So long farewell, auf weidersehen, adios

It’s hard to believe that I really spent four months in Argentina, and that now it is over. Everyone warned me that coming home would be weird. An adjustment. And they were right. Returning to my normal life can only be likened to the sensation of waking up from an incredible dream, being dumped back into reality while grasping to hold onto the silky memory. Of wondering if it all really happened.

I’m not complaining about being home. I’ve never missed my family and friends so much, and I was definitely ready to come back. But now that I’m here I have a new place to be homesick for, and a new set of experiences to find a place for.

Last Week of Study Abroad:
My last week in Buenos Aires seemed surreal, even as it was happening. On Monday, my documentary, finally finished, premiered in a real movie theater. Intimately familiar with every frame of the film, I took in every laugh, hush, and fidget of the audience, amazed that my work actually inspired emotion, spontaneous clapping, and amusement. The final applause hit me with an overwhelming swell of pride that I hadn’t expected, like the rush I felt when the curtains closed on a play I was in, only better.

Much of Tuesday was spent on a paper that I’d unfortunately put off. Wednesday, I said goodbye to one of my favorite clubs, hoping my final the next morning wouldn’t be a complete disaster. Thursday morning, I purchased the frozen turkey I’d forgotten to buy the day before, threw it out of the cab at my friend on my way to the IES center, and made it to my final 20 minutes late. We attempted to cook a Thanksgiving lunch, but a series of mistakes left us with a make-shift meal that evening, just two hours before we had to be at the IES Farewell Dinner.

I somehow fit in a visit to see the Madres de La Plaza de Mayo, one of Buenos Aires’ must-sees that I had put off until my last day. For decades, they have protested the kidnapping of their children during a military dictatorship in Argentina. Though it wasn’t all that much to see, it was a small glimpse into the terrible history that I’d learned so much about.

That night, the goodbye reception was an odd experience for me. My bags were packed, my finals over, and this was the last time I’d see the people I’d shared the last few months with. But amidst the appetizers, the karaoke, and the one-act talent show, I felt like an onlooker witnessing a shared goodbye. It wasn’t this group of people that I was going to miss, it was the city itself, the experience. I would say my own farewell to Buenos Aires, and it wouldn’t be here, in a room where English was spoken and “YMCA boomed in my ears.

A few friends and I left the event, and went to our Argentine friend’s apartment. Okay, there was some English-speaking there as well, as some of his roommates were British. But at least there was a mixing of cultures: British, Argentine, Irish, and us. This was the Buenos Aires I had known, the one I would spend my last night with. We went out all together, and it was the perfect ending to an adventure that was more than I had dreamed it would be.

Not Really Over
Friday morning I woke up with study abroad shut tightly behind me. But I was still in Buenos Aires and was about to step into a new journey that I had been long anticipating. My parents had arrived that morning for a 10-day trip, and I had never been so excited to see them. In Buenos Aires, I was on my own in a way that I never had been before, and seeing them I realized how much I had missed home.

We spent three days in the city, visiting my favorite places, doing a bus tour, seeing a tango show. It was weird, being a tourist rather than a student, a daughter rather than a tenant. But it was great. I got to share my life with my parents and do all the touristy things I hadn’t gotten around to.

Our next destination: Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world. Everyone always describes mountain towns as nestled amid majestic peaks, and now I know why. The little colored houses were tucked perfectly into the rising folds and crests that swelled up behind the silvery water of the Beagle Channel. And though we were there for an unusual summer snowstorm, our tours brought us views were beyond spectacular. We boated around the Beagle Channel, seeing lighthouses and penguins, then visited a rustic ranch that, although gorgeous, was a little too intent on delivering the entirety of their tours despite the abominable weather. We visited a sled-dog training facility, which made me all the more intent on riding on a dogsled at least once in my life. Our last day, we hiked in the national park before boarding a plane for El Calafate.

This last stop was by far the most breathtaking in that the sights were almost otherworldly. We did another boat tour, but this time we were taken to see glaciers. The frosty blue glow of the walls of ice seemed artificial, and their immensity was hard to comprehend. Each glacier had its own stunning features, with craggy points and deep blue crevasses inspiring relentless flashes and clicks of greedy cameras.

Our last day of vacation, my dad and signed up for a mini-trekking adventure, which promised a small hike on the Pepito Moreno glacier. We didn’t realize that it would be one of the most memorable experiences yet. After strapping on crampons, we were guided across the ice into an alluring world of frozen towers and valleys whose blue tint still seemed unreal. It felt like walking amidst the clouds, and I wound through the glacial terrain overcome by wonder. We ended expedition at a wooden table stationed in an icy pocket, and toasted the experience with whisky and alfajores.

And that was it. We spent the next day and a half on planes and in airports, with a brief stop in Buenos Aires to say goodbye to my host mom and pick up my luggage. It was oddly sad seeing her for the last time. We had coexisted as friendly acquaintances for the majority of my stay, but during my last few weeks had become closer. I knew I wouldn’t keep in touch with her; she’d remain a character in my memory of Buenos Aires. I wouldn’t really miss her, but at the same time was sad to say goodbye.

Now, I’m on another plane, headed to Seattle to visit my sister. At times it is ridiculously easy to fall back into the rushed rhythm of life. It’s when everything slows down that my mind crawls back to overnight bus rides, late night breakfasts, La Bomba de Tiempo, empanadas, my week without money, the overcrowded public transportation… It was an adventure to be remembered, and I can only hope that one day I can go back and see it all again.

To everyone who read my blog, to those who commented, thank you for following my travels. It was good to know someone cared, that these posts weren’t for nothing. And that my adventures could be shared. Adios!

Uruguay, Tango, and Finally Fútbol

So I haven’t really posted in a while.  This isn’t due to a lack of blog-worthy adventures, but rather to too many.  The past two weeks, I’ve been working on a documentary, leaving me little time to eat, sleep, or blog.  But I have found opportunities for exciting experiences, even if I shuffled through them like a baggy-eyed zombie.

The first note-worthy trip was my day excursion to Colonia, Uruguay.  Only an hour away by ferry, the small, traditional town was beckoning, partly for its quaint sights, and partly for that one more passport stamp.  The town was gorgeous: cobbled streets gave rise to colorful buildings and curving, iron streetlamps.  Old-fashioned cars gleamed outside of umbrella-bedecked cafés.  There wasn’t a hwole lot to do other than wander through the artesian shops offering alfajores, jams, and typical souvenirs.  We tasted the typical Uruguayan “chivito” which was like the Big Mac of South American sandwiches, donning a fried egg, beef, ham, cheese, lettuce, and tomato.  Other than that, we made our way to the beach to relax for a bit before a stop for sweets and the return ride home on the “Buquebus” (boatbus).

The following weekend, I made an effort to see and do all the things I hadn’t gotten around to in my four months here.  I went to a peña, a venue where you can watch traditional Argentine music while sitting around a table with a bottle of “vino” (wine).  We even joined in the dancing, though we looked ridiculous, as we definitely did not know the steps to the folkloric dances.  The following night I actually went to a tango class.  It was a lot of fun meeting different dance partners and practicing my Spanish, but  got a little bored with the basic step, which is all we learned.

Sunday night was probably the most exciting.  A friend and I made a spontaneous trip to the somewhat-sketchy neighborhood of La Boca to see a Boca Junior “fútbol” (soccer) game. Argentina is crazy about its soccer, so going to a game is a must. Cops armored for battle lined the streets, alongside vendors hoping to peddle blue and yellow everything to all-to-eager tourists.  We were tricked by a scalper (yes, we got there too late to buy tickets from the legitimate venders), and ended up paying the price for real seats when we our tickets actually placed us in the “populares.”  This section is notorious for to-be-avoided-unruliness, as the rowdy mob turns dangerous on a regular basis.  We weaved our way through the festively-dressed crowd (of mostly men) and found a spot completely clear of fans.  It’s dumb now looking back on it, but we eagerly snatched our bit of open concrete and planted our feet there.  We didn’t realize why this area had been left unoccupied until sticky gobs splattered on our heads.  We nervously looked upward and realized the edge of the upper section, which housed the opposing team, ended directly above us.  Soon, bags of what I suspect was pee sailed over the edge, followed by beverages and an assortment of unidentifiable objects.  My friend and I shoved our way upward, under the protection of the balcony, though this was no easy task.  Despite the unanticipated deluge, the game was ridiculously fun.  The fans never stopped singing, hopping from one chant to the next, all the while jumping and shaking their fists with unparalleled zeal.  Boca won with four goals that inspired absolute chaos, and we joined in the fervor, chanting what we knew: “Dale Bo… Dale Boca…”

Bogged down…

This last week has been pretty stressful and I haven’t really been taking advantage of the fact that I’m in Buenos Aires.  Overwhelmed with finals, projects, and papers, I haven’t really left my room other than for classes or meals.  As I’m approaching the end of my time abroad, I’m filled with a mixture of excitement to be home and sadness that my great adventure will be over.  I have experienced so much, but there are still some things I want to do.  I still haven’t gone to a tango show!

Probably the most burdensome of all is the documentary I’m working on for a class.  It isn’t getting a good grade that is motivating me to put in tons of time on the project; it is that I actually do care.  I want it to turn out well, and that means tons of hours of filming and watching footage.  What has been frustrating is that we have to share the cameras with other groups who have been making it really hard for us to get our work done.

Other than that, I had a little issue with the laundry place refusing to give me my clothing without a ticket (I swear they never gave me one!) and problems with class registration back at Northwestern.  But now that I do have clothing and classes, I hope to enjoy my last two weeks worry free!

March of the Tourists

Thursday afternoon, my friends and I boarded an 18-hour-bus to northern Patagonia. Well, almost all of us did. Frances, however, missed the bus, and had to hire a taxi to race it to the next stop, where she arrived with only seconds to spare. It was a tense moment, and we were prepared to break out some stalling tactics.

When we finally arrived in Puerto Madryn, we checked into our cozy hostel room, which we shared with a Scottish traveler. The five of us Americans rented a car (don’t tell our program), picked up some delicious empanadas, and made way for Punta Tombo, the domain of the penguins. I had expected them to be clustered in a large mass of black and white, but the small creatures wandered the dusty landscape solo. Many were tucked away in dirt holes, incubating eggs that are soon to be hatched. It was incredible how comfortable they were with the fascinated humans chasing them with flashing cameras. They wobbled along, seemingly disinterested in our excited behavior. It was something I’d never expected to see, and the gorgeous seaside location only made it all the more enjoyable.

The following day, we rose bright and early for an all-day tour of Peninsula Valdez. We stopped at different spots along the coast to observe the various marine animals that inhabit the area. We saw everything from elephant seals to armadillos, and were able to get really close to the creatures. One stop included a whale watching boat ride, during which Frances and I felt nauseous and were given ‘just in case’ plastic bags by the crewmembers. But the seasickness was worth it. The whales came right up to the boat, surfacing, groaning, and spouting water. Their grey bumpy bodies were enormous, and the boat rocked when they swam below the vessel.

That night was Halloween, and though not many Argentines celebrate the holiday, we couldn’t skip it. We cooked pasta and garlic bread, and invited some Argentine friends-of-friends to join us at the hostel. My friend Lauren carved an Argentine vegetable that is small, green, and somewhat round to top the table, and we enjoyed some Patagonian chocolate to start off the night. Our new Argentine friends showed us the city, including one of its popular bars where we danced until morning.

A few hours later, the unfortunate trill of the alarm sounded as it was time for our final excursion. We dragged our leaden limbs out of bed and into taxis, which took us to the beachfront store where we wiggled into wetsuits. A short boat-ride and some mate later, we motored to a cove inhabited by lobos marinos, or sea lions. This is where we hesitantly jumped into the frigid water. It was so cold that my leg kept cramping up, rendering me momentarily unable to swim. We were promised contact with the creatures, but so far they were resting on the shore while we struggled in the cold water. Our guide made us swim back and forth incessantly to tempt the animals into the water. At this point, it seemed that our 400 pesos were going to have been wasted on a glacial swim. However, the sea lions got curious, and plopped into the water. They swam all around us, their formless bodies whirling and diving with natural grace. I kept reaching my hands out to touch them, but my three-fingered orange gloves kept scaring them away. I did finally have success and stroked one of their rubbery backs! One of them swam right up to me, its gentle eyes meeting mine before it flipped around and dove to the dark depths. The experience, though quite cold, was one of the best things I have ever done. It was amazing to be able to interact so closely with another species, and it was hard to leave.

A Lovely Getaway in Tigre

At first, I imagined an IES run weekend trip would be jammed with obligatory activities and tours, strictly organized to the point of boredom.  How wrong I was!  After dropping us off at a feria to browse and shop at our leisure then taking us to an art museum with a guided tour, they packed us on a boat to our island paradise.  The leisurely ride brought us to a secluded hotel consisting of private bungalows and a pool-side patio.  Due to the river’s proximity, all of the buildings were on stilts and reached by a network of suspended wooden pathways curving through the trees.  I felt like I was staying in some sort of tribal tree house, what with the birdsong and dense vegetation.

The evening brought bonding, food, and a light night pool run that sent us sprinting to our cabanas for a hot bath.  It was a pleasantly odd situation: vacationing with our professors and their significant others.  Running it all was Filomena, a frazzled and excitable woman that resembles an adult version of Dora the Explorer.  The following day was marked by meals: breakfast complete with pastries and fruit, a lunch asado of immense proportions, and pool-side teatime with muffins and rolls.  Between feedings, we soaked up the sun by the pool and in peddle-boats which we enjoyed in the river.  With sweeping branches curtaining the river banks, the day felt like a romance scene in a film.  (This is starting to feel like the theme of my life here!)  It was sad to leave, though the return passage brought more gorgeous river views. Buenos Aires’ port welcomed us home with the warm glow of lights glimmering in the water.

Spring fair and Spring Rolls

Keeping up with blog posts has been hard, both because I’m extremely busy and because I’ve gotten into a routine that leaves few new observations to write about.  This weekend, however, after a week of ridiculous amounts of homework,  I did have a few new adventures worth sharing.

Feria de Mataderos:

My program took us to a fair in a part of the city that historically was the slaugherhouse area for the massive quantities of Argentine beef to be exported (hence the name mataderos).  Upon arrival, one immediately noticed the gaucho influences: men in old-fashioned hats, stands selling food and panchos, etc.  It was the perfect place to buy souvenirs, as one could find anything from knives to jewelry to mate gourds.  Of course the free samples of cheese, jams, and dulce de leche were particularly appealing, though I did get tired of pretending to be interesting in purchasing their wares.  After buying a few gifts and consuming a few too many empanadas, we boarded the bus home.

Barrio Chino:

What would a big city be without a Chinatown? (Though in this case, it’s more like China Street.)  It was a big feat for my friends and I to be on a whole new quadrant of the map, and we were really excited walking down the cluttered road.  Shops bursting with plastic trinkets and dangling lanterns alternated with restaurants offering a change of pace from Argentine beef.  Though the food wasn’t quite like Chinese food in America (Wonton soup was more like Wonton water), it tasted great after not having eaten much other than ham, beef, and empanadas for the last few months.  Deciphering the menu was a particular challenge, as the plates were listed as Spanish translations of the Chinese dishes.  Sleepy and full, we rode the subte (subway) back ready to start another week of classes.

Spring Break: The Biggest Adventure Yet

Last week, I got a break from classes (yes, I actually do have classes, homework, and papers) and got to enjoy a week of travel through Chile and Argentina.  It was one of the best trips I’ve ever been on, as I did so many things I’d only dreamed about.

Santiago:

Our first stop was Santiago, Chile.  I have to admit, I wasn’t particularly fond of the smoggy, crowded city.  The fact that every waiter and subway employee warned us to be careful probably didn’t help my already skeptical opinion.  To be fair, I was expecting something new and fresh, and after living in Buenos Aires for two months another Lain American city probably can’t produce the ‘wow’ factor.  We did enjoy a delicious meal in which we tried traditional Chilean dishes.  The most delicious by far was the pastel de choclo, which was a thick corn substance in which you could dig for tasty treasures such as meat or potatoes.  Besides some bad seafood and a touristy ride up a hill to see a statue of Mary, we toured one of Pablo Neruda’s houses.  This was actually really interesting, as the home was built like a boat and decorated really eccentrically.

Viña del Mar/ Valparaiso:

While Santiago was a bit disappointing, I found my new favorite place in the world just two hours away. Viña del Mar and Valparaiso, neighboring Chilean towns resting on a hilly seaside, were the most charming and beautiful places I’ve ever been.

Viña del Mar boasts curving coastlines that harbor palm trees and castles. Valparaiso was equally as scenic, but with a quirkier personality.  Brightly colored houses speckled hills that plunged into glittering ports.  Everyone was relaxed and friendly, wandering the streets or spending the afternoon in a cafe.  Art galleries and fairs that sold artesian goods were fun to browse.  And of course, I made a few purchases: alpaca socks, fanny packs, indigenous jewelry.

Mendoza:

It was hard to leave the sunny coast, but I was excited for the rest of our trip.  We boarded the overnight bus to Mendoza, Argentina.  I was used to long bus rides, but this one proved to be a little more difficult than usual.  We were roused in the middle of the night and ushered off the bus to go through customs on the Chilean-Argentine border.  Unprepared for such circumstances, the hour-long wait in the callous cold was almost unbearable.  Finally, passports stamped and luggage inspected, we were allowed to return to the comfort (sort of) of our bus.

When we finally arrived early the next morning, our hostel graciously allowed us an early check-in so we could get a few hours of much needed sleep before our first adventure: paragliding.  Aerial sports were never really something I had considered attempting since the thought of dangling mid-air thousands of feet above ground sounded more miserable than pleasant.  However, after hearing others’ accounts of the tranquility and remarkable views I decided to give it a try.  I was slightly nervous but had heard enough about it to know that it would not be a scary experience.  We drove higher and higher into the mountains before dropping off my friends (who would go next) and continuing on.  The takeoff felt like something out of a cartoon.  Attached to a guide and a giant sail, I was instructed to start running across the plateau to the cliff’s edge.  A bit nervous about what would happen when I reached it, I obeyed.  And what do you know, I ran and ran and next thing I knew my legs were still moving but I no longer felt the ground beneath them.  It was like the moment right before the cartoon character realizes they’ve run off a cliff when they’re still suspended in the air.  Only the fall never came.  The ride was ridiculously serene.  I was seated, flying through the air, and gazing down upon the mountains landscape below.  The guide even treated me to aerobatics- we did a full spin!  This was definitely one of the most amazing things I’d ever done.

Until the next day’s excursion: climbing a mountain in the Andes.  We signed up for a day of trekking, not really sure what was in store for us.  Led by two Argentine guides, our group set off up the steep mountainside cluttered with wobbly rocks and slick patches of snow.  The high altitude made each breath a laborious process and left me slightly light-headed.  Visions of myself sitting on the mountainside waiting for the group to finish and come down to get me flashed through my mind.  I honestly didn’t know if I was going to make it.  But, four hours and a few thorn injuries later, we reached the top of Arenales.  Textured ridges and snowy peaks surrounded us as we picnicked atop the summit.  I’d never felt so accomplished!  And I have to say, a ham sandwich never tasted so good.  The descent was even more tricky, as the skittering rocks torqued my ankles and knees and we kept sliding on the snow.  That night, we relaxed and enjoyed a delicious asado prepared by our hostel while getting to know our fellow travelers.

While our adventures so far were great, we had to spend our final day touring Mendoza’s most famous attractions: the bodegas. We boarded a bus to visit three such wineries, and the tour ended up being just us.  Each tour showed us the methods of production, taught us a bit about the process and different flavors, and let us taste a few wines.  It was really interesting to learn about how the different flavors are created.  Of course, the lunch that was included in the excursion was equally as enjoyable.  The table was covered with a delicious spread which we quickly learned was only the appetizer.  Followed by four courses and a dessert, the meal left us full and sleepy.

San Juan:

There is really no reason to go to San Juan other than to see the rock formations in the Valley of the Moon, which is what we had planned to do.  However, due to some planning errors, the tour cost quite a bit more than anticipated and entailed 12 hours on a bus before our 10 hour bus ride that night.  There was a bit of a panic when we abandoned the original plan and realized our detour to San Juan was completely in vain.  However, it turned out to be one of the best days of the trip.

After talking with the hostel employees about free excursions, we boarded a bus that was packed with locals.  It took us about an hour outside of town, and the ride was better than any tour bus I’d ever been on.  We drove through leafy villages where children played in the streets and rudimentary buildings dotted the landscape.  The bus finally dropped us off on the side of a dusty road that seemed to stretch on forever.  The only thing in sight was the sign that read “Costa Magna.”  After a brief hike, we reached our destination:  a lakeside beach.  Seeing as it was a weekday, the cabana-lined sand was vacant; we had found our own private paradise.  We spent the afternoon sunning and picnicking on the water’s edge before making our way back to the road, hoping the bus would return.  That night, we cooked a delicious stir fry, garlic bread, and salad before boarding the bus to our final destination.

Cordoba/ Villa General Belgrano:

There really isn’t much to do in Cordoba other than visit the churches and historic buildings that look pretty much the same as the ones in Buenos Aires or any other major city in South America.  However, Villa General Belgrano, a town two hours away populated by German immigrants had an attraction that we couldn’t pass up: Oktoberfest.

A huge festival, the event draws thousands of people who go to drink beer, eat bratwurst, and enjoy traditional music and dance shows.  Oktoberfest has a very specific regimen.  Step 1: Buy a beer mug.  Step 2: Attach it to the sash that you also purchase.  Step 3: Fill it with an assortment of beers which you sample with bratwurst and sauerkraut.  To me, all the brews tasted equally disgusting.  But, I figured I had to look to my German heritage and give it a try.  Unfortunately, a huge storm rolled in, so we rolled out.  But, it was an experience to remember.

Breaking Barriers: My Weekend in San Pedro

I’ve traveled a ton, tried lots of new things, and explored many different aspects of Buenos Aires.  But it wasn’t until this weekend that I really felt like I broke through the tourist experience and got a real view of how the Argentines live.

An Argentine student, named Yanina, invited my friend Catherine and I to go home with her for the weekend to the town of San Pedro (about 3 hours from Buenos Aires).  We arrived Friday night and were welcomed by her parents who were really excited to give us a taste of San Pedro and made sure we tried lots of new things.  Tired from our journey, the three of us retreated into her room for some much needed sleep.

Saturday morning we shared the first of many mate experiences with her parents and met her pets: two dogs and a duck.  For lunch, Yanina’s parents cooked us yet another asado of endless meat, chorizo, and blood sausage.  It was delicious (though I didn’t quite understand the draw of the blood sausage).  Chatting with them was great Spanish practice, and they welcomed us into their household like part of the family.  However, our American habits did seem a bit odd to them and they teased me for cutting my meat into such small pieces and for drinking water with a meal.

Later in the afternoon, Catherine, Yanina, her boyfriend, and I relaxed in her friend’s horse pasture where we rode and drank mate.  (I even drank mate while on the horse!)  There was a four-year-old neighbor there who was riding the pony around while squealing and singing the entire time.  Needless to say, we were quite entertained.

Back at her house, we met her grandparents and tried the traditional San Pedro treat: ensaymada, a large round pastry filled with cream, dulce de leche, or half of each (ours was of the half-and-half type).  I didn’t like it all that much, but it was great to sit around the table, passing around a mate cup, and getting to know her family.

San Pedro is known for having a beautiful riverside landscape, ensaymada, growing oranges, and its annual country music festival, which happened to be this weekend.  We stopped by to see swarms of cowboy-hatted Argentines relaxing at the outdoor event, which featured mostly American artists.

That night, a bunch of her girlfriends came over, and they loved teaching us slang words and laughing about our complete ignorance of such things.  They took us out to a friend’s birthday party and then to the clubs for a typical San Pedro experience.  They accepted us into their group, and for the first time I really felt immersed in the Argentine society.  Until now, I’ve felt like a foreigner on vacation, an outsider to a fascinating world.  But spending the weekend with Yanina gave me an opportunity to integrate myself, and I absolutely loved it.

Goodbye Buenos Aires, hello Salta!

This last week, I burst into tears for the first time in awhile, was temporarily homeless for the second time this quarter, and ate more red meat than I thought humanely possible.  Allow me to start at the beginning.

Last Thursday my purse was stolen at a dance club, meaning I had no money, credit cards, phone, or apartment keys.  (I had lost my debit card a few days before.)  I was stuck outside all night until my program building opened the next morning and I could get help.  I was okay, but unfortunately I am still dealing with the incident.

Getting credit cards mailed from a foreign country takes a lot longer than I expected.  When my credit card finally arrived, it did me absolutely no good because almost every store here requires cash.  And no bank would let me use my credit card to take out money while I was awaiting the arrival of my debit card.  I spent days trying to work out cash advances and money transfers, hoping the other card would arrive.  Well, Thursday rolled around, the day I was scheduled to board a 22-hour bus to northern Argentina for a weekend getaway, and still no sign of the long-awaited package.  To make matters worse, all my clothing was at the lavandería, a place that washes your clothes for you (no, I’m not ridiculously lazy- this is just how things are done here) and I didn’t have enough cash left to pay to get it back.  And when I say all my clothing, I mean all of it except the skirt and top I was wearing.

After one final phone call in an attempt to procure money through an agent who spoke way too fast (in Spanish, mind you), tears just burst from my eyes.  I wasn’t expecting this at all.  It was completely irrepressible- my eyes just started leaking and I just felt hot drops slithering down my cheeks.  I was in the middle of the IES center, and I felt absolutely ridiculous.  But I felt so helpless and frustrated that I just broke down.

Luckily, I was able to negotiate my way into getting my clothes and borrow money from a friend during the trip for tours, food, and hostels.

Which brings me to my brief period of homelessness.  (I was in a similar situation when my keys were stolen and I couldn’t get into my apartment).  Coincidentally, our weekend in Salta coincided with the once-a-year concert of Argentine rock star Indio Solari.  Fans flocked to the rural town from all over South America.  Booking a hostel online was nearly impossible, as everything was full.  But my friend Chelsea and I managed to find one.  Or so we thought…

When we arrived, we were told the website had tricked us and that there was actually no room for us.  The woman called around to try to find somewhere for us to stay, but everything was booked.  Visions of us sleeping on the side of the road next to scruffy stray dogs haunted my mind for the next hour or so.

But, it’s funny how the longer you talk to people, the more the story changes.  We spoke some more with the hostel owner, and she began to feel bad for us.  (I think the fact that we could speak Spanish helped our case).  She somehow realized she did have beds for us for Friday and Sunday night and said we could sleep on the floor for Saturday.

And now to the red meat…

That night, after dealing with such obstacles, we decided to take it easy.  We ended up grilling at the hostel with a group of Argentinean 20-somethings who were there for the concert.  It was a lot of fun sitting around the barbecue, practicing our Spanish, and getting to know some new people.  The asado (barbecue) took hours to cook, so by the time it was done I ate way too much meat.

The next day, we roamed the countryside on horseback.  And let me tell you, this was no ordinary trail-ride where the horses mundanely follow the leader.  We were at an estancia for the day and the gaucho who took us out kept asking us if we wanted to gallop.  He would run alongside our horses with his whip, revving them up with excited shouts, and they would take off at incredible speeds.  I was gripping on with all my strength, terrified that I was going to bounce off, but at the same time thrilled to by flying along the dusty path in the undulating rhythm of the horse’s gait.  Midday, we were treated to yet another asado in which each course was a new type of meat or chorizo (sausage).  I couldn’t pass up a new cut, so needless to say, I was ridiculously full and in need of a siesta.

That night, we slept at the ranch (which solved our hostel issue), and this in itself was a great experience.  We sat by the fireside conversing with the gauchos who lived and worked there.  It was incredible to talk with people whose lifestyles were so far removed from modern society.  I felt like I was peeking into the past, talking to characters out of my history book.

What made it really great was that we met a woman from Switzerland who, after a year of travel, had decided to settle down and work at the ranch for a few months before going home.  She shared her experience with us, recounting details from her stay in the countryside, lamenting the issues she witnessed while praising other aspects of isolated life.  This was probably one of my favorite days in Argentina so far, because I really felt I understood something about another culture.

The next morning, we woke up early and boarded a bus for an excursion to a nearby town.  The views on the drive were gorgeous, as we drove for hours through shadowy valleys and mountains of bitter reds and mottled greens.  We tried a local custom of shoving coca leaves into our mouths to prevent altitude sickness.  (Yes, this is the plant from which cocaine is made, but in natural leaf form it doesn’t work the same way.)  The plant had a pungent flavor and was slightly uncomfortable wadded up in my cheek for hours.  But, who knows? Maybe it did something for me.

The actual town of Cachi was honestly not worth the four-hour drive.  And though I kept telling myself it’s about the journey and not the destination, I had severe doubts about the veracity of this saying.  One could walk from one end of the village to the other in a matter of minutes.  Sure, it was quaint, but after about 15 minutes we’d seen it all and were pretty much done besides the asado for lunch in which I had my first taste of goat meat.

That night, empañadas were in order, as they are a specialty in Salta.  These pastry pockets are stuffed with cheese, chicken or beef jerky and are ridiculously delicious.  It was the perfect last night to our trip.  (And yes, there was more meat for lunch and dinner on the bus ride home.)

Mighty Ducks!

In the US, when one pictures a park, one thinks of a playground crawling with children, adolescent males shoving each other on the basketball court, and maybe a few dogs pursuing Frisbees.  In Buenos Aires, the park brings a truly different experience.  This Sunday, a few exchange students and I met up with some Argentines.  As you may imagine, everything here is closed on the seventh day.  As a result, everyone flocks to the park.

Elderly people rest on benches, families stroll along walkways, and young couples cuddle on blankets.  You’ll be sure to see guitarists serenading their friends, vendors peddling everything you could ever want to purchase, and street performers entertaining tourists.  There are people everywhere.  And of course, no matter which direction you turn, you will see somebody drinking mate.  Argentines bring a thermos of hot water and a bag of the yerba mate, then pass the communal cup amongst each other.

The biggest difference is that people here spend the afternoon at the park doing virtually nothing but enjoying the day.  There is no planned activity or expectations.  One goes to the park just to be there.  There are so many different people that watching the scene is a pursuit in itself.

This particular outing, we enjoyed facturas (pastries that are absolutely delicious) and of course some mate as well.  The Argentines brought crackers that we crumbled up and fed to the fish.  However, some ducks swooped in on the complimentary snack, which is when things really started to get interesting.  The whole flock suddenly ganged up on one duck.  All we could see was a writhing mass of feathers and bills assailing one struggling creature.  Horrified, we tried throwing crackers at them to distract them from the inexplicable beaking.  They calmed a little, but still didn’t leave their victim alone.

The brutal bird gang eventually waddled onto shore where the violence continued.  And let me tell you, the violent act drew more of a crowd than any of the street performers did.