Pastries and Paragliding

Prep for cordoba

I needed clean clothes immediately. I am so used to having a pretty much unlimited stash of clothes with me that I hadn’t considered that my upcoming trip to Cordoba would require an advance of clean clothes. So, I got up early Thursday (my bus ticket booked for Thursday night), and took my clothes to the laundry place 3 blocks away. The guy recognized me as soon as I walked in as the hot mess that had gotten her laundry done their once before. Knowing that I can’t really communicate in Spanish, he clearly lowered his expectations of our conversation. I had a statement prepared. I tried to explain, in Spanish, that I needed these clothes today. He replied, that they would be done by 1pm. However, I have class on Thursdays from 11-1 & 4:30-7:30. Typically, I hang out and do homework in between classes. I asked if they were open until 8 or 8:30. He shrugged and was pretty noncommittal. Explaining that “tengo clase hasta? a las siete y media”. He kissed me on the cheek as all Argentines do and told me to have a good day at school.

As I was walking sans my dirty socks back to my house, I considered going back in and telling him that there was no oops-get-it-tomorrow. I was peacing out tonight. But, I figured it wasn’t worth the pocket dictionary making a trip out.

Too panicked to let my laundry sit in the shop all day, I ran home in between classes. (No worries, my total cost of public transportation all day was $1.20 USD.) Of course, that guy wasn’t there when I came to pick up my clothes, and only then I realized that he hadn’t given me a receipt like the last time. I guess he really does recognize me. Except he wasn’t there. So, I was trying to explain this to the woman, but it wasn’t working. We resorted to sifting through the bags to find it via recognition of the clothes.

Finally, I found it stowed under a counter. It was labeled, “Americana.”

Post Córdoba

My bus ride to the second largest city in Argentina was wonderful. I was excited to start the trip, well fed with both the dinner my host parents provided and the meal that the nice man on the bus placed on my lap tray. I, like the unknowing tourist that I am, loaded my carryon with crackers, cookies, bottles of water and mints thinking that just in case I get hungry, I’ll survive. I wasn’t hungry until noon the next day. That’s not to say I didn’t eat, though.

By noon the next day, we had check into our lodging, Hostel Tango. It was a quaint little place on a side street of the city and had a meager amount of rooms for travelers to sleep in. I shared quarters with my entire travel group, 4 other girls. We quickly had the entire room with its two bunks and an extra bed draped in clothes and other girly things. Off to explore the city we went. First stop, the bakery.

Two dulce de leche filled pastries later, we venture around plazas and through parks. Went into a cathedral or two, a museum of both modern and classical art, and walked through the pedestrian only streets. The shopping areas were surprisingly busy for a Friday afternoon. Deciding to skip lunch with the boys that were also in Córdoba from our program, we found a fancy Spanish restaurant. It was good, but not great.

We walked through a park that was full of large metal rings. Each ring represented one year in the life of the city and was inscribed with a significant event that occurred that year. It made for some fun pictures!

Then, nap time - and by nap time I mean down time at the hostel which I used to talk to a guy who was in his 5 or 6 month of traveling through South America. He definitely clued me into some good suggestions for where else to hit up in Argentina.

That night, everyone from our hostel feasted in the dining room at an asado, an excuse to eat and drink lots of salad, potatoes and meats, wine and beer. After hanging around with the lovely girls from south London and a couple of tall, but disappointingly un-cute Aussies, we went to a dancing club which has a partnership with the Hostel Tango. We entered free of charge after singing our hearts out on the way there in a taxi. The driver decided to blast oldies Argentine music so we made up words and sang along. Our lyrics included phrases such as, “dos empanadas, por favor”, “donde está el baño”, and “mi amor, Rosa”. I think the later might have actually been what the original rendition entailed.

The inside of the club reminded me of what one of my guidebooks to Argentina mentioned about Córdoba. Truly a “mix of old and new” this old theater welcomed us in a grand entry way with carved pillars and marble floors. It gave off a clear nightclub vibe, however, as it was illuminated with blue neon lights and young Argentines holding liter sized plastic cups of a liquid matching the color of the lights. Ready to dance, we hit the floor and shimmied, swayed, fist pumped, shopping carted and threw our hands up in the air (but just some of the time). We were about to crash when there was a break from the hip hop & Argentine mix when two Flamenco dancer seized the stage. Oh, that reminds me, at one point I was definitely dancing on that stage...

The show was awesome and the audience joined in and formed little squares of four all across the floor. Arms up in a relaxed Y shape, fingers snapping, they looked pretty spiffy.

The next day, we inevitably slept in a bit, but dragged ourselves to the bus station with the promise of hitting up the same bakery for more pastries. We hopped on a rickety little bus headed toward Belgrano, a small German village 2 hours drive south of Córdoba. After we left the city, the drive reminded me much of the drive to Camp TFS, a long windy road through the mountains. There weren’t many trees though, very unlike the Laurel Highlands. The road approached and finally hugged the side of mountain. As we rounded the corner, I saw the most beautiful river in the valley. Its reflection was so clear, I could in detail make out the images of the small town nestled in the watchful mountains. It was nice to watch the water as we wove further and further down to the level of the water. Crossing the dam, we then started an ascent up the other side. The portion of the trip devoted to getting around this place was sizable, but it allowed me to truly appreciate the beauty of the landscape for the first time in a while. I wasn’t rushed.

Downtown Belgrano is about 5 and a half blocks of shops selling Oktober Fest t-shirts and bottle openers. Thankfully, we explored the neighboring streets and found a small crafts fair where locals sell their homemade bowls, cups, jewelry and instruments. A guy from my program that we ran into there had just purchased a gourd guitar. It was long, awkward and very fragile. I haven’t a clue as to how he’s getting that back to the US.

It had been about 2.5 hours since we ate breakfast, so we figured we better eat again. After a lunch of pizza and empanadas from a very nondescript restaurant in the middle of a random shopping center, we walked all up and down the main street, taking our time. Noticing the alarming amount of small gnomes and gremlin looking creatures being touristically sold, we finally broke down and asked someone why they were everywhere. We were informed that each villa has a guardian that is believed to be a gnome-type creature. It’s quite cute actually. For the rest of the weekend, I would see shops all over the western edge of Argentina selling replicas of their area’s protector.

Two separate afternoon snacks later, we headed back to Córdoba for the night. When we arrive, somehow we had managed to work up an appetite. Dinner at midnight it was. With the help of a guidebook, we found a tiny little restaurant within walking distance from our hostel that served very fresh, very delicious Italian food. Not Argentine Italian food like the rest of what I’ve been eating, but good ole homemade creations. I, of course, ordered the gnocchi that was actually spelled ñochi on the menu. (I’m sort of getting use to being thrown for a loop with menus.) It was a trio of brothers that worked in the restaurant, they were all tall, dark and very handsome. If I ever go back to Córdoba, my first stop will be there.

Unfortunately, we packed up and left first thing in the morning to visit La Cumbre, a mountain town about two hours north of the city. It was in this town that with the help of the nice man who worked at the front table (it wasn’t a desk) of our hostel, my housemate, Jenixie and I met with our paragliding instructor, Carlos. Carlos loaded us in the back of his truck and we took off out of town, onto a dirt road, and eventually up a very large mountain.

Words cannot do justice the view I witnessed on the mountain. I encourage you to look at my photos on Picasa, but imagine yourself a panoramic view of endlessness, breeze blowing through your hair and the sunshine gently warming you. I was excited just to be there, but that I got to have an adventure while atop the Andes was the cherry on top.

After a brief speech of instructions, I was attached via harnesses to Jeje, my co-flyer. Yep, he did all the work and I tried not to mess things up for us. My takeoff was smoother than that of my housemates’. A too strong gust of wind took them up and in an uncontrolled moment, the two attached to the parachute, and the aide were all in a pile on the ground and then in the air. She scratched her knuckles, but all in all, it could have been much worse. My takeoff included me bruising the tops of my forearms from the tightness of the straps, but it worked out. The beauty of my surroundings made me forget that I was strapped to a piece of cloth holding me in the sky. Not once was I afraid of the height of the journey or of the seemingly thin straps of my harness. I was excited to be free and flying.

Later, we met up with the girls who didn’t go paragliding at the supermarket where we shopped for our dinner. For a twist, we rented a Cabaña for the night instead of staying in La Cumbre’s one Hostel. La Cumbre is about the size of a postage stamp. There is one taxi driver. His name is also Carlos, and once he’s off work at 8pm, you’re outta luck. Unfortunately, our cabaña was on the outskirt of town, so we had a bit of walking with our groceries. After a fulfilling dinner of scrambled eggs with veggies, garlic bread and what Argentina refers to as bacon, we snuggled up next to the wood burning heater and completed some of our homework due this week. I made a wood run with Jenixie to the side of our house where the small logs are kept. The pile was such that it was in a cut out of the building so I had to stick my hand into a pitch black hole and feel around for wood. Of course, the nearest light cast a shadow on the whole side of the cabaña. I’m mid reach after handing another round of wood back to Jenixie when I hear her gasp and run away. Scared out my mind, I grab a piece of wood and run for it. Apparently, a small dog was coming over to see what we were doing. Jenixie is not a fan of dogs.

Despite our best efforts, at 5am the fire went out and we all woke up and complained about how cold it was, but none of us actually got up to rebuild the fire. We just rolled over pulled the covers tighter and shivered back to sleep. The morning greeted me with no hot water for a shower and leftover garlic bread for breakfast. There are worse things.

We then decided to find Jesus Christ. We packed a couple of PB&J sandwiches and booked it from the cabaña, leaving our bags in reception, which was actually just this family’s home. The son was smoking hot. Kelsey was so taken, in fact, that she needed to remove a layer of pants because of the hot flash. The mama came out at that exact moment and said, “Oh! Su pantalones!” and proceeded to grab Kelsey’s discarded jeans and put them on our pile of bags.

It’s one of my goals in Argentina to never have the mother of a hot man comment on my lack of pants regardless of whether I am wearing leggings.

I guess I should explain the Jesus thing, no? Well, because La Cumbre is a definite Jesuit villa, it has a huge statue of a man with a beard and a robe. Some people may or may not identify with the belief that he is the savior. Regardless of religious affiliation, we wanted to hike, so we did.

On our way down a dirt road, we encountered a dog who ventured from its yard. This is by no means a strange occurrence; there are stray dogs on every street. But, this one followed us all the way to the path that we thought was right. Walked up with us and returned with us when we realized we weren’t headed to Christ, and restarted the correct path with us. It followed us up the entire mountain, pausing when we did to take picture and sat at the top with us for the hour we spent there. We offered it some PB&J once we knew it wasn’t going to leave us anyway, but it wasn’t interested. It did, however, accept an offering of herb infused goat cheese that we also happened to be snacking on. Expensive taste, that dog.

When we returned from the mountain and walked past its house again, it trotted home and didn’t look back.

Returning to Códoba is part of the trip I’d like to forget. We booked our tickets for the 2:50 bus so as to have plenty of time to catch our overnight bus back to BA. Apparently booking a ticket does not at all guarantee a seat and sort of doesn’t even guarantee entry onto the bus. Thankfully, I have learned enough to elbow my way to the front to stick with my group. We all made it on the bus, but none of us could sit for the first hour. I finally scored a sit at the stop in Carlos Paz (it wasn’t a direct bus) after an hour and a half of standing, gripping my bag to my torso and trying with all my might not to blow my chunks. The mixture of seemingly a hundred people in a relatively tiny space and swaying sideways for an extended period of time, was truly trying.

As for the mad dash to board the bus: people are generally very respectful of the lines for the city buses. You don’t mess with the lines. But, everywhere else in the country, it’s a free for all. People just shove to where they need to go.

We arrived at the bus station in Córdoba and were amazed that there were thousands of people waiting all along the terminal’s edge for buses. It was a Monday night, but Dia de San Martin, the most beloved General ever to live in South America. He lead the liberation efforts of most of South America, so we got off a day of classes to commemorate this ordeal.

The ride home wasn’t as fabulous as the way there. I was in the very last seat of the bus, next to the “kitchen”. We were served dinner, but I was more interested in sleeping. Seemingly every time I nodded off into iPod filled blissful sleep, the server would come to the back and bang around the kitchen, startling me to the point of panicking as I awoke.

Arriving at 6:20am allowed us the time to go back to our homes and tap a quick nap and real shower before our classes started for the day. My first on Tuesday is at 11am, so I was relatively well rested throughout my first class, but my feet began to drag before I even started my 6pm class. At dinner, my host father looked at me and told me I looked really tired. I took it as a sign to call it a night early, but that backfired the next day. Because I blew off my homework pretty much all weekend, I had a 2.5 hour block of time the next day to watch a movie for my film class and write a paper on it. Of course, it worked out and I managed to squeeze in a lunch run, but I need to stay on top of my game in my classes. Two of my classes only have 4 other students and the others have totals of 7 or 8. This isn’t 100 Thomas at Penn State, people. Having tiny classes is a huge adjustment for me, something that most other students here are already accustomed to. I know how to conduct myself in a 50 person class, but 5 people is less than an officer’s meeting of any of my clubs.

That’s a strange way to end this post. Let’s try again.

Códoba was a great city that is definitely not Buenos Aires. It’s calmer and relaxing to walk around. This trip was definitely worth every penny and hassle!

Chung Chung

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.

I picked two sites at which to interview in order to gain placement for my internship. My first interview 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 cafés, 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, Tzedaká, 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.

They did ask me if I was Jewish. I said I don't currently identify as such - from Sarah's lips to their ears.

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??

Out Came the Sun

This morning I woke up smiling because it was raining. Which seems strange, no? It’s my first day in Buenos Aires all to myself, I have no class and no activities planned. Today is mine.

But, it’s raining. The same splatters of rain that crash into the pavement here are identical to the drops of rain that splash at my homes in White Oak, Rockwood, and State College. The rumbles of thunder remind me that even though I’m thousands of miles away from home, I’m not untouchable by nature. We’re all connected by something, even when it’s not conscious. Too deep, too crazy, too early in the morning? Probably.

The noises in Buenos Aires contrast to those in Somerset or University Park. It’s much different for me to be traveling to class among the workers performing their daily grind. I’m used to being surrounded by students and staff all there for one reason. Nobody really seems to be on the same page in this city. Everyone goes about their business and doesn’t pay much heed elsewhere. I guess what I’m missing about home is the cohesion of a community. Perhaps a good goal for me in the next 4 months is to find a sense of community, be it on my block, within my Tango class, or with other young adults.

Large groups of people are quiet here. Cafés can be silent at times and buses are also eerily quiet to me. Nobody talks to each other much. On the street, it’s just the buses growling and screeching as they move from block to block. The enormous amount of taxis, too.

Not letting the weather get me down, I met for lunch with some friends and ate a scrumptious, personal, grilled veggie pizza at a local and reasonably priced restaurant. I’m excited to go back.

After lunch, we explored the main drag near our houses and found two museums of interest, one being the National Museum of Art Decorations and the other feature the work of a funkier, modern Argentine artist. The first was truly breathtaking. Set in an old mansion, we wove in and out of the high ceiling rooms gazing upon the 10ft+ (or 3.3 meters!) portraits and scenes. The massive paintings, sculpture and tapestries were proportionate to their rooms. I was most interested in the tapestries. The detailed scenes depicted in the art was incredible. I have sketched and painted before and can profess some familiarity with how brush strokes feel and look, but tapestries use a language in which I have no fluency. I find it disappointing that such an incredible art form is rare to come by.

We decided that it would make our lives to attend a ball in this building with large, billowing gowns and our curled hair pinned up into a bun. We would dance to the orchestra’s music, gently played from the balcony. Handsome, eligible bachelors would ask for our hands and we’d dance with grace and the utmost taste, but hurry home before the clock strikes twelve.

The next museum certainly had a different flavor. Xul Solar mastered making crafts from household objects like old brochures, scraps of wood, and string. Not going to lie, it reminded me a lot of the craft room at camp.

Later in the weekend, I traveled to San Isidro, a suburb of BA. The pale pink, brown and white homes offer a different feel than that of city life. There are not as many people crowding the streets and drivers were friendlier, pausing for pedestrians to cross. We toured the cathedral, a museum/house of a woman who was the first woman to do many things in this country (i.e. Vote, drive, divorce - in fact, she broke up with her husband en route to her honeymoon), and an open air market where I found the perfect pair of socks for Norah. They are pink and have llamas around the ankles. I wanted a matching pair, but they weren’t available in my size. Later, we traveled down the coast (of the widest river in the world, 25 miles across at its skinniest and 125 miles at its widest) to a restaurant that looks out over the water. We were served our choice of café con leche, té, or a form of hot chocolate that is hot milk served with a chocolate bar that one melts with the heat of the milk. I stuck with café con leche in fear of I’d totally mess it up. Next opportunity, I’ll try it and report back. We also had jamón y queso sandwiches and so many postrés.

Tango lesson were not nearly as fun this week, but I’m still going to go back because it is such a good way to get a group of people together in one place on Saturday night. After lessons, we go to dinner and people taper off as they tire. On this particular night, we went to a tiny little Mexican restaurant with excellent, spicy foods. In general, food in Buenos Aires is very bland. Lots of pastas with cream sauce, bread and salad without dressing. Garlic doesn’t exist. Basil is rare. Oregano is a big deal. So, my taste buds were very satisfied with the wake up call.

On Sunday the sun was in full blast though it was still quite chilly. I went to the antiques and crafts markets in San Telmo. I was amazed that vendors blanketed the entire square and proceeded 20 blocks in 4 different directions. We took our time walking around and got lunch eventually. I had something that roughly translates to a wild boar sandwich. Oh yeah.

The primary elections for president were on Sunday. In preparation, no alcohol can be sold after 10pm Saturday or before 8pm Sunday. It’s an obligation to vote, so lines were super long at the voting areas. Also, Argentina does not use an electronic system, so each page of votes is counted by hand. Amazingly, the results were still known in time enough to make the morning paper headlines. Christina, a Perónist, is the current president and very much in the lead for this next election. Generally, the middle and upper middle classes hate her, but the lowest classes support her. The next election is in October.

Color Me Boca

Yesterday, I went to La Boca, an area 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 café 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 cafés 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.

Panic at the Disco

Primero fin de semana

Looking back on this weekend, I know now more than ever that I belong to a very privileged group. The girls that I've been hanging out with for a couple of days (does that make them my friends?) refer to our struggles in life as "white girl problems" or "first world problems". Por ejemplo - at which restaurant should we eat tonight? Do I really want to travel all the way to San Telmo or should I just stay in Polermo to hang out? Or, when we're having trouble adjusting to our new phones' texting keys. Woe is me.

Sure, it's inconvenient to face some of these issues, but it's just not really a big deal in the long run. In the upcoming weeks, I would like to volunteer through my IES program with a church group that goes into underprivileged neighborhoods and provides opportunities for fun and leadership building for kids there. This is where my status as a first world white girl conflicts with my want to help out any way I can: I have to travel to this neighborhood via public transportation in a city in which I've just arrived. It's not easy to just disregard my privilege so easily. I have to plan out how to step away - take a buddy, travel in daylight, have enough cash for a cab, but not enough to be a substantial loss if something happens. Safety, held to western standards, is always a priority.

I could go on, but I'd rather take this space to describe in detail the enormous amounts of food I consumed at the estanchia, or ranch, on Friday. So, I and 120 of my new closest friends, took 3 big charter buses out of the city Friday morning. About an hour & a half later, I woke up in the middle of nowhere, rolling into a vast expanse of property that is truly beautiful. (I blame my excellent ability to nap at any given moment here on the time difference....) Stepping off the bus and into a gust of cold wind, we took a glorified hayride to the main building area. By glorified hayride, I mean there was actually no hay, but the concept of being pulled in a cart by a tractor reminds me of such memories.

Immediately, I start with the breakfast table. Café, té, maté, fried sweet bread, regular bread, salami, cheeses, sweet potato chips, homemade potato chips, these puffy things that didn't have much flavor, empanadas, and I'm sure I'm forgetting more. I tried pretty much a piece of everything. I have issues with saying no to food.

Utter failure on the maté front. I was offered the mug/cup/vase thing and then, the staff person from IES who offered it to me got distracted and walked away. So, I was sipping the bitter water being stewed inside the vessel all by myself. I tried to go find someone to talk to, and she yells at me, first in Spanish then in English, you can't take that! I froze and she walked back over to me. She explained to me that maté is a beverage one shares and that we were sharing it. I knew the first half of that, but when she walked away from me and had a conversation with another student, I became confused. Regardless, I finished the water, handed it back to her, and she refilled it with the huge thermos o' hot water she was carrying with her and sipped her portion. A couple of students - hesitant like we are - came over and asked to join. I shared what information I had gained, instead of watching them clumsily learn like I had. We all made mistakes, most obviously when we thanked her for handing us the mug. That apparently means that you don't want anymore. It was fun to try something new and something unique.

After hitting around a volleyball for a little bit on a nearby sand court, we made our way into the restaurant area for lunch. First off, the building was gorgeous. Pale walls with wooden accents complimented the large fireplace illuminated both by the coals and the sun streaming through the skylights. In the center of the room was a huge salad bar with more wonderful foods including cheese (blue, parmesan, mozzarella, fresh farm cheese, something that was spicy and others), meats (not just your average hunks of salami, but delicious and flavorful beef), regular salad stuff (your standard lettuce, tomato, onion, peas, corn, and other salad amenities), crab, artichokes, roasted red peppers, dried fruit, and a million more things.

I really tried to limit myself to one plate on account of I wasn't even hungry yet. I sat at a table with a couple of soon-to-be friends and some staffers from IES. It was a good mix of people and the conversation frequently drifted from one language to the other. Not even able to complete my plate, I was ready for a nap. Then, the meat came. Hoards of it. One by one, waiters came to our table offering to us different cuts of a cow. First, was a super tender and decadent steak slab, then some sausage, then ribs, then some sort of gland (which the staff members made us try, it wasn't my favorite, but it also wasn't bad), then another kind, and another, and another after that. Then, the lamb, then the chicken. At first I was too excited to say no thanks, but as the meat pile on my auxiliary plate was growing faster than I could manage to eat it, I had to start saying no thanks. After the last round of meats, literally 1.5 hours later, I needed to stretch. Or die. When I came back from a lap around the building, there was helado with nuts and chocolate, a berry and cream, and caramelized orange peels in my place. I thought it was a joke. As it turns out, it was absolutely delicious.

Needing another walk, we wandered over to the the stable for the horses. After riding for a bit, we headed back over to the main area to relax in the fading sun before we departed for the day. 20 minutes into our talking, 9 waiters and waitresses emerge from the building carrying two tables worth of more desserts ranging from fruit and custard pies to chocolate strawberry cakes. They were gorgeous, and of course everyone who had been groaning not 30 seconds earlier about the amount of food we had just consumed was now standing in line with big white glass plates waiting for yet more dessert. Including myself.

My friend and I decided to share our portions so that we could taste more. We ended up with 3 full plates. I tried what I wanted to, but could physically not handle any more, but every bit was totally delicious.

I would like to take a moment and reference the previous paragraphs as a classic symptom of a binge eating disorder. I am pretty sure I don't have a problem, though because I never, EVER, want to do that again. I made some good choices that day, but sampling so many foods was not one of them.

The weather was nearly as beautiful as our surroundings, and the relaxing atmosphere was a great break from the hubbub of the city. It was a spectacular day.

On Saturday, I went on a bus tour with IES. I would like to tell you that the city is also awesome when viewed from the top level of a double decker, bright yellow, very touristy tour bus. It was nice, though, because I had a chance to notice different things about the city, like the street lights that hang from a system of wires attached to the buildings as opposed to the big poles I'm used to in the States, the architecture and how it changed from one neighborhood to the next, and just how many parks there are. It was long and a little chilly, but we stopped in the same park as my papa took me to on Saturday morning.

In Palermo, this park that encompasses two lakes, a rose garden, and plenty of grass and trees for thousands of families to walk, play, and rest on. On the weekends, it transforms from a typical park into a space for roller skating artists, free aerobics classes, concerts, amateur tight rope walkers, and food vendors. Children's Day (celebrated like Mother's or Father's Day in the States) is coming up in August. There was a big initiative to decorate a bunch of drawstring bags with fabric and other craft materials to give to children who would otherwise not received a gift. I got to participate along with some of my friends. It was a cool experience.

We ditched the bus tour a bit early so we could make it to our first Tango class on time. I had an awesome time learning some new moves and am so excited to continue. My instructors only speak Spanish and Italian, but we figured it out eventually. I was talking with this girl who goes to CMU while we were practicing walking like a Tango dancer about the music. She called it epic, and I agreed. Continuing to really listen to it, though, I proposed a new metaphor. The music presents an ultimatum. You must dance or something bad will happen. This sounds strange now that I'm repeating this in written text, but watch this video and you'll catch a glimpse of what I mean.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bXhQNRsH3uc

Ps, when I come home, I'm going to be that good.

For dinner last night, I went to an Italian restaurant with my friends. I had ravioli with some sort of cheese and spinach that was delicious. My friend ordered ravioli that had abuela in the title. We joked that every time someone orders this, an abuela or grandmother, has to bust into the kitchen and prepare the dish. Another girl's Caesar salad arrived with no dressing on it. I thought that by definition a Caesar had dressing, but keeping in custom of all Argentine salads, there is no dressing. My host parents eat lettuce and tomatoes every night. My housemate and I add some balsamic.

Oh, I dropped off my laundry at a service on Saturday. I was with my dad, so I knew he wouldn't lead me astray, but this tiny little shop had 4 washers, shopping bags full of clothes stacked all around, and 4 dryers that were rumbling away. My mouth actually fell ajar when I saw an open flame licking the base of the drying drum. This wasn't just a little torch, either, it was a decent sized fire. I don't really know what happened in there because I was staring at the fire hazards all around me. I pick up what's left of my clothes on Monday.

Sunday, I accidentally slept in, but it was fine because I had nowhere to be - an excellent feeling by the way. I had made loose plans to go to the Recoleta market with a couple of people, but that changed when my host mom invited me to lunch with the family. And, I mean the whole family. Ann Christine and Jorge have 5 children. All are grown and married, and some have kids of their own. I had met Martina and Macarena before, but I met their cousin, Juanita. She's two and is very adorable. With all the little girls running around and the chattering adults, I felt very at home. Of course, the girls haven't warmed up to me yet, and I can't understand any of the adult conversation, so I'm caught somewhere in the middle. It's nice to observe, though. Lunch was all kinds of delicious with 3 types of pasta. And, as it turns out, I found out it was their son's wife's birthday, so there was special dessert - an apple creamy dish that was to die for. Also, Martina found the bag of Hershey kisses I brought her grandparents. Everyone was pretty excited and kept giving each other kisses, both chocolate and not. It's amazing what a little bag of something from home can inspire.

After, we went to the market and walked all through the craft vendors. I got sister gifts (get excited, L&S) and some great ideas for Christmas presents. We watched some spontaneous Tango and enjoyed the music from the concert going full speed ahead in the center. It was nice to not be in a rush or uncomfortable at all.

A Disco (grocery store) run to get some supplies for lunch this week later and I'm home about to order a pizza from the place down the street for dinner with my housemate. All of my groceries for this week totaled about $20 US. I like this exchange rate. =]

I had a mild panic attack because packaging is so different here than it is elsewhere. There were about 3.5 aisles of cheese to choose from and literally 2 kinds of salami and 1 kind of lunch meat ham. I guess packing a sandwich isn't very popular here. That makes sense on account of the no plastic baggies, plastic wrap or foil. I guess I haven't been paying attention to lunch habits.

Sorry about the lack of commenting ability on this blog. I guess you can only comment if you have a Penn State account. Feel free to facebook or email me with anything you'd like to say. I'll update my Picasa soon.

Best.

Parrots in the Park

Dia cinco

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 subté 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 sándwich Milanesa. This contained similar meat to the fried bit I had for dinner the other night. It was actually just really thin steak. See the photo posted on Picasa for a visual, but it also had jamón, 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 porteños 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 sé, 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 and check out the pics at https://picasaweb.google.com/107885548887151676014/BuenosAires1?authkey=Gv1sRgCNyd8MjXzsaSWA#

Best.