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.

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.

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.)

Learning the Hard Way…

I’ve been here a week now, and I have definitely learned a lot about living in Buenos Aires.  I’ve gotten use to the crazy schedule (staying out until 5am and going to class at 9:30) and have perfected the art of napping. I have learned how to avoid accepting counterfeit money as change, that Argentine guys are ridiculously persistent in the bars

Luckily, another girl from my program lives near me so we make the trek to orientation classes together.

and must be given a very cold shoulder and fake phone number, and that you have to push the button on the bus for your stop or you will end up going way too far.  (Yes, I learned most of these things the hard way.) I can navigate my way through a menu a little better (the empanadas are delicious), and quickly found the local dessert- alfajores. These are cookie sandwiches filled with the carmel-like dulce de leche which are sometimes covered in chocolate.  Yum… I realized quickly that it isn’t rude to yell for the waiter when he’s across the room- if you don’t he’ll never come over because he doesn’t want to bother you.

I do love that ordering a tea entitles you to the table for the afternoon, and today I took advantage of this to enjoy a lazy Sunday reading at a café.

I’ve already done a little too much shopping, but it is hard to resist as the prices are amazing.  And you have to buy leather boots when you’re here, right?

There was a power outage two days ago (yes, I survived a whole day with no phone or computer as both were in need of a charge.)  Though there was no water or light, it was kind of fun to live by candlelight.  And unfortunately, a neighbor realized I was borrowing their wireless internet and password protected it, so I am now unconnected- grr… Guess I have another excuse to go to a cafe.

Yesterday my program gave us a bus tour of the city.  We got to see the historic area of La Boca where the first immigrants lived and painted their houses with random paint that came in on ships.  (Hence the different colored sections on the walls.)  We visited the Casa Rosada (the equivalent of the White House) in the Plaza de Mayo where the mothers/grandmothers of the disappeared still protest.  We also toured my neighborhood a bit where street performers draw spectators and booths sell useless crafts.

I started my Saturday night at a traditional parilla, where meat is the specialty.  I went with a big group of girls and we ordered a bunch of entrees to share.  With several different types of meat and potatoes, I was left a-yearning for some veggies.  The beef, chicken, and pork were tasty for sure, but meat alone doesn’t really do it for me.  We did order some tomatoes, but for some reason the tomatoes here have a distinct twang that does not quite appeal to me.

I start classes next week, so I’ll keep you posted about all-Spanish lectures!