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!
Monday, August 29, 2011
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.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Bacterias and Explanations
I meant to catch up on all the posts circling my brain from the past week and a half on Tuesday night. I meant to e-mail people I hadn't e-mailed in a while on Tuesday night. I meant to eat my salami and cheese sandwich and talk to other fellow hostal dwellers and breathe the cool, deep air of Quito...and cigarette smoke.
I meant to do a lot of things on Tuesday night.
But instead, I spent the night rushing to the bathroom, throwing up absolutely everywhere. Literally, everywhere. I vomited until I didn't think I could vomit anymore...and then I threw up again. And again. And again.
The drama that ensued when my Cuencan family found out I was sick can hardly be described. I was talking on the phone with mom, while she skyped with Dorothy and the family, while Chio was talking to the hostal on the phone and the hostal workers were talking to me. There was mentioning of an ambulance, of Dorothy coming to get me, but in the end a doctor was sent, courtesy of one of Chio's cousins in Quito. After hearing the account of my past couple days, trip to the jungle, eating of unusual foods, and pushing all around and into my stomach, he told me, in mixed Spanish-English medical jargon that I had acute gastroenteritis from a bacteria in my stomach. He wrote out a recipe of prescriptions, telling me that I could travel back to the states in the morning if and only if I started the medicine immediately.
He also mentioned I shouldn't go to a pharmacy alone, since Quito is not a safe place for anyone, especially a gringa, at night.
So, wonderful. I'm horribly sick, alone in a foreign country, with only $50 cash. I have a flight at 8:30 a.m. and I can't keep my insides in.
Let's just say, I've had better days.
But thankfully, help came in the form of Chio's other cousins, Maria and Fernando. They picked me up at 1:30 am from the hostal, bought my medicine for me, and took me back to their house to sleep better and start my prescriptions. They found me a cheaper cab ride to the airport, and, 12 hours, two more embarrassing stomach removals, and five wheelchair rides later, I was in Raleigh.
And now, sitting on the couch, re-hydrated from an IV and the slow drinking of blue gatorade, but slowly wasting away from not being able, or allowed, to eat anything, I am going to try to fill you in on the final week and a half of my Ecuadorian adventure.
But first, I'm going to sleep.
I meant to do a lot of things on Tuesday night.
But instead, I spent the night rushing to the bathroom, throwing up absolutely everywhere. Literally, everywhere. I vomited until I didn't think I could vomit anymore...and then I threw up again. And again. And again.
The drama that ensued when my Cuencan family found out I was sick can hardly be described. I was talking on the phone with mom, while she skyped with Dorothy and the family, while Chio was talking to the hostal on the phone and the hostal workers were talking to me. There was mentioning of an ambulance, of Dorothy coming to get me, but in the end a doctor was sent, courtesy of one of Chio's cousins in Quito. After hearing the account of my past couple days, trip to the jungle, eating of unusual foods, and pushing all around and into my stomach, he told me, in mixed Spanish-English medical jargon that I had acute gastroenteritis from a bacteria in my stomach. He wrote out a recipe of prescriptions, telling me that I could travel back to the states in the morning if and only if I started the medicine immediately.
He also mentioned I shouldn't go to a pharmacy alone, since Quito is not a safe place for anyone, especially a gringa, at night.
So, wonderful. I'm horribly sick, alone in a foreign country, with only $50 cash. I have a flight at 8:30 a.m. and I can't keep my insides in.
Let's just say, I've had better days.
But thankfully, help came in the form of Chio's other cousins, Maria and Fernando. They picked me up at 1:30 am from the hostal, bought my medicine for me, and took me back to their house to sleep better and start my prescriptions. They found me a cheaper cab ride to the airport, and, 12 hours, two more embarrassing stomach removals, and five wheelchair rides later, I was in Raleigh.
And now, sitting on the couch, re-hydrated from an IV and the slow drinking of blue gatorade, but slowly wasting away from not being able, or allowed, to eat anything, I am going to try to fill you in on the final week and a half of my Ecuadorian adventure.
But first, I'm going to sleep.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Gualaceo y Chordeleg
It was raining and a little chilly when we all piled in the car for Gualaceo on Sunday. But by the time we were going through the toll check point and buying aplanchados and melchochas (sweet, pastry-like cakes and sugar cane candy) to snack on in the car, the sun was out and it was perfect weather. Especially perfect for shopping.
The small town was buzzing with festivities for Patron Santiago, their patron saint and the "indoor" food market was so busy, we had to move like vultures to find an open table. Mona, the pro that she is, brought me with her to get the food. What did we have? Fresh, like, they pulled it off the pig with their hands and put it on our plate fresh, hornado, morcilla, papas, llapingachos, sancochos, y aplanchados (pork, sausage intestine with rice and vegetables, fries, cheese potato cakes, stewed pork, and sweet tortillas) for almuerzo. Ricissimo!
We walked through and around the cute, pedestrian-friendly town and admired the old architecture, the cobbled streets, and the beautiful cathedral. Finding the car again, we drove the few kilometers up to Chordeleg and admired the beautiful mountains and country houses. Dorothy translated that a lot of European and American people have decided to retire here, and so the property value has sky-rocketed. I definitely would have lived there. Fue precioso!
Chordeleg was any woman's with some bit of taste dream. Silver and gold handmade jewelry shops with one-of-a-kind pieces with only-in-Chordeleg prices. As we walked the shop-lined square, gazing into every store, peering into the window, and even trying (and buying) some of the gorgeous aretes, anillas, y collares, I couldn't help but notice the family we were and how beautiful of a day it was.
After several hours of delayed stepping around the park, we drove down to Chio's aunt's house to spend a little time. La quinta was a beautiful, old estate of a house complete with an overgrown sugar cane field, cows, river, and cock fighting pit. I truly fell in love with it, especially after I met Valentine, the 2-day-old calf that I made friends with. I kept thinking how much my parents would love this place, wondering if the family would ever sell, even imagining bringing my family there far in the future.
Ok, so a little much, but this place was beautiful.
After stopping in town to buy pan y helado de leche, we made our way back to Quito and Dorothy and I proceeded to eat canguil con pepas de sambo (popcorn with roasted pumpkin seeds) and watch a bootleg copy of Sherlock Holmes.
It really was the perfect day.
The small town was buzzing with festivities for Patron Santiago, their patron saint and the "indoor" food market was so busy, we had to move like vultures to find an open table. Mona, the pro that she is, brought me with her to get the food. What did we have? Fresh, like, they pulled it off the pig with their hands and put it on our plate fresh, hornado, morcilla, papas, llapingachos, sancochos, y aplanchados (pork, sausage intestine with rice and vegetables, fries, cheese potato cakes, stewed pork, and sweet tortillas) for almuerzo. Ricissimo!
We walked through and around the cute, pedestrian-friendly town and admired the old architecture, the cobbled streets, and the beautiful cathedral. Finding the car again, we drove the few kilometers up to Chordeleg and admired the beautiful mountains and country houses. Dorothy translated that a lot of European and American people have decided to retire here, and so the property value has sky-rocketed. I definitely would have lived there. Fue precioso!
Chordeleg was any woman's with some bit of taste dream. Silver and gold handmade jewelry shops with one-of-a-kind pieces with only-in-Chordeleg prices. As we walked the shop-lined square, gazing into every store, peering into the window, and even trying (and buying) some of the gorgeous aretes, anillas, y collares, I couldn't help but notice the family we were and how beautiful of a day it was.
After several hours of delayed stepping around the park, we drove down to Chio's aunt's house to spend a little time. La quinta was a beautiful, old estate of a house complete with an overgrown sugar cane field, cows, river, and cock fighting pit. I truly fell in love with it, especially after I met Valentine, the 2-day-old calf that I made friends with. I kept thinking how much my parents would love this place, wondering if the family would ever sell, even imagining bringing my family there far in the future.
Ok, so a little much, but this place was beautiful.
After stopping in town to buy pan y helado de leche, we made our way back to Quito and Dorothy and I proceeded to eat canguil con pepas de sambo (popcorn with roasted pumpkin seeds) and watch a bootleg copy of Sherlock Holmes.
It really was the perfect day.
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