After leaving Milhouse, I met my homestay señora. We ate Buenos Aires pizza for dinner. It’s delicious – packed with so much more flavor than I’m used to, complete with a little olive on each slice. It might also help that I’d had maybe one real meal in the past three days. In any case, if you go to Buenos Aires, check out that pizza. It’s worth it.

Life here in the house seems like it’ll be laid back. I can come and go from it as I please, any time of day or night. This is what I know so far — IES might tell me differently… And opening doors in Buenos Aires is extremely difficult for me. I have no idea why. The key gets stuck in the hole. I’ve spent at least twenty minutes fighting with the door to enter the homestay. You know when you watch those thriller/horror films and a guy, being pursued by some monster, needs to quickly unlock his door so he can escape to safety? You know how he takes forever? I finally feel that pain. These doors are freaking impossible.

So after eating pizza and being beaten by inanimate objects, I ventured out into the city with my camera to take pictures. I didn’t get far. I stopped at a newspaper kiosk to buy a map, and the young woman tending it – short, black-haired and with facial features that indicate Native American heritage — asked me where I was from. My Tio Rico suggested that I lie and tell everyone that I come from Peru so no one will take advantage of me. I did so, which was great, because she happened to come from Peru also.

I let out pretty soon that I was actually from the United States, which was obvious to her because of my accent. She’s only been in Buenos Aires for four months, doesn’t have working papers, citizenship, visa, anything, so she’s working under-the-table street-vending jobs – one selling newspapers, another selling clothes — being paid below minimum wage, which still turns out to be enough for her.

She said, Si no estas apurado, podemos conversar, which means, If you’re not in a hurry, we can chat. Something like that has yet to happen to me in the States — that is, no one has ever offered to just, you know, converse. So I sat down on the chair she had there and did so. We looked for our position on the map together. She still gets lost in the city, too, so it took us a while.

I ended up sitting there for probably two hours, until about 6:45 pm, talking about how she’s trying to learn English, her plans to attend school to become a nurse, our love for learning languages and meeting people from different cultures. A bunch of bicyclers passed by at one point, which is where the picture comes from.

We made plans to meet up when she got off work at 8:30 to find one of her friends and travel the city. I went back home, met my señora’s 9-year-old son, put away all my clothes, then went back to the kiosk.

Fiorella – that’s the name I´ll use for her privacy – just had to wait for the owner of the kiosk to come by and close up shop. The guy came after a few minutes and we then headed up toward Plaza 11, passing some beautiful and not-so-beautiful parts of the city on the way. She’s in the process of moving into a new apartment, and entering into the building, it seemed a little grimy and dungy for a person like me who’s been spoiled in the States. The tiles in the communal kitchen were broken and splitting, the sink was stained with brown speckles, the plaster on the walls was torn, etc. For some reason the owner changed the locks on her apartment door so we couldn’t get inside. It’s actually an ordeal she’s dealing with, the minor details of which I won’t even try to explain because it’s a headache.

In the end, we never met her friend. We waited for a few hours, until about 11:30, chatting at the Plaza 11. Fiorella is a strong Evangelical Christian, and we talked for a long time about religion and spirituality, my relationship with Catholicism and the brushes I’ve had with atheism, the latter because of my comparative literature classes and two atheist roommates last year.

It seemed risky or somewhat stupid, walking with a stranger across the city to a place I didn’t know. One of the things Manu Chao says, though — not to glorify him or anything but I think his words ring true — is that you have to be willing to trust people. He says you can listen to what people say about certain areas being “bad,” but then you have to forget everything and go there anyway. You can’t be afraid to open yourself up. I’ve read some vagabond travelers’ blogs and they say the same thing. Every once in a while you might get robbed or exploited or whatever, but you’ll find that most people in the world are genuine and helpful. I guess you just have to decide if that’s a risk you’re willing to take.

That said, it was really cold but Fiorella and I kept walking and chatting. She has a book of English, and as she’s trying to learn, she read it out loud while I helped her with pronunciation (she’s good at writing it, not so much speaking it because nothing in English sounds the way it’s spelled).

She said there are youth gatherings on Saturdays with her church — playing music, conversing, dancing. I’ll probably be going there this weekend. Because of a situation with her friend, we didn’t end up doing anything tonight, but tomorrow we’re going to play some juegos or games in some place, something that involves driving cars…? I still have yet to understand what she means by that.

I took my first bus ride in Buenos Aires getting back home. I’m pretty glad I decided to stay and chat with her, as the things we talked about seemed something I needed. Out of habit, I actually brought some rosary beads to Buenos Aires and they’re currently draped over one of the bedposts. Not sure what that means, but I do love talking about faith or lack thereof – always fascinates me.

The IES program starts in the morning with an orientation. I honestly think school often interferes with education, but I suppose that’s just the way life is.

I’m falling in love with this city.

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Location: Avenida de Paraguay, Buenos Aires, Argentina