Cheers to the Universe

3:30 in the morning, my alarm was boinging as I tried to remember why on earth I was getting up so early. And then I remember, one of the most beautiful places of the earth was waiting for me. So I rubbed the crusties off my eyes, grabbed my backpack, and took a taxi to the ISA office. We were supposed to meet there at 4:30, and surprising, no one (of the 50 something students) was late. I guess seeing a new wonder of the world is a pretty good reason to get out of bed.

After an hour and half bus ride to the airport, we walked through the rain to the check-in station. And this is where it goes downhill (or maybe it started with the rain)…  For some unknown reason, the airport’s check in system was down—some computer issue. So there were already long lines formed, for flights that were supposed to have left around 6. Besides wait, there was nothing we could do. We popped a squat on the airport floor and waited. And waited. And waited. Everything is harder in Argentina. I kept thinking, this would never happen in an international airport in the States. But then I had to remind myself that this isn’t the US (and I’m quite glad it’s not), and that things work differently in different places. I was going to be mad if a fluke in the airport system meant my waterfall time was cut short. But after a 4 hour delay, and then another delay on the plane, we were in the air and on our way to Iguazu.

When we got close to landing, the pilot came on the speaker and said we would be flying over the falls soon. It was pretty obvious they do this just to please the tourists, but it was amazing. Even from the air, the falls were significant. It surprised me that the land was so flat around the falls. There was a marsh/lagoon/lake, but not a river like I was expecting. The water literally just fell off into the canyon.

Fortunately, we had the flexibility in our itinerary to change our plans for the first day with the second. Unfortunately, it still didn’t work out. We were supposed to do some jungle trekking and see this indigenous tribe. But it had rained too much and the bus couldn’t make it through the mud. It was hard to keep everyone’s spirits up after a long day of doing nothing but waiting and getting our hopes crushed.

We did manage to go see the point where Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay meet. The countries are separated by a river, so we couldn’t physically be in them all at once, but it was cool to see different countries. It made me think about what a border truly means. When I went to Mexico the first time to build a house, I couldn’t believe the difference a boarder made. We went to Juarez, which was just south of El Paso, TX. We went from developed houses and businesses to shacks made of cardboard and rundown corner gas stations. So, looking out over the river to Paraguay and Brazil made me think, would the differences be that drastic? I doubt it would rival my experience in Mexico vs the US, but it’s funny to think that an invisible line can make such a big difference. The landscape may be similar, and the wild animals can’t tell the difference, but the people speak a different language, have varying customs, and use special money…

Anyway, we had lunch at a good restaurant and I was happy that it was cheaper than in Buenos Aires. The waiter was really friendly and patient with our obvious tourist-ness. That afternoon we had free so I spend some time taking pictures and exploring the tropical plants. It reminded me a lot of Thailand, at least in its terrain. Then we went swimming in the pool. I hadn’t brought my swim suit (in retrospect, that would have been a great idea), so I went in a sports bra and boy shorts. Yup, I was that girl. But I felt good about it. A couple years ago, I would have never, never ever, done that. Now I’m more comfortable with my body and put having fun higher than worrying about what other people think.

After a pizza dinner, we headed to bed in our nice, air conditioned hotel room. Breakfast in the morning was probably the best food (at least the best breakfast food) I’ve had since being here. They had scrambled eggs with cheese, tons of breads and pastries, juice, tea, fruit, and medialunas (sweet croissants, probably my favorite food of Argentina, along with dulce de leche).

After breakfast, we were finally on our way to the waterfalls. Our tour guide was telling us all of the different kinds of plants and animals to look for. We saw all sorts of birds and insects, including the lucky 88 butterfly. We also came across a giant spider, about the size of my palm. I took a quick picture, and then was on my merry way. There were also a lot of raccoon-like creatures (I’ll try to figure out the Spanish name for them) that were fond of the tourist’s food and would get really close if they thought you would feed them.

We heard the falls before we could see them. When the waterfalls first came into sight, I was amazed. Speechless. Awestruck. I had seen pictures online, but being there in person is so different. The water keeps coming down, seemingly from nowhere. I think that’s what struck me the most, was how eternal the falls are. They’ve been around since some sort of volcanic or tectonic occurrence who knows how long ago, when the canyon separated the land in just the right way so that by some odd happenstance the water could simply fall down and be so completely, utterly, unbelievably beautiful. It made me think that there has to be some sort of design to this life, because nothing that magnificent can be an accident (although accidents can be beautiful too).

We took the upper trail first, so that we could look down other the falls and get a better view of the falls off in the distance. We walked over several bridges that led us over some of the biggest falls. To have something so powerful, literally under my feet, was very moving. Again, I was surprised by how calm the water was before falling and becoming part of an ever-changing yet always-constant entity. Depending on the rain, the falls change and morph. If it rains a lot, it will stir up the red soil from the volcanic deposits and add color to the falls. If it doesn’t rain very much, it exposes parts of the rock that have been polished and stained by moving water. You can go back to the same spot everyday and never see the same sights.

The lower circuit was just as amazing, if not more, because it showed the height of the falls while still offering a panoramic view. I smiled every time the wind would mist me with the escaping water, knowing that part of something magical touched me just before it disappeared. Thinking about the sheer amount of water that passed through the falls in just one day made me appreciate the resources of the earth, how vast but precious they are.

We then hiked down to the bottom of the canyon, where we got to take a speed boat even closer to the falls. Decked out in life jackets and wet bags, we were prepared for a boat ride, but I don’t think any of us could anticipate the feeling. They took us down the canyon to see the other side of the falls better, and then we went speeding into the mouth of one of the biggest falls. I was soaked within seconds, but it was a liberating experience. The water washed over my doubts and insecurities, and replaced them with pure and powerful energy. Nothing can replace that feeling.

The boat ride was also a bonding experience full of camaraderie as we chanted “otro, otro, otro!” to get the driver to go back another time. He did, and it was just as good the second time. When the boat took us back to shore, I had a new respect for the water falls. While I enjoyed our controlled attempt to touch the falls, I realized how powerful, vicious, and fierce the falls are. I would not want to be on their bad side because there is nothing quite as intimidating as a roaring ball of blazing white water. It’s really an odd beauty, but we tend to find beauty in danger too.

And that was just the morning. We had lunch at the cafeteria place inside the national park and had just enough time to become a little less soggy. After lunch, we took a train to the other side of the park where we could access the “garganta del Diablo,” or the Devil’s Throat. I definitely see where they got the name. This is the biggest fall, at least on the Argentine side, and we got to see the mouth (quite literally) of water that just fell into a hole. Since there was so much mist and spray, we couldn’t see the bottom of the falls, so it really could have been falling into eternity. It certainly felt like it. At this point, the sun had come out and the heat was really intense, which made me even more grateful for the spray. This was our last waterfall, so I was sad to leave the falls to my back as I walked back across the lagoon/lake. I really wanted to visit the Brazil side, but since that requires a visa and another day, I was content with my memories and pictures.

I still can’t believe I was there, standing in the glory, and soaking in one of the “new natural wonders of the world” (as of 2011). It is something I will not forget.

After the falls, we drove for 4 hours to our new hotel. On the way, we watched “The Mission,” a movie about the place we were going to next. Sadly, napping took a priority over watching the movie, or else I would have had a better idea about the history of the Ruins of San Ignacio (our tour was entirely in Spanish. While I understood a lot, I still can’t comprehend locals when they speak so fast).The ruins were pretty cool, and I think they are a UNESCO world heritage site. From what I gathered of the history (but don’t quote me on this, a lot is lost in translation), this was one of the first missions of the Jesuits that were colonizing Argentina. In general, I like the idea of ruins and seeing something so old with such history. These people had to put a lot more effort into building something 400 years ago, meaning they have to care a lot about whatever it is they’re creating. Even without knowing the story very well, the ruins were fascinating because I felt the energy and the passion of people who had walked before me.

After the ruins, we went to an estancia, or farm. It was a luxury resort type of place and there was a pool, hammocks, plenty of sporting equipment including a ping pong table (yes, I’m still undefeated in South American), and way too much good food. They greeted us with empanadas and lemonade. Then we toured the mate factory where they harvest and dry the leaves to make mate. It smelled really good there. After that we had lunch. I had a delicious salad, grilled squash, and pasta with an onion and carrot sauce (their version of spaghetti). They also served asada, which is supposed to be the best beef in the world. I did try a bite of it, but in my opinion it was nothing special. Pasta is way better. They served tea afterwards and we had the afternoon free to relax and have fun. I really enjoyed myself. I played ping pong, played in the water, played with the puppies… it was nice to let everything else go and just play.

They didn’t let us leave with trying mate with lemonade. It was delicious and very refreshing. I’m not a huge fan of mate by itself, but the lemon added the perfect touch.  We also had these sopapia things that were probably one of the most amazing things I’ve eaten. They were fresh off of the wood stove and I watched the women roll out the dough. Then we put sugar on them while trying not to burn our fingers. Soo good.

It was finally time to head out to the airport. So we drove another hour to get there, waited two hours to check in (of course our flight was delayed again), waited longer after security, but finally got on the plane back to Buenos Aires. I tried to use the extra waiting time to study Spanish, but that attempt failed.

We arrived late at night and it was raining (of course it was raining. It wouldn’t have been right if we finished our trip on an easy note). But I liked the rain. It reminded me of the mist from Iguazu falls, and how the water everywhere is all a part of the water everywhere else. It doesn’t really matter where you are in the world—you’re always connected: to someplace, to a memory, to some dream, to our history. Even if it’s only with a simple drop of water.

The Weekend in Uruguay

I have a love-hate relationship with traveling. I love seeing other parts of the world and experiencing new cultures. I love being out of my comfort zone and finding out more about myself because of it. I love the people and the food. But I hate how tired it makes me. I hate how grumpy I can be. I hate not knowing what I’m going to eat next or when. I hate not being able to find a bathroom when I need one. I hate dirty hostels. And I hate the humidity.

I spent the weekend in Uruguay with Charnell and Kelsey, and while there were some tense moments, we had a great time. We left pretty early Saturday to catch our 9:30 ferry across the Rio de la Plata (the body of water that leads into the Atlantic Ocean). Since it was carnaval weekend, everybody and everybody else, was travelling. So when we got to Boquebus (the ferry company), there were insane lines for check-ins and immigration. I had a brief moment of panic that we would miss our ferry, but then I realized they couldn’t possibly leave so many people and would surely delay departure time. They did, which was only nice until 3 hours on a moving boat before closer to 4. I haven’t really travelled on a boat like that before, and I’m not sure I will again (there goes any hopes of working on a cruise ship when I get back home). I didn’t really get sea sick, but I don’t like the dizzy feeling. It was better when I went to the deck and could equilibrate myself on the horizon.

When we got to Colonia, we needed to find a bus to Montevideo (another 3 hours away), because that’s where our hostel was. We had originally thought that Sunday would be carnaval in Montevideo, although we found out that the internet lied and carnaval was the weekend before. So we booked our bus with enough time to get lunch beforehand. I had really good cheese empanadas (deep fried and delicious. I did notice right away that the Uruguayans were a lot heavier than the Argentines). Buuut, we forgot that Uruguay was an hour ahead of Buenos Aires and missed our bus by about 10 minutes. We weren’t even doing anything exciting. Just waiting around and eating mentos.

Thankfully, the company was understanding and changed our tickets to an hour and half later without charging us anything. We took the extra time to find an ATM and buy some water. Charnell accidentally grabbed the bottle that said, con gas, instead of sin gas, and tried to drink 1.5 liters of nasty soda water. I thought it was really funny until the next day I did the same thing. Only my bottle tried to explode on me while I was tripping on the uneven street tiles. Somehow I managed not to fall, but it was a very comical moment.

The bus ride was nice. I liked seeing the country side and actual animals living in green spaces (compared to the huge city where nothing is green and the only other living things besides humans are dogs and birds, and they both poop a lot). There were a lot of cattle and horses, but most of the horses were tied to fence posts and that was sad to see. There were also goats and sheep and other animals. The most exciting was a chicken, just hanging out on the side of the road. I had wondered where the joke came from, but I think I understand a bit more. It’s a very odd sight to see a chicken just standing there.

When we got to Montevideo, it was getting dark so we wanted to find out hostel soon. We had to take yet another bus for 30 minutes, but thankfully we managed to get on the right bus and get off at the right stop. It took asking more than a few people which direction to go after that, but we finally found it. The hostel was converted from an old house and was gorgeous. We met a cool girl from Austria who was at the beginning of a year-long stay in South America.

That night we walked to a grocery store to get something for dinner. This was the closest thing to a walmart we’ve seen. They were actually selling clothes and food in the same store. Weird. They also had prepared food, which was nice after a long day of travelling. Later, we talked with a girl from Brazil. She was really friendly and it was cool to hear Portuguese and actually be able to understand some from knowing some Spanish. It also reminded me of the time I went to Mexico with the girl scouts like 8 years ago and met a girl from Brazil. I think she was the first international girl I knew and became friends with, and she reminded me a lot of this girl.

She invited us to an “event” the next day, and even gave us written invitations. We had assumed since it was carnival weekend, and she promised that it would be a big event with lots of people from all over the world, that it would be fun. Little did we know that it was a dress up event. And little did we know that it was for “HerbaLife,” some sort of product that promises to change your life. So we go in to the Sheraton Hotel, where the Brazilian told us to go, looking like crap because we’re traveling, it was raining but got hot and humid, and we have our backpacks. So they make us sign in with our inviter, give them our emails, and they give us a wrist band that made it look like we broke out of the hospital. Then they lead us to our seats, in front of a big crowd of people in a small space, to the “invited” section. We’re trying desperately not to knock anyone out with our backpacks, or step on anyone’s toes with our flip flops or chacos. There is a speaker up from, and two screens on either side that project the video (really not necessary, but I guess they wanted to be dramatic.) There were also a row of LED lights for effect. It would have been cool, expect there were trying to sell this HerbaLife product. And somehow we got wrapped into it. Something must have been lost in translation.

Besides feeling totally out of place, it was kinda interesting to see the cultural equivalent of an infomercial. These people were totally into it, or really good actors. I’m still not sure why a young Brazilian girl would be recruiting college aged Americas to this thing, but there had to be a reason. We sat through about an hour of this before calling it quits. It was so funny though. When the owner of the company got up there, he was signing autographs and people were cheering like he was a celebrity, and they played loud (American) music, and the lights we all dramatic. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it was something cool. But then they started talking about protein power shakes and proper nutrients, and they made fun of the United States for having an escalator in front of a fitness place. (Which is indeed funny, but by no means how all Americans are). Anyway, we tried to leave quietly, but it was hard to blend in. And of course we ran into our inviter on the way out. Awkward.

Laughing about the experience, we made our way to the next hostel. We stopped along the way to eat pizza and we ran into a girl that went to our school for the month intensive Spanish program. It’s crazy how small the world is.

I’m glad we got to our hostel on time because they had over-booked the reservations and had to turn people away. There were no other beds in all of Montevideo, so that was not good planning on their part. I also didn’t really care for this hostel. It wasn’t very clean and they weren’t friendly. We did meet another group of Brazilians (thankfully, they did not try to scam us into going to a HerbaLife conference). Instead, we went out with them to a traveling play. We got to see a show on a bus. They picked us up downtown and drove us around the city, stopping once for a different scene in some “dance bar.” Even though I didn’t understand it ( it was in really fast Spanish, and they were talking over each other), it was interesting to see Uruguay “theater.” The actors were pretty good, but we could tell they had a small budget for costumes. Because it was a comedic drama, of course, the girl ends up dying in the end. The experience inspired me to start up a travelling show in the US. Just wait, I’m gonna buy a giant tourist bus, outfit it in lights and good acoustics, hire the talent, and write the script. It’s going to happen. Just think about it though: a theater that comes to you, adapts to your convenience, incorporates the city, and is personal. It’s perfect. I’ll call it On Broadway Street (ok ok, maybe I’ll be a bit more clever). If you want to be part of it, let me know, but no stealing my idea! (ok ok, the Uruguayan’s idea)…

After the show, we had dinner at a nice restaurant and had the famous Uruguay chivitos. It’s basically a mix between a hamburger and a sandwich, with whatever they feel like putting on it. Before deciding on a restaurant, I told the Brazilians that I was “mostly vegetarian” and didn’t want to eat red meat. So I had a chicken one, but it was the first time in at least a month that I had eaten meat, or at least that much meat. One of the Brazilian guys asked me why I didn’t eat meat. I told him that I don’t particularly care for the taste, and since my boyfriend is vegetarian, he’s gotten me into eating healthier and thinking more about the consequences. I said that it would be better for the environment if we all ate less meat. Well that didn’t go over very well. The three people at my table started accosting me, saying “You know that lettuce that was on your sandwich? It had to die too.” And they tried to tell me flat out that raising cattle just to be slaughtered was not any worse for the environment than growing some other crop. It just made me realize 1) how ignorant people can be (myself included, because I am not as educated on this subject as I should be) and 2) how many different points of views there are, and how many different theories and philosophies. Because we can’t possibly know everything for ourselves, we have to choose what to believe. I simply was not prepared to be attacked for not eating meat, because I’m not yet sure what I believe. I need to flush out my reasons and take a stand, so in the future I’m prepared to defend myself. But for now, all I know is that meat grosses me out. It’s not so much the taste that’s not appealing—it’s the idea that there’s this dead animal inside of my body. That some life had to be sacrificed to enhance my own.

After dinner I tried not to be bitter, although I could tell I was still in a bad mood. We went to a casino and I watched the others play a few slots and some roulette. It was a fun way to pass the night, but I preferred not to waste my money.

After a good night’s rest, we took the bus back to Colonia to explore the historical district. For lunch I had a really good cheese omelet. I’ve been craving American breakfast for a while, so it was nice to eat something that reminded me of home. We found a nice artisan market and bought a few trinkets for home. Then we walked around the old part of town and saw the “colonial” part of Colonia. It was gorgeous. I loved the slower pace of life and not having to be worried about being robbed. It was also nice that there were more tourists. I blended in a bit more. Walking around on the cobble stone streets with an accordion playing in the background reminded me a lot of going to Italy with my grandma. That sort of life enchants me (although I bet it’s mostly for tourists nowadays).

Since it had been rainy most of the weekend, we didn’t get a chance to lie on the beach. But our last night there, the sky had cleared up, and we bought bread, cheese, and wine and had a picnic on the beach. The sunset was pretty and the temperature was a perfect, cool summer night. We had really good conversation and bonded a lot that night. They made me think a lot about who I am and who I want to be. Kelsey told me that I am a very profound and deep person and that I have my head on straight and I have a genuinely good heart. That’s one of the best personality descriptions I’ve received, so it made me happy. Then Kelsey wanted to hold hands and spin in a circle like little kids do, using your weight and centrifical force to your advantage. So we spun in circles barefoot on the beach and laughed kids would. Even though we weren’t planning on it, we went swimming, and surprisingly the water was quite nice. Overall, it was the perfect end to a good weekend.

And yes, Charnell and Kelsey, I kind of love you guys ;)

Sidewalk Sweepers

Every morning I wake up and hear the sidewalk sweepers. It’s a peaceful sound—much better than the buses or the car horns. The door attendants or other workers of nicer buildings/businesses spray off the sidewalk with water and sweep it into the street. It’s a petty attempt to keep the city clean, but I like it because it reminds me that the everyday life can be simple in the middle of something so big and complicated.

Last week was another difficult week. I had class for 6 hours a day, instead of 5, and I had to take my midterm on Friday. I did not have enough time to study or practice my Spanish, so I’m pretty sure I didn’t do well.  It was also stressful trying to plan my vacations. The website for the ferry to Uruguay was not working correctly, and trying to talk to the company on the phone was above me. The flights to Bariloche were also being difficult. I had to reserve my price online then go pay for them in person because I needed to prove I’m an Argentine resident (because they like to rip off the tourists). Anyway, trying to get 4 people’s schedule together and take into account everyone’s preferences, was very difficult. But after several hours of planning, we have our airfare to Patagonia!

Valentine’s Day was both bitter and sweet. I had asked Dorothy to help be my cupid from afar and get chocolate covered strawberries and flowers to Glenn. She did a great job and he was surprised and to find even from 1000 plus miles away, I could still key into his room and leave him surprises. It was ironic, right after I asked Dorothy for help, Jessica’s boyfriend messaged me on facebook and asked if I could get her flowers from him. I liked paying it forward, especially since I know how difficult relationships can be from afar.

When I got home that day, my host mom was telling me that I had a message. So I had to call this number and talk to them (keep in mind my Spanish is not good in person, much less over the phone). Thankfully my host mom came to my rescue and talked to them. Apparently I had a delivery, but I was not home when they tried to deliver it earlier. So it would have to wait for the next day. This just goes to prove my theory that everything is harder in Argentina. Turns out my mom sent me flowers for Valentine’s Day. She is pretty much amazing and always knows how to make me feel loved. Even though I had to wait until Wednesday to get my roses, I very much appreciated getting something so simple yet so significant. (Love you, mom). I celebrated the day smelling the roses from my mom and eating the alien chocolates Dorothy gave me. 

Three Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

At least that means there’s progress, but this last week has been a bit challenging.

Last Saturday I went to Plaza de Mayo by myself. It was a good feeling to be completely self-sufficient. I took a tour of Casa Rosada, the equivalent of our White House, and saw where the president addresses the people and does her work. It was particularly cool because the next day I saw her (yes, the president it a her), on the news in one of the rooms I had just seen. She was saying that the Argentine people will keep the Falkland Islands from Britain (tensions are rising over the issue).

Sunday I went to San Telmo with Jessica. It was fun to explore the market and see all the artisans and their work. I bought a few pairs of earrings, but I wanted to buy a lot more. I found a lot of artisans were from Peru, which is exciting because I’m going to Peru and they will probably be cheaper there. Then we got pizza in a cute little restaurant and headed to Konex for Bridget’s birthday. We went to an Onda Vaga concert. Jessica and I hadn’t heard much of their music. So when the first group got on stage and sang 8-10 songs, we thought the concert was over—but they were just the openers. The real Onda Vaga was much better and the crowd knew every word to every song. It was fun to be part of something that was so Argentine. I really liked the music, although I thought the crowd was a little wild. But then again, I don’t like big crowds, especially when they’re drinking and smoking pot. (On a side note, pot is really common here. Everyone at the concert was smoking and no one seemed to care). It was still fun to swing to the beat of the music with Argentines on every side of me. Overall it was a good night.

But the best part of my week is that I got a package from Dorothy! She is simply the sweetest. I got yummy peanut butter to satisfy my craving of home, lemon ginger tea to make me feel the comforts of home, alien chocolates to connect me to outer space, sandwich baggies for my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and awesome stickers with inspirational quotes. But most importantly I got the gift of love. I know it’s a simple gesture to send something so basic, but it speaks leaps and bounds. <3

On Monday I had a day off, but I forget to tell our host mom that we didn’t have school. So she was waiting for us to get up for breakfast at 8, when I didn’t get up until 10. When I did get up, she was gone and there was cold toast and tea on the table, so I knew something was wrong. She got back home around noon and came to talk to us, saying next time we don’t have class we better tell her, because she got up early and made us breakfast and waited, wondering what happened to us. She didn’t need to get up that early and next time we better make it clear when we’re not eating. I said sorry, but couldn’t figure out how to say, “I feel horrible, it won’t happen again.” In hindsight, it is obvious that we should have told her we weren’t getting up for breakfast. But in my head, it was just another weekend, and breakfast is at 10:30 on weekends. And the day before, I didn’t eat dinner there, and left early in the day. Breakfast was the last thing from my mind. I learned my lesson, however, and will try not to let my host mom down again.

So on Monday I had to get out of the house to escape the guilt looming over my head. I went to get my pictures taken for the final step in getting a student visa. All I needed was 2 “passport style photos.” Should be easy enough, right? Not exactly. Somehow I ended up with pictures that were a cm too big (apparently Visa photos and passport photos aren’t the same size, who knew). I asked the people at ISA if it was ok, and they said that it should be fine. But it wasn’t fine. We went on Friday to the immigrations office and waited in line forever. We had to be there at 7:30 (which meant leaving at 6:15) and didn’t get done until after 10. And the picture that was a tiny bit too big, that was supposed to be fine? I had to leave, go back to the train station, and get it retaken. Good news is I got my place back in line, which I wasn’t expecting. So it could have been much worse. I was still frustrated that I was told that it should be okay, and it wasn’t. These are the same people that told me a copy of my passport should be fine when I went to get my package from the main post office. Maybe I should start to do my own research…

I started a new class on Tuesday: Intermediate 1, which is a rather intimidating title, for someone who has only had 4 weeks of Spanish, ever. I understand a lot of what the professor says, but it’s frustrating to realize that I’m confused at which pronoun to use. The English equivalent would be me calling a boy “her, it or them.” It makes me look at language as a living and breathing thing that has its own personality and its own sense of humor. It’s not like learning any other subject I’ve taken in school, even English. When we learn our first language, we learn words first, then the rules of grammar (if we even have to learn them, I think a lot of it comes instinctually). But learning a second language you learn vocab and grammar at the same time, which makes for a very confused and overloaded brain. I also think constantly comparing English and Spanish is bad. The languages don’t function in the same way, so it is hard to make correlations. When babies learn words, we assign visual, audio, or other sensory association to a word. That’s a lot more effective than trying to remember the word in English and associate it only with another word.

It really feels like every time I get my feet under me and feel like I’m treading water alright, something small happens that makes waves come crashing over my head and I get the all too familiar feeling of drowning. I know I’m not really drowning here—metaphorically or literally—I just feel like things are out of my control. I don’t like that feeling.

I feel a lot of pressure to “have the time of my life” here. I keep thinking what I’ll tell people when I get back to the states when they ask about my time abroad. Most of my responses I can think of now would not satisfy their thirst to live vicariously through me. Yeah, I’m glad I came, no I wouldn’t change my mind, but no, I do not love every minute of it. No, it is not the time of my life. I miss everything from food to privacy and peace of mind to snow. But I don’t want to disappoint you, or let you down.

I was expressing these concerns to my friend Lauren, and I really like what she said (like always, she has god advice.) So what if I don’t like it? I shouldn’t feel guilty for not enjoying myself. If I don’t like it, I don’t like it. I need to listen to myself and not other people. After I realized that I shouldn’t feel pressured to feel a certain way, I’ll just come out and say it. No, I don’t like living in Buenos Aires. No, I don’t like the big city. I don’t like being away from my family and friends. And damn, it feels good to say it. So even though I’m still not sure how I will respond when people ask me about my time abroad, I will make sure they know this:

Studying abroad has completely turned my world upside down. Living in a foreign environment has made me question everything: what I want in life, what’s the point of everything, what makes me happy, who I am close to, and what I want or feel called to do. (Yeah I know, dang existentialists). Although I haven’t come up with any of the answers to life’s big questions, it’s important to look at them, shake them up, and see how the dice fall. And the good news is I still have 3 months to figure it out. I’m questioning everything: from friends to daily routines, from family to ambition, from love to independence.  Because then, when I get back to what is “normal,” and what is “comfortable,” I’ll have a better idea of what can’t be changed by distance or circumstance. Of what really is normal and comfortable. Of who I am and who you are. Of what’s here to stay.

My Own Piece of Happy

I have a lot to be happy about this week J I got an A in my class! I was so worried that this class would kill my GPA (yes, I’m still concerned with grades, don’t really know why, but I am). I guess I’m learning more Spanish than I think like I am. I’ve been here a month now, I’ve finished one intensive class, and I feel like I’m getting my city legs. Finally.

On Tuesday I went to the Colon Theater for a guided tour. It’s a truly marvelous place. Gorgeous, inspiring, and powerful. It was built in the late 1800s, in honor of Christopher Columbus’s 400^th anniversary of discovering the Americas (they call him Colon here). But it took them an extra 20 years to finish. It was well worth the wait. They imported most of the marble from Europe, and used only the best material. Back then, theater and art were elevated to a higher status of daily life. That’s why you have to climb stairs to get to the theater, to leave the woes of daily life behind, and rise to the occasion for the sake of art. I really like that philosophy. There were several marble statues, but one in particular was damaged in the passage from Europe. Instead of replacing the two marble fingers that were knocked off, they left the statue as is. They said it would damage the integrity of the statue since it was all carved out of a single piece of marble.

Inside of the theater, the acoustics were amazing. It’s rated 3^rd in the world. It made me really want to transport my Shomber choir from high school here to sing. But we sang “Wagon Wheel” instead. Which was just as powerful. The song reminds me of home, but it also connects me to here. There’s something about music that truly defies all boundaries and speaks straight to your heart. If you don’t know it, you should:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gX1EP6mG-E

And I got my package! After a week-long drawn-out process, I got my birthday package from home. I seriously have the best family ever. It was still a complicated adventure, taking the subway to the post office, waiting in the first line to pay, waiting in the second line for my number to be called, going through a creepy back door to the back room, waiting in line again, struggling to communicate, and following misguided directions… the postman finally handed me my package. It was nice to finally touch something that had been out of my grasp for so long. I waited to open the package until my mom could talk on Skype, and I’m glad I did. Inside was lots of granola bars, almonds, nutella, and mini-eggs! Not to mention light up balloons, highlighters, an adapter, and the best alien tee-shirt. I feel very loved, and blessed to have such an amazing and thoughtful family.

My host mom is sad when I tell her I’ve been studying, and rolls her eyes when I say class is hard every day. She wants me to go out more and experience the city. I want to too, but when I’m in the same “beginning” class as some people who have taken 2-3 years of Spanish before (and I’ve had none!), it’s hard to keep up. Even after taking the test, I still feel like I’m 2 steps behind. But I do really enjoy class and learning the language. We even have old school chalkboards in my classroom! How crazy is that?

Speaking of crazy, why on earth to objects have a gender? Who assigns masculinity and femininity? Why is the sun a man, but the house is a woman? And how am I supposed to memorize a gender for every new word I learn?

Don’t know if I mentioned this before, but the elevator to my apartment is really cool. You have to open and close the doors yourself. One of the first days I tried to open it a bit too soon and I had to step up to get out. Yeah, freaky.

Everywhere I look there’s something new. There is no way I could possible capture it all—with words or pictures. There’s just too much. I’ve been here a month and still see more and more on my way to class every day. There’s a women in the apartment complex facing mine that stands in her window (I don’t think she as a balcony, or at least she prefers to just hang her head outside), everyday for several hours. Maybe she sees a lot more than I do.

I watch people on the streets and I wonder how they can be happy here, especially the little kids and the old people. I feel bad for the kids who grow up in surrounded by people and traffic, who know only noise and pollution, who hold onto their mom’s hand for dear life during rush hour on the subway. I watch the young moms struggle with strollers on the broken street tiles, tying to avoid rolling through the dog poop. And I see the older people, hobbling down the streets with canes or in wheel chairs, making slow and painful progress. It takes me 30 minutes to walk to class, and I have a pretty quick pace. I can’t imagine living in the city and not being able to use my own mobility to get around.

I look at these people, thinking what kind of life is this, and then I see them. I see that they have made their own piece of happiness in this big world. They laugh with their friends, hug and kiss their family, drink coffee on street corners and drink water out of tiny glasses. They watch movies and read newspapers, go jogging and soak in the sun. So what if it involves sirens, smog, and horrid humidity. It’s their life. And for now, it’s mine too.