There are obviously a lot of phrases I love in Spanish and that I will have a hard time not using when I get back, but I decided this morning which is my favorite.
I woke up to sunshine through my curtains. When I opened the door to walk downstairs, the cool of the morning filled my sleepy lungs unexpectedly, willingly. I met Omar (my host padre) in the kitchen, him wearing a navy and white polka-dotted robe with high socks and slippers (sooo wonderful). After the first morning exchanges, he said, "está fresca, esta mañana."
Don't you love that a cool morning is called fresca? I'm not sure why I enjoy that so much. Maybe because it reminds me of October mornings with the sun and cool weather. Even though it's Spring here, not Autumn, it's still lovely.
I've finally started loving it here. The trips were stressful, as these past few weeks have been as well. I have a full two days ahead of me with my ISP propuesta (proposal), studying for yet another test, Spanish assignments, last minute registration and my honors thesis proposal (which I still don't know what I'm doing for that...whoops; any suggestions are highly appreciated).
Needless to say, I have varied excuses for the lack of excitement on this disappointing blog. Everyday I experience something new, I start constructing a new post in my head -- I have a few partially written already -- but can never justify spending the time on them when I have so much more going on. Perdóname, por favor.
I want to write, know that. I have a lot to say about this country. I've just started my ISP (Independent Study Project) and will thus have more free time, less pressing assignments, even though I will probably be just as busy. I'm hoping to write. I can make no promises just in case I can't keep them. But thanks for the few people who check this blog (aka a few friends and family), even though it has been stagnant for a month now. You know I love you and you know I have much to say. I'll try to find the time to say it.
In the meantime, this song is almost constantly in my head while walking around the city. They play it a lot, and everyone loves it. Hope you enjoy it, too.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
It's All About The Chest
Not gonna lie, finally coming into the city, the ladies and I could almost not believe it. Especially since we went on a mostly sketchy, unbeknownst to us van ride into the darkness surrounding Buenos Aires. Right about the time that we were seriously concerned for our tired selves, we arrived at Pampas del Sur and were treated to five course meals primarily consisting of meat. Loooots of meat.
It was beautiful, perfect chilled weather, and a day full of information, fixed gear brakeless bikes, cows, sheep and an alarming immediate comfort with each other in the whole group.
Coming into the city was exactly the experience you would assume. Muchos autos y muchas personas. And lots of pizza places. Argentina has a lot of Italian influences from the massive immigration that took place before and during the World Wars, hence, la pizza.
Our one evening in the hotel, and last evening together as a group, consisted of our first subte (subway) ride, a Spanish placement test and the most fun, and disgusting, adventure yet. We went to a restaurante for a large meal and our very first TANGO lesson! Yes, you heard it, Tango Tango.
But first, after the lesson we finally got to eat (it was about 10:30 pm or so) and it was quite an...interesting... meal. Three of us shared a bottle of Malbec, a very popular Argentine red wine, and waited for whatever they were going to bring us. In a group that large, unless you're a vegetarian, you don't order, you wait. The first appetizers were incredibly delicious. I don't know if this was because we were all starving or because they actually were that good. However, the three next to us had something quite odd on their cutting board. Something that looked like meat but had an untraceable smell to it. Something that when you put it in your mouth, you wanted to spit it out again within a few seconds. Not because it was necessarily bad, just incredibly awkward. The texture, the taste, the smell. All strange.
It was tongue.
Awesome.
Next, when they brought out the sizzling skillet holding pounds of meat, we only knew what two of the seven types of meat were on it: pollo y carne asada. Pier and I decided to try a few of the other things as well. A small, round, worm-esque thing was probably the most awful one we tried. You bit into it and it was normal for about 3 seconds, and then something gooey took over the taste and texture. When asked what it was...
It was intestine. Kind of like a really bad chitlin' but worse.
We then tried blood sausage, which, for those who don't know, is coagulated blood. (Sorry, Dorothy) And finally, I tried a bite of Eliza's mystery meat that she couldn't place the strangeness of. This is the only one I couldn't swallow. It was kidney. And it was gross.
I think I've met my quota for trying comida rara for at least a month and a half by now. I wouldn't recommend eating any of that so listed, ever.
But back to Tango.
The couple who taught us were incredible. It is not a dance like I've ever done or seen before. The emotion between you and your partner is what makes it work. Not the steps, but the connection. And watching them dance, not even touching, everyone could feel the passion within them, bursting out and moving them around the floor. When they started teaching us, they didn't focus on a specific step or a way to dance, but on how to move and connect. "It's all about the chest!" he said. "El Pecho es el mas importante!"
Ok, ok, let's try it.
So as we moved awkwardly around the small space cleared of tables, all of us tried to create some kind of "passion" in our couple. However, this proved quite difficult, since we only have four guys in a group of 25 students. BUT, Marc and I got to dance in front of everyone at the end, and I must say we were pretty good at it, muy suave. He's going to be my partner with the next lessons, we've decided. (Well, I told him, anyway.)
Actually, since this post has taken me over a week to finally finish, I can catch you wonderfully patient readers up with our subsequent start of proper Tango lessons in a studio. A noche, we found our way to the studio and got to meet the other SIT group in Buenos Aires. (They're studying Regional Integration and Development...ours is way better.) It was MUCH different than the first lesson. No talks about connection, no intense passion between the teaching couple (two women, so, you know) and nothing about el pecho. Que triste.
As I tried to help Chris along the floor, I was reminded of my old folk dancing days, before I knew how to let the man lead me. Tango is a very traditional and oddly conservative dance. Not conservative in a fashion or way of dancing, but in the tango clubs you will go to, in the relationship between the partners. It is always a man and woman. The man always asks and the woman can or cannot give consent to dance. He always leads and she always follows. When dancing at a proper club, you must consent to four dances with the partner before sitting down and before changing. Somewhat like Pride & Prejudice, no?
Needless to say, I'm going to continue lessons and hopefully be able to connect with somehandsome and tall Argentine men.
I apologize for the lateness and lack of posting since arrival. There are going to be many subsequent posts this weekend to catch you up on the unreal events of daily Argentine life.
It was beautiful, perfect chilled weather, and a day full of information, fixed gear brakeless bikes, cows, sheep and an alarming immediate comfort with each other in the whole group.
Coming into the city was exactly the experience you would assume. Muchos autos y muchas personas. And lots of pizza places. Argentina has a lot of Italian influences from the massive immigration that took place before and during the World Wars, hence, la pizza.
Our one evening in the hotel, and last evening together as a group, consisted of our first subte (subway) ride, a Spanish placement test and the most fun, and disgusting, adventure yet. We went to a restaurante for a large meal and our very first TANGO lesson! Yes, you heard it, Tango Tango.
But first, after the lesson we finally got to eat (it was about 10:30 pm or so) and it was quite an...interesting... meal. Three of us shared a bottle of Malbec, a very popular Argentine red wine, and waited for whatever they were going to bring us. In a group that large, unless you're a vegetarian, you don't order, you wait. The first appetizers were incredibly delicious. I don't know if this was because we were all starving or because they actually were that good. However, the three next to us had something quite odd on their cutting board. Something that looked like meat but had an untraceable smell to it. Something that when you put it in your mouth, you wanted to spit it out again within a few seconds. Not because it was necessarily bad, just incredibly awkward. The texture, the taste, the smell. All strange.
It was tongue.
Awesome.
Next, when they brought out the sizzling skillet holding pounds of meat, we only knew what two of the seven types of meat were on it: pollo y carne asada. Pier and I decided to try a few of the other things as well. A small, round, worm-esque thing was probably the most awful one we tried. You bit into it and it was normal for about 3 seconds, and then something gooey took over the taste and texture. When asked what it was...
It was intestine. Kind of like a really bad chitlin' but worse.
We then tried blood sausage, which, for those who don't know, is coagulated blood. (Sorry, Dorothy) And finally, I tried a bite of Eliza's mystery meat that she couldn't place the strangeness of. This is the only one I couldn't swallow. It was kidney. And it was gross.
I think I've met my quota for trying comida rara for at least a month and a half by now. I wouldn't recommend eating any of that so listed, ever.
But back to Tango.
The couple who taught us were incredible. It is not a dance like I've ever done or seen before. The emotion between you and your partner is what makes it work. Not the steps, but the connection. And watching them dance, not even touching, everyone could feel the passion within them, bursting out and moving them around the floor. When they started teaching us, they didn't focus on a specific step or a way to dance, but on how to move and connect. "It's all about the chest!" he said. "El Pecho es el mas importante!"
Ok, ok, let's try it.
So as we moved awkwardly around the small space cleared of tables, all of us tried to create some kind of "passion" in our couple. However, this proved quite difficult, since we only have four guys in a group of 25 students. BUT, Marc and I got to dance in front of everyone at the end, and I must say we were pretty good at it, muy suave. He's going to be my partner with the next lessons, we've decided. (Well, I told him, anyway.)
Actually, since this post has taken me over a week to finally finish, I can catch you wonderfully patient readers up with our subsequent start of proper Tango lessons in a studio. A noche, we found our way to the studio and got to meet the other SIT group in Buenos Aires. (They're studying Regional Integration and Development...ours is way better.) It was MUCH different than the first lesson. No talks about connection, no intense passion between the teaching couple (two women, so, you know) and nothing about el pecho. Que triste.
As I tried to help Chris along the floor, I was reminded of my old folk dancing days, before I knew how to let the man lead me. Tango is a very traditional and oddly conservative dance. Not conservative in a fashion or way of dancing, but in the tango clubs you will go to, in the relationship between the partners. It is always a man and woman. The man always asks and the woman can or cannot give consent to dance. He always leads and she always follows. When dancing at a proper club, you must consent to four dances with the partner before sitting down and before changing. Somewhat like Pride & Prejudice, no?
Needless to say, I'm going to continue lessons and hopefully be able to connect with some
I apologize for the lateness and lack of posting since arrival. There are going to be many subsequent posts this weekend to catch you up on the unreal events of daily Argentine life.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
An Adventure BEFORE we even get to Argentina?!
Yes, so, we're not on a 10-hour ride, uncomfortably snoozing with sleeping pills mixing with the questionable airplane food. No, we're still in Dallas. And when I say we, I mean me and the four other SIT ladies that I met before our day halted. Annie, Molly, Kristina, Kelsey and I, who only met a few hours ago, are sharing beds and anxieties, minor complaints and hopes for our time together.
We will most definitely be the most bonded group when we first get there. The "fashionably late" ladies strolling into BA at 9:15 pm, just in time for dinner.
If it was surreal before I even started going at 6 this morning, now it has surpassed all of this. It's just such a funny and unnecessary event, to be delayed 13 hours. It'd be way more hard core if we'd had to stay in the airport and sleep on the ground, with no air conditioning, or food, or end in sight.
But no, we're at the Wingate. We had hotel and food vouchers. We'll catch a shuttle in the morning. It's just...inconvenient.
I'm pretty certain that when I tell anyone this story in the future, I'll embellish it a little more. Make it seem a little more, I don't know, B.A.?
Also, Shout Out to my beautiful and sweet friend Kay Lorraine for turning 20-years-old TODAY!
We will most definitely be the most bonded group when we first get there. The "fashionably late" ladies strolling into BA at 9:15 pm, just in time for dinner.
If it was surreal before I even started going at 6 this morning, now it has surpassed all of this. It's just such a funny and unnecessary event, to be delayed 13 hours. It'd be way more hard core if we'd had to stay in the airport and sleep on the ground, with no air conditioning, or food, or end in sight.
But no, we're at the Wingate. We had hotel and food vouchers. We'll catch a shuttle in the morning. It's just...inconvenient.
I'm pretty certain that when I tell anyone this story in the future, I'll embellish it a little more. Make it seem a little more, I don't know, B.A.?
Also, Shout Out to my beautiful and sweet friend Kay Lorraine for turning 20-years-old TODAY!
Past the point of déjà vu
Well at least I'm farther than I was at this point in March.
Yes, this means I'm on my way. I'm actually already in Dallas, waiting about a drive to Asheville longer, and then a boarding for a decade of hours to arrive in Buenos Aires.
Excitement is not exactly the word I would use to describe the feeling in my head, heart or stomach right now. It's been a long battle getting to this point, and now I'm only just beginning. I would be lying to you if I told you I was in the least bit prepared for this trip, physically, mentally or educationally. But I'm going. And my Spanish is going to be awful, and I'm going to be doing a lot of nodding, and I still have a paper to write, but I'm going.
And that's what really matters.
I'll post once I get there about what all the trip is about, how my emotions have changed (hopefully for the better) and what's the first food I eat (obviously).
I'm sorry for not getting on this more quickly. I still have a half-finished draft of a Maine post waiting to be published, and a lot of thoughts about the trip. But life happens, and an especially large amount have been happening just in August. So, as I always try to do, you just have to happen along with it.
Yes, this means I'm on my way. I'm actually already in Dallas, waiting about a drive to Asheville longer, and then a boarding for a decade of hours to arrive in Buenos Aires.
Excitement is not exactly the word I would use to describe the feeling in my head, heart or stomach right now. It's been a long battle getting to this point, and now I'm only just beginning. I would be lying to you if I told you I was in the least bit prepared for this trip, physically, mentally or educationally. But I'm going. And my Spanish is going to be awful, and I'm going to be doing a lot of nodding, and I still have a paper to write, but I'm going.
And that's what really matters.
I'll post once I get there about what all the trip is about, how my emotions have changed (hopefully for the better) and what's the first food I eat (obviously).
I'm sorry for not getting on this more quickly. I still have a half-finished draft of a Maine post waiting to be published, and a lot of thoughts about the trip. But life happens, and an especially large amount have been happening just in August. So, as I always try to do, you just have to happen along with it.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Unexpected.
Right now, I should be in Ezeiza Airport in Buenos Aires, mingling with the few students who arrived on the same American Airlines flight from Miami, waiting another hour or two for the rest to show up. I should be loaded down with two backpacks and a small rolling suitcase; three months worth of shampoo, toothpaste and hand sanitizer; dark circles under my eyes from a 16 hour travel day and that slight feeling of anxiety in my stomach that one could mistake as the effects of airplane food.
But, I'm not. I'm sitting at the breakfast table at my parents' house in Raleigh, replying to never-ending official school e-mails, trying not to start crying again.
I'm not going to Argentina this semester anymore. I've deferred to the Fall and will be there from August to December.
A friend told me to say, "that the truth is a very long, boring, needlessly complex, bureaucratic, kafka-esque saga, which, although has an incredible main character, ultimately is not worth your time or energy listening to it all, kind of like the 6 series of Lost."
But really, it is. To get straight to it: it just isn't the right timing. God made that very clear, even if it is the most difficult decision I've ever made. I know, hope, that it will be the right one and that this time away from school will be a great time for growing and learning and being.
On that note, I'm currently looking for internships that have a Spanish element to them. I've planned a trip to Acadia National Park in Maine with my momma in late July, after the summer sessions have ended. I'm also intending on spending a good amount of time in Asheville because, after all, Asheville and Argentina have the same number of letters and both start with A.
I covet your prayers during this time of trying to understand why my life seems to have fallen apart.
But, I'm not. I'm sitting at the breakfast table at my parents' house in Raleigh, replying to never-ending official school e-mails, trying not to start crying again.
I'm not going to Argentina this semester anymore. I've deferred to the Fall and will be there from August to December.
A friend told me to say, "that the truth is a very long, boring, needlessly complex, bureaucratic, kafka-esque saga, which, although has an incredible main character, ultimately is not worth your time or energy listening to it all, kind of like the 6 series of Lost."
But really, it is. To get straight to it: it just isn't the right timing. God made that very clear, even if it is the most difficult decision I've ever made. I know, hope, that it will be the right one and that this time away from school will be a great time for growing and learning and being.
On that note, I'm currently looking for internships that have a Spanish element to them. I've planned a trip to Acadia National Park in Maine with my momma in late July, after the summer sessions have ended. I'm also intending on spending a good amount of time in Asheville because, after all, Asheville and Argentina have the same number of letters and both start with A.
I covet your prayers during this time of trying to understand why my life seems to have fallen apart.
But as for me, my prayer is to you, O Lord. At an acceptable time, O God, in the abundance of your steadfast love answer me in your saving faithfulness. Deliver me from sinking in the mire; let me be delivered from my enemies and from the deep waters. Let not the flood sweep over me, or the deep swallow me up, or the pit close its mouth over me. Answer me, O Lord, for your steadfast love is good; according to your mercy, turn to me. Hide not your face from your servant; for I am in distress; make haste to answer me. Draw near to my soul, redeem me.
Psalm 69: 13-18a
Thursday, February 3, 2011
BUENOS AIRES
Argentina.
3 1/2 months. Class in BA, Trips to Patagonia and the North, Independent Study.
Complete. Cultural. Immersion.
This isn't just Spanish class anymore. This is a different life for a semester that I'm about to jump into head first with my limbs flailing and trying to catch all the assignments, my ears straining to understand the new accents surrounding me. It's terrifying and stressful but exhilarating and what I've been anticipating for years.
The countdown: 25 days. The work and shopping and packing and studying that must be done in these 25 days is overwhelming and though I try hard not to, I have let the mass of reading and memorizing stress me enough to almost regretting this trip. I've gotten to the point that I know a few all-nighters will be necessary to finish this work at this point, but it's worth it. Utterly and completely worth it.
I'm going to study social movements and human rights, two topics that Argentina has a large history dealing with. Because of this, I've been closely watching the events unfold in Egypt. Everything happening there is such an interesting situation that no one really knows how it will turn out. What is it exactly?
Journalist Blake Hounshell asked on my favorite international blog: "Are we witnessing a revolution, a soft military coup, or a failed uprising?"
It excites me to think I get to spend an entire semester studying social movements. To move socially. What a concept. Weeks like this one in Egypt will be the definitions of generations and will freckle history continually unless we arrive at a 1984-esque world where moving socially shouldn't even be considered. Hopefully that will never happen.
So I sit here in Caribou, donned in bright red lipstick, one of the Egyptian scarves my sister brought me from her month there and a barely containable apprehension of these next 25 days until I arrive in Buenos Aires to exchange my Black Thai Latte with Maté, English with Spanish and American life with Argentine adventures.
3 1/2 months. Class in BA, Trips to Patagonia and the North, Independent Study.
Complete. Cultural. Immersion.
This isn't just Spanish class anymore. This is a different life for a semester that I'm about to jump into head first with my limbs flailing and trying to catch all the assignments, my ears straining to understand the new accents surrounding me. It's terrifying and stressful but exhilarating and what I've been anticipating for years.
The countdown: 25 days. The work and shopping and packing and studying that must be done in these 25 days is overwhelming and though I try hard not to, I have let the mass of reading and memorizing stress me enough to almost regretting this trip. I've gotten to the point that I know a few all-nighters will be necessary to finish this work at this point, but it's worth it. Utterly and completely worth it.
I'm going to study social movements and human rights, two topics that Argentina has a large history dealing with. Because of this, I've been closely watching the events unfold in Egypt. Everything happening there is such an interesting situation that no one really knows how it will turn out. What is it exactly?
Journalist Blake Hounshell asked on my favorite international blog: "Are we witnessing a revolution, a soft military coup, or a failed uprising?"
It excites me to think I get to spend an entire semester studying social movements. To move socially. What a concept. Weeks like this one in Egypt will be the definitions of generations and will freckle history continually unless we arrive at a 1984-esque world where moving socially shouldn't even be considered. Hopefully that will never happen.
So I sit here in Caribou, donned in bright red lipstick, one of the Egyptian scarves my sister brought me from her month there and a barely containable apprehension of these next 25 days until I arrive in Buenos Aires to exchange my Black Thai Latte with Maté, English with Spanish and American life with Argentine adventures.
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