Medialunas Salad

Yep, I tell people my name is Raquel because they so rarely understand Rachel.
Lunch = milanesa pollo, papas, potatas, , Coca Zero
MALBA - Museo de Arte Latinaamerica de Buenos Aires

Making spring break plans is tough. It’s difficult for me to try to plan out my stay in a foreign city. I only know what Lonely Planet and Fodor tell me to do. They haven’t misled me yet, but there’s a degree of spontaneity that I hope my small group can maintain throughout our trip. We’re going first to Puerto Madryn to see penguins in igloos who are not named Geno and Sidney and to kayak amongst whales. It’s a 20 hour bus ride because Argentina is flipping huge, but it will definitely be worth it! There is also the potential of scuba diving with sea lions.

Hmmm... Decisions, decisions.

Next up, we have another 19 or so hours to El Calafate, even farther south in Argentina. There, I will be able to experience trekking up and down the jagged surface of world famous glaciers including Perito Moreno, Upsala, Onelli, and Spegazzini.

I will embark on the 30^th of September and return to BA on the 10^th of October, which is a significant day for some other reason as well...

Speaking of drinking, I sampled a caipirina the other night. Delicious. Thank you, Brazil.

In other news, midterms are quickly approaching. My Spanish exam might be the death of me. Remember that 10 minute presentation that I was forced into completing a week or so ago? An appropriate description would be “grenade”. It started with the promise of suddenly exploding into a vast array of issues including the sudden onset of amnesia pertaining to vocabulary, the audience playing Sporcle on their laptops (http://www.sporcle.com/games/sproutcm/beware_the_m) to try to stay awake, and general disinterest my topic (accessibility in BA). The introduction was fine. We played a game involving a ball to name all of the types of transportation within the city. But, unlike Bruno Mar’s main issue within his grenade issue, my classmates eyes were nearly closed throughout the rest of the presentation. Why weren’t they open?

One of the key differences about living in State College versus Buenos Aires is the availability of alcohol and beer. You may be wondering, where in the world can beer be more accessible than a town inhabited with 44,000 undergraduates? Buenos Aires is the answer. In the cafe at CUI, the institute where I teach English classes, I stop by every Monday after class to take advantage of the cheaply priced sandwiches, soups, salads, and coffees. I am consistently surprised to see Quilmes, the most common beer in the city named after the Quilmes indigenous group who makes it, right next to the Coca Cola Light and apple juice in the coolers. Not only is it surprising to see it there, but when I find a seat amongst the students on break from learning all kinds of languages, they’re drinking it. It’s 1pm on a Monday!

I must reaffirm that Argentines rarely become incoherent while drinking. I’ve seen only one or two native chichas actually too drunk to stumble to a cab in her 4 inch heels. I think they consume more regularly (like with their salad and strawberry jello at lunch) and less in quantity than people from the US. I probably don’t have the most representative perspective coming from home where beer is for holidays mostly and school where it’s an event, but jeez.

I wish I could learn to control my double takes and the widening of my eyes more regularly. It’s embarrassing to have everyone know when I’m so bemused by the differences in culture.

Also, on an unrelated note, I feel compelled to complain about this small stretch of sidewalk near CUI. Every Monday for the last four weeks I’ve walked over some wobbly stones with liquid underneath. It is common for sidewalks to be either wobbly or wet because many shopkeepers clean their areas in the mornings. But then, during my classes, for the last four weeks, I’ve noticed small splashes of dirty water on the lower half of my jeans. It was only this morning when I finally put together that the splashes are from that obnoxious little path from Corrientes to Junin. I’m so taking a different route next time.

This morning, I was asked by my English class to tell them what I would miss most about Buenos Aires and what part of the culture I want to bring back. The second part was easier for me to answer as I am still struggling against my natural pessimism to answer the first.

I have strangely grown fond of the kisses hello and goodbye. Always on the right cheek and never to be confused for any other emotion than friendship. When someone kisses me as they walk into the room, it sets the tone for comfort. We’re on a level where we can chat or at least not judge each other for our thoughts. You don’t have to kiss people you don’t like. If they are going in for the peck, you shouldn’t deny them. But, if neither initiates, it’s appropriate to skip it.

Another thing I would love to bring back is medialunas, Argentine croissants. Generally with cafe con leche. Actually, all of Il Gufo, the tiny, but wonderful diner-type cafe near my school. Especially my favorite waitress, Romina. She is such a sweetie. When we first arrived, she spoke not one word of English and my friend, Liz, with whom I frequent this diner, spoke not one word of Spanish. Instead of splitting us up, it brought us closer together and now we are always learning from each other.

One of my favorite memories is the time the cafe ran out of sweet medialunas. Romina tried to explain to us that they only had salty ones (ps, they’re exactly the same as the sweet, just with a tiny sprinkle of salt on top). In Spanish the word for salty is salado. We heard ensalado, which of course is salad. We could not figure out why she was talking to us about a medialunas salad. It sounds a bit disgusting. She must have explain the situation 4 times in Spanish and we still were not grasping the differentiation between ensalada and salada. Finally, a customer got up from across the room, came over, and said, “how may I help you?”

Having stories like this is what keeps me grounded. Some days are good. I speak and hear clearly and communication is great. Some days are horrible. The bus driver doesn’t understand me and then the man at the cafe doesn’t understand “quiero un te.” So many times I know what I’m saying is grammatically correct, and they still don’t understand. To make my speech more effective, I try to leave out some letters in the words and pronounce them in what I believe is a horrible Argentine accent. It seems to work. Sometimes I just grunt at the bus driver, and it’s more effective than enunciating the price.

But, what will I miss most about Buenos Aires?

I can tell you it won’t be the buses, it won’t be the quality of the air, and it probably won’t be the food in general. It might be the museums, it might be the art on the streets, it might be the opportunity to be an outsider. It will probably be bread at every meal no matter what, the mixture of pop and songs in Spanish on the radio, and the proximity and excuse to travel to unbelievable places every couple of weeks. It definitely won’t be the weird toilets, the wax paper excuse for a napkin, or the language barrier.

I don’t know what I will miss. I haven’t had the opportunity to miss it yet.

Will it build goodwill and better friendship?

It’s been too long since I’ve blogged. I continually think of things to write about while walking around the city, but then never write them down and by the time I get around to blogging, I have completely forgotten. Here’s a random thought that I remember:

Trees in the city are miserable. They are trapped into sprouting out of openings in the sidewalk. The city puts them along the streets to encourage a more natural feeling and reduce some of the immense amounts of CO2 being pumped into the air, but honestly, I think it’s like torture. I feel really bad for them, which is kind of strange because they are trees, but it’s disappointing nonetheless.

In happier news, I’ve switched my bus route to the more accommodating and frequent 108 line. It’s a bit of a walk from my house in the morning, but the extra block or two cuts anywhere from 10-30 minutes off of my waiting time. Muchas gracias, linea 108.

My Friday was very relaxing as I didn’t have a commitment until my volleyball game at night. I strode over the mall to check it out. Over the entrance I actually lol-ed at the huge sign that read “Yo <3 Shopping!” Reminding me yet again that I live in an upscale neighborhood, I walked past boutiques upon boutiques with very clean, simple displays. No clothes were crowded and there weren’t many signs indicating sales. Needing a black t-shirt for my vball game, I chose the Target-like Carrefour on the first of four floors. I think I mentioned this before, but this store has everything from huge flat screens to slippers, from fresh caught fish to hummus. I like it. :)

Hungry, I eventually found the mall’s food court. Surveying my options, I settle on Chinese as I find that’s the best way to eat vegetables ‘round these parts. Most pastas are sin veduras (without vegetables), and there aren’t many options for sandwich toppings. And, let’s be real, I wasn’t getting a salad with wilted lettuce and no dressing.

I almost had a real conversation with the guy who made me my pollo con verduras. He knew about 10 words in English, but they really helped when I couldn’t understand what he was asking. It was nice to know that such friendly people really exist here, unlike the majority who are pushy and ignorant of anyone else’s presence. Not complaining, though. I’ve had few bad experiences, but the nice ones always have a greater impression.

After chowing down, I wanted to grab a coffee before heading home. And, I figured since I was already at a fancy mall, why not get a fancy coffee? Ordering the biggest milkshake looking drink (with whipped cream, of course), I was satisfied with the result. Typically, when ordering something “to go”, I mumble something about “not being for here” because those are the words I know. The phrase “para llevar” would have made my order go much more smoothly.

Walking through the children’s play area on the way out, I couldn’t help but to notice the subtle differences from the US. No playgrounds that I’ve seen here have rubber or woodchips as a base (some have sand). In fact, most that I’ve seen simply have concrete sidewalks underneath the monkey bars, swings, and rocking-horse-type rides. I get so nervous watching the kids hang from the tops of these play structures, but have yet to see anyone get hurt. Let’s hope it stays that way.

I almost didn’t make it to my volleyball game because of the obnoxious amount of traffic that was making its way to Belgrano for the Ricky Martin concert. I wanted to start singing Cupa de Vida on the 130 line, but decided against it. Three jammed packed buses past me up before I finally body slammed against some guy to get onto the 4^th bus. We uncomfortably spooned standing up for the entire 20 minute ride.

Avenida Libertador was crawling with people walking to the stadium and the amount of cars and buses back up was horrendous, but I did manage to meet the team, and we got to our game just fine. At the game, coach gave me some instructions in Spanish and subbed me in for the left side hitter. I’ve never played left side and I know she knew that, so I just kinda made up my own thing and worked out a deal with the other hitter in the front row.

It wasn’t so bad, but it wasn’t so great. I’m not sure what she was thinking when she put me in, but I’m not complaining, I got to play!

No going out after this game for me; I could’ve fallen asleep on the bus home I was so tired from a long week. Luckily, the distant sounds of Ricky’s concert and of the mental picture of him shaking his latin hips kept me alert.

In the morning, I woke up and procrastinated as usual. In fact, I still haven’t done my homework for this week yet. At 4:30, I had Tango with Carlos and the woman whose name I can’t remember, but I saw her at the Recoleta fair today. We worked on turning our hips, but not our shoulders on this turn-type move. I uncomfortably reminisced about marching band, roll stepping, and horn angles. I never thought those skills would be useful, but I got a thumbs-up from my instructor after one try.

After practicing our Tango walking for 20 minutes... Yes, apparently it is that important, we put into practice our learned moves. I am lightyears better at Tango when I dance with the male instructor. The woman can’t really lead that well, and the boys who are learning... Well, even worse. It’s fun to mess up and try again though. We have our field trip to a real Tango place next Tuesday. Get excited!

After Tango, Shaina and I went to China town to grab a quick bite. La Gran Muralla de China (The Great Wall of China) sounded like a perfectly acceptable place to dine. We were one of two parties in the restaurant and it was completely silent. I don’t know what it is about Argentines and silence, but boy, they don’t mess around with noise unless they’re in the streets. There wasn’t even music playing. As we quietly ate our dumplings and rice (with veggies!!), we sipped green tea and planned more of our Spring Break. (It’s going to be awesome!)

Then, I got to do something that I truly value as a special opportunity. Because Rotary is an international organization and I just happen to be involved with Rotaract at Penn State, I contacted the local Rotary Club here to see if they would let me crash a meeting. Of course, they said. Unfortunately, the Polermo club’s meetings are on Tuesdays during lunch when I have class. Eventually, I will skip a class and go, but not this Tuesday when I have that Spanish presentation (yes, we convinced my teacher to push it back).

But, what they did for me was forward my inquiry to the Polermo Rotaract Club, a group of a dozen students in their early 20’s who are all looking to help the community and have fun while doing it. They meet every other Saturday night, so I hopped on the 60 line and jumped off at Sante Fe. (Are you impressed with my knowledge of the buses? Because I totally am.)

Rotaract in Polermo is a bunch of crazy Argentines who are so loving and friendly. And talkative. Three times within the first 20 minutes of the meeting did the president have to ring the bell, slam her fist on the desk, and finally yell at everyone to please be quiet. It reminded me so much of home in so many ways.

Sure, the meeting was in Spanish giving me only a vague idea what they were talking about, but it was just the same as my club. Who didn’t pay their dues yet? Did anyone talk to Rotary about getting our flag made? Should we make next week’s social a sushi or pasta dinner? I could barely stop smiling.

The cast of characters includes many poli sci majors, a couple of law students, and one guy who introduced himself first with his name, then that he was single. They are funny and have invited me back for as many events as I can go to, including the sushi dinner on Wednesday. Yay!

Walking home, we decided it was the perfect night to go out and dance a little, so we did. Argentine style. As in, don’t leave for the club before 1am, know someone inside to gain entrance without cover, and party like a rock star. I left “early” with two other member and we split a cab home. It was great to finally make friends with some people with whom I am nearly forced to speak Spanish with. (Except, almost all of them speak English pretty well, they just make me speak in Spanish.) One of the guys studied in New Zealand for a year and can speak English without a hitch. It was he who I talked to most of the night because there was enough going on, we didn’t need more communication errors. He’s very nice and can sympathize/relate to a lot of my studying abroad hesitations.

I am so effing lucky to be here.

I slept in an embarrassing amount today, but I did manage to spend the afternoon at the Recoleta market where I made some additional souvenir purchases. Get excited, guys.

¡Besos de BA!

It's a Beautiful Day in this Neighborhood

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, as you can see from my photographs, 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 porteños 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 maté. 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.

https://picasaweb.google.com/107885548887151676014/BuenosAiresDos?authkey=Gv1sRgCKCY05H5xLuIqAE

new photos in a new album! and if you lost the older link but want to check in,

https://picasaweb.google.com/107885548887151676014/BuenosAires1?authkey=Gv1sRgCNyd8MjXzsaSWA

for some reason, blogspot isn't letting me upload the pictures I want directly to this post... oh, technology.

Milanesa Mondays

Sandwich de Milanesa Completa

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.

¡¿Tengo Pink Eye?!

Nothing better than the feeling of truly not being able to open your eyes first thing in the morning.

Pink eye is not contagious via skype, so those of you who washed your hands after our conversation (cough cough Sarah, woah COUGH COUGH cough COUGH WHEEEEZE - oh boy, this didn’t go as planned), rest assured. I also happen to be pretty wheezy and sneezy. Not my favorite combo, but the pink-eye-type-thing going on is the cherry on top.

I’m not too surprised actually, there is a lot of public surface area I touch everyday. The doors, elevator buttons, and, oh dear, the buses. I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long without contracting something worse. Hand sanitizer and frequent washing can only go so far.

In other news, I bought a pair of leather boots yesterday! They are pale sort of sandy color and have some nice fur insulation. I’m very excited to wear them to class all next semester.

• 3 hours later -

I just learned from my doctor appointment that I don’t have pink eye, just a strain of the flu virus that is throwing everything above my sternum out of whack. My eyes are clearly not taking this illness well. I was prescribed pills that will relieve the symptoms of my nose, eyes, and throat. I am happy to be on my way to getting better.

I was sort of looking forward to the experience of having to stumble through my limited pharmacological vocabulary, but my host parents already had to visit the pharmacy today, so they picked up my script, too. My huge (larger than an M&M) pills are yellow and intimidating, but are manageable with plenty of water. My mom offered to make me soup, too. She said it’s not chicken soup like she knows is very popular in the US, but it does the trick. My host parents are being wonderfully supportive of my decision to lie in bed all day and watch bad romantic comedies. The soup was actually disturbingly orange and very disgusting, but with the addition of saltless saltines I was able to get it down. They both have been very helpful in my lesser state, taking care of me as they would their own daughter.

I’d like to take a moment to write about my spanish class. The 7 of us were placed in intermediate, but we are all truly on different levels. I’m definitely in the bottom 3.

Cast of characters: Alejandro (well, Alex) is a very outspoken guy who spends most of his nights partying hard and embraces Argentine culture by drinking mate everyday in class. Leonard is tall, dark, and handsome with an 76.5% positive reading on my gaydar. Ray is always asleep in class and when our teacher wakes him up, he responds with “what was the question?”. Sam is a guy who reminds me of Jake Szirme; it’s not that I have anything against him, we’re just not friends. Slater is a chap from Baltimore who is in love with DC sports. I’m not sure why he studied abroad because he doesn’t seem to like adventure at all. Then, there’s Shaina and myself. She’s a sweetie who is incredibly smart and going to discover the cure for a disease one day. We sit to the side and watch the madness from a safe distance.

Alex is always yelling in Spanish about something- anything really. Leonard rolls his eyes and always has his tiny Spanish dictionary in hand. Sam pokes Ray in the side when he starts to snore. And, Slater reads ESPN articles on his Mac.

Our teacher, Natacha, is a really nice person. She knows both languages well and is always ready to answer our questions. Our lessons are not very successful, though. We go over our homework, do a couple more worksheets from our packet, and then we start asking question because we get so bored with the normal routine. How do you say “maybe” in spanish? What’s the difference between para and porque? Why are there 18 types of bowls we have to memorize? Sugar bowl, fruit bowl, cereal bowl, mixing bowl. Can’t we just say bowl?!

At the end, we are assigned new homework and asked to read ahead in our novels. (We’re reading El Buscador de Finales. I had to go to 6 different bookstores before they actually had it in stock. I was so embarrassed when the man led me back to the children’s section and pulled my book off the shelf. It’s disappointing that I am having a lot of problems reading at a chapter book level here.) Class is a repetitive and tiresome process.

My other classes are going okay. The entire weekend I just spent snuggled up with my computer helped ease my homework load for this week. I’m not starting off behind. Monday is the first day of my internship. I will go to the classes and introduce myself in English. I was instructed not to use Spanish in the classroom. I am happy to oblige.

5 things that made me happy recently:

- Skyping home

- My awesome new hairpin that holds my bun like nobody’s business

- That I found a great restaurant that has a grande jarro of vino for 18 pesos and delicious & authentic northern AR food. And, it’s just down the street.

- My bed

- That groceries (including fresh produce and “expensive” pears) for the whole week cost me ~$20 USD.

ps, random picture for this post, I know. Truth is, I've been slacking on my picture taking, but I felt bad posting without anything but words. There's a cat on his shoulder!

XOXO

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

Best.