The Princess and the Carrot

Thursday, December 27th, 2012
Food taken care of, we had to make a run to the store to take care of any other needs. This meant a trip to Wal Mart, which is almost as uncomfortable for me as staying in a church, but I wasn't in a position to go elsewhere.

We rushed in to buy food, toiletries and anything else we didn't fit in our meager luggage. Admittedly, I am kind of a health nut so when I realized we would be mostly eating PB&J's for lunch and dinner, I was a bit alarmed. In addition to not being all that healthy, they're not all that nourishing and satisfying either. I really didn't want to dish out any unnecessary cash, but I couldn't compromise on vegetables. I picked up some carrots (cheers to Cory, the carrot king) and cucumbers intended for pickling, making them a nice snack size.

While perusing the veggies, I noticed the bags of collared greens, the accent and vernacular of those around me and how they were dressed. I was definitely in the South. And despite being part of the US, I think I would relate to some foreign countries' cultures than I would with the culture here. Not in a derogatory way. It's just that it feels that different to me. Plus, I'm a West Coast girl through and through. Macklemore and Sol will always trump dirty gangster rap.

40 bucks later, I trudged out with my supplies for the week, hoping carrots and Kashi would keep my stomach happy.

Now it's time for bed.
I should probably mention we're sleeping on the cushy congregation chairs that we pushed together. Other than the 6 distinct square outlines comprising my overall area of sleep, I could hardly tell. Nikki, princess of sleep, fell asleep on impact.

Atlanta at Last

Wednesday, December 26th, 2012
We've been meeting up every Thursday for the past 2 months in preparation for this trip, talking about issues we're going to encounter, how to shape our attitudes and beliefs and getting to know our teammates. And now the day is finally here.

As you can see, I had to cut my winter break short and come back to Moscow the day after Christmas. I packed my things in my tiny car, hoping for decent weather and kind of dragged my feet at the thought of leaving. Of course I was excited, but it is hard to leave a comfort zone, heading into the unknown.

I had clear roads and made it safely to Moscow, had time to clean my new apartment and move in a bit (this is going to be an adventure in and of itself...) but before I got too comfortable, it was time to leave again.

We all boarded the bus taking us to Spokane for our flight leaving at the friendly hour of 5am. As sparkling snow collected on the road, I fell asleep freezing, dreaming in Spanish.

We had little troubles checking in and I almost made it through security unscathed, but had to get rechecked because security found something questionable in my suitcase--a half kilo...of mate.
For those of you that didn't keep up with my blogging in Argentina, mate (pronounced maw-tay, not like g'day mate) is the dried leaves of the yerba mate plant that packs a punch of strong flavor and energy. It is the drink of the gods, thus making it the natural national drink of Argentina (just kidding. My Argie ego isn't that big). It looks like drugs, I suppose, and I'm addicted to it like drugs, but the TSA officer just gave me a look suggesting he thought I was some kind of dirty, worldly hippie. But I passed through to board our flight and immediately fell asleep onboard. Which is a new thing for me...

After a long day of traveling, we arrived to the swirling sunset in Atlanta at last. We were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to head to our new "home" but Hertz had some complications. In addition to giving away our reserved rental cars (seriously, what's the deal with rental car reservations. Seinfeld was right), they wouldn't let our advisor pay with his credit card since it didn't match the name on the reservation, even though he represented our university.

Old Nikki would have gone into stress mode. But reformed pseudo-Argentine Nikki sat down and enjoyed some cards and yoga with her peers. I knew we'd get a car and eventually get out of the airport. We did both. So in the meantime, I wasn't going to stress about it. Namasté.

Enterprise didn't seem to have any issues with our situation and gave us the full hook-up with some Dodge Caravans. The Black Knight and the White Stallion rolled out in a strange cavalcade--living up to their names, I suppose. It didn't take long before we passed by the glimmering lights of Atlanta. Some buildings glowed a peach color, fitting, being that Georgia is known for its peaches. I was surprised and impressed by the sparkling architecture, already excited to be somewhere new and was glad that Atlanta was breaking my expectations.

A few Apple maps mishaps later, we found our home base for the trip--Berea Mennonite church. Pastor John awaited us outside and gave us a tour of his sanctuary, which sits on several acres, despite being in the city. He was already amicable and excited to have us.

Now I know what you're thinking--wait, Nikki, you're on a religious service trip?!?! But hold on. While we will be staying at the church and doing work there, it is not a service trip, nor are there any religious components. It merely happened to play out this way. I'm still as non-theist as ever, so it is kind of strange having a glowing cross as my night light, but anyone can appreciate the generosity and compassion of a stranger that hosts you like family. Plus I know next to nothing about Mennonites so I am looking forward to understand their beliefs and background better.

Regardless of religion, hunger is a universal and all of us were praying to the food gods. We were answered by a cute neighborhood pizza joint that put me in an even better mood when I walked in and heard the cool notes of Air's "La Femme D'Argent" floating through the speakers. You're alright, Atlanta.

Atlanta ASB 2012-2013

Well, I'm sure some of you have checked up on my blog only to see that I appeared to have died in Argentina in June of this year. My trip details are etched out in a word document that I increasingly lagged in writing. Sometimes in the course of documenting your life, you get lost living it. We're almost a year after my very first day and I have to say that Argentina still rises and sets with the sun, almost as my sun every single day. It rattles around in my heart and flickers constantly in my mind. Argentina, I am a thunderstorm for you.

I'm still coming to terms with Argentina and how it changed me, but meanwhile, I am now on my Alternative Service Break (ASB) with my university in Atlanta, Georgia.

So what's an ASB trip?
It's a university coordinated volunteering trip to specific domestic and international sites to give students opportunities for service work in new places with new people. And it happens over 2/3 of our winter break...so we're giving up that time to give our time to others. Maybe that sounds self righteous, but we do work hard. And unlike some volunteering projects that are poorly organized, we are working full days doing a variety of tasks to keep us on our feet (literally...). We met weekly for 2 months leading up to the trip to get to know one another and discuss the issues and our motives/goals/expectations for the trip. We all had ideas but something tells me those will change and grow as we do on the trip.

Hotlanta Dream Team 2012 consists of 11 students and a staff member from various majors and walks of life. Not to mention all those on the ground that we're serving with. We're volunteering at 3 different organizations for the next 12 days: Open Hand Project (a super charged soup kitchen of a different sort), Berea Mennonite church and Mad Housers (homeless shelter).

Perhaps the most notable thing about the ASB trip is the word service. I say "those we serve with" not only to refer to the coordinators and supervisors of the organizations we're partnered with, but also those of whom we are "serving". This is to avoid the connotative power constructs that can come with words like "help" , meaning they are unable to help themselves, without paying attention to the contexts of the service. Thus the other key aspect of this trip: the story. We're not pretending to solve poverty, hunger or even complete all the projects we've undertaken--what we can do is listen to the stories of those with whom we interact, giving us better tools to continue to tackle the problem as well as figuring out how they play a role in our stories as individuals, lending our creativity, perspective and diligence to make a change in the world, if only but for a moment.

This is key for me, because after 2 conversations with complete strangers on a park bench in Mendoza, Argentina, I realized that the meaning of life is the story: telling ours, hearing others', changing our stories, changing others', adding new chapters and rewriting some. The narrative paradigm, as it's called, is a real theory and at its heart suggests that we're all storytellers, so here I am telling you part of mine.

Y no dejamos de comer

Sunday, June 3^rd

Lara is one of my favorite Argentines. She was my professor for my intensive in month in February, and I continued to have class with her in the regular semester, so in a way she’s “been there” throughout my entire experience here. The only thing she loves more than Buenos Aires is literature—so, yeah, saying she’s a gem is an understatement. I felt a little bad for the other students in our Latin American Cultural Studies class, because there are 3 of us from her intensive month class and it’s clear that she doesn’t mind playing favorites, especially when those favorites give her gum, candy and actually participate in the class.

One day before class, she asked me to talk to her in the other room and I thought, oh god, did I have a grammatical trainwreck that she overheard?? No. She was inviting me and a few other students over to meet her family and have a leisurely afternoon of snacks and chatting. As a big fan of snacks and chatting and Lara, I was all in.

The day finally came and after the most convoluted bus-catching affair (come on 29, I waved my 2-liter Coke at you while I was running and you still didn’t wait for me?!) I arrived to Lara’s place and was greeted by her man candy, Pablo, who might be too good to be true—he’s funny, listens to good music and is too nice. While I arrived perfectly on time by Argie standards, everybody else was already there, so I felt like I was late. Luckily we were still going strong on snacks, though. As the afternoon went on, we all ate a little more, laughed a little louder and talked a little more. Meeting Lara’s precious little daughter was great too. She laughed, cooed and danced—and absolutely refused to go to bed because she was missing out on all the fun.

While it escapes me what all we talked about (though I’ll never forget Lara reading the opening paragraph of Catcher in the Rye…), I left feeling happy, full and fortunate to know these 3 people in a city of 3 million. I’ve generally always maintained a pretty close rapport with my teachers, and Lara is no exception. She is passionate, intelligent and congenial. Indirectly, she was there in my lowest moment of the experience (when I first arrived), and she helped me celebrate one of my highest moments, merely sharing food, stories and time with her family. I have to come back to Argentina, even just to share a coffee with her—that curly hair and rrrrrrrolling r’s and all.

Oleeeeee, ole, ole, ole, Messiiiiiiii, Messiiiiiii

Saturday, June 2^nd, 2012

Admittedly, I am not a soccer fan. At all. But I would feel a little ashamed of myself knowing that I was in Argentina and didn’t catch one single match, so the Argentina v. Ecuador game was the perfect opportunity. For one thing, it was WAY cheaper than I thought it would be, ~$50, and nobody was stabbed after the game in the typical soccer rivalry violence.

We set out for River Stadium knowing basically how to get there, but then we realized it would be impossible to get lost because there were hundreds of people walking to the stadium decked out in Argentina’s flag and colors. I’ve never really been a sports fan or had “school spirit”, but it was pretty cool to see so many people rooting for their team (and therefore their country). Not to mention, I love the Argentine flag, and it was everywhere. You’d think it was 9 de Julio (Arg. Independence day).

We finally got there (after much ado over which entrance we needed) and while it was horribly windy and cold, with seats made of concrete (that probably haven’t been cleaned since they were made) we were excited, especially as we watched more and more fans pour in. Because it wasn’t a very important game, there was only one section for Ecuador, which they filled in nicely, even coordinating their thunderstick colors to match their flag.

As we waited for the match to start, I realized that the soccer field looked gigantic, but tiny at the same time. When I watch soccer on TV (which is practically never) the fields always look so huge. Like it would take you 10 minutes to run the whole field. But all those aisles up, and it looked like the pee-wee fields I used to play soccer in when I was 9. Then when the players filed onto the field, it seemed immense again as they looked like little specks against the vast greenness. I couldn’t even get a non-blurred photo of the game because the zoom was that close up.

It didn’t take long before I really started getting into the game, but obviously my slight interest was nothing compared to the passion of the people around me. I had a family sitting next to and behind me, and the 10 and 14 year old boys were screaming things that would have gotten my mouth rinsed with soap for things as simple and harmless as failed passes. LA CONCHA DE TU MADREEEEEEE!!!!!! QUE PUTOOOOO! Or just getting mad when anyone on the Argentine team had the ball and didn’t immediately pass it to Messi.

And while I’m about as versed in soccer as I am in molecular biology (which is to say I am not), I was well aware of the god-like status Lionel Messi possesses in the soccer world. Normally he plays for FC Barcelona, but being that he is Argentine, he plays for the national team when appropriate. Normally I am never drawn to athletes because I think they’re over-glorified, over-paid and over-idolized and while I’ll admit they’re talented, I have never liked watching sports so on me, their talent is lost. But Messi…alright I understand the hype because that guy was a one man soccer show. I’m not even really sure he needed any of the other players. His skills are incredible. He could maneuver a ball through just about any situation, at full speed. No wonder the whole world is obsessed with him.

Being that Messi is unstoppable, Ecuador put up their best fight but were unable to score any goals and we won. The crowd went craaaazy. But being that Ecuador is just Ecuador, the crowd was fairly calm. Had this been a Boca/River game (aka the 2 clubs in BA) there probably would have been gunshots and butterfly knives. Who knows. Though we did have to wait until all the Ecuador fans had cleared the stadium to ensure their safety. Which seemed less safe, as the more we waited, the more people seemed to curse the slow Ecuadorians. And despite how offensive and racist porteños can get, they’re in my top 3 things to listen to when they get like that. Sometimes you’d swear they’re speaking Italian/bird/sign language all at once. Nope. Solamente el castellano porteño. It’s a souvenir I wish I could bring with me, because listening to English just sucks now that I’ve heard Argentine Spanish…that's going to be hard to cope with when I get back to the US...but for now DALE ARGENTINAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Back to La Boca

Friday, June 1^st, 2012

Ok, it’s terrible to admit it, but it had been a while since I’d been to La Boca neighborhood (more specifically, El Caminito, where all the houses are painted) and I was up for a tourist adventure to get some more pictures.

I KNOW El Caminito is the venus flytrap of tourism in BA, but, I wanted to re-explore it and see if there was supposed to be more to it than taking pictures in what they want you to believe is the most Buenos Aires-y part of the city. Maybe even find out a little bit of its history…

Nope. We were snapping away on our cute little colored Canons being accosted by every single vendor, restaurant owner and anyone else trying to make a buck off the tourists passing by. It was so uncomfortable. You could be the ugliest person on earth and they’d still swarm you saying how beautiful you are, so being even kind of attractive, it took us 5 minutes to walk 5 feet.

The more and more I travel, the more and more I feel uncomfortable being a tourist because even though there are certain things you have to see, like La Boca, there are other things you have to discover or enjoy from your own point of view without being interrupted by wide-eyed tango dancers hoping to score $30 for a photo with tango poses that I don’t even know how to dance. It feels fake. Obviously tourism can make or break a local/national economy and I do the “touristy” things in almost every city I visit, but something I’ve realized that in 4 months, I’ve visited more sites in Argentina and Buenos Aires then some of the natives themselves—but before I toot my own horn about that, I realize that it could be because even thinking about being surrounded by gobs of tourists in your own city/country might be the most unbearable thought so as to prevent you from ever going to see these attractions. But then other attractions, like our bike ride through Circuito Chico in Bariloche, are just so spectacular that touristy or not, you have to experience it. It wasn’t about buying screen-printed t-shirts and snapping some kind of clichéd photo, but rather breathing in fresh air and scraping our jaws off the floor after every curve, presenting a new and incredible view. Unfortunately Boca does not offer this type of experience…

As we were walking, I happened to catch the eye of a service worker cleaning up some gated up mess, and while normally I avoid talking to guys like this (because they give me that “I’d love to defile you, little foreign girl” look), he gave me a nice smile and said buen día. As Melanie was having a crisis with all her photos turing out pure white, I shot the breeze with the Peruvian. Sometimes conversations like this can be uncomfortable because you can usually still see the “omg I’m talking to a 20 something pretty gringa girl!” look in their eyes and catch them throwing out a few creepy lines, but I still like to have them because it’s always a great way to practice my Spanish and hear new, interesting perspectives. In five minutes of talking we were already discussing religion and the social condition of Peruvians in Argentina (which is poor). And as I bid the Peruvian adieu, I tried to think of the last time I talked with a trash-worker about religion and social justice in the states, which was about, oh…never. It’s what I love most about this country, and really what I love about life—the conversation.

But another reality about life in Argentina set in, and with the sun getting a little too low, we knew it was time to leave La Boca. Like a pro, I hailed the 64 and as we passed through the neighborhood I noticed other little houses exactly like the ones in the famous Caminito—the only difference was that these houses weren’t painted. And I started to wonder if a coat of paint could really make that much difference, because nobody was snapping pictures of these houses, despite the fact that they probably represent the real Boca more than anything en el Caminito.

The problem with "How I Met Your Mother"

It is such a good show that when I have free time at the house, I watch it instead of writing...But I'm working now...more to come...

A day with Angela

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Still lagging from my night that ended at 5:30am, I managed to get myself up for my shopping date with Angela. We went to her favorite outlet, Libra Latina, where I picked up 2 cardigans, because apparently I’m all about cardigans here. I’ve bought 4 since my arrival. I’m compensating for not having brought a sweatshirt...On a highly vain note, I also decided I’m sick of my personal style because I only have the wardrobe I brought with me (and half of it doesn’t even really work anymore because it’s winter) and despite how much shopping I’ve done, I really haven’t bought that many clothes because Buenos Aires is pretty expensive and if you go too cheap, the quality shows. Or it’s the case where I’ve bought something really cute (fairy princess skirt from Zara) and I can’t wear it because I feel weird being dressed up but then having wet hair because it takes about 30 minutes to fully blowdry my hair. I just don’t feel like I look like myself here. Yeah, yeah, there’s a lot to be said about going all natural and I appreciate not having to spend time doing my hair and makeup (even though it doesn’t take me that much time anyway), but I feel better when I am more confident about my appearance. Maybe that makes me vain, but I don’t like my noodly brown hair and bushy eyebrows. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I am really anxious to come home and look like me again.

But alas, I digress. And while I complained about my personal style and appearance, Angela assured me there was nothing awry, meanwhile, I did the same for her. Confirming that indeed, I am my own worst critic.

Not finding anything cute nor affordable, we passed by a cafe and stopped for a coffee. And despite all the traveling I’ve done, I can’t help but feel like my cafe dates are still the best part of being in here. You can talk for hours about anything and nobody is rushing you to get out—not to mention my love of submarinos...Perhaps the pivotal moment of this conversation was when we both realized how much we love cereal and how much meaning there actually is in cereal: the plot where you tell yourself it’s OK to keep pouring bowls of Kix because the milk to cereal ratio is never right, so you have to “correct it” by pouring more of each...the conversation culminated in a topic very personal for me: Team Cheerios. What happened to them, and when are they coming back? But Angela pointed out I could just make my own Team Cheerios by mixing honey nut, frosted and multi grain Cheerios. THIS WOMAN IS A GENIUS. How did I never realize this? A moment of pure friendship as we laughed and laughed about cereal. Argentina has excellent food, but it’s got nothing on cereal.  

Afterwards we realized we were kind of close to Plaza Serrano, and still feeling in the mood for shopping we walked up to our favorite feria where I laid eyes on the coolest mate ever. I literally had to deliberate for 20 minutes because I liked all of the designs, but I finally settled on this one:

Now I must drink some mate to keep myself alive.

La Bomba de Tiempo

Friday, May 25^th, 2012

After being here for almost 4 months, I was a little embarrassed that I hadn’t gone to La Bomba de Tiempo yet because it’s one of the top shows in BA. Also, after weeks of feeling too tired to go out, I pulled it together to meet up with my Mendoza buddies. 

I left my house around midnight and arrived just before 1am. I only had to walk 3 blocks from the bus stop to the Konex center but those 3 blocks were undoubtedly a little scary, being that I hadn’t met up with my friends yet. The streets leading up to it are completely trashed in every sense of the word and every step I started walking faster until I heard the noise and saw the crowd waiting in line. $50 later, I made it in and began my search for my friends. In typical study abroad student manner, nobody answered their phone nor responded to any texts so I was standing in the Konex center by myself watching everybody else in their groups of friends having fun, feeling like a huge loser. Finally I ran into Tyler, who luckily still recognized me despite Mendoza having been well over a month ago. They too were on the hunt for Persky. Alright, well I at least had people to talk to. Finally we encountered the rest of the group (none of whom I’d ever met) and I started to get that “I really wish I weren’t here right now” feeling because as the drumming kicked in, so did the drugs, and being that I was compeltely sober, the acid trips starting around me were on a level I couldn’t really fathom. It’s not to say it wasn’t fun, but no había nada que ver entre yo y ellos. So uncomfortable, with people I hardly knew, I started to make my way to the exit because while the drumming was great, other than the high goons around me, nobody else was really getting into the music. How do you just stand there during a percussion concert!? Not to mention that the drummers were total animals. It’s a show just watching their hands and movements. So if you don’t mind going crazy dancing, you’ll enjoy it. Also, the people watching is great. Almost made me think of Seattle at times...

On my way out, I saw some people from my classes and they asked if I was leaving. Not wanting to look like a loser, I played it off like I had gotten separated from my group. I figured I’d at least hang out with them for a bit and see if I had a better time. I was actually having a conversation and dancing out in the open air, so I started to enjoy myself again. I met a guy who could actually dance but felt bad when I had to drop the whole “you’re a great dancer, but I have a boyfriend” line, but regardless we kept dancing at a friendly distance and I had someone to wait with me at the creepy bus stop. You gotta give the guy some credit. Shot down, and was still a gentleman. 

Despite wanting to leave around 2, I didn’t get home until 5:30, reeking of cigarettes and I felt like my eyes were bleeding. I have never been so happy to crawl into bed in my life.

There are no hot dogs--but there is choripan!

Friday, May 25^th, 2012

Feliz día de la revolución! This is basically the Argie independence day and although I’m really hoping for fireworks, hot dogs and watermelon, it’s actually a cold day with no sparklers in sight. But I’ve got my big bow in my hair to show my non-native pride and getting honked at more than ever by the taxistas who are also showing their pride too. To celebrate, we were told there would be a big celebration at la feria de los mataderos, which is pretty much as far away from my house as I can get. It’s still in Buenos Aires, but at the very fringe of the city and the buses (yes, plural) to get there had to pass through the provincial Buenos Aires outskirts…I really hope this is an awesome feria…

I hailed the 161 not really knowing where I was going, but only that I was at least going in the right direction. This bus ride was supposed to be about an hour which kinda freaked me out, because after 30 minutes I start getting paranoid about where my stop is and if we’re passing it or not—even when I am looking directly at the map. Not to mention everybody gave me the eye when they walked past me—“what’s SHE doing on this bus?!?”

60 long, stressful and kinda paranoid minutes later, I was waiting for the 80 on a really sketchy corner and even though it was broad daylight, this was definitely a different part of BA and I clearly stood out. Luckily I didn’t have to wait long and had a little more confidence as this was a shorter bus ride. I finally arrived at the feria and started walking around as I looked for Angela. WHAT!? I took an hour and a half bus ride for THIS!? It looked like a garage sale, the kind that you’d drive past. I finally got a hold of Angela who told me to keep on walking to get to the real stuff. Ok, that’s more like it.

I met her on the corner where there was a bar notable (duly noted!) and we browsed the whole feria as I managed to keep my purchases to a minimum only buying a necklace, though the fair had a lot to offer. Being that we were hungry and didn’t want to wait in the choripan line, we went back to the bar notable where we somehow managed to score a seat. Unfortunately the bar was a little run down, but the tango stage suggested it was still alive in spirit. Submarino in hand, we enjoyed the warmth of the café and the murmurs of porteños.

When my salad came, the only dressing was the classic oil and vinegar, but it’s not balsamic vinegar and this vinegar ruins the salad, IMHO, so I decided I was going to have to take the salt route. Jokingly and a little too loudly I exclaimed “Soy argentina!” (“I’m Argentine!”) because they’re known to put way too much salt on everything, even things that you wouldn’t typically put salt on or that already have salt in them. The family sitting next to us glanced over at me and started laughing because I am clearly not argentine, but when I gestured to the salt and motioned that I was pouring a lot of it, they laughed, indicating “yeah, we do do that!”.

Deciding we’d seen the best of the fair, we started the long trek home, this time taking the 55. Which was of course packed when we got on. I was exhausted for some reason and was actually about to fall asleep on the bus. Thus preventing me from making my way down to the Plaza de Mayo to see another celebration. The cool thing was that on the bus I felt like we were going on streets I knew, but in ways I hadn’t seen before and I thought of an idea for later—to ride random buses just for the view and to get better acquainted with the city because even after several months here, I’m still discovering pockets of BA I didn’t even know about. This city is endless, despite its very well defined borders (that I crossed today!).

An Afternoon in Paradise

Sunday, May 20^th, 2012

Once again, we were off on another bus and on our way to the Jesuit mission ruins of San Ignacio from the 1600s. They were designed for the Guaraníes to “civilize” them and of course introduce them to the best thing ever! Western religion!!! Not. The ruins are beautiful, but represent something that should be decaying. I’m not saying I want to live the Guaraní lifestyle, but I’m sure they wanted to live that way. The Jesuits at least allowed them to be educated and didn’t just slaughter them as the future waves of Europeans did, but still they started the subjugation trend—although the Spanish crown later denied their presence because they weren’t subjugating them enough…but enough about my anti-colonial musings.

My camera battery managed to run out just as we arrived, so I was unable to document the beauty and vivid red stones that made up the ruins other than this:

Being that European history/religion are my least favorite topics, I paid little attention during the tour and focused on the sights. And even though it was extraordinary, I was kind of up and at it to head out to our next chunk of paradise at La Chacrita, which is a mate and tea plantation that also has accommodations for travelers, as well as an endless supply of citrus, tea, relaxation and trees. It was here that I had a true “I don’t want to leave. Ever.” moment. I fell in love with Argentina again that day and could only wonder if things like this are hiding amongst the trees, what else in the world is…? 

Our bubbly tour guide showing us the proper mate technique

Thank god Melanie had an extra camera battery so I could even attempt to capture the beauty. But once again, no camera setting would really do for how incredible everything was. As for how it sounded--it was like listening to earth breathing. Even walking away from the main house area for one minute and I was in my own space, free from any single other person or stressor on earth. Plus, knowing I was surrounded by my two favorite beverages (tea and mate) (and some cacti peppered in the aisles too) made me feel even more at peace. It was nirvana simply by existing in this space.

Iguazú falls

Saturday, May 19^th, 2012

Really, I can’t even describe Iguazú falls, so here’s some photos because if you can’t see them in person and feel the mist and the heat, a description means nothing.

 Not even at the falls' best viewpoint yet...

 World's cutest animal: the coati--guard your snacks!!

 Hello waterfall!

 La garganta del diablo--picture does it no justice

Perfect day

But something stopped me from ever shutting my eyes—the scenery. Trees were rushing by at more than 100 kmph in the slowly setting rays of the sun so I couldn’t really ever capture a great photo, but for the next 3 hours, I felt like I was staring into one of the best kept secrets on earth. I wanted to run off the bus and just keep running into the infinite landscape of every tree imaginable. Every hill was a new surprise and when we turned every cover, it was like pulling back more wrapping paper into the view. It was the definition of nature, tranquility and landscape. Maybe it even rivaled the falls…

After sundown, I was totally passed out and starving (doesn’t matter where you are—you’re still human). We showed up just a little late for dinner and the only seats left were with our program staff, but being that they’re 2 20-something porteñas, it was actually probably one of the best seats. I’ve been really impressed with how personable the staff at ISA is. I don’t wanna sound like a commercial, but the staff is great. In addition to helping us with our grammar, we were cracking jokes, calling each other fat and reveling in all that it is to share food with people in the Spanish-speaking world. Eating in the US is just pathetic compared to this. 

Mission: Misiones

Friday, May 18^th, 2012

I rushed down the stairs, PB&J in hand to meet everyone else in our 6am cab that normally would be taking to come home at this hour, but we were on our way to Aeroparque Jorge Newbery (or as Angela’s host mom calls it, Jorge Neeeeeeeeuuuuberyyyyyyyy) for our trip to Iguazú. For those of you that don’t know, Puerto de Iguazú is the home to Iguazú falls, which happen to fall right on the border between Brazil and Argentina. But more on those later. First I had to get on the plane.

But before every traveler gets to their destination, they have to go through the increasingly hassling task of actually traveling. I’ve had pretty good luck when it comes to traveling, but the travel gods were especially smiling down on me for this trip because not only are liquids TOTALLY ALLOWED on flights in Argentina (because I’m willing to bet that the terrorist threat isn’t at flaming red omg we’re all going to die level. It’s at ZFWBG level. Because Argentina gives none). And then a miracle happened:

Nobody was in my seat. And given that I have never woken up at 5am by my own accord, I took all that sweet space for the best airplane nap ever had.

Luckily I woke up in time to see just exactly what we were flying over. I didn’t think any place on earth could actually be this beautiful. There were trees for as far as the eye could see and red soil in between. We’re flying to paradise.

After getting off the plane, I realized that my paradise idea wasn’t too far off—it was perfectly hot and on our drive into town, it felt like for the first time ever we were in “real Latin America” with countless palm trees, bright colors, laundry blowing in the breeze and a carefree air about everything. We had a bit of time to grab a bite to eat, but it seemed like it was siesta time with every store having its shutters closed.

After lunch, we went to a Guaraní village not too far out of town. I had mixed feelings about this part of the trip because there’s a fine line between “experiencing” and learning about another culture and then just intruding upon it and staring at it and its people. We were somewhere in between the two, with me leaning towards “borderline uncomfortable”. The Guaraní traditionally tried to keep themselves separate from the society growing around them, but in this day and age they no longer have the option and are somewhat forced to host tourists in order to generate funds to purchase food and supplies that they can no longer depend on the forests for. It’s the classic case of civilization destroying civilization. Our guide told us to forgive him for his Spanish, because he was still learning too. Traditionally, none of the Guaraníes learned Spanish, and for a while it was forbidden for females to learn, but now everybody receives instruction in the bi-lingual school. Guaraní is a prized language, known for its beauty, and the unique feature of being an oral language, meaning there are no books or texts of Guaraní, although they have since been created by scholars in order to document the language that is slowly losing out to Spanish. But this is difficult as some sounds are of course different, as well as the fact that it’s just not traditionally written.

Our tour comprised of a walk in the “jungle” to see the traps that were traditionally used (and still used today, although with less frequency due to the continually smaller amount of critters roaming around in said jungle). All of them were so ingenious! When we approached a new trap we had to guess how to use it and what animal it was for. I had no idea on any of them, but all of them worked like a charm. Nobody likes to think of cute little jungle animals getting killed and eaten, but for the most part, the killings were about as humane as possible and compared to the way the “civilized world” kills animals, I think we’d be better off following this example.

Afterwards, we were treated to some music from the school choir. Again, keep in mind the language is not written, so all of the songs had to be memorized by hearing them enough times. Talk about oral tradition. While it wasn’t necessarily lyrical music, it was definitely catchygot to go “shopping” for Guaraní handicrafts. This is one of their major fundraising efforts. I hated thinking that going shopping was going to help the Guaraníes, because isn’t that what kind of put them in the margin in the first place?

I tried to not let my anti-capitalism thoughts get too pervasive, however, as we were on our way out of the village to see the 2^nd best view in the area (with the 1^st being at the falls). It was where the rivers met between Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina. Anytime I’m in a moment of pure geography, I love it—and it doesn’t get much more geographic than being at the border of 3 countries staring at overflowing foliage practically spilling into the rivers sizzling with mist as the sun is setting. But with the sun setting, that meant the day was already over and I was proven wrong again—time CAN go faster. As we walked back to the hotel, I was mocking the birds overhead and gave the longest, loudest r-roll ever (because, keep in mind, until February, I didn’t actually have this linguistic ability…). I never want to leave this place. It makes me feel alive. 

Sadder than my actual parents' break-up...

Wednesday, May 16^th, 2012

While we’d seemed like the happy little family on Sunday, there was trouble in Storybookland. As Tonya and I sat down for dinner, we saw just 3 plates and she asked where Juan was, assuming he was just out and about.

“We…broke up…”

Oh.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was stunned to hear that in just 3 words, my pseudo-dad-brother-friend was totally gone. I mean, I guess I wasn’t shocked because despite how at times we felt like a little family, there were also times that I wondered how two very different people could continue to share such a serious bond. They never fought, but I could definitely see the rift that had formed. But still, after years of dating, living together and hosting 2 students, that makes the stakes a lot higher. Only they know exactly what happened, so all I can say is that it happened. And while I deeply regret that it had to be this way, I understand that sometimes things just aren’t working anymore. I was at least glad that they never expressed that in unhealthy ways like my parents did before their split. And given that they’ve known each other for basically their entire lives, I’m willing to bet that after some time has passed, they’ll be fine.

And I guess I’ll be fine about it too, but it’s sort of weird knowing that after seeing Juan every day and basically telling him my life story and being almost lethally sarcastic with him about everything, now I might only get to see him just a few times before I leave, if that. It’s a very strange feeling and reminds me even more to just try and appreciate what you enjoy about every day, because you never know when your life will decide to totally change on you out of nowhere. I was worried that maybe it would be difficult for Ana to host 2 of us alone as she attends school/works, but she said that maybe aside from some reeeeeally late (late, like even later than normal late) dinners or having to make dinner beforehand, there wouldn’t be any issues—which made me so glad because I probably would have died if I lost her too. I have no doubt that she’s hurting because there’s no way you could be 100% fine the day after you break off a relationship, no matter how much it wasn’t working—but, as always, she’s taking everything in stride and being the I-can-do-anything type of woman she’s always been. Maybe even more so. Also, I think I saw her smiling and laughing a little more, so we’ll be alright—viva la bachelorette pad!

Either way, I really love both of them as though they were my real family, because as far as I’m concerned, they are, and always will be.

Also it made me reflect a lot about marriage. Juan and Ana were not married, merely living together and had a pretty long run. I’m not saying that their break-up was easy for them, but at the same time, you can still at least call it a break-up and not a divorce. Sure, they still had to divvy up purchases and Juan will have to figure out new living arrangements, but there’s no need for lawyers, arguments and a drug-out horrible process making everybody feel 100% worse and 100 years older from stress. Maybe it’s just because I saw my parents’ horrible divorce that makes me really aversive to the whole thing, but I really just never want to go through that. I think there’s a lot to be said about couples like Ana and Juan that are in a long-term relationship, living together and sharing their lives together but aren’t married. “Forever” is a LOOOOOONG time, and I don’t know why so many people rush into marriage like it’s some kind of fun fantasy. Maybe that makes me look like I’m non-committal, but really the reality is the opposite—I’m so committed to the idea of commitment that I’d want to try at it for a looooong time with someone before I decided on “forever” with them, because I would hate to be wrong. But even then I’m not convinced about marriage because I don’t really see the point unless you want to have kids or need the financial/legal benefits. Love doesn’t necessarily beget marriage, nor does marriage beget love. I’m more concerned with loving and discovering the depth of that love over as long of a time as possible and as many circumstances as possible. I don’t need marriage to do that, and in fact, marriage can inhibit that. So for me, Juan and Ana’s situation (before the break-up, obviously) looks pretty great to me. And now that it is over, they can walk away and move on.

Pasta for 26, please, but just all on MY plate...

Sunday, May 16^th, 2012

I managed to get myself up before noon because we were heading to Juan’s uncle’s house early to prepare all the food (the thought of food woke me up…). Immediately upon arrival, we were greeted by Juan’s very warm, friendly aunt and uncle. Then shortly after that, they started cooking up a storm. The most delightful smelling storm I’ve ever had the pleasure of sitting through.

Not only did they make 209795724 servings of pasta, but there were also 3 types of sauce (Roquefort, creamy bacon mushroom and more of a classic sauce, but that was actually kind of like stew). I was starving just looking at how good it would be.

I felt useless in the kitchen, so I headed out to the beautiful backyard filled with citrus trees, grass and plenty of fall sunshine. It was the perfect day. Little by little, more and more people started to arrive and I realized that Juan really wasn’t exaggerating on the number of people. If anything, there could actually even be more!

Clearly being the foreigner to the family in every sense, I got some weird glances from those who I hadn’t met before (which was 90% of everybody), but shortly started a conversation with Juan’s, eh, I’m not really sure how she was related, as well as some interjections from his feisty sister. I was impressed with myself because I understood everything they were saying despite going at rapid speed. They laughed whenever I used lunfardo and seemed proud that I was trying to give the Spanish of Buenos Aires its due justice which so many foreigners really fail horribly at. After a few too many glasses of Kalimotxos, the food was finally and the kitchen gods spoiled us with plate and bowl after plate and bowl of food. It was absolutely incredible. Best pasta I’ve ever eaten in my life. Not to mention the fact that I was eating it with pseudo-Italians. It was great. I felt like one of the family, too. So in addition to loving food because it’s delicious, I love it because it’s something everybody can share.

After the gigantic feast, everybody was fat, happy and still going for the wine. It was my kind of family get together. Everybody was laughing and chatting and telling stories. Stories about people I didn’t know, but still managed to understand them enough to find the humor in it all. We even had a few sing-a-longs, as Juan’s uncle and cousin play guitar. Granted, I didn’t know the lyrics to save my life and my voice is horrible, but nobody seemed to care. As an outsider it’s always fun to look at families and how they interact, their mannerisms and their subtle nuances. Based on what I saw, it looked pretty great to be a Baldassarre.

And then our own goofy little threesome “family” drove home, as Juan drove, Ana picked the tunes and I fell asleep in the back seat. Oh to still be la nene…

Pasta for 26, please!

Saturday, May 12th, 2012

As you’re well aware, I am horrendously behind on my blog entries (although I always make bulleted lists of entries to write as they happen, so don’t worry, you’ll have all the details as they unfolded originally). On this night, I decided to start trying to play the game of catch-up.

I was maybe a paragraph in when Juan showed up with probably 100 grocery bags. So much for writing…As he unloaded everything, however, I kept trying to write. Things were going well into almost completing an entire entry when I realized that he had several bags of flour and two cartons of eggs on the table, and suddenly began to pour everything out.

Wait, wait, wait! What are you doing!?
Oh, just making pasta for 20-30 family members.
Oh, ok. That’s, you know, 5x the number of people in my family…
I’ve never made pasta by myself before.
Well then making it for 30 people definitely makes sense…

Before he had all the flour poured out, my laptop was set aside to take in this spectacle. Ana has made pasta by hand a few times (which, by the way, is so ungodly delicious it makes me question any pasta I ever ate before that I thought was good), but never for so many people—plus, she’s kind of a pro at it whereas Juan was borderline winging it. We googled “making pasta” just to make sure we were doing it right because it seemed like nothing was coming together. But after minutes and minutes of mixing the dough, the flour finally started absorbing into the dense mass and it looked like Juan had succeeded. Which is to not underscore how much we laughed and doubted the whole thing for most of the time.

Two massive balls of dough later, and Juan had completed step one of homemade pasta. Then it was on to the brownies, from scratch…I’ve never made brownies from scratch, but Juan made it look so easy that I wondered why I’d been using the nasty prepackaged batter my whole life…They do have some of these in Argentina, but nobody really uses them because it’s still viable and understood how to make things by hand and everybody here can tell the difference between homemade and premade. This is one thing I’m definitely going to miss about Argentina—land of readable packaging labels (because the ingredients are actually still real in many cases) and food from scratch. (Ana is equally fascinated and repulsed by all the prepackaged junk we have in the US, but you can tell she’s mostly repulsed). Plus I mean come on, if Juan can do it then I can definitely do it…

Then I retired to my room for a time and came back out to the delicious smell of warm brownies, as well as 522349798 pounds (or kilograms, should I say?) of rolled out pasta dough sitting on the table. Because obviously first it must be flattened before it can be cut into the pasta form. It was seriously an astonishing sight to see the sheer quantity of pasta that the masses of dough were going to make. We really had a pasta factory right in the kitchen.

Flour covered everything as Juan and Ana cranked out pasta on the Pastalinda machine for the next few hours. From start to finish, it took at least 5 hours to make the pasta. I don’t even want to know how much flour was used…

Finally, they finished and we had perhaps the biggest pile of pasta I’d ever seen in my life. It’s really easy to underestimate pasta (I think every time I make pasta I always have way too much thinking that it’s barely any…) but this was definitely a solid amount. It might even be too much for 20 people—imagine that quantity!!!! I gave Juan a big thumbs up, as I was impressed that he did so well making pasta (for 20+ people) for the first time ever. Granted, Ana definitely helped…her culinary talents never cease to amaze me!

And so, the kitchen coated with flour, the pasta party ended as we waited for the real party for the day to come.

In a city of millions...

Thursday, May 10^th, 2012

After class today, I decided to browse through Barrio Chino because I was DYING for another Melona Korean popsicle (despite the fact that it’s getting cold) and also wanted to look for some stir fry ingredients for an easy lunch here and there.

After way too much browsing and delighting in all the sights, smells and attitudes of Barrio Chino, I made my way back to the train station to go home. While waiting for the train, I looked to my left and saw a girl that looked familiar. She gave me the same look and finally said, “¿¡Nikki?!”. And then it dawned on me. She was one of the women I met at the Ser 5k!!!!!! WHOAAAAAAAAAAA. This might just be the biggest, craziest coincidence EVER. To see someone you met randomly in a race of 7000+ women in a city of MILLIONS less than a week after you had even met. I think I just won the sociological lottery. Unfortunately, my train ride was just one stop and looking back, I wish I would have gotten her cell phone number at least because I really need Argentine friends, but alas, perhaps we were only ever meant to be coincidental acquaintances…

Nikkilude #12: With an email and some mate you can fix anything

So now that it’s midterm season (and ok, as I’m writing this, it’s almost a month after midterms, but pretend it’s early May…) I have to study for my course with Argentines—Touristic Geography of Argentina—you know, the class I loathe with a passion that begins at 8am every Tuesday? Being that we’ve had a whole semester full of nothing, we finally got our prof to tell us what would be on the midterm (which was all of Patagonia) and I started to study like a crazy person. The one problem was that I still couldn’t find the map guidebook we needed for the class and being that we could use them on the test, I definitely wanted to get myself one. I’d browsed at least 10 of the types of bookstores my prof recommended to me with no luck so I had to do what I didn’t want to do—send him an email.

I not only asked him about acquiring a copy of the map book, but also about how to study for a test over all of Patagonia. Expecting a sarcastic, rude or unhelpful response I was shocked to see that he actually answered all my questions and told me not to worry about the test, but to study the geographic features/climates and basic touristic activities for the most important cities, so that’s exactly what I did. I then responded asking him why he wasn’t this nice and helpful in class, to which he said, “sometimes I like play the hard guy” then he asked why I wasn’t always this engaged with the class—touché!

Suddenly I realized he wasn’t a douche, I just was still holding on to my perfectionist academic attitudes from the US, because “if I’m paying for this, I better get my money’s worth!” which to me always meant, you know, information that was relevant to the course. But especially at the UB, this just isn’t the case. Sure there’s the 75% attendance policy, but if you don’t feel like showing up, you just have someone scan your card and go about your day. You’d think it would be the opposite at a private university, but the UBA, the major public school that’s free, is actually the best school in town (if not Argentina overall) with private schools being the grab-bag schools that are often for rich kids to pay for their degree, but not necessarily get educated. That’s not to say there’s not great students at the UB, but it is to say that there are a lot of professors that view class time as personal time where they can talk about whatever they want and see your personal time as time you should be doing the actual learning for the class. I’m not really sure I’m for this type of education, but it’s what exists for me during this experience here, so hey, I guess I should just shut up and enjoy a class where we literally talk about whatever for 3 hours and barely ever get homework. Really, I just need to see it that way. There’s no reason to keep hoping for something that doesn’t exist. Something that is still sometimes hard for me in Argentina…but maybe I’ll get it.

I studied quite a bit and was running through all the major Patagonian cities every day on the bus like my old nerdy self and was starting to remember that stressed out test feeling that I thought I’d forgotten. But finally the exam date came and I was ready to get it over with, as I had low hopes for myself. I’d be happy with a 6. Just to be safe, I brought some mate to the exam to share with the prof, who is notorious for just snatching my mate in class and enjoying it. Couldn’t hurt, right??

I later found out I got a 9 on my exam, which is pretty much as good as it gets because hardly anyone gives out a 10 because nothing is ever perfect. And for those of you thinking, “but isn’t that only a 90%?!?!”, here’s the grading scale they use here (and many other countries) which actually makes it a lot simpler. You still only have 60% of the scale being passing, just like the 0-100 system, but the A-B range feels a lot bigger.

10=A+
9=A
8=A-
7=B+
6=B
5=B-
4=C
0-3=F

Nikkilude #11: The problem with too much free time

My homework schedule back in the states is usually so hellacious, I often dream of what it would be like to just not have any. Wish granted. In Argentina, I have virtually no homework in comparison to my normal workload. Sure there are some readings and assignments here and there that I can’t skip, but then there are the “obligatory readings” that are quite the opposite. I should be reading them because my comprehension level and reading speed would drastically increase were I reading 20+ pages in Spanish daily…but am I really going to do that? No.

So now that I have all this free time that I always dreamed of, as well as classes that start late, I’m sure you’re thinking, “Nikki! That’s perfect! Now you can have productive mornings, make a well balanced lunch and have time to enjoy Buenos Aires after class!”. And you’re right. If by productive morning you mean waking up around 11 (with GREAT difficulty), a well balanced lunch in the sense that I put an apple in one pocket and an orange in the other and enjoying Buenos Aires in the sense that I walk 5 blocks to get to my bus stop. WHAT IS HAPPENING?!

I think we all think, “if I just had more free time, I could do what I wanted” and to a degree this is true. But I have passed this point and now I have so much free time that I do absolutely nothing with it. I wake up late and go to bed even later. This makes me tired during the day, therefore making it impossible to feel motivated to do anything after class, much less take more public transport to go see another part of the city or do hw. Especially when the hw isn’t obligatory or will only take me a short while to finish. I hate myself for this. Here I am in Buenos Aires for just 6 short months and I am WASTING TIME BY NOT DOING ANYTHING. And if I’m not going to explore the city, I should at least be doing things to practice my Spanish instead of being on Reddit, Facebook or god knows what else for hours at a time. I have a horrible internet and sleep addiction which has basically reduced my daily life to doing nothing. Literally. 3 hours will pass and I can’t even explain what I’ve been doing. I’m not even reading the news or something intellectual. I’m literally watching TV, looking at pictures or chatting with friends. My how the mighty have fallen.

So I had this realization—I am the type of person who needs to be busy, because if I’m not, I retrogress into this lazy person that has all these idealistic desires (exercise! eat healthy! read scholarly articles! participate in cultural activities! you have the time, finally!) but fails to actually execute any of them.

Lately, I have been trying to study for my midterms and get ready for finalsand realized that since being away from my hellaciously stressful homework load in the US and having this abundance of spare time, I have adopted some very Argentine attitudes towards homework—primarily the attitude of “whatever”. I at least made study guides for every class and have been studying, but at the same time, I can’t study for more than 30 minutes without taking a break or getting distracted. It’s absolutely horrendous. It’s not that I’m not taking this seriously, it’s just that it doesn’t feel like it warrants a lot of effort. I have constantly had 5000 hours of homework every week of my life for as long as I can remember and for the first time, I am free—so all I want to do is nothing. It’s embarrassing. But it’s human nature, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter where in the world you are. You could be on the trip of your dreams, but if you’re tired and hungry, you’re not going to focus on much else. Further, as much as I’d like to think I have great self control, I am learning I don’t. As much as I always dreamed of having free time like this, it actually makes me less productive and unhappier.

Buenos Aires, land of more contradictions and difficult self realizations…

Nikkilude #10: ¿Somos libres?

"¿Somos libres?" simply translates to "are we free?". What's not simple is answering the question. But first let me give you a little bit of context...

I'm in a 20^th century history of Latin America class. But there's a catch to history—it operates in a continuum. You can't just look at LA history in the 20th century in a vacuum without understanding the history that came before it. I learned that this is especially true in LA when I tried to write a paper about the 2001 economic crisis in Argentina and had to go back 200 years prior to that to get the whole back-story and understand the Argentine economy overall.

We started around 1492—when "Columbus sailed the ocean blue", then broke the barrier for European colonization, which continued for the next few centuries, along with exploitation, abhorrent, racist treatment of natives, the raping and pillaging of these societies socially, geographically, physically and economically and the start of an abusive relationship that still continues today. But we all know that story, don’t we? Or do we?

The old adage goes that history is told by the victors, and the stories of the losers are rewritten to explain why they had to be the losers, how from the beginning they deserved to lose. This is something I’ve always been told, but it’s sort of hard to know what’s true and what’s only the illusion of truth when it comes to history. In the US, we of course learn about colonization, but from the standpoint that Columbus was a great guy who discovered the new world out of curiosity and once the new people were found, there was a great cultural exchange. Why is it taught this way? From a young age, we are also taught about the Holocaust, and as gruesome as that is, 2^nd graders can take it—so why this attitude about colonization? It’s a load of complete BS that for me wasn’t debunked until high school, and even then, not very well.

Then, as if the peoples of the colonies weren’t battered enough, slavery was introduced to ensure that Europeans maintained superiority and economic wealth, because clearly there is no benefit to slavery other than free (albeit terrible) labor and a power structure that is hard to topple when you are both uneducated and have no rights to speak of. But finally in the early 1800s, England outlawed the slave trade and hoped to phase out slaves in general. Again, we learned this in school, but the reasons why slaves were outlawed were never too clear. We’d like to give the Brits credit that they outlawed slavery out of moral reasons because slavery is wrong. The truth is that they realized that while free labor was the cheapest means, it wasn’t very conducive to grow the economy, as a large chunk of the market (the slaves) were excluded from it, as well as the fact that the economy was somewhat stagnant under this mode of production. They realized that in order to have a larger economy, they needed more consumers as well as better products. Because while slave labor was free, it was of the worst quality, as many possessed little to no skills, nor were they motivated or in any condition to work hard. And while slaves post-freedom were more or less still slaves in the sense that they had little purchasing power and made shamefully low wages, they still represented consumer power and could now contribute to the capitalistic system. They were given the illusion of freedom, but were still at the absolute margins of society, giving the Europeans the best of both worlds.

So, the slaves were freed to become slaves more or less to the system of capitalism. You can say whatever you want about how I sound like a raving mad Marxist, but the question remains—are we free? No. We’re not free. And if we are, it’s only so we can be free to consume, which isn’t really free at all. Am I consumer? Absolutely, and at times I hate that I can get so caught up in this system when I know it’s destructive and exclusionary. But how do we fix this? We don’t still have slaves per se, but there are people that live in the fringe of society, that work for virtually nothing but are said to be free. These relationships of neocolonial control still exist today. So no, we’re not free.

Again, I know you probably think I sound crazy, but I’m upset. Everything I’ve learned about “Columbus discovering the new world” has been a euphemism, a lie and we’ve ignored the other side of history. We barely learn anything about Latin America, and what we do learn is painted in such pretty colors, making the US and Europe look like heroes that saved the “brown people” from their own backwards way of life. When really they singlehandedly altered Earth’s course for this path of destruction we’re on now. Seriously look at the world and tell me it’s any different now than it was a few hundred years ago. Obviously I knew colonization was awful for everybody but the Europeans, but I never saw it from a truly non-Western perspective. Why does nobody teach this perspective in the US? Is it not allowed? Seriously, what’s going on that we’ve allowed and disallowed certain discourses and permitted such a strong Eurocentric bias to prevail? I am sick of Europe. That was one reason I decided not to study abroad in Spain—I can’t stomach the idea of talking about Europe even more than usual. Everything I have ever learned has been from a Western perspective, even if the professor really tries to express their disgust at how prevalent this perspective is. The truth is that unless you speak Spanish or seek out sources from the source, you might not even have access to this perspective in its truest form. Knowledge is a very powerful thing—if it weren’t, they wouldn’t censor parts of it, nor tell us what we can and can’t know. The things I’ve realized here were obvious—things that were always on the tip of my tongue, but it didn’t come full circle until my professor posed the question “are we free?” and I immediately realized no.

In this class and my film class especially, my professors seem to have strong attitudes about the unspoken “evils” of capitalism as well as the neocolonial power structures that still exist. Another epiphany I had along these lines was in my film class when we watched “La virgen de los sicarios” (Our Lady of the Assassins). The film centers on Medellin, Colombia in the midst of the 1990s, where drugs ruled all. Sicarios are assassins—though they’re not professional snipers or paid assassins—they’re bloodthirsty kids looking to kill anyone for any reason usually to maintain and assert their power and dominance. Are they vicious? Absolutely. Is their behavior justified? No. Buuuut, at the same time, upon further analysis, these drug chains get pretty interesting.

Imagine you’re a coke addict (especially in the 1990s…). Given that drug addictions are chemical (and social), chances are you’ll probably go through whatever rigamarole to get your drugs. Now put yourself in the movie—you’re a 14 year old kid desperate for money in a town where cocaine rules, hungry for power and clearly aware of how the system works—drugs give you money and power. These represent the two very different but symmetrical realities of cocaine, one being consumption, the other being production. Cocaine is clearly a black market trade, but I think it shows the problems with drug consumption and capitalism almost better than anything. Because when you’re doing coke, there’s actually a few trickles of blood in every line because in addition to the violence even within the drug trade/gang violence within the US (see my BAFICI entry for Cocaine Cowboys 2, or just google it) there’s also the violence it took to get the cocaine in the first place. But nobody’s thinking about that when they do cocaine. Nobody stops and thinks about the chain of consumption in this aspect, yet it’s what fuels a lot of violence in certain places in Latin America because it is a means of making ungodly sums of money, having control over others and therefore earning power. This is what Latin America (and other neocolonial areas) often lack—the ability and freedom to choose a better means to acquire money and power. More or less they’re still in the same position they have been for centuries—they’ve got the goods, but have no say in anything once they sell the raw products. They didn’t come in on a ship from Africa and could be actually quite wealthy, but they’re still slaves to the system.

But what can we realistically do? Yes there are certain conscious choices we can make, such as to not do cocaine because in addition to being physically harmful, it contributes to this warped power structure and dark side of capitalism. But even if you’re a sober vegan that rides a bicycle, it’s still virtually impossible to live in the modern world without being a part of this chain. No life, nor choice, is without consequence. Even if each choice is made with careful consideration—it’s impossible to be a perfect world citizen. But I think it’s still important to think about these choices because the good thing about consumption is that it’s generally elective—we can say what we want and don’t want based solely on what we choose or don’t choose. Thinking about how and why we choose could radically alter life as we know it. But the problem is that not everybody gets to choose, and even basic choices are not available sometimes, nor are they always clear. Everybody knows that in any economic system there are winners and losers, but I am still very disturbed by the fact that the current system we have is so violent, repressive and ingrained despite the fact that we’re trying to show how much progress we’ve made. The world’s exactly as it was hundreds of years ago, more or less, and this is what scares me. So are we free? No. Some are, but for this to be true, it means the majority can’t be.

This concept is really difficult for me to fully explain because it’s still formulating in my mind. Additionally, there are some things I am trying to say, but know I come off as some radical “communist” or the “burdened” white girl complaining about the world, yet typing this on a laptop computer in a cozy home, totally removed from any of the actual poverty she’s talking about. But for me, the most important thing right now is to just think about these concepts and learn more from different perspectives so I can better formulate my rhetoric and ideas on the topic to NOT sound like a radical hippie princess. But at the same time, that also means we need to stop thinking in such black and white terms and seek out different perspectives. Knowledge, above all, should be the power that we all have a right to, the power that we strive for, therefore giving everyone a voice in the discussion and not just because they’re the ones holding the gun.

Ser 5k

Sunday, May 6^th, 2012

Today was the Ser 5k that passed through Puerto Madryn—an area in Buenos Aires devoted to the famous women of Argentina, as well as Puente de la Mujer, the famous bridge designed after the leg of a woman dancing tango. It reminds me of an airplane…but maybe that’s just because I’m not much of a dancer…

I got on the 152 heading towards Puerto Madryn. I had the instructions of where to get off, but the problem with the colectivos is that sometimes the stops aren’t based on the name of the street you’re on, or you may be on the same street for a long time so you can’t just say “oh I’m getting off at Santa Fe”. Luckily, within 30 minutes, the bus was packed full of women in neon green jerseys and my plan was to just follow them.

I got off the bus and immediately regretted not bringing a jacket because it was cold and windy. Summer is officially over, guys…I teamed up with some Argentines and they were impressed and happy that little foreign me was participating.

We arrived at the scene of the race and were greeted by thousands of others in neon green jerseys, young and old, short and tall, skinny and fat. Every type of woman there could be, which was exactly the demographic Ser was going for with this race. (Think of the Susan G. Komen race, because that’s essentially what this was as Ser is more or less the Yoplait of Argentina). There was some Katy Perry pumping in the background as people stretched, danced or jetted around, practicing their running posture.

Finally, it was time for the race and I joined the huge crowd in anticipation. With my two new friends, we started the race. The first kilometer we had to walk because it was so crowded—but that was fine because we could all keep track of each other. But as soon as I took it up to a light jog, I lost my chicas…oh well…I guess among 7000 women all dressed alike, you might lose somebody…

The kilometers passed rapidly and I was so happy that despite not having ran for about 4 months, I was still in good form. I’m not saying it was my best time (and I later found out I got 1000^th-ish place…) but I wasn’t in pain and I was running the whole time. As I passed the finish line, I got more Ser goodies as well as a medal (YEAH I RAN A 5K IT WAS SO HARD!!!!). I somehow managed to meet up with Angela, who also ran and had the genius idea of standing in a key location that she knew I’d have to pass by eventually. Proud, sweaty and happy, we walked back to the Subte and from there, to the day of studying and homework that awaited us. It felt good to be a woman, but terrible to be a student.

And for future reference, I will be wearing my racing jersey all the time when I am back in the US at the rec center. Prepare yourselves for the neon green glory that I am.