We had the chance to make it now it’s over, it’s over, it can’t be over.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZmvJknzLfU&feature=related 

My break-up with Buenos Aires

Listening to similar songs on the 108 bus on the way home from class tonight, I couldn’t help but to tear up a bit and blame it on the warm breeze blowing on my face from the open window.  I recognize that I’ve been here for a while, but can it really be over?  

In four months, I’ve made leaps and bounds as a traveler, a student, and marginal improvement as a person.  I’ve come to know a city that has an understated way of being sophisticated.  By day, it’s too bright and loud to be appreciated.  By night, it’s too loud and slightly too dangerous to take it all in.  But, at twilight, it’s soft spoken, tangible, and honest.  

I ride the bus with doctors who are coming off of a long shift, young businesspeople with their iPods tightly secured in place, teenage mothers in too tight, nearly transparent shirts kissing their baby’s forehead, and a mix of others, resting their heads against the window because they are tired from a long day a work, or reading novels to pass the time.  

On the sidewalk, parents walk with grocery bags full of ingredients back to their apartments to feed their children who are scootering along their sides.  Couples canoodle on the corner and shamelessly kiss their partners.  Kioscos with their bright lights distribute beverages and ice creams to passers-by.  Apartments light up as their owners return for the evening, while dogs are ecstatic to being going for their evening walk.  And, for some unknown reason, there are some with a extra little bounce in their steps.  It’s something special, to accidentally stumble upon someone having a great moment.  

As I knew I was teary-eyed and smiling for no apparent reason on the bus, I hope that someone looked at me and thought not about questioning my mental health, but experienced some joy from my obvious happiness.  

I was greeted at my home on Salguero by my host parents, their son and his wife.  The four of them have been so helpful in my learning about this country and traveling advise.  They are great people.  We have shared many a meals together, and tonight’s feast was no exception.  Asked to request our favorite meals from our time in AR, my housemate and I were both treated to our favorite meals, hers chorizo, and mine a lentil stew.  Good conversation and good food contributed to a great evening. 

Though I am upset that I can’t spend time with my real family this holiday week, I’m am thankful for my time here and the benefits I’ve gained from spending time abroad.  

Thanks, Argentina and Buenos Aires, for all you’ve shown me.  

Now, I guess I should start packing…

Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina

So,  just in case you are wondering: you need your passport to enter Uruguay.  I wouldn’t say that I forgot it, I just happened to not realize that I would actually need that tiny, yet important document to cross international borders for the weekend.  Okay fine.  I was the dumb Americana in the ferry station trying to explain in perfect(ly horrible) Spanish that I hadn’t brought my original passport and that I would miss my boat if I went to retrieve.  The oh-so-patient worker kindly directly me to the change-your-ticket line, so I gave up and changed my departure.  Luckily (well, maybe not), my friend and co-traveler and randomly fellow Penn Stater also forgot her passport so half of our group went to board ou original boat, and we went home to grab our little blue books.  

It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds.  In Buenos Aires, there are many people who work in the city for the week and return home to their families in Uruguay for the weekends because it works out better financially.  Going to Colonia, the nearest city to BA, is no big deal.  People do it everyday.  It was such a nonchalant trip that I didn’t bother to bring my passport because I subconsciously thought that the odds of me needing it versus the odd of me loosing it weren’t worth the bringing it!  False.  Get it together, Rachel.  

Once I made it successfully from Argentina, I realized that even though the countries border, they are distinctly different.  People in Uruguay have neither the same ridiculous Spanish accent that portenos insist on using, nor the same love of driving like it’s the end of the world.  They are calm and friendly.  And the people in places that I went love tourists – which is better than if they hated us!  

In Montevideo, we walked down the main avenue to find a fountain secured heavily by thousands of small locks.  Simple locks – like the kind you might use to secure the door of a shed or you hang from your high school gym locker.  All of them had two names carved into them.  The legend goes that if you place a lock with you and your partner’s name on the fountain, you’ll never fall out of love.  It’s was so sweet to see so many people investing in their relationship’s futures!  It made for cool pictures, if nothing else.  

We spent the night in Punta del Este, a beach town.  In the morning, we rented scooters (don’t tell IES, I’ll get kicked out) and drove all over the peninsula and beyond.  I will have you know I am an excellent driver.  But, who on earth trusts a bunch of foreign 20-somethings with brand new scooters in a foreign country?  I’m still not really sure what the speed limit was or how it converts to miles per hour, but no importa.  

We went to Casa Pueblo, a museum/restaurant/hotel/resort in the edge of a tiny peninsula.  Formerly inhabited by an artist, it displayed art of great colors and interesting shapes.  The view was breathtaking, and I hope you enjoy the pictures!  

We later, returned our scooters, got some huge chivitos and headed back to BA.  Chivito sky rocketed to my top ten list of all time favorite foods.  It starts with a melt in your mouth steak sandwich and just gets better from there.  Add lettuce, tomato, grilled onions, egg, jam, bacon, ketchup, mayo, and mustard, and anything else you would like to this delightful grease pile.  It rivals Primanti’s for height, and far exceeds them in flavor.  It’s a fabulous piece of art, but unfortunately only officially found in Uruguay.  

Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina

        On Friday, my film class had the opportunity to visit Buenos Aires’ film archive and museum.  In reality, only 3 of the 10 or so people in my class managed to not forget and actually make it there.  It ended up being nice though because instead of taking the subway and an extra bus to get there, we could just pile into my professor’s car and drive.  Once we arrived to archives/his office, I got a distinct take-your-daughter-to-work-day feeling.  My two friends and I tottered after him and asked all the appropriate questions.  We met his awkward, yet likable office friends.  (Similar to some nerdy friends of my father).  

All in all, it was awesome because we got the opportunity to handle and preserve genuine Argentine films from the 20’s.  The reel we worked with was made from Kodak film that boasted only one color at a time.  As we spun the film through the homemade viewing machine, it displayed a rainbow of images.  We stopped and peered through a small looking glass to examine the images more closely.  It was awesome!  I felt so important and so nervous that I was going to sneeze all over the one and only copy of an impeccable historical film.  I wasn’t even feeling sneezy, but I was sure I was going to mess things up somehow.  

Everything made its way safely back into its case, though.  =]

Using a different (and automatic) machine, we got to view the original film of the initial Star Wars movie from the 70’s.  It was incredible to have witnessed something so raw.  I’m sure many a Star Wars fans would have killed for the opportunity.  

After finishing up at workshop and archives, we visited the what is completed of the new museum.  It cost one peso to enter (about 25�USD).  The single floor, 3 room museum was disappointing in my opinion not in content, but in the quantity of displays.  I think this is partly because I’m used to huge and well-organized museums, but also because I had just come from the overstocked archives.  There is plenty of material that would make fascinating displays, but is not visible to the public.  

And, of course, by that time we were starving, so we went out for a pizza before our professor dropped us off near our houses.  Wow, it really was take-your-daughter-to-work-day.  

At volleyball, my coach has decided to run practices in English when there are only a few people there.  Una problema, she can’t really speak English.  I actually put us on similar levels in our corresponding languages.  As much as she can’t speak English, I can’t speak Spanish.  

One time after I hit a ball in practice, she gasped and exclaimed, “I love your… style!”  It was a pretty decent hit, but I wouldn’t have declared love for it.  

In fact, she was talking about my “fancy braid” hairstyle that I had sported that evening.  She immediately stopped practice, came over, and touched my hair gently.  She was in awe of one of the most common hairstyles on college campuses across the US.  Go, team.  

At our next game, she asked to my friend and I to put one in her hair and secure it tightly, just in case she had a “hot night”.  In this instance, I did not ask her to elaborate.  She did, however, beam when she checked herself out in a compact.  

Volei is now over because we lost in the playoffs (though it was a super close match!).  I hadn’t known that it was the playoffs until after the fact.  Maybe I should learn that word in Spanish.  Anyway, we still have practice.  I’m not sure why, but maybe I missed that, too.  

My friend, who knew little more than “hola” before coming to Argentina was responding to a waiter the other day when she said, “entiendo m�s o manos”.  I cracked up immediately because without knowing it, she had just coined one of my new favorite phrases.  What she was trying to say was “m�s o menos” which means, I understand more or less.  By mistaking one letter in the entire phrase, she changed the meaning to “more or hands”.  

This phrase is so wonderfully meaningless and funny that I’ve been trying to work it into everyday speech.  

Best.  

Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina

Today, I accidentally scared an old man because I was walking behind him down the street.  He noticed that someone was behind him and stopped and turned to get a proper look at me.  I just smiled and kept walking.  I felt bad, but I can’t help that I’m taller and bigger than the average person in the country.  I’m intimidating without meaning to be.  

This weekend I participated in a cooking class set up through IES.  We walked to the downtown location and climb to the top floor to find a room with 3 or 4 workspaces complete with stoves, sinks, and plenty of marble counter space.  

With my group, I made 60+ empanadas filled with bife y cebolla (beef and onion), humita (corn pudding type dish from northern Argentina), pur� de batatas (mashed white-with-purple-skin sweet potatoes mixed with a toffee sauce), a huge steak with chimichurri (a dressing for the meat that consists of garlic, paprika, salt and pepper, red wine vinegar, olive oil, and other deliciousness), fried pastries filled with a Turkish delight type filling native to South America, and a dulce de leche layered cake with merengue on top.  

It was awesome.  Everything tasted wonderful and even split four ways, I took 4 containers filled with leftovers home.  Fabulous!  

On Saturday, I traveled through the city to the University of Buenos Aires’ Agronomia center to teach English.  The small campus was filled with dog walkers, trees, 100 year old buildings, and mosquitos who believed they were vampires.  

Mosquitos in BA are not like the ones in PA.  They are tiny; you barely notice them.  But, the bites last for a full 8 or 9 days.  They are H-E double hockey sticks.  I have never wanted to scratch off my skin more than I have in the past couple of weeks.  Unfortunately, they have infiltrated my bedroom due to my large patio with plants and adjoining glass door that is my only option for ventilation.  I now sleep with a small contraption plugged into the outlet that uses the scent from the pellet I install every night to release an decently unpleasant odor.  But, it makes my count of mosquito bites in a 7 hour period of sleep go from 7-8 to approximately 0.3-0.5 a night.  Annoying?  Yes.  Unbearable?  No.  Thank God for anti-itch cream.  

Regardless of the mosquitos who attacked my legs because I was careless enough to wear a skirt, I had fun talking with a post-graduate level class.  Their class was more about practicing conversation than actually learning new grammatical structures.  Fine by me, but I couldn’t modify my lesson plan much at that point.  They didn’t tell me ahead of time which level I would be working with.  At CUI, it could be anything from Hop on Pop level to discussing in depth the probable consequences of Occupy Wall Street.  I prefer Dr. Seuss, but was landed with Wall Street.  

3 hours of intense conversation later, I was on my way home to Palermo.  We stopped at Plaza Italia to grab a slice of pizza from Kentucky, supposedly some of the best pizza in the city.  It was okay, but not the best I’ve had in AR.  

A nap and a half later, I called up a friend to go to the movies with me.  For my film class, I needed to view an off the beaten path film and write a review.  Because my attempt to travel to a small, unknown theater to watch a foreign film failed miserably resulting in a pointless 3 hour bus ride, I threw in the towel and went to the theater in the huge mall in my ritzy neighborhood and saw a film that is advertised heavily on the side panels of facebook.  Lucky for me, it was one of the cutest films I’ve seen in a while.  Sure, it was in Spanish, but I understood most of it.  At one point when two characters were chatting online, I was struggling to keep up with what was happening – panicking more and more because the audience was chuckling.  I didn’t understand some of the jokes, but it doesn’t matter, I had fun.  I’ll write my paper anyway and use the, “but I can’t speak Spanish” card.  

After the movie we went to a cute little ice cream shop and snacked on delicious flavors.  I had half chocolate brownie and half almond.  Abby decided to mix spicy lemon with dulce de leche despite the protests from our scooper friend.  It ended up being somewhat of a poor choice, but Emma was satisfied with her raspberry swirl.  

On Sunday, I decided it was inappropriate to stay in bed all day as my laziness wanted me to and went to the zoo.  There were an alarming number of bunny/fox mixed creatures roaming the sidewalks in addition to ducks chasing children in hopes they would drop the bucket containing the nuggets of feed.  Small children pointed furiously into cages all around me and shouted, “�Mira, mam�!”  It was election day, so many families took advantage of the slightly overcast day to explore “wild”life with their children.  

It was a pleasant afternoon that reminded me much of my trips to the zoo in the States, delightful nonetheless.  I lapped the nearby park trying to find the planetarium that I can only seem to find when I’m not looking for it.  Today wasn’t the day for gazing into the IMax induced sky, I suppose.  I’ll try again.  

Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina

Spring break plans are being made, I didn’t wear my jacket to school the past two days.  Well, I’d say spring has sprung!  It’s weird to be hearing about football games at home when it’s so blatantly not fall here.  As fall is my favorite season of the year, I’m disappointed that I will be missing it altogether.  No trees are changing colors, the apples aren’t crispier, and Halloween is unimportant.  I don’t get it.  

Let’s talk about how I have to speak in Spanish for TEN MINUTES next week.  This, the girl who shows up late to dinner because I can’t figure out what my host dad tries to tell me.  It’s a topic of my choice so long as it’s about Argentina.  I think I’m going to stick with what I do best, informing others about how we need to accommodate those with disabilities.  This is the topic that can really fire me up in English, so I’m going to hope that I have enough vocabulary to manage in Spanish.  

Three things about Friday:

First, I have fallen in love with the balcony on the 12^th floor of my IES center.  On a warm spring day, as so many are becoming, it is the ideal place to relax on a bench drinking in the afternoon sun, sipping on tea or munching on a couple of humita empanadas.  Looking out on the major artery of the city, Avenida 9 de Julio, it’s seems so far away.  It’s the perfect place to spread out and not be afraid to think or to just be.  At noon on Friday, the IES center is deserted by students, most too hungover from the night before, others gone from the city for the weekend.  I was there to get a head start on my homework for the following week, but my plans to stay inside and watch an old Argentine film for my cinema class crumbled when the DVD refused to work.  Oh bother, I thought, now I must simply relax and take in this perfect day.  

There are worse things.  =]

(2) In the afternoon, I had the opportunity to take a special workshop provided by IES.  We took a van to the outskirts of the city where the buildings aren’t washed daily and the sidewalks mimic the surface of the moon, dusty and full of craters.  It was refreshing to be away from fancy brass door knockers on the skyscrapers and fighting against throngs of people to cross the street.  

This music school hosted about 15 IES students for a lesson in theory of African drumming, a few performances, and a chance to practice our skills.  This is the part of the blog post where I would conveniently sum up what the theory section entailed, but as my Spanish is still on the minimal side, I didn’t understand too much.  Just the unimportant words like “early”, “type”, “fast”, and “possible.”  These words are certainly a start, but unfortunately without context mean very little.  

The performances entailed 3 drummers, one of which doubled as the vocalist, and a dancer who used different costumes and props to help her communicate through her motions.  It was a stomping-sort of dance, but very controlled.  She was intentional with her movements and was unafraid of getting in our faces. 

The practicing part was a a really pretty cool.  We strapped on two different size drums, one comparable to a snare and one that looked like a bass drum on its side.  We made some beats and split into two groups and had a conversation with our choreography and rhythms.  The guys working at the construction site next to the school were definitely enjoying the show and adding vocals.  

It wasn’t as dramatic as Drumline, but I was entertained by the fact that some of the IES students were really into it and thought that they were fantastic.  This one girl in particular was grooving with her drum and walking around in the center of the circle to draw extra attention to herself.  When she had the chance to play solo, we all discovered that she wasn’t playing the pattern the rest of us were following.  It was close enough though, that I think she thought she was playing it correctly.  I wanted to be embarrassed for her, but thought that maybe I was the foolish one for not breaking out of the pack.  It was complicated, but now that I’m thinking about it, she really had little skill (NOT that I have any), but she definitely had fun.  

(3) That evening, I decided to crash a volleyball game.  IES has some agreement with a college in Buenos Aires that its students can play for many of their sports.  I think it’s weird that as long as you want to play, you can represent a random college.  Regardless, I got the opportunity to warm-up with my future teammates.  I wasn’t permitted to play on account of I had just met the couch 5 minutes before the game, but she’s excited to have me at practice this coming week.  I think it was mostly because the next tallest girl on the team is 5’8″.  

The team is pretty relaxed when it comes to participation and practice.  Maybe that’s why we’re so bad.  But, it looked like so much fun and I can’t wait to get on the court and play with them.  Everyone tries their best and that’s what is appealing to me.  

After the match (which we lost, but hey, it’s not about winning), the men’s team invited us out for pizza.  Wanting to get to know the team better, I decided to go.  That was a spectacular decision.  I got to spend an evening with a group of porte�os chatting about this and that (slipping from Spanish to English fluidly) and eating good food.  Once you play college volleyball, apparently you can keep playing for as long as you would like at this university.  So, the guys team ranges in age from about 22-35.  I happened to be sitting by two of the guys and their wives.  They were so funny and such knuckleheads joking around with all of their friends.  I wondered, how lucky am I to have found such nice people?  The evening continued with pizza after pizza and more laughter.  Eventually, everyone in the restaurant had left except the waitstaff who was also in on the conversation by then.  The evening came to a close and we bade farewell until next week.  I don’t know that this is a regular occurrence, but I’m happy that I was apart of it for one night, nonetheless.  

The next morning, I tried to make spring break plans with my friends, but after fighting the website for many hours, we postponed our booking plans and went to the rugby match at San Isidro Cub (SIC, pronounced “seek”).  It was a beautiful day that reminded me so much of the PIAA playoffs.  A Saturday afternoon spent in the bleachers.  You pull your scarf just a bit tighter when the wind blows, but the sun keeps you warm.  

I don’t understand rugby at all, but it is pretty entertaining to watch.  These wide and thick men run around a field and slam into each other while trying to expel the oversized football from their opponent.  It’s much more fluid that football in the US and distinctly different from soccer, but they merge together to form a pretty cool game.  The short shorts and the striped shirts made me wish that the US had more diversity in its gaming interests.  

Returning to my friend’s house to resume the battle with the bus website (it wanted some document number that no one seemed to have), I grew tired of the fight and hungry.  We went for Chinese at a place close to my school and sipped on some herbal lemonade drink.  I was like lemonade with a sprinkle of mat�.  So, pretty strange, but the food was excellent.  

Later, I met a group of people at my new favorite place in my neighborhood, where the waiter named Juan is kind and Happy Hour is pretty much whenever we’re there.  It’s nice to sit and laugh “early” in the night and be able to go home and sleep peacefully while those who want to continue can go to a club later.  I’m not interested in clubs or not remembering how I got home.  I’ve heard too many stories lately about students in risky situations.  My safety is far too important to me to risk becoming drunk and incoherent.  This place offers the opportunity for me to be social and safe, an ideal combination.  

Unfortunately, my lazy Sunday morning has digressed into a lazy Sunday afternoon and my homework will not complete itself, so I’m off to the land of research and word documents for a while.  Maybe I’ll surface later and take a trip to the grocery store or something exciting.  The best part about being here is that nothing is predictable.  Not bus routes, not classes, not people.  The only thing I’m sure of is that I will have lots of fun.  

Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina

My first English as a Second Classes were today.  I know without a doubt that this is the right internship for me.  I accidentally missed my first class because I went to a English class taught at 9 am on Mondays by Maria Laura.  It just wasn’t the right Maria Laura.  I realized that I wasn’t in the right class, but I just stuck it out and emailed the real Maria Laura and explained the mixup.  She’s okay with it.  The thing that made me laugh about this class is that the “fake” Maria Laura reminded me that Argentines learn British English with the explanation of the word practice.  She informed her class that only when it is spelled with an “s” is it a verb.  Practise does not exist in US English.  

The next class was taught by William.  We started the class with everyone going around and asking me a question.  They were the basics like, where are you from, how old are you, why come to Buenos Aires.  I was happy to answer the questions, but was itching to be more involved with the lesson.  Especially when the the phrasing of expressions got a little weird.  To a non-native speaker, it probably sounded correct, but they were saying some things that I would never piece together on my own, but would understand the meaning if someone say it to me.  Next week, I am to have a presentation on simple past and perfect present tenses.  What the heck is that??  

The last class was definitely my favorite.  Vanesa, the teacher, really talked up my visit.  Some students stayed from her previous class just to meet me.  We spent 45 minutes with me in the front of the class answering their questions ranging from everything to the basics to the health care system in the US, housing at a university, and where I want to travel in Argentina.  I was so thirsty at the end of it, I could barely talk.   

Next, I reviewed homework with a small group of really shy people.  Wanting to be gentle, I asked each person to participate and turned each question I received around because I wanted to know their answers.  They were very hesitant, but many in another week or 2, they will know not to fear me.  

After class, I was escorted down the street by Vanesa.  As soon as we exited the doors of the school, she switched our conversation to Spanish.  It took me a whole block to figure out what her simple question was.  Stumbling through my answer and switching from the past to present tense without fear of being reprimanded, I was just happy that we parted before we got to question 2.  Spanish is draining.  

One of my favorite characters was a guy who stayed for a half hour past his class just to meet me.  He was excited with plenty of questions and funny comments.  On he way out the door, he looked at me from across the room and said, “milanesa!”  I was totally confused.  Why would he say milanesa to me as he was walking out?  I’m still not really sure.  Was he giving me my Spanish word of the day?  Asking me if I like milanesa?  What the heck?  

It’s Monday, which means my family eats milanesa for dinner.  Coincidence?  Who knows.  

Location: Buenos AIres, Argentina

Immigration offices are never fun, but today’s stint was downright chaotic.  First of all, who thought is was a good idea to schedule our appointments at 8:30 in the morning on a day when most of us don’t have classes to begin with?  Why were the IES staffers a half hour late?  Secondly, providing us an address and advising us not to take the significantly cheaper buses, but a taxi when it was a one block walk from the closest bus stop was not well thought out.  2 hours later, I had to run across town to meet with a teacher for my internship.  The good news is that I am officially allowed to stay in the country for more than 90 days and the better news is that with my new visa, I can book flights with the Argentine price (without the surcharge for being a foreigner).  

My conversation with the taxi driver last night was really interesting.  For some reason, after the sun goes down, I have less inhibitions about my lack of Spanish and just go for it.  I was exercising both listening and conversational skills.  I wouldn’t say my comprehension level was at its finest, but as I watched my fourth episode in a row of Gossip Girl with Spanish subtitles today, I began to learn some of the words he was trying to explain to me last night.  The first being temprano, or early.  He was asking why I was returning home so early.  I informed him in my careless grammar that I had an early meeting in the morning and was being responsible.  The next 3 blocks were dedicated to him trying to make me comprehend the word novio.  Mi novio.  Novio…

I asked for explanations, alternative words, and more context clues as to what that could possibly mean.  He had a goofy grin on his face that I attributed to his amusement of the situation.  But thanks to Nate Archibald, I now know that novio is boyfriend.  

Let’s talk about this for sec.  At no point prior to August 2011 had I considered the notion of me being spectacularly beautiful.  I’m not trying to report a depressive state; anyone who knows me is aware that I rarely lack confidence.  However, Latin American men do not hold back their feelings or intentions.  Who am I to attract such attention?  

For example, in C�rdoba, the five young women in my travel group had to walk past a building that was undergoing some repairs.  I was astonished that two of the men actually stopped working to watch us walk past and whistle at us.  Does that actually happen in real life??  I thought that was just in movies when the tiny and gorgeous actress is effortlessly crossing the street in her 4 inch Louis Vuitton’s.  There I was in my flare jeans and sneakers doing an awkward skip-walk across the street so as not to be crushed by oncoming traffic.  

Because people don’t often smile or even make eye contact with each other on the streets here, I nearly jumped out of my skin yesterday when a man actually waved and gave a small “hola” as we walking toward each other while crossing an 8 lane highway.  Since when does a friendly little hello startle me?  

Many of my friends are more excited for the once a week Gay Pub Crawl than the typical clubs in BA despite the fact that they identify as heterosexuals.  They are so much looking forward to the chance of dancing all night and not getting hit on.  

Due to the recent criticism I received about viewing the world too negatively, I am devoting this list to things that make me happy in Buenos Aires.  

1 huge bottles of water, though not unique to BA, I enjoy picking up a couple of 2 liter bottles from the Disco to refill my favorite flip top bottle 

2 that the grocery store is called Disco

3 how cheap the buses are, I can get from Chinatown in Belgrano (way in the north) to the bowels of San Telmo (very south) for about 30� USD.  Most of the buses come very frequently.  Unfortunately, the buses I frequent, do not.  WAIT, I’m staying positive…

4 learning Tango, it’s so difficult, but we have fun with it.  My favorite part?  That my teacher speaks not a lick of English.  

5 the little spoon they give you when you order an ice cream cone.  Argentines are not lickers.  

6 that children never seem to be in school.  It’s 10,30 on a Thursday morning and I bump into 4 teenage boys going into the corner Starbuck in their school uniforms.  It’s not just teenagers, and it’s almost everyday.  

7 Argentine babies.

8 Avenidas Nueve de Julio, Carlos Pelegrini and Cerrito, otherwise known as the massive collection of streets that I cross at least twice a day.  It’s so wide that I must wait for 2-3 light cycles to make it across.  One day this week, my housemate told me that she crossed it all in one light.  She either lied, sprinted, or caught traffic at an oddly low hour.  I find it darn near impossible.  

9 the endless amount of museums.  I’ve been here for a month and have hit all but two museums in Polermo, but there are so many more neighborhoods!  I need to plan out the rest of my time asap so I don’t miss something crucial!  

10 caf� con leche y medialunas, a divine combination.  This snack at my favorite caf� where the waitress kisses me when I walk in is becoming somewhat of an unhealthy habit.  Twice this week, but one of the times I substituted fruit salad!    

Location: Buenos AIres, Argentina

In the IES Abroad program, Service Learning internships are considered especially high maintenance.  In Buenos Aires, the dedicated students who take on these vicious schedules are members of an elite squad known as the Service Learning Seminar, Section 1.  These are my stories.  

Well, my first interview for my internship was really sketch.  Run down portion of town.  2nd floor of an abandoned building.  No door.  Broken windows.  Cardboard on the floor (which I can’t really judge because Uncle Chen’s also has cardboard on the floor and wonderful things come from that place).  There’s actually a hole in the wall through which the Distribution Dept. sells magazines to the vendors who are all homeless or in vulnerable situations.  We also toured the art studio that is nicely decorated, I just wouldn’t breathe too deeply.  Also, it’s right next to a highway.  Not only couldn’t I understand them at because of the large quantity of decibels flooding the building, but also because in my group interview was a girl from BA, a guy from France and me.  3 languages, 3 interviewees.  Oh yeah.  

They were really nice though.  And, all in all, it’s no more messed up than some of the other places I’ve worked and volunteered.  The director is really smart and very well spoken.  I was just a bit overwhelmed by the process.  We were shepherded from room to room when the former became unavailable due to other workers needing the space.  Ultimately, the 7 of us ended up in the directors office, sipping tea in our styrofoam cups poured from a thermos.  When the director spoke to us, she explained the situation first in Spanish, then shot me a look to see if I understood.  9 times out of 10 I had only the basic idea of what she said, no details.  She would translate a bit, then repeat the process in French.  I was impressed that she could change her language so rapidly.  

If I choose this as my placement site, I would shadow a woman who works there for a couple of weeks, then be able to assist in art classes, with distribution, and maybe even give English lessons.  I have mixed feelings about this spot.  

Then, I interviewed on the other side of the tracks.  Literally and metaphorically.  On Avenida Sante Fe, a ritzy street lined with boutiques and caf�s, this high rise boasts a security system that prohibits visitors from entering before going through two speaker confirmations.  I was also welcomed with an elevator and large spiral staircase.  The secretary showed me to the conference room decked out with projectors, a long ornate table, and a full blown fireplace.  After accepting a coca light, I was asked to wait for the others to arrive.  

10 minutes later, 2 women enter with a plate of cookies and chocolates chattering in Spanish.  The primary woman I interviewed with – I don’t really know her name… – was very disappointed that I don’t speak Spanish well.  I told her that if the requirement was any higher than intermediate from IES, that I wouldn’t have considered interviewing, so there must have been a miscommunication.  The other girl from IES there can’t really speak Spanish that well either, but acted like she could, so she didn’t get in trouble.  I’d rather not make myself sound like a fool when I can prevent it.  I’m quite embarrassed that I can’t speak Spanish.  It seems sometimes like it’s inappropriate to be here and to be so illiterate.  Unlike many of my classmates, my primary goal for studying abroad is not to be fluent when I leave.  I’m confident my Spanish will improve, but to learn this language is not the primary reason I came to study abroad.  

Regardless, the point is that I didn’t have the ability to comprehend the interview in the manner in which she wanted me to.  She spoke English, but reminded us a couple of times through our hour and a half spent together that English is very hard for her.  She was speaking about 90 miles per hour in English, so I think she might have been exaggerating a bit.  The organization, Tzedak�, is really incredible.  They distribute free medicines to 11,000 people every month and have a Holocaust survivors program.  Also, they were really pushing for us to stay involved when we travel home by holding fundraisers within our networks at school and work to support their efforts. 

Ultimately, both places said they would like to have me volunteer there, but the internship is only one piece of the puzzle.  There is a seminar that accompanies the Service Learning Internship.  It’s all about the history of human rights in Argentina, a very sad, long and gory history.  I was thinking this class was more about exploring current organizations and the government’s role in human services.  It’s not.  And there are weekly field trips.  So, that’s 8 hours of interning, 2 hours of class and 1 or 2 field trips a week.  That’s a big commitment to a class I kinda don’t want to take.  

My other option is to switch to the English as a Second Language Seminar – where students are taught how to teach.  It’s 4.5 hours a week and a 2 hour class where we prepare our lesson plans.  I have teaching ESL experience and think it will be pretty fun.  Plus, I have friends in that class.  I think I might switch, but I have to decide pretty much immediately.  

Thoughts??

Location: Buenos AIres, Argentina

Yesterday, I went to La Boca, an area in Buenos Aires that is considered both dangerous and dangerously touristy.  This colorful neighborhood is often depicted in Argentine art and is home to the Boca Juniors, a soccer team.  Locals seem to only want to visit La Boca if they are headed to a game.  Its high pickpocket rate and cheesy restaurants are not attractive to many Argentines.  

The buildings are quite a sight, though.  La Boca is south of the city center and was the main port through which immigrants arrived.  The immigrants settled where they docked and started a poor, but close knit community.  Because their houses were made from a cheap metal, they required annual upkeep to keep from rusting.  To repaint the houses, the (mostly Italian) immigrants would go to the port at night and steal the nearly empty cans of paint used to paint the ships.  Because of the random assortment of colors, La Boca’s streets are lined with bright shades of red, orange, green, blue, and many others.  Today, the tradition is upheld no longer because of financial reasons, but because of visual appeal.  And, nobody would ever go to Boca if not to snap pictures.  

Today was my first Spanish class here.  Completely in Spanish, I was hesitant to begin and pretty overwhelmed by the end.  Listening requires a lot of effort on my part and 2 hours of it drained me a bit.  I’m decently sure that I understand my homework assignment.  

After a rooftop lunch shared with friends, we venture to the Museo de Bella Artes, a free and exquisite museum.  IES provided a tour guide who really knew her stuff (so far as I know).  She explained to us the important role the landscape plays in Argentine art and pointed out many aspects of pieces that would have gone unnoticed by me.  She was ecstatic when I questioned why the frame of one of the paintings was so thick and detailed.  She launched into a speech about how the painter had purposefully used a sort of sacred frame to draw more significance to his work.  

Upstairs in the museum we walked through the decades starting with the 1940’s.  Each definitely had it’s own flavor.  The 50’s seemed bland and structured, the 60’s gave me a headache from all of the patterns, and the 70’s were downright scary.  There were some serious statements made about the government and how oppressive it became.  One particular sculpture made me cringe, and I got goosebumps from a busy painting with skeletons, deranged women and masks.  There were also people parachuting in the background, which I found curious.  

Americo Castilla, the director of IES and renowned artist, also has work exhibited in this museum.  It was a wall-ful of spectacular colors and designs.  I was very impressed.  

I purposefully walked a longer route home so as to find a nice, but cheaper caf� to study in (once I have something to study), but my quest came up short.  Coffee can be very overpriced and often is more so in chain caf�s like I have around my house.  My study spot and I have yet to find each other, but I’m confident it will happen soon.  I won’t give up.  

Best.

Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina

Parrots in the Park

After finding out my placement in my Spanish class this semester would be intermediate, I headed out with a random group of people from IES.  We picked a neighborhood, stood outside our building with a map to figure out which subte would get  us there, and then took off without a plan.  We were aiming for Polermo Soho.  

My first metro experience in Argentina went pretty smoothly.  There were about a billion people on the train and we were all jammed together.  There was no real need to hold onto anything because, well, you weren’t going anywhere anyway.  Counting my group like my little ducklings, we all made it safely on and off the train.  Once we surfaced, we looked for a restaurant to eat lunch.  Finding a little Italian place down and around a block or two, we were able to order a wonderfully tasty Argentine lunch.  

What I’m learning is that things may say “Irish Pub”, “Italian Restaurant”, or my personal favorite from the day “Pizza de Kentucky”, but the service, food, and atmosphere inside always have Argentina written all over it.  

Some of the group order gnocchi and french fries, but I went with a more traditional s�ndwich Milanesa.  This contained similar meat to the fried bit I had for dinner the other night.  It was actually just really thin steak.  It also had jam�n, queso, lechuga, and the freshest possible roll.  I could only eat half, but the 7 other people I was with were really okay with passing plates around so as to try as many flavors as possible.  The other half of my sandwich was devoured as I got to taste some of the steak, sausages and pastas they ordered.  Hygienic?  Maybe not, but I ate out of a communal bowl of chimichurri the other day, so I’m not too worried.  

After lunch, we picked a general direction and meandered down the way until we passed the zoo and huge, adjacent park.  Strolling along, we found such profound beauty in the statues and sunshine watching over the porte�os kicking around a soccer ball in the grass.  Our conversations entered the realm of trying to describe how lucky we are to experience this here and now – in this city and in this moment.  

The trees are foreign to me.  They are too tall with no branches, or way too fat with spikes.  Unidentifiable objects grow from them, and the palm trees are very deceptive.  My Westernized public education told me to associate palm trees with hot weather.  It wasn’t too cold today, but I would not be okay with going swimming yet.  The birds in the trees and on the ground were hopping around, pecking each other every once in a while.  We joked that we should have asked the green parrots that were hanging around with the pigeons, “�hablas ingles?”.  

After discovering that my group had actually wandered into my neighborhood, I was happy to point them to the appropriate bus stop to get them back to where we started.  It’s a little disappointing that I recognized initially not the buildings, or park near my home, but the gargantuan advertisements for Reebok that label my street.  Not wanting to return to my apartment quite yet, I wandered down the other end of my block, finding the grocery store that I now realize my host brother pointed out to me my first day.  Needing a couple of snacks and a bottle of water, I entered.  

Someone asked me where the pretzels were when I was surveying a wall of chocolate bars.  When I told her, no s�, she mumbled something and pushed her cart away.  I could have made something up, but figured that might be more rude.  Lapping the whole store, I ended in the alcohol section.  Remembering my oath to find good wines before my visitors arrive in November, I figure why not start now?  I picked out a nice Merlot that with the current exchange rate, didn’t make my wallet much lighter.  

I was still a little uncomfortable and panicked in line holding this bottle along with my bag of crackers and water.  Would the check-out guy card me?  He looks younger than I am.  My first time buying alcohol in any country was totally uneventful.  No one blinked an eye. 

In other news, I had what I thought was a nice conversation while waiting for the bus this morning.  Outside the corner Starbucks where I await my 67 to come rumbling around the corner stood an older woman who spoke limited English.  I don’t have to remind you that I speak limited Spanish.  But, we managed to communicate the basic details of our lives.  When the buses came though (in pairs, nearly always), she shot me a look and took off for the other bus.  It was no less crowded, so I can only conclude that she just wasn’t as into the conversation as I was.  That’s one way to dump someone, just run away and get on an alternate bus.  Haha.  No pasa nada. 

I think I’m going out tonight with some people from IES.  It should much more fun than getting up at 7am tomorrow morning!  My orientation tomorrow includes hanging out a ranch.  I’ve been told that there is pretty awesome food.  

Thanks again for reading!!

Best.  

Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina