Worst class I have ever taken

Thursday, April 26^th, 2012

Right now I am…well WAS trying to study for my midterm in my class with Argentines (Touristic geography o f Argentina). I am so frustrated right now that I am at my breaking point. I know what you’re thinking—hey sounds perfect because you’re a geography major, somewhat of a tourist and you love Argentina! WRONG. This class is total crap. I haven’t been this pissed off about a class since…ever…

For our midterm, we have less than 2 weeks to memorize everything in Patagonia. All the lakes, rivers, mountains, volcanoes, beaches, circuitos, highways, cities, tourist activities, transportation methods, museums, national parks, EVERY SINGLE THING about the region. I would be fine with this if we’d actually ever talked about ANY of this in class. I literally just went out and bought a tourism book for Patagonia because that’s what our professor said we had to do to study. THEN WHAT THE HECK HAVE WE BEEN DOING FOR 3 HOURS EVERY TUESDAY MORNING FOR THE PAST MONTH AND A HALF!? Oh that’s right—listening to our professor play Trivial Pursuit with himself in front of the class, while we spend half the time looking up answers on google. Great class, maestro…

Our professor just likes to ramble on and make up pretend exam questions about completely arbitrary crap that he is so impressed he knows. We never actually study anything—we just make lists of even more arbitrary crap without any context as to where it is, why it’s there or what you can do with it. He’ll tell us to memorize all the National Parks, but then won’t proceed to even list nor describe them. It’s seriously like taking an anatomy and physiology class and having the professor say “hey, memorize all the body parts and how they work” then proceeding to tell you about a hospital in Germany (that you will have to name and locate on the exam). Yeah, ok, kinda related, but not really…

Normally during any given class, I smile, take notes with gusto and ask questions or get involved in the discussion. During this class, however, I think I make Lisbeth Salander look like a varsity cheerleader. I hate it. I hate it so much. It is 3 hours of me screaming in my head. I have never hated a class so much. I can only imagine what my facial expression of seething hatred looks like...

During class this week, somebody finally told our professor he was full of crap and that he needed to tell us what was actually on the midterm versus just asking trivial pursuit questions about random geographic features. He seemed upset that we were telling him “hey, prof,  you’re an awful teacher and your class is a total disaster.” He originally was going to test us over all of Argentina, but was “nice” and narrowed it down to Patagonia. Oh, ok thanks.

I still have almost 2 weeks to study, but there’s only so many lakes and rivers and arbitrary BS I can memorize before I have no space left. I’m totally fine with receiving a less than perfect grade when it reflects an effort that was the best I could give; I am not OK with getting a grade that reflects the poor effort of a professor who was too preoccupied with satisfying his ego in class to the point that he just handed his job over to us. I could have just bought this guide book and read it in my free time—why am I wasting time waking up at 6am every Tuesday to attend this nonsense? I don’t want a professor that only teaches to the test, I just want a professor that at least teaches SOMETHING. Wish me luck. I'm gonna really try. Because if I get higher than a 7, I don't have to take the final, which means 0 FWBG after May 8th. If I have to take the final...I might get deported for heinous crimes against humanity...

Our little family

Saturday, April 21^st, 2012

So my host family bought a Wii just recently and it would probably be the understatement of the year to say that they really like it. Juan especially. After a delicious dinner of some sautéed mozzarella and homemade empanadas, Juan told us it was time for us to play Wii and set up our Wii Fit profiles. Mostly so he could see if it was going to tell us we were fat and had bad balance and posture ;)

Apparently my Wii Fit age is 46, which is great, because it told me I had a healthy BMI, good center of gravity but a mediocre sense of balance. WHAT!? How does that mean I’m 46? Whatever. More motivation I guess. Now I see what Juan was talking about…

I embarrassed myself in the skiing game because I missed 7 gates. But it’s a lot harder than it looks...and I snowboard...that's my excuse...But just like everything else Nintendo, it was totally fun. Once we’d been mortified for long enough, we played the classic Wii Sports, starting with tennis. Things were getting especially hilarious because Ana had been enjoying a spot of vino and drunk Wii is not only fun to play but to watch as well. But for being tipsy, she was doing pretty good. Juan of course was the reigning champion of everything (is there a gene passed on to males that makes them good at every video game known to man?) despite my putting up a good fight in boxing. I actually got my heart rate up on that and could feel the soreness in my arms. Maybe I will start playing this every day…! Especially if it means I can beat Juan at something after I practice at it. He’ll get so mad!!

Once we’d played just a nice round of golf (where I channeled my 4 golf lessons in 2007 to score 2^nd place) we ordered ice cream and started a movie. At 2 am. I love this country.

Throughout the whole night, we were laughing and poking fun at each other and enjoying all the games. It was like the classic family night. Minus the fact that we’re not the classic family. But I don’t even care, because at this rate, family to me means people that you love and want to spend time with who will be there for you and I think Juan and Ana definitely fall under that category. Tonya and I can be their inexplicably old children…despite the fact that I felt like a kid again*.

*Which was furthered by the fact that while channel surfing, The Angry Beavers was on!
Me: OMG! This show is from my childhood! I haven’t seen it in forever.
Juan: What? Your childhood ended like 2 months ago. Stop it.

Murphy's Law: The BA Transportation First Corollary

Friday, April 20^th, 2012

After spending a lovely evening watching Cocaine Cowboys 2 (see BAFICI entry for description), I realized that despite what it said on the website, the film had actually lasted longer than 90 minutes, meaning that the Subte was now closed because it was past 11:30. Alright, I got this. I flipped through my Multi Guia and found that the 168 bus passed through the area as well as my house so I figured I’d give it a shot. I asked a security guard if I was right to take that bus and where the stop was. He said yes and pointed to it 2 blocks up on the left side. I felt good to be such a pro navigator.

That feeling ended about 6 blocks later when I realized I was on the right bus, but once again, I was going in the wrong direction. This wouldn’t have been a huge deal save for the fact that it was now past midnight and the neighborhood we were passing through was increasingly dark, scary and abandoned. Oh and we were heading towards La Boca, too, which is the LAST place you want to be if you’re a cute little gringa and it’s past sundown. I wasn’t panicking, but was in “we need to make a decision quick” mode and so as I got into a better-lit area with more people, I got off the bus and decided that I was going to forget buses altogether and just take a cab home. Or at least take a cab as far as $60 pesos would get me…

Normally, you should always call a radio taxi. Especially when it’s dark, scary and you’re alone. But I didn’t want to wait until it got there, so I hopped in a cab off the street hoping this wouldn’t be my last journey I’d take ever…

I told the taxista that I had $60 but that I needed to keep at least two pesos in case I needed to catch a bus, because of course I had ZERO pesos on my Sube card…I told him I needed to go up Cabildo and assumed that he would just get onto Santa Fe and then Cabildo. Wrong. He headed all the way over to Libertador and while I kinda know the buses over there, it’s still kind of a crapshoot. The meter was running up like crazy and we weren’t even halfway. I saw a sign pointing left to get to Plaza Italia and asked him if we could go there instead. He seemed a little grumpy that he was “off course” from my original directions but I reminded him that I only had a certain amount and I needed to be in an area I was familiar with.

We got close and the meter was in the fifties (oh, thanks for giving me the “stupid foreigner” rate…). I knew I had to get out soon but we weren’t quite there yet and were still in a poorly lit area. I told him this and he kept insisting we’d get there. We did. And he said $60. DUDE I NEED MONEY FOR THE BUS. Then he insisted $60 again. I could have argued with him over it and just handed him the $58 but I wasn’t about to get into something serious over $2 and he didn’t seem like a guy I would want to argue with past 1am…especially when taxistas are known to be totally rude and don’t really care if you’re in a pickle.

Alright. So I’m in Plaza Italia with ABSOLUTELY NO MONEY. I at least knew where I was and how I would get home. But I didn’t know where I would get the money to do it. In the cab, I figured I could just ask a stranger because $2 is the equivalent of USD .50! But suddenly I didn’t have the guts to do it. I was dressed pretty cute and fashionably with my LeSportSac bag, and obviously that’s not very convincing if you’re begging for money and given that Argentine girls always give me dirty looks and guys give me dirty looks too (but in the I want to get dirty with you way) I didn’t feel safe asking anyone. Plus revealing that I was sans cash didn’t seem safe either. So I started clip clopping forward in what would later be deemed the world’s most uncomfortable shoes. I thought of that Demetri Martin joke “If you’re wearing flip flops, it’s like you’re saying ‘I hope I don’t get chased today!”. Except instead of flip flops and getting chased, it was awful shoes and possibly having to walk 20+ blocks…

But crap. I can’t walk all the way back home. Ok new plan. Call Ryan. His friend lives in Plaza Italia and I knew he said he was going to his party tonight. Nope. No answer. Should I call my host family? Ugh, it’s so late and I can’t make them come get me. So I called my loyal best friend, Angela. I felt terrible for asking her to basically get her butt out of bed to come save mine, but sometimes you’re desperate and run out of options.

After a brief period of waiting (where I found a ring on the street—score!) she hopped out of the 59 and all we could do was laugh. That’s how you know you’ve got a true friend. When she not only gets out of bed to rescue you, spends a little bit of her money to do it, and does it with a smile, not expecting anything other than you to be ok. And don’t worry, I’ll be paying it back to her shortly, but really I was just so happy to have a friend like her.

Also, it proved that we were getting to be pros at this whole “worst case scenario” thing that always happens in Argentina. Nothing works, you get ripped off, it’s late at night and you can’t get home…pfft, tell me something new. I don’t even care anymore.

The most important part is the following 4 lessons:

1. Always ask the bus driver of the direction the bus is going. If you still manage to get on the wrong bus, ask the driver what your options are. They have nothing to gain by not telling you and they can probably help you out.
2. Never put up with a taxi driver’s crap. If he gives you the stupid foreigner fare, tell him you’ll take your business everywhere (or just get in the cab and say “Che, no me jodés. No soy boluda.”). And if you don’t like the route he’s taking, tell him where you’d rather go. And for god’s sake, if you need those last $2, just give him the $58 and tell him he’s gotten more than his fair share. And if he still sucks despite all this, write down his info and report him to the taxi company.
3. If you’re in a desperate situation, once again, just ask the bus driver. It’s not uncommon for even porteños to get robbed, so sometimes you are without any money or a Sube card. It’s $1.25…and come on, I’m cute!
4. Always wear comfortable shoes. ALWAYS.
5. It’s ok to do things yourself, but sometimes you should just get over your pride and embarrassment and ask for help.

This wont make sense because it's text instead of audio

These are things people say that I love to hear them say and I'm writing them down just so I don't forget. You have no idea what they sound like, therefore making this completely ineffective. Look for more later.

Angela (imitating the hot dog hawkers in Mar del Plata): "Pancho! Super Pancho!"

Björk: ¡Graciaaaaas!

Juan: WHAAAAAAAAAAT?! No.
Me: Yes...
Juan: No!
Me: Yes!
Juan. No!! WHAAAAAAAAT?!

Toshy: Mo-nay-duhz

Tonya: Gracias, pero no gracias.

Ana: Cock-a-DOODLE-do (caps indicating stress on the 'doodle')
Tonya: You don't really need to learn that word, cause you'd never really say it.
Ana: Well, I'm going to say every day it because I like it.

BAFICI 2012

April 11^th – 23^rd, 2012

BAFICI IS HERE! I had read something about it probably a month ago, but forgot about it until a classmate mentioned something about it. BAFICI (Buenos Aires Festival Internacional de Cine Independiente) is the international film festival in Buenos Aires that runs for a whopping 11 days that are jam packed with indie flicks from all over the world from morning to night. A quick glance on the website (http://www.bafici.org.ar) shows you the sheer quantity of films there were. Not only that, but there were so many types of movies, too. Oh and each movie only cost $13 pesos to get it. So for the price of one regular movie, I saw 3.

I knew I wanted to go to several movies, but I didn’t know which ones. And really there was no way other than to pick based on title, the brief summary and where it was from. Also, the movies had to fit with my schedule, which limited me to evenings. While there were summaries and trailers for each movie, it was still impossible to really choose and give each movie a fair chance. But I decided on El espacio entre los dos “The space between us” (Argentina), Cocaine Cowboys 2: Hustlin with the Godmother (US) and Verano “Summer” (Argentina).

El espacio entre los dos

A movie from Córdoba, this flick shows the course of events of just one evening/morning of 3 friends who have their own rock band. The drummer and the lead singer are of course dating, madly in love and always willing to make out in front of the poor guitarist that is secretly in love with their crooning front woman, despite being best friends with said boyfriend. While some scenes were incredibly drawn out and a bit uncomfortable (3+ minutes of the bathroom/mirror breakdown and 3+ minutes of just smoking a cigarette on the roof…) once the threesome left the party, things got less awkward and more heartfelt. While there was limited dialogue, one could deduce that based on the title, it wasn’t necessarily about words, but rather spaces. During a scene where the friends raid the playground and have a nostalgic sharing of old memories, we learn that the unrequited love was once requited back in the playground days. But obviously a “space” came between them when he moved away and years later a new boyfriend had taken his place. But his love remained. At times, the film seemed like a really long music video because of the way the shots were filmed and the overall film of the movie. At first, I was a little put off by some of the scenes that in my opinion, were just cinematically off. But when I started to think about it more, I really liked it because it was so human. It didn’t matter that it focused on some seniors in high school in Córdoba, because really at the heart of it, this is, in one way or another, everybody’s story—just told a little differently. 

Cocaine Cowboys 2: Hustlin with the Godmother

While the title may seem to lend less credibility to the documentary, it definitely captures how ridiculous the subject matter is. The previous film focuses upon the cocaine cowboy years in the late 20^th century, specifically in Miami, whereas this version centers on Charles Cosby and his involvement with Griselda Blanco, the baddest b**** in history, possibly. While Cosby was just your average crack dealer in the Oakland area, his life took a turn for the crazier when he became the confidant, business partner and lover of Griselda after seeing her incredible story on the news after her arrest. She was dubbed the queen of cocaine, as she was responsible for the smuggling of 3000 TONS of coke into the US from Colombia over the course of 20 years, starting in the 1970s in NYC. She was said to have been responsible for the murders of over 200 people, in addition to all the rampant violence she stirred up in any city she had business in. Nobody could defeat her nor her my-way-or-the-highway tactics. She even made Pablo Escobar look like a wuss. Despite the hundreds who conspired against her, and the trials that should have come to pass, she was never indicted after her original sentence. She is alive and well somewhere in Colombia. YOU'VE GOTTA SEE THIS MOVIE!!!!!!

Verano

Despite the wistful title that makes everybody long for those restless days of freedom and beauty, the film was a bit strange, even for my tastes…and that’s saying something. Essentially, it centers on the stories of several random people near the Mendoza area, as well a few in the Santiago area. All of them have stories the audience is waiting to hear more about. But just when you think you’re going to learn more about that woman traveling alone who’s pregnant, or the couple vacationing trying to get pregnant, more and more characters and stories are introduced to the point where you can hardly keep them straight. It doesn’t help that most of the women look exactly alike, either. Why is that man feeding ham to a dog in the woods? Are those Chileans ever going to get a new vacuum? Will the bus ever come and pick up the woman trying to kiss the motorcyclist? Does the mother with the fever get better or worse? The whole movie felt like a teaser. But once again, maybe it was trying to reflect the way life is. The fact that every day we encounter so many random people and only know an infinitesimal portion of their life story, yet are never hungry for more because we just don’t have time to ask everybody about their lives when we’re grocery shopping. Maybe this film is meant to inspire those moments, or have the audience consider what clip of their life do others see and what does it represent? One thing I did find interesting was that in 3 instances, the movie featured only screenshots, while punctuated by a moving soundtrack of what the scene would sound like were it actually happening. It was like a living photo montage. It kind of made me want to try out this medium. So despite how strange and incomplete it felt at times, it at least inspired these thoughts.

Dia de Campo

Saturday, April 14^th, 2012

As part of my program, we took an excursion to a “traditional” gaucho ranch out in the BA province called La Mimosa. It was a short trip from the city, just a 60-90 minute excursion. We were greeted by peacocks (which never once opened up and flaunted their feathery tails in full) as well as gauchos handing out delicious orange juice and empanadas. Not long after our arrival, we got to see the traditional style of dance (not tango). It reminded me in some ways of Basque dancing, but even more playful. (Yo, Lasso, I was thinking of you…).

After that we were free to ride the horses (if we knew how, that is…) and because I haven’t ridden a horse since 1994, I opted for the short horse-drawn cart ride through the campo. Afterwards, Angela and I took a small photo excursion because the entire property was filled with luscious plants and flowers, even this late in the year. It still felt like summer was in full bloom and had there not been tens of students in every corner, I would have felt a lot more tranquil—but even still, I felt like I was in paradise.

Then it was time for lunch—a traditional asado. I’m never opposed to eating meat from an asado, but unfortunately this asado only had chorizo, bolsillo (blood sausage) and some kind of roast beef that was very fatty. There was also chicken, but this too was very greasy and the bones and skin seemed to outweigh the actual meat. At least on my piece of chicken, anyway. But the salad, empanadas and bread were delicious, so I wasn’t about to complain. Plus I had a fair amount of OJ…the OJ in the country is magical…

Fat and happy, we were then treated to ice cream (seriously, I’m going to explode!) while we watched more traditional dancing. Eventually they put on “regular” dancing music and hoped that the students would take to the floor. Nobody did until a few brave souls showed their dance moves and little by little, more students trickled into the crowd.

We were a little sweaty, but even that wasn’t the finale. Further yet, we had a demonstration of a classic game brought by the Spaniards (because before Europe’s fateful arrival, there weren’t any horses here…). The key is to get a pencil sized stick through a ring hanging down from a pole. While you’re riding a horse at full speed. Sound impossible? It almost is…There were 4 competitors and of course the first one to do it was the 11 year old! Wow! The tradition is that once a gaucho gets the ring, he gives it to a lovely lady in the audience in exchange for a kiss. That’s one lucky pre-pubescent gaucho!

After the game was over, we still had a little bit of free time to amble about the property where I met a cute little sheep that would follow me to and fro from his cage. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that animals are still very perceptive until you have a humanly encounter with them. And as I played around in the crowds of chickens, peacocks and dogs that were running all over the place, I thought, hmm…maybe this is the life…

But before I could really say for sure, we loaded back up on the bus back to the city, away from this beautiful and tranquil place back to the traffic jam that is Buenos Aires.

Exercising the right to exercise

Wednesday, April 11^th, 2012

While walking around in the city you always see a lot of advertisements. And sometimes they change so fast, you’re lucky to see them twice. But other times, it’s like they’ve been there for months. One happened to catch my eye (probably because it was neon green and pink…) for the Ser 5k for breast cancer awareness/fundraising. I think it’s basically the equivalent of the Susan G. Komen run through Yoplait. In fact, I’m gonna go ahead and say that Ser is the Yoplait of Argentina—though their empire entails more than yogurt, venturing into snacks, soft drinks and I’ve even seen hot dogs!

After reviewing the terms of the race online and what it’s for, I decided it was well worth the $70 peso entry fee. Plus you get a t-shirt for running in it too. And from what it looks like, it’s not just a crappy cotton “free t-shirt” kind of t-shirt, but like it’s actually made out of athletic material. Plus I really love Ser’s juice so I am looking forward to whatever they’re gonna give me for running. Also, I should probably mention that last semester, and many semesters in the past, I was kind of obsessed with running, so it feels good to be able to enter a 5k that passes through BA. It’s exercise and a lesson in the cityscape. I just hope they sweep the streets and sidewalks first so there’s no dog poop to step in…

I had to register at the running club in BA, which I realized was a relatively short walk from my university, and I figured I should at least speed walk even faster than normal to start practicing…I registered for the race no problem. I’m racer 421 and can’t wait to pin my number on and get to running! More later when I’ve actually ran the race!

Looking at the map again, I realized that while I wasn’t really far from my house, I was still far enough away that I should probably take a bus home so I’m not walking around at sunset. I knew there was a bus stop for the 29 line near my house and there were 29’s passing by, so I figured it was a safe bet.

We were cruising along and I saw that we had passed a street that sounded familiar. Not my street, but one that was close to it. But I thought, nah, we’ll be passing down my street soon enough. I was enjoying all the views of the tennis courts and soccer clubs that by the time we were passing Gral. Paz highway, it dawned on me that I had gotten on the correct line, but not in the correct direction…we wouldn’t be passing by my house anytime soon. In fact, Gral. Paz is the dividing highway between Capital Federal and Greater Buenos Aires, so I was actually LEAVING THE CITY.

But we were still in all the turnpikes when I disembarked and immediately whipped out my Multi Guia, which is my best friend. Oh, well I’m only 15 blocks from my house, which was just a few blocks less than the distance I was from my house from the running club. Nice work, Nikita. But unlike Nikita from even a few weeks ago, I didn't panic. Nor did I get upset. I just started walking forward.

So I began trudging (because I still had my stupid backpack from school on and it was a little hot still) back to my house with the sun setting very, very slowly behind me. But things weren’t so bad because on my way, I passed through an interesting pocket of my neighborhood that I’d never seen before. It reminded me of an area in Seattle. Not only that, but it really smelled like autumn and some yellow leaves had fallen to the sidewalk, or were fluttering gently in the trees, just about to do so. I half expected to see trick-or-treaters running around in costumes. But then I remembered it was April. It’s still strange to me that it’s spring where I’m from, as it’s going into fall here. In my mind, it was October and I was happy to have taken the wrong bus, because it was worth the few ephemeral smells and sights of autumn that I didn’t really expect from this city. I still don’t really know what to expect for autumn here, but I keep thinking it’s October, so I’m hopeful.

Nikkilude #9: Dadbrother Sistermother!

I just got done having a 2ish hour conversation with Juan about how cool everything is (primarily biologically speaking—like how human life is created, how we’re able to see/hear/taste, the respiratory tract of a cockroach…). Sounds like we’ve been smoking too much dope, but the reality is that for whatever reason we just always get into these conversations about life that we get really animated about. Just when we think we’ve hammered out all the topics, it’s like “OH MY GOD, BUT WHAT ABOUT THIS!?” “YEAH!!!!”. And now more than ever it is completely clear that one great conversation can make my life even better than I ever knew. Really, if life is nothing more than me having a series of good conversations (with myself and others) I will be ok. Obviously the same topics get talked about, but really I don’t feel like even one has been exhausted (maybe during the course of the same conversation, but in a lifetime, no). I don’t feel complete if I can’t express myself and listen to others in conversations like this. Not every conversation should be the “we just stayed up til 5 talking, didn’t we?” conversation, but why can’t people talk about interesting, real things more often? Stop telling your nothing stories and start telling your life story, otherwise you won’t have one.

So after our conversation, I had to stop and wonder how on earth did I get so lucky to get such a cool host family that is on my level to the point that we can talk about stuff like this all the time?

I’m an only child and I’ve pretty much always reveled in this fact, but from time to time I thought maybe I wanted an older brother. After almost 3 months of trying to figure out how Juan and Ana could be “related to me” (because they’re way too young to be my parents) I decided it’s like having a dadbrother sistermother situation. It doesn’t exist very often, but here it is. Cause really, how else would you explain a guy that asks you about your day when he gets off work but then makes fun of you when you take the wrong bus? And there’s definitely no other way to explain a woman that gets worried if she doesn’t know where you are, but then doesn’t ground you when you tell her you were out til 5 am partying. I love it. They are a really responsible host family that takes incredible care of me in every way, but I never feel like they’re breathing down my neck or restricting my experience. Best of all, I can be myself with them. I can be informal, silly and sarcastic as well as serious, vulnerable and upset and they always seem to understand and listen to me. Which is pretty incredible considering that I’m some random estadounidense that showed up to live with them 3 months ago. Cultural and language barriers don’t seem to be an issue. And while my experience with my own actual family has mostly been one of openness, I don’t think mine is representative and there are many kids who can’t really “be themselves” with their parents/family. It’s the best of both worlds without any of the detractors. I have no idea how ISA chose this family for me, but however they did I am so grateful. Even on days when I’m not out doing something in the city, I am still so happy to hang out at home because every day is a new conversation and a new scenario where we get to know each other better, and in doing so, I get to know Buenos Aires, Argentina, myself, the US and well, EVERYTHING better. Even if I never did anything else here, I think I’d still leave happy knowing that I got to spend time with such incredible people who were kind enough to not only open their home to a total foreign stranger, but also to open up themselves and their lives up to her too. I’ve heard of many host families not even really being good at the first thing and I don’t even want to imagine what that would be like. So here’s to Ana and Juan, who have somehow put up with me for this long and haven’t gone crazy yet.

Notes on Argentine Culture #11: Mendoza

·         Mendoza is a lot cleaner than BA with much less graffiti—but this makes sense because Mendoza doesn’t even have a population of 1 million…

·         All the trees look kind of dead and dry, and I don’t think it’s just because it’s Autumn…tree virus? And or the fact that it’s just so dry here.

·         FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO NOT PUT TOILET PAPER IN THE TOILET!!!!!

·         And speaking of paper products—THEY HAVE NAPKINS HERE!!!

·         A glass of wine could be the cheapest drink on the menu and often is. They don’t just do half glass, either, they fill that sucker up to the top.

·         Everybody seems inclined to have a deep conversation with you at any given time.

·         Mendozans seem to be a lot friendlier than porteños—but this could be attributed to the fact that their city is WAY smaller than BA.

·         Tortitas are the snack of choice to have with your coffee/tea. Once again, they’re a small, round, thin bread that’s kind of flaky and dry. They are not sweet like medialunas.

·         There would be more…but a lot of things were closed due to the Easter holiday…

Tour de Franzia--Mendoza Style

Saturday, April 7^th, 2012

After 2 days of having everything shut down for the Easter feriado, we were jumping to do something and knew that the wine bike tour was exactly that. We took the 10 out to Maipú, which is the even dustier outskirt town of Mendoza. While it wasn’t a slummy area, it was merely just a humble town that gave a good representation of Argentina outside its cities.  After we brushed the dust off, we looked for Maipú Bikes (the bike rental place) and after we were treated to a delicious glass of juice, we were on our bikes, ready to go.

One glance at the landscape told us there wouldn’t be any hills this time (unlike Circuito Chico in Bariloche…) and we reveled under the hot, dry sun on the dusty roads. Our first stop was a marmalade/chocolate/liquor place where we got a small sample of everything. I opted for the lemon liquor while Angela just went all in and got the red absinthe. Hello 10:30 am! 

Thoroughly pleased, we continued on to the next winery but during the free guided tour, we couldn’t hear anything and just took advantage of the secluded vineyard and the free sample.

We then visited a small-scale winery that specialized in “limited wines” only available at the winery as they were seen as too delicate and high quality to mass market in grocery stores. But don’t misunderstand and think this made the winery pretentious—it was quite the opposite. We were greeted by some really friendly staff, as well as signs that had some words of wisdom. 

In addition, our tour guide had a wine stain on her shirt that was there in a matter of factly kind of way (yeah, it’s stained, but I work at a winery—what do you want from me!). The winery had been a family affair for many generations and you could see the dedication to quality as well as pride. We learned about the wine making process (where no bottle of wine is less than 2 years old because of the aging process), the lines of wines they offered (with 3 main lines and 2 “select” lines with very limited quantities) as well as how to appreciate and sample a wine.

Wine sampling for beginners:

1. Choose a wine that’s right for you. If you are new to wine, don’t immediately jump to the heavily aged reds or opt for the most expensive bottle just because it’s “higher class”.
2. When you've chosen your wine, make sure you hold it from the stem and the base of the glass as you do not want to heat the wine by holding the vase with your hand.
3. As you hold it, note the color. Is it blood red? Fuchsia? Dark maroon?
4. Give it a sniff. You’ll notice that the scent of alcohol dominates. Swirl it around a few times, then sniff again—this time you can smell the delicious components of the wine. Maybe it will be fruity, nutty, hearty, woody, chocolatey or otherwise.
5. As you watch the swirls go back down, notice the bead thickness and speed it falls back down the side of the glass. The slower it goes, the heartier the wine.
6. Then finally, take your first sip. Be prepared for the “palate shock”. Then take another sip. Then another. Make sure to swirl the wine around your palate to get a feel for its flavor. You should take 3 sips before you decide whether or not you enjoy the taste. And if you do like it, well, take as many sips after that as you want ;)

After a great tour/tasting session, we were feeling even better in the heat as we peddled (a little more wobbily) down the path towards yet another winery. This winery, Mevi, was more exclusive looking and had a sleek post-modern design with geometrics ruling all, as well as some good air conditioning. For this tasting session, we were to pick 3 wines from the white or red collection. I admittedly am much more of a white wine drinker, so I was happy to finally have some to choose from. In addition to wine, we felt some empanadas were in order—especially as our empty stomachs reminded us that all we’d had in the past few hours was wine…

Looking over the balcony at the incredible view of the winery and the hazy Andes Mountains, we thought maybe we were in paradise. There’s no way places like this actually exist, and if they do, how did we get here? The place seemed even more affectionately special when we realized that we’d biked here on a perfect sunny day—two best friends in the heart of wine country.

But we couldn’t stay there forever, as we still had more vineyards to see but even less time to see them. We pedaled forward and encountered Familia de Tommasi—the vineyard also notorious for its 100 peso meals. But we had a coupon! As well as the mentality that we would split it. Our soup came fast and it was probably the best chicken soup variation I’ve ever had in my life. I know, I know, my inner vegetarian is crying, but that was in the top 3 meals I’ve eaten in Argentina and maybe ever. I could not get enough. I would have eaten a vat of it. And that was even before we got dessert—a warm brownie with dulce de leche ice cream. Good food, good wine, good friends—good life.

Starting to wind down from our wine haze (worsened by the hot sun), we had to call it a day because we had to make it back to the bike place on time. You’d think that spending 5-6 hours would be sufficient, but we hit maybe half the vineyards on the itinerary. But we returned the bikes, thankful we never crashed or got hit by a car because drunk pedaling can be dangerous… ;) the worst of our worries were the millions of piropos and car honks we got on the trail. These men are relentless…

This was the kind of day that really put me in the travelers’ dilemma: do you explore new lands, or go back to places you love? All I could think of on the bus back to our hostel was how much I wanted to experience all of that again—from the personable vineyard owners, their delicious wines and the liberation we felt biking along the dusty roads in the sun. A perfect day. 

The meaning of life in Mendoza

Friday, April 6^th, 2012

Despite the fact that part of our judgment told us it was a bad idea to meet back up with our Argie grandpa figure from the day before, we figured since we were in a public place and just getting some coffee (at Dun Ken not to be confused with Dunkin), we’d be fine. Once again, he was delighted to see us and commenced with the typical talk of politics, travel and world problems. We sat and listened while he finally stopped to ask why we weren’t talking—because it’s hard to talk when someone else is?

While taking some tea and coffee, we also tried tortitas, a special type of bread in Mendoza. It’s a round piece of thin, flaky bread that is a little on the dryer side but still tasty nonetheless and perfect with tea. Though I wouldn’t say they beat medialunas…

Later in the day Angela was at Good Friday mass, so I resumed my Nat Geo reading at Plaza Independencia. I’d read maybe half a page about exotic insects that have the ability to disguise themselves amongst the plants when I was interrupted by yet another viejo that stopped to ask me “Sos escritora?” (Are you a writer?) Well…I guess that depends on your definition of writer. I mean, I’m currently on page 104 of writing my story in Argentina. While this is by far some of my worst writing stylistically (spontaneous, colloquial, raving…) it is writing nonetheless, so I told him yes I was. I expounded further by telling him that I wanted to be a writer for the very publication I was reading. And once again, a conversation about life began. I have these types of conversations all the time at home, but normally amongst my closest friends—not just any random person who walks up to me in the park.

We talked about the meaning of life. Literally. While I’m of the school of thought that the point of life is merely just living, I think the best part of being able to do that is through all the people you meet and the shared human experience that regardless of where you are is more or less the same. And as a hopeless romantic, I can’t really say I’d enjoy my existence here without love and what better exemplifies the human experience than that? It might be the most human of all things. As a goodbye, he left me with two poems he had written, and while they were the classic cutesy love poems, they were still quite touching and well-written.

Almost on cue after my old writer friend left, his void was filled by a younger aspiring drummer/artist. What unfolded next was yet another conversation about life that sprang from his commenting on my impressive level of Spanish, to which I confessed that I loved speaking Spanish because it is fun to play with the accent, surprise people and learn more about a culture by speaking its language with its people. Then that just turned into a conversation about cultural differences between the US and Argentina of which there are many…and I realized that I like a lot more about it than I used to because I am accustomed to it. But then we went back to the idea of despite these differences between all cultures, what holds humanity together? And again, we came back to the idea that humans are humans through and through and we share the same emotions even if we feel, express and understand them differently in different situations. Through the latter part of the conversation, he began to sketch me as I was sitting on the bench. Subconsciously I started posing, making sure that he would catch my good side versus the Nikki that often makes grotesque faces to express grotesque ideas or ridiculous faces just because that’s what I do. After drawing me, to some accuracy, we parted ways, and while I was nervous that he would try and ask me out after the whole debacle, he merely said “un recuerdo para vos” and walked away amongst the huge crowd.

So apparently everyone in Mendoza is just raring to start a conversation about life. I never once talked about the weather despite the fact that before I came to Argentina, that was one of the only topics I felt sure I could really discuss because I doubted my language skills. I wasn’t a beginner by any means, but I was nowhere near the “have a conversation about life with complete fluidity” stage either. Maybe that’s what you should expect from a city known for its wine, as many a blue evenings have been spent discussing life under the red shades of a good glass of vino.

And speaking of vino, it was time for more. Angela came back from mass and we opted to get our free glass of wine from our hostel—and like most other glasses of wine in Mendoza, it was filled almost up to the brim. Maybe that’s not high class, but who invented the glass half full rule?! We were starting to feel like real winos when Ryan told us to hustle down to his hostel. Unfortunately that was on the other side of town where nothing was going on except a greasy pizza place and some street rats. Oh and I guess meeting up with some of his hostel friends from all over Europe. But we still hadn’t eaten dinner yet and weren’t in the mood for grease, so we hit the road with two other Americans who were studying in BA and were in Mendoza for the weekend.

That proved to be somewhat difficult as basically all the restaurants were out of food. Alright, I’ll have a salad and wait 45 minutes to get it. I think we finished dinner around 2 am? But nobody was mad after we parted ways and realized we were all Reddit and or Chive fans. 

Gundars Rudzitis: The Argentine Edition

Thursday, April 5^th, 2012

Just 48 hours after I’d returned from Chile, I was off to Mendoza. I know you’re thinking “why on earth didn’t you just stay in Chile then make your way to Mendoza!?”. Well, that’s because I planned my trip back-asswards, with Lollapalooza getting thrown in at the last minute. Really expensive, but hey, a life experience and those are of course priceless.

So another long bus ride later (the plane ride back to the US will seem like nothing after these), we made it to the city of Mendoza. Mendoza is of course known for its wine. And like many other wine-growing areas, it has a lot of dry heat. Mendoza sort of reminds me of Arizona. It’s desertous with cactus, barrenness but also tropical with palm trees. But it was nice to be somewhere a little more like my hometown with its dryness. The humidity is too much for me to take sometimes. The other thing about Mendoza is that it’s a lot smaller, and like my hometown as well, its population is around 500,000ish. What a relief.

By the time we were settled in our hostel, we were starving. But because of the Easter feriado, basically just about everything was closed. It was like a ghost town. But finally we found the token Italian restaurant and I went for a classic dish of pasta (how have I not gained weight?) and a big hearty glass of Malbec. The wine was the cheapest drink on the menu. I think I can get used to this city. Shortly after ordering, we were joined by two older gentlemen who of course started a conversation with us, being that we were the only ones nearby, much less on the street.

While there were two of them, there was definitely only one that dominated the conversation, and he was the Argentine version of a professor back home, Gundars Rudzitis. If you don’t know him, he’s hard to explain because he’s just that ridiculous. Basically he’s been everywhere, done everything and loves to tell you about it. Sometimes at the expense of class time…

After talking about the usual: world problems, politics, the Argentine situation, how beautiful Angela and I were (yep, even in old age, they’re ruthless)…We went to Plaza Independencia which was conveniently less than a block away from our hostel. As Angela slaved away through her biochem reading, I much more leisurely took delight in my Nat Geo. Half sunburned and passing out, we went back to take a nap because, well, there really wasn’t anything else to do.

Later that night we passed through the feria in Plaza Independencia. There were mostly the same little artisanal goods, but with a Mendozan twist. I came across a necklace I really liked and while the style was something I’d always liked, the exact design was very unique and just my style. But it was $100 pesos. I thought long and hard and after some convincing from Angela, I went back to buy it. The craftsman was from Peru and after buying he told us some interesting Incan wedding traditions, because he was married. The thing that stuck out most to me was the piercing of the skin with wooden splints as a symbolic of the eternity the mark will spend on your body and how your spouse will forever be a part of you. Then he made us some friendship bracelets because he thought maybe Angela and I were soul sisters from another life. Because in addition to the fact that we look like sisters, we can sometimes act like it too.

Lollapalooza day 2

Sunday, April 1^st, 2012

I have missed all of my favorite holidays down here! April Fool’s Day is probably my 2^nd favorite holiday (after Valentine’s Day) because I’m already full of crap anyways and this day is just a day where I can walk around like this: http://myfacewhen.com/i/522.jpg. Upon typing this, I realize I am Spongebob if these are my two favorite holidays. But alas, I digress, and I guess it’s worth it to miss my silly holiday to go to Lollapalooza…

We showed up to catch Foster the People. On the plane down to BA, I read something in the surprisingly tasteful airline magazine about the band. They didn’t actually have a band formed when “Pumped up kicks” broke the scene and exploded, so they had to hurry up and figure it out then go on tour immediately. You could tell this was the case because outside of this song, they’re still trying to figure out who they are. They make a pretty good genero, happy summer day music and I think that counts for something.

Then came Band of Horses who, as the name could imply, have a bit of a country side that I didn’t know about, since I’d only heard their song “Funeral”. Ryan gave me the “I’ll let you stay for as long as you want, but if it’s more than 10 minutes, we might have a problem” face and I kind of agreed with him. It’s not that I thought they were bad, but it just felt a little out of place to be listening to hipster country music in Chile. Right? We walked back to the watering hole (fitting with all the horse references…) where I could hear the twinkly echoes of the opening to “Funeral” concluding their set. Oh how that song reminds me of many a mental breakdown…

While we sat in the much appreciated shade, I busted out my giant Chilean avocado I had bought at a fruit stand before coming. It has always been my dream to eat a real Chilean avocado in Chile. Don’t ask why. It’s an avocado thing…And while it was delicious, it had a bit of a strange flavor and kick to it. It was almost like it was infused with Sprite…That’s the only way I can describe it. By the latter portion of the fruit, I couldn’t eat it because it was a little too tangy for me and got a little hot on my tongue. What??? I’ll stick with the imported ones now that I know that there’s not some grand difference and I actually don’t prefer the native fruits…

Still hungry and waiting for more, Ryan went to get some ice cream. I hadn’t bought any tickets (the currency at Lollapalooza) but I waited in line with him. The woman working at the stand thought that instead of ordering a double scoop, he was ordering double cones, one for me one for him (does everybody think we’re dating just because we’re hanging out? More evidence that guy-girl relationships don’t exist here if there’s not something more going on…). We realized the mistake when she handed over two cones, but didn’t care. Ryan, in his Ryanesque Spanish said “Estás feliz para la manzana!?” (because we ordered an apple strudel flavored ice cream) and the woman gave him a strange look which only made us laugh harder about everything.

This set a good tone for TV on the Radio. I hadn’t listened to them since high school with Return to Cookie Mountain, so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I immediately remembered why I loved them those 4 years ago. Nothing bad can be said about a band whose lead singer is black (thereby giving him access to an excellent falsetto as well as Barry White lowwwwwww) supported by a horn section. Their set might have been my favorite of the festival because not only did they speak the best Spanish, but they just had such an energetic, fun air about themselves. Even though I didn’t recognize most of the songs, I felt like I did and wanted to get their latest album after they ended.

Next was MGMT, who apparently sucks live—but I like MGMT. They’ve narrated my college years from time to time and I have many a good memory with their songs emanating from the background. But the problem is that live, they don’t convey those good times very well. While their lead singer has a cute little head, he’s a little awkward…And where is the volume on that synth!? You can’t play electronic music like that and do a mellow acoustic set. I’m not saying they’re hard. But they’re harder than acoustic on most songs…So MGMT, I like you, but only when you’re blasting from frat speakers. That’s a little embarrassing to admit…

After hearing all the songs I needed from MGMT (and feeling a little sleepy) I decided to go to Skrillex. Skrillex is a complicated issue for me because as a fan of electronic music (including dubstep) I get irritated that he overshadows the whole genre. I stopped caring about the classifications of electronic music (i/e: what is/isn’t dubstep) because there’s so many branches and it’s a stupid argument to get in where everybody tries to look like a much bigger original superfan over everyone else. Listen to what you like. Yeah, I know Skrillex isn’t a “real DJ”, but he sure knows how to draw a crowd, so maybe just call him an entertainer instead. Because people were going absolutely mad during his set. In addition to the fact that that was the most packed that little indoor arena had been all throughout the festival. I was relieved to be moving around after MGMT’s snoozy set. But my favorite part? When he yelled “SANTIAGOOOOO!!!” because I could hear his From First to Last voice and thought immediately back to 9^th grade. “Your name might be Skrillex”, but Sonny Moore is still in there somewhere and you KNOW it…

Be careful, Skrillex. The internet doesn't always like you so much.

After that, I lost 10 pounds in sweat and was rendered virtually deaf so Ryan and I decided Foo Fighters wasn’t really worth it. We’d had our fill. Especially considering between the 2 of us we knew maybe 3 FF songs well enough. Plus there were more than enough fans there to show their support…And yes, Dave Grohl, you’re pretty cool, but I don’t think I can handle you telling me that for 2.5 hours. For the first part of your career, you were “the other guy in Nirvana”. I mean, it’s better than “the other OTHER guy in Nirvana”. What the deuce happened to THAT guy?

Lollapalooza day 1

Saturday, March 31^st, 2012

**A disclaimer. As anyone who has gone to a concert before knows, it's impossible to convey the greatness of music through words. I thought about going into more depth with my descriptions, but then decided it was worthless. 

Everybody and their hipster best friend was in Santiago for Lollapalooza, it seemed. And I can’t say I blame them because what a lineup! Although we were already running late, it was incredible the amount of people waiting for the subway to O’Higgins park where it was all going down. We mobbed like cattle to get into our respective car and were whisked away. I must say the subway system in Santiago makes the ol’ Subte here in Buenos Aires look like, well, what it is—some grimy trains that sound like they could explode any second. The trains in Santiago ran a tight schedule with a multitude of trains. 

 This, in addition to the fact that they moved so sleekly made me feel like I was back in Korea. But the real madness started when we got off the train:

REMERAS! Pósters! PANCHO! EMPANADA! GASEOSAS! REMERAS! ENTRADAS! LOLLAPALOOZA!

Wow. Maybe the subway did take me back to Asia. That was the only way to describe the billions of hawkers waiting outside the station. Even if I did want a t-shirt (which I actually really did), there would have been no way to buy it because the crowd was too big and the space too small. We finally made it to the entrance and picked up our tickets hassle free from will-call just as the last notes of Gogol Bordello echoed into the hot afternoon air. Poor Ryan…Maybe had our bus not arrived two hours late and had our hostel actually understood “reservations”, we could have made it. But there’s no use crying over spoiled milk. Or missed sets of Ukrainian gypsy punk music…

While we missed Gogol, we did find our Norwegian friends from the bus by an absolute stroke of random luck. They were on the hunt for beer. There was no beer at Lollapalooza. What!? I mean, I wouldn’t have drank any, but don’t they see the huge profit margin on that? They must be crazy. But then again, had the Lolla attendees gotten everything they wanted, there would have been a weed/acid stand every other step…

We eventually meandered over to where Thievery Corporation was playing and while the band almost has somewhat of a dual personality thing going on (with one side being the jah mon rasta songs, and the other side being incredibly chill world music) they definitely went with the jah mon jams, throwing me a bone every couple of songs to appease my inner Indian Hindu goddess.

After their set finished, we headed over to where Pretty Lights was in the indoor arena. While it was a beautiful day, I didn’t mind this because my sunscreen had run out before the trip and I didn’t think spending 5 solid hours under a hot sun would be too good for my poor little shoulders and nose. Pretty Lights also seems to have a dual personality (one side mellow electronic masterpieces, the other side a little heavier, on the border of dub). Of course he was riding the dub out, because that’s what gets a crowd going. I didn’t hear any of my favorite songs, but he of course played Finally Moving whose sample seems to be showing up everywhere. Living up to his name, he has some very pretty lights going on during his set that enhanced the music with colors and designs.

Then it was time for Bassnectar, who played in the same arena. Towards the beginning of the set there were relatively few people so we made our way up to about the third row. But before we got there, I had to nom an apple and chug some water. Leave it to me to be the only person being healthy in a crowd of people tripping on acid. Even though the photo suggests otherwise:

Bassnectar really does lay on the bass, but for some reason I can’t explain, I felt like his set was a little soft. I was still jumping like crazy, but I wasn’t rendered deaf after the show, nor did my colon rupture from all the bass. Come on!

We dialed it back on the electricity meter and headed over to Arctic Monkeys. I tried to like them when I was a sophomore in high school, but then realized that all the hype must be because they’re called Arctic Monkeys. They’re pretty genero rock in my book, but there were hundreds, if not thousands of people there in the crowd there to disagree with me. Ryan was riding a wave of nostalgia all the way to the watering trough where we filled up on water from god knows where. Don’t think. Just drink.

Then finally, it was time for Björk. She’s a cute little Icelandic Asian woman who’s known for her wacky costumes as much as she is for her obscure voice. Say what you want about Björk, but her music has solid production values in addition to the fact that she brings something new and interesting to the table. She’s got more albums than I can name and has been going strong for more than a decade. I was surprised by the number of Latin American fans she had who knew the lyrics even better than I did. And quite frankly if English is your second language and you’re singing along to Björk, you can be considered fluent. The best part of her set? Her screaming GRACIAAAAAAAAS after every song. It's a sound that can never be recreated. Every time I say the word, I can't help my desire to move up about 8 pitches and add 39 A's to the word...

The cool air disguised the sweat of the day and refreshed me as we walked away from the echoes of Björk’s unique croon. Viva Lollapalooza.  

The Long Road to Chile

Friday, March 30^th, 2012

After all the hours of last minute planning, we were finally on our way to Chile for Lollapalooza. Arriving sweaty and stressed out as usual before a big trip (stupid train has no ventilation), I met up with Ryan at our gate and anxiously awaited for our departure.

Soon enough, that came and we were cozy in our semi-cama seats. Across the aisle from us were Norwegians that we shot the breeze with for a while. In typical Scandinavian style, they were all blonde and had goofy names like Snu and Magnus.

And while this wasn’t my first 20+ hour bus ride (ßhas that sentence fragment ever been written before?) I started to get a little cracked out around hour five. This was probably due to the fact that I couldn’t even carry on a conversation with Ryan because the movie playing on the bus was hands down the worst movie ever made. I don’t know what it’s called, but if I ever find out, I will kill everybody responsible for its production. I thought that Adam Sandler movie was bad, but at least they didn’t kill every single person and make that the whole plot for two loud hours.

By morning, we were getting close to the border and finally reached the checkpoint. While the drug dog almost knocked me over by hitting me with its tail, virtually nothing happened. It was a quick and easy customs pass through. Something I’d never expect in Latin America…

A few hours later, we were finally in the heart of Santiago. After getting off the bus, I was struck with the “whoa, I think I’m in a different country” feeling until I realized, oh yeah, I AM in a different country. But Chile still speaks Spanish so I knew what was going on, but at the same time I felt clueless. Really, Nikki?

We easily found the subway station near the bus terminal to get to our hostel. While BA’s Subte isn’t horrible, it’s nothing to get excited about. Santiago’s subway, on the other hand—wow. That’s fancy. It’s amazing what a difference a subway can make in your mood. It was nice to be whisked away in slick looking cars with ventilation, clearly marked everything and a bright interior. Trains were coming and going quite often, too. I was thoroughly impressed with the smooth ride and couldn’t help but wonder who takes care of Santiago’s transport sector and how much they spend—the people of BA could really use them—especially with what happened with the Once train incident…

After a quick jaunt, we were excited to get geared up for Lollapalooza. But we had to check in to our hostel first. Easier said than done. We arrived to find a sign on the door that said “no hay lugar”, meaning there wasn’t any more room at the hostel, so they didn’t want to let us in until I mentioned that we had made reservations before coming. And we then proceeded to have a Seinfeld moment: Reservations

The owner told us that while she did have our reservation, she only had one bed for the two of us. She had hoped that because we’d booked the hostel at the same time through the same website that we were a couple and that we’d be ok with just one bed because they were overbooked. 

Nope. We’re just friends NOT looking to get snuggly on a grimy little twin sized bed. Additionally, despite the fact that we said we’d be checking in around noon (which was a lie because our bus showed up 2 hours later than planned…) they still didn’t actually have our roomed “cleaned” yet. But after a half hour of dashing to and fro, we had the situation figured out. But at that point, it didn’t matter either way because we were missing Gogol Bordello. But to get to Gogol, we had to take the subway that 1 hour previously seemed tame enough…

An update about my lack of updates

Hello Nikkiness Geographic fans! (The 3 of you)

I'm sorry for the binge/abstinence relationship we're having now with my entry cycles. I'll have nothing new for weeks, then all of a sudden it's an explosion. I've been quite busy now that school is in full swing, as well as the fact that I was traveling for a week.
But I think Eric Weiner says it best--"Documenting life is a poor excuse for living it."
Think of it as me finding a way to generate more content for you.

Guess how many times I've been to Retiro today!

Friday, March 30^th, 2012

While I’d stayed up a wee bit too late Skyping with my beloved novio, I rallied myself to get up early to go to Retiro to pick up my student visa as well as the package waiting for me at the main Correo Argentina, conveniently 2 blocks away from the migrations office. I hate Retiro, but at least I could kill two birds with one train ticket…

On my way to Retiro, I realized I’d forgotten to bring homework or some kind of reading material and I had no idea how long I’d be waiting for either article. Luckily I passed a news stand that’s on the way to the train (and has the most obscure hours, or rather hour, because I’ve only seen him open from 9-10am). I was looking for a certain publication outlined in an undoubtedly trademarked yellow—National Geographic. In addition to being the best magazine in all parts of the globe, Aprils issue was about TITANIC. If we rewind exactly 10 years, we will find 11 year old Nikki, OBSESSED with any and everything Titanic—from the movie to the real ship. I’ve seen the movie 80 times (you want a one woman show? I got it all memorized…) and used to know probably every single fact about Titanic there ever was, along with any news clipping about it. It was actually beyond an obsession and more like a full life possession. I didn’t care that I had to go to Retiro—if I had Nat Geo and Titanic on hand, I was good. And just for the record, it was Nat Geo en Español!

I got to immigrations and the building was already brimming with people at 9:30. Alright. I was resigned to stay here as long as I had to. In fact, I sort of had to being that I was leaving for Chile and you’re not supposed to leave Argentina during the visa process, otherwise you have to start all over again. And trust me, that’s a tramite that you don’t want to do again, let alone the first time…

But something miraculous happened. IT TOOK A HALF HOUR. Somehow, the bureaucrats were smiling down on me and just as easily as I had gotten there, I was already out. At first I was a little concerned because I thought the visa was supposed to be a sticker in the page of your passport…but like most other things in Argentina, the official student visa made no sense. It’s a 2 page document. It doesn’t adhere to anything and you just have to fold it up into your passport. It looks official, but at the same time, it doesn’t even have my picture on it and is a little difficult to decipher. It doesn’t have STUDENT VISA FOR NICOLE FOR ARGENTINA glaring across the top. Oh, Argentina.

Next it was off to Correo Argentina, USPS’s obese, schizophrenic, even slower cousin. If your care package makes it to Argentina (and exceeds a certain size/weight) you have to pick it up at the main office in Retiro. Luckily there’s an international package section so you don’t have to wait with the rest of the barnyard that needs to do god knows what at the post office. Just make sure to bring your passport!

After another shockingly short wait, I had the heavy package from mom in hand. Then it dawned on me that I’d have to ride the train with this heavy box. Oh well. If anyone tries to steal it from me, I’ll just hit them in the head with it. Nobody is messing with this package.

And nobody did. I made it home safely to unwrap my box of love to find my favorite snacks and a few other things I needed. Thanks, Mom J Hopefully the 30 Clif bars she sent will actually last at least 30 days…Juan didn’t understand why, out of all the things I could get sent from the US, I picked protein bars. I told him he’d understand when he took a bite of mint chocolate Clif. He almost did. He was about to continue making fun of me until I whipped out the Kit Kat bars my mom had sent for him. Yeah, now I’m not so crazy, am I, Juan?

*Oh, and in case you were wondering, I went to Retiro twice on this day. With 4 more trips after it in less than a week! But no fools tried to mustard trick me this time. They know better.