takes me an hour to get there on the colectivo, and I have a hard time making it by noon.  In this city, getting up at 8:30 on a Saturday morning is practically unheard of.  I guess it means no more Friday night partying for me!  That’s alright, it’s worth it to sing.  Also, the guy who told me about the choir, Samuel, became Argentine Facebook Friend #2.

I actually haven’t been doing that much partying.  When I first got here I was going out a lot, mostly because it’s a good way to make friends.  But now that I have friends, I would actually rather do things like go to peñas or other cultural events.  Saturday night I went to a play that is part of a South African theatre festival.  The festival is called Proyecto 34˚S, and is “is a theatrical and artistic exchange...between Buenos Aires, Argentina and Cape Town, South Africa, both located on the 34°S line of latitude....   Its primary objective is to promote and facilitate the exchange of African and Latin American performing arts, culture, heritage and literature.”

The show I saw was called Every Year, Every Day, I am Walking.  It was a “physical theatre” production.  I don’t really know anything about physical theatre, but the story was told mostly through movement, although there was some dialogue in English, Afrikaans, Xhosa, and French.  From the website:

EVERY YEAR, EVERY DAY, I AM WALKING traces the story of a young refugee in Africa who loses family and home brutally and irrevocably and is forced to journey to a new place through many dangers and uncertainties. It is a piece about dislocation, about what home means, about Africa, about loss and about the first tentative steps towards healing and recovery.

The performers were two women who both played a few roles, but the main roles were the young refugee and her mother.  The piece was incredibly moving.  The show opens with the family’s house being ambushed and burned, and the girl’s sister is killed by the attackers.  The mother sees this happen, but manages to hide herself and her other daughter until the men leave.  They hide for a week and then wearily walk until they find someone to take the to Capetown.  There was a part where the mother was carrying the daughter on her back and the whole thing was heartbreaking.  There was also a scene that took place in a English school, which I found very interesting.  The girl, who was not from South Africa, is taking English courses and the teacher (who is white) tells the class they have a new student from Africa.  This struck me as odd because South Africa, of course, is in Africa.  I know very little about African history (or African present, for that matter), but I felt like this was telling of South African attitudes towards the rest of the continent, at least among white people in the country.  I hope some of you who have spent time in South African will offer some insight.

I have to say, I’ve been doing my best to pretend that I’m not actually in school down here.  I’ve been going to class, but I’m a little behind on schoolwork.  I’m not necessarily proud of this fact, but that’s how it’s going.  I’m not particularly inspired by any of my classes, and I am very inspired by my internship and the other activities I’ve been doing.  In the future, I know what I will remember is things like working at La Alameda and the South African theatre fest.  I have a hard time thinking schoolwork is more important than things like that, and that has always been my problem with school.  However, I also know that I need to pass my classes, so I need to get on top of things.  I have an exam on Tuesday that I am completely unprepared for, so I think tomorrow’s going to be a long day.  Wish me luck!

In other news, my birthday is two weeks from today.  I’m not sure I’m quite ready to turn 23 (I know, I know, I’m still young…whatever, it feels old to me), but that’s how it goes, I guess.

Carmina Burana, thanks to friencquaintuddies!

I get made fun of sometimes for talking so much. Okay, I get made fun of often. But I have stumbled across some great opportunities because I talk so much, and this story is just such an example. I'll start from the beginning.

As I've mentioned, I am taking a music history class at la UCA and I've befriended some of my fellow students. Well, befriended may be too strong a word. Beacquainted or bebuddied might be more accurate. Anyway, one of the first days of class, one of these friends/acquaintances/buddies, Nicolás, took the colectivo home with me and I told him that I had sung Carmina Burana this past summer with my choir. Actually, we were really talking about traveling and I was telling him about China; the Carmina part could have just as easily not come up at all. So last week during the break in class I was having coffee with these friencquaintuddies when a boy I didn't know came up to me and asked if I sing. It turns out that this guy, whose name is Samuel, sings in a small choir that temporarily needs more singers because they are performing a big-choir piece--Carmina Burana. He had been trying to convince Nicolás to join the group, and Nicolás told him to talk to me because he knew that I know the piece. Samuel told me there was going to be an audition before rehearsal on Saturday and that he'd take me. I could not have been more excited.

By Friday, however, my excitement had mostly been replaced with terror. I've barely sung in months and I have no place here to practice or even to warm up. I got even more nervous when Samuel emailed me to say that he actually wasn't going to rehearsal on Saturday. For a brief moment I considered not going, but I really really wanted to sing, and I figured I should take any opportunity that offers the potential of making Spanish-speaking friends.

On Saturday morning I got to the colectivo stop at 10:30, a full hour and a half before the audition time. It was a good thing, too, because at 11:20 the stupid 57 still hadn't come, so I got a cab. I wandered a little before finding the rehearsal space, but once I arrived at the little chapel a very nice man helped me find the director, Daniel, who was conducting auditions elsewhere. There were ten people waiting in the hall to sing, but when my excort told Daniel I was there, he came to the door with a big smile and said, "¡Ah sí! Samuel's friend! The American!" Then he had me come right in ahead of the people waiting. The audition part was pretty low-key; he mostly asked me questions about my choir experience and then told me that there's a cartoon for kids here in Argentina with a turtle that sings and that my voice sounds the like the turtle's. I guess that's a good thing, because he invited me to sing with them!

The rehearsal went well, and the other singers were very friendly. One girl knew who I was because her sister is one my class friencquaintuddies. It was really nice to feel welcome and in my element.

In other news, I have my first exam next week. The list of things I would rather do than study for this exam would fill the page and then some.

Thanks for the comments and emails--I love hearing from you! ¡Besos!

Spanish Struggles

I came to Argentina with the silly idea that when I left, I would be pretty much fluent in Spanish.  In reality, I feel like my Spanish has gotten worse, not better, since I came here.  That’s probably not true, but my language skills have not improved the way I expected them to.  They certainly haven’t improved as noticeably as they did in Costa Rica, or even Peru.  To be fair, I shouldn’t compare this experience to learning Spanish in Costa Rica because I barely spoke any then, and you improve much faster when you know very little.  Once you know enough to get by, I think improvement comes slower because the things that are left are more complex.

Also, I have a much harder time understanding people here than I ever have, and that has caused a severe dip in my confidence.  In Costa Rica and Peru, even though I couldn’t always say what I wanted to say, I never had to worry about understanding the language.  Part of my trouble here is the accent—people talk really quickly and with different pronunciation and inflection that in other Spanish-speaking countries.  The biggest problem, however, is that the Porteño vocabulary is full of colloquialisms, slang, and words that are actually Italian.  Costa Rican Spanish, on the other hand, is very straightforward.

Another big difference between Costa Rica and here is that in Costa Rica I was speaking and listening to Spanish for 90% of the day.  I remember feeling physically exhausted from having to process everything in Spanish.  Here, I’m simply not practicing as much because it is very easy to go a day without speaking any Spanish at all.  Most of my friends here are English speakers (not all Americans, but the common language is still English).  Before I came, it hadn’t occurred to me that there would be so many foreign students in the city.  Even though we all wish we were friends with Argentines, it is so much easier to meet and bond with people—to form real friendships—when you speak the same language.  I think I just have to accept this as the study abroad experience, and remind myself that even though they are not Argentine, I am making some good friends with people from different places and who have had experiences very different from mine—and this is still cultural exchange, right?

That said, I could certainly be making more of an effort to immerse myself in the language.  For starters, I need to read more.  This should be easier now that classes have started in earnest.  I should also be reading the newspaper.  I think starting my internship will help, because I’ll be interacting more with Spanish speakers and doing some translating.

Also, finally after two months, I am bonding with my host siblings.  My host mom was out of town this past weekend for the Easter holiday, and it was actually really nice because the host sibs were hanging out in the apartment, instead of going out.  Friday night Flor and I watched Pan’s Labyrinth (which is called The Faun’s Labyrinth in Spanish).  I didn’t understand it without subtitles, but I was able to use Spanish, not English, subtitles!  I was very pleased with myself.  While we were watching the movie, Ignacio came home, plopped himself down in a chair next to me, and chatted out for over an hour.  I think the longest conversation we’d ever had previously was about 45 seconds.  We made a pact to be English/Spanish conversation buddies, but he had been out drinking with friends and suggested the pact at the same time that he was demonstrating his best dance moves, so I’m not sure he remembers it….  But the experience certainly broke the ice!  I’ve also been talking more with Mariano.  I learned that he is a DJ and he invited me to his next gig!  I think being more comfortable with them is going to make a big difference for my Spanish and for feeling settled and happy here (not that I’ve been unhappy—I’ll just be happier!).

Some goals for practicing Spanish more:

-Read the newspaper

-Listen to Argentine music

-Do my reading for class (I mean, I always do all my reading—I swear, Mom and Dad!)

-Hang out in the living room with the host fam, not in my bedroom

-Make friends with the kids in my music history class

-Email people in Spanish: Papi, Marta, Dad, Tía, Katie, Suzy, Dani, Claire, Molly, Yelani, Mariel, Ben, Lissie (anyone else?)….  I have lots of people who will practice with me!  This is important because the other day I emailed Marta in English.  There’s really no excuse for that.

Quickie reminder....

First, I wanted to post a photo I took of the Congreso building downtown:

As always, click on the image to make it bigger (it's not too big).

Also, I wanted to remind you all that if you have Skype, you can call me on my cell phone! How exciting is that? It'll cost you $0.23/minute, but is that price not worth the joy you'll feel while talking to me? I'm also available for skype-to-skype dates, which are freeeee!

Catch up

Well, I’ve been slacking on the blog writing. Life gets a little less exciting after the first couple of weeks, so I don’t have so many fun stories to tell.

I finally have a set schedule, which is a relief. I am taking three required classes through IFSA: Spanish, Human Rights in Argentina, and a Methodology workshop that goes with my internship. Of these, the methodology class is my favorite. The instructor, Natalia, is young and energetic and easy-going. She’s a PhD candidate in anthropology at la UBA and works specifically with children of Bolivian immigrants. This is great for me because my internship is at a community center for Bolivian immigrants (more on that later). In addition to the IFSA classes, I am taking a class called Historia de la Música Barroca at la UCA and one called La Cultura de la Paz y Derechos Humanos (that one has fewer cognates, so I’ll translate—it’s peace and human rights) at la UBA. At some point I'll write about the vast differences between the universities—it’s really something. I like them both though, and I’m glad I get to experience two sides of the Argentine university system.

I am finally starting to make some Argentine friends! On the first day of my music class I introduced myself to a group of students, but the conversation didn’t progress much past hi, nice to meet you. Two weeks ago, however, they invited me to get coffee with them at the break. They were really nice and patient with my language, even though they all speak some English. They asked me some questions about myself, and then caught me up on the fútbol tournament. After class one of them, Nicolás, took the colectivo home with me, although he usually takes the train, so we could keep chatting and I could practice Spanish. I was in such a great mood afterwards and I’m so excited to be connecting with some Argentine peers! Unfortunately I had to miss class last week because I had my first meeting for my internship, but I’ll see them on Wednesday I am hopeful that I will win them over and they will be my friends!

As I mentioned, on Wednesday I had my first meeting for my internship, and I’m really pumped! I am working at La Alameda (http://ww.laalameda.wordpress.com), a community center that works mostly with Bolivian immigrants that have been working in sweatshops here in Buenos Aires. The organization has a lot of different facets, including a library, a community kitchen, a ceramics collective, a workshop that manufactures sweat-free clothes (the brand is Mundo Alameda--http://mundoalameda.com/), and direct intervention at sweatshops in BA. The center also offers a variety of classes and workshops for adults and children. They do more, but those are the things I got to see. The building is a sparse, but airy space with green walls (alameda means a grove, or tree-lined path) in a neighborhood that feels much more Latin American than Palermo. It takes me an hour to get there, but I’m excited to be working in a neighborhood where the main landmark isn’t a shopping mall with a Starbucks.

Alright, I really have to stop procrastinating and write my first paper in Spanish. It’s on a book that I didn’t understand very well and I’m pretty stressed. The only good thing about being so stressed about it is that I went to the gym, cleaned my room, and updated the blog just to put off writing it!

It won’t be so long next time, I promise. I’d love to hear from you!

Americans abroad

I haven't posted in a week, mostly because nothing that interesting has happened. I'm starting to fall into a routine, which is good for me, but boring for the blog.

I did, however, want to share a column written by a fellow H-B student (Susannah Clark) about being an American abroad: http://umwbullet.com/stories/viewStory?s_id=695.

Actually, the highlight of the week was tonight because I invited myself to my friend Michael's apartment and got to cook! Yay! I'm getting kind of sick of living in someone else's home and not getting to cook for myself....

I'll try to do something fun tomorrow so I can write a proper entry.

Besos!

A week of (figurative) hits and (literal) misses

My first week of classes actually began with a failed attempt at going to a course at la UBA. To understand what happened, you have to understand how universities here are set up. The universities have different schools, like the school of medicine or the school of law, called facultades. The individual facultades operate completely independently of each other, including having different enrollment processes and start and end dates. La UBA offers even more excitement, as the different facultades are in different locations scattered throughout the city. Furthermore, at all the universities it is necessary to arrive a little early on the first day (read on for more on Argentine perceptions of "early") to find out where the class is. Lists are posted by department, or catedra, somewhere in each facultad.

So on Monday, feeling smug for being uncharacteristically responsible, I arrived almost an hour early to my first UBA class, which was Social Problems in Argentina through the catedra de trabajos sociales en la facultad de ciencias sociales. When I arrived I was crowded into the lobby with all the other students trying to see the single list of all the classes printed in size 12 font. When I finally got close enough to make out the course titles, I couldn't find my class. I asked a few people if there was another list with the social work classes, but of course no one knew. Finally the security/information person pointed me upstairs towards the social work office, where I did find the list. So on the list you're looking for the name of the building (sede) and the classroom number (número de aula). I didn't recognize the name of the sede, so I asked the same security/information person and he gave me an address. Looking in the Guía "T," I discovered that the address was in the neighborhood of San Telmo, a good 40 minutes away by colectivo. My class started in 20. So I hailed a cab, annoyed at the cost (A$15 versus $1.20 for the colectivo), but figured that at least I would make it to my first class. At least that's how I felt until the driver dropped me off in front of an apartment building. I asked him if there was an UBA sede nearby, but he didn't know. Neither did anyone on the street. I wandered around a little, then decided that it was a class I was probably going to drop anyway and went home.

That evening my friend Mariano, who is a swing dancer, had invited me to a swing class and, since I was suddenly without academic obligations, I decided to go. Actually, since the theme of this post is "misses," I missed my bus stop and ended up five blocks farther than I mean to, but thankfully BA is laid out in a very straight-forward grid scheme. Anyway, Mariano had an address for some group called Buenos Aires Swing. Despite the aforementioned simplicity of the grid scheme, this particular street did not seem to follow it and we wandered up and down the same two blocks a few times before we found the address, at which point we were certain we were in the wrong place because it was the address of a kiosko, or corner store specializing in soda and candy. We could see a staircase in the back and Mariano joked that maybe the dance was in the basement. The kiosko was closed, but the attendant was still there, so we asked him if he knew Buenos Aires Swing. Apparently it was in the basement, so he unlocked the door and let us in. The only dancing going on downstairs, however, was three women doing ballet, and the teacher informed us that Buenos Aires Swing had moved out of the space a year ago. So we went back upstairs and decided to just go back to our respective homes for dinner.

Tuesday was the first day of my IFSA Spanish and Human Rights classes. I was less than thrilled, and six hours of class in a row (we're supposed to have a 30 minute break--we didn't) is a lot under any circumstances. The human rights class seems like it's pretty much going to be an intro to women's studies class, and I used to be a women's studies major, so I was a little bored. Hopefully I am mistaken and it will be great.

Spanish was fun. My professor, Darío, is 30 and funny and talks a lot. He is also very cute, and the girls in the class are very aware of it (the boys may be too, but they're less vocal). The class is big (21--the other classes I think are around nine) and I'm concerned we won't get much chance to talk, but it will certainly be entertaining. The class is three hours long and each hour has a different focus. The first hour is grammar (quote from Darío: "In the first hour you're all awake and have energy and love life--so we study grammar."), the second hour is literature, and the third hour is themed. We got to choose which theme we wanted to take, and mine is Popular Urban Music in Argentina--aka Argentine rock. I figured it would be fun and a good way to learn about pop culture.

Wednesday I went to la UCA for an interview with a music professor. They wanted to make sure I actually knew something about music before they let me take the class--the interview lasted about seven minutes. As I was leaving the professor said, "Great I'll see you in twenty minutes then." I thought music classes started next week. Apparently they started last week. So I went to class and I loved it. First of all, I was just so happy to be in a music wing of a university. Also, the practice rooms don't appear to be sound-proofed, so I could hear people playing all through class. The professor was engaging and the students were very friendly. The boy I was sitting next to, Nicolás, told me to ask if I had any doubts, and helped me understand the programa (sort of like a syllabus) and how to get the readings.

This brings me to a point about classes in Argentina. The entire system, of course, is very different the way we do it in the U.S. First of all, they do not start on time. On Friday morning I had a class at 7:45 and it was just the professor and me for the first 20 minutes. Additionally, the classroom atmosphere is much more informal here than in the States (and I never thought classes were that formal in the States). Besides no one caring about the starting time, classes are very conversational and the concept of hand raising in non-existent. People interrupt the professors to ask questions and make comments, and most people don't appear to be taking notes. Also, it's completely acceptable to leave the room to take a call on your cell at any time. Classes meet in three to four hour blocks, sort of. As I said, nothing starts on time, and we get a break in the middle that lasts anywhere from 10 to 30 minutes and some of my classes let out early. I actually really like the structure. Despite appearing to lack seriousness, there is a very strong sense of camaraderie amongst the students and between the students and the professors, and they are clearly learning a lot. Like so many other things in this country, it suits me.

On Friday I had a class at la UBA, but it only lasted about 20 minutes, so I'll report more on that next week.

I also had some exciting (and some less exciting, but equally pleasant) social excursions this week. On Wednesday my friend Michael cooked dinner in his apartment in San Telmo, and about ten of us ate and then went to a club that does a Wednesday night happy hour (much later than our happy hours). Thursday I went to pick up some things I had left at Michael's and we had a lovely lunch and afternoon wandering around San Telmo and going grocery shopping. The highlight of this trip was the purchase of Cunning Cunnington Exclusive Cunnington Cola (photos of the club and the soda can be found on the facebook). Yesterday my friend Rachel and I passed the afternoon lying on a blanket in Parque Las Heras reading for school. I read eight pages! And understood (most of) it! Reading is the most difficult thing for me to do in Spanish, I think because most my Spanish language acquisition has occurred outside of the classroom, so I was very proud of myself. Last night the whole group went out and Mariano, Meg, and I went to Puerto Madero, on the river, to watch the sun rise. Tonight Rachel and I went to see Amorosa Soledad, an Argentine film. It was a little strange, but I enjoyed it.

This week I don't have classes until Wednesday. Tomorrow is being reserved for errands, laundry, and homework, and on Tuesday we're going to Tigre, a city on an island in the delta to the north of BA. Should be fun, although I've heard the mosquitoes are vicious!

I still don't have internet and therefore still cannot upload photos of video, so stay tuned for a multimedia extravaganza to be posted once the situation is resolved.

Lovely day in Recoleta

I wrote this on Sunday, so if anywhere it says “today,” I mean Sunday.

On Sunday, Meg, her friend Rachel, and I had a lovely afternoon in Recoleta. We started at the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, a name that highly amuses me. “Bellas artes” means “fine arts,” but the direct translation is “pretty arts,” which always makes me think that the other museums are showing ugly arts. Anyway, the museum is a big pink building surrounded by trees. It’s on Av. del Libertador, a beautiful, wide avenue lined with parks, statues, and grand-looking buildings with columns, many of which are museums.

The MNBA has a very nice collection. The ground floor (what Americans would call the first floor) is mostly European art, with a nice room of impressionist paintings. I love impressionist paintings, mostly thanks to my grandmother. Most kids do things with their grandmothers like bake cookies, or maybe go to the park. My grandmother, however, was a modern art connoisseur, and my childhood was filled with trips to the east wing of the National Gallery, where my grandmother was a volunteer docent and tour guide for many years. We would walk through the rooms of Monet and Degas (my favorites), Manet (her favorite) and many others. She would make me stand back to see the whole painting and then stand right up next to the canvass to inspect the individual brush strokes. She loved the brush strokes and that a shadow might be painted using colors that aren’t really in the object, like purple shadows in a green apple, or on a woman’s face. She loved that when you got up close, the images lost their clarity, and she would always have me point out the brush strokes I liked. She also liked the textures and paintings where the artist had built up the paint and it wasn’t just smooth.

She encouraged me to use this technique during our many art-making sessions. When I didn’t show any affinity for drawing or painting, we focused on collage and sculpture, making eclectic works of art with the large quantities of varied materials that she hoarded for me, and which took up most of the closet space in my grandparents’ small apartment. She also had quite a collection of those postcards that you can buy at the gallery with prints of famous paintings on one side, and we spent a lot of time with these. She would quiz me on the artists (I’m sorry to say I’ve probably forgotten most of them) and ask me what I saw in the paintings. I don’t really know that much about art, and I’m not very articulate when discussing it, but I still love the impressionists and when I go to museums I still stand back to see the whole image and then get up close to examine the brush strokes.

Well, that was a little off-track, but I miss my grandmother very much (she died six years ago) and I always think of her when I go to art museums. So, the point is that I really enjoyed the MNBA. The first floor (known in the States as the second floor) is Argentine art, which we didn’t really look at, so I’ll definitely be going back. The second floor (or the third floor…you get the idea) had a temporary exhibit of photographs by Cuban photographer Cayetano Arcidiacono, and is actually the reason we went to the MNBA in the first place. The exhibit was small, but I really liked it. Speaking as someone with a very limited knowledge of influential photographers (besides, of course, the important works of my father, my uncle, Dave Burnett, and Pete Souza), there were some images that really reminded me of Ansel Adams and that other photographer whose name I can't remember.... Helpful, I know.

After the MBNA, we walked across the street to the Recoleta Cultural Center. On the weekends the plaza outside the center serves as a huge artisan market, and on a beautiful day like today, there are tons of people out, tourists and Argentines alike. Besides the artisan booths, there were bands playing and an array of circus-type acts, like people spinning plates, walking tightropes, miming, and whatever you call that thing where people wrap themselves in cloth and do acrobatics hanging from the ceiling (or in this case, a tree), cirque du soleil style.

The plaza at the Cultural Center (and the many other parks in BA) is definitely a place Argentines go to hang out Sundays. It is very common to see families and groups of friends sitting out on nice afternoons with picnics and mate, which is a very Argentine tradition. Mate (pronounced MAH-teh, for you non-Spanish speakers) is a lot like green tea, and Argentines drink it out of a vessel that is also called a mate. This is a very social practice; everyone drinks out of the same mate. Traditional mates are made of hollowed-out gourds, but you also see ones made out of metal, wood, and porcelain. Mates are often works of art, with beautiful paintings or intricate carvings. And it’s not one of those traditions you hear about, but don’t really see; they really are everywhere. So we sat on the lawn and ate fruit salad and pan rellena (sort of like a calzone, but yummier). It was a lovely day!

Good weekend

My internet is not working. Mostly this isn't a huge problem, but I did take some photos and videos this weekend to post with this entry and now I can't upload them. So I'm going to go ahead and post and hopefully I'll be able to upload soon.

This weekend I had my first authentic Porteña nights—at least in terms of when I got home! On Friday night a friend from my program, Mariano, invited me to go to a ska show with him at a club near my apartment. I was really not familiar with ska, but I really enjoyed the music, and I had a great time!

The show was in a small bar in the basement of a building and was pretty packed. The headliner was a band called Skaineken, but the 12 peso cover bought us performances by quite a few other bands as well. One of them was called No Cashes and had very enthusiastic fans in the audience, including two small children who I'm pretty sure were the lead singer's kids. This is why I love Buenos Aires. There were two kids who couldn't have been more than then years old in a basement bar at 1:30 a.m. watching their dad play a show. Anyway, the group was good and very high-energy. They got the audience to sing along and at one point had some of their friends get up on stage to sing with them. They also did a few covers, including a great one of Red Red Wine (video to be inserted here).

Skaineken was also good (more videos here). When you can see the videos, you'll see a man dancing who is much older than anyone else in the bar. His name is Miguel and he befriended us--I met him outside when he stopped to tell me I have beautiful eyes. He was easily 55 or 60, which isn't really the crowd that usually shows up at things like this, but he was very into the music (as you will be able to tell by the worshipping gestures, you know, when you can see the video). The bands were getting a huge kick out of him and kept engaging with him. I thought he was great.

After the show we went to a bar and then dancing. The sun was coming up as I made my way home, around 7:30, thoroughly exhausted, but happy.

On Saturday I slept until 3:30--something I cannot get in the habit of doing once school starts--and then went out again. Meg, the girl from GW who I met in class last week, invited me to go to Plaza Serrano, a popular Saturday night destination. It’s a big circle lined with bars and full of extranjeros (foreigners), but Argentines can be found there as well. There are tables outside and you’re likely to run into people you know, so it’s fun.

We went with some of Meg’s friends. Then some of their friends showed up, and then some of their friends showed up, and it ended up being a pretty big group of people from all around the world. That’s something I love about traveling; at one point there were four different languages (Spanish, English, Portuguese, and German) being spoken at the table, and Spanish was the common language for some of us. There was Meg and a couple people she knows from GW, then there was Michael from England, Gabriel from Brazil, siblings Carolina and Martin who are German-born Peruvians (Martin studies at UVA and Carolina goes to university in Lima), a group of Germans whose names I didn’t actually catch, and Daniel from Uruguay and Antonio from Ecuador who both live in BA. We sat at a table outside in Plaza Serrano, drank wine and ate empanadas and tostados (traditional toasted ham and cheese sandwiches), serenaded by the music and horns of passing cars and solicited by small children selling roses. It was the first time in a long time I’ve hung out with a group of my peers like that, and I had a really great time.

Today I spent a lovely afternoon in Recoleta with Meg and her friend Rachel, but I’ll write about that later. I do want you guys to keep reading my blog, so I’m trying not to write too much at once.

This week my classes start in earnest. We have a few weeks to “shop” for classes before we set our schedules, and we have the option of taking classes at four different universities: la Universidad de Buenos Aires (la UBA), la Potifica Universidad Catolica Argentina (la UCA), la Universidad del Salvador (USAL), and la Universidad Torcuato Di Tella. I am trying out courses at all of them except Di Tella. This week classes start at la UCA, USAL, and the social sciences department at la UBA(the department of Filosofía y Letras, where I also have a class, starts next week). My IFSA program classes are also starting (one on human rights in Argentina and my Spanish class—my class’s topic is popular urban music in Argentina). It looks like I’ll be trying about ten classes, which will be whittled down to two. I know it seems like over-kill (and I’m not looking forward to going to that many three- to four-hour seminars in a week), but I have so little understanding of what the courses are going to be like and what I want to take that I figure it’s better to just try things out and drop them later.

Wish me luck this week, and stay tuned for the videos and an update about my day today!