Thursday, May 31, 2012

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


Wednesday, May 16th, 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 16th, 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 10th, 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…

Monday, May 28, 2012

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 20th 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, 2nd 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.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Ser 5k


Sunday, May 6th, 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 1000th-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.

The Breakfast Lunch Club


Saturday, May 5th, 2012

Admittedly, I should have gone to the farewell brunch at Magdalena’s party for the group departing today, but I just couldn’t wake up (shocking, right?) and plus I had lunch plans with a friend, and I’d already had to reschedule. I hate rescheduling twice in a row. It just doesn’t seem right.

We met up in Plaza Italia for some lunch and I couldn’t help but notice some students from my program dressed in some obnoxious 90s clothes. I figured there must be some occasion, so I walked over to the statue where they were all dressed up, drinking whisky. They were going rollerblading in the park later (hence the get-up). I understand that most students can’t drink in their host family’s house, but in the park? Really? It looked like fun, but at the same time, I just walked away pretending I wasn’t from the US, nor did I know anybody. At least put it in a juice container…

Since I’d missed out on the brunch at Magdalena’s party, I figured, well, hey, why not lunch!? This restaurant may be the only place on earth that has “real” breakfast food, as well as borderline Mexican food and HOT SALSA. I’m not even a huge spicy food fan, but that salsa had a nice, slow burn and it tasted so good. I wolfed down my breakfast burrito, thinking of how happy I would be to eat regular breakfasts as well as burritos back in the US. The food here is great. But given that beans/burritos comprised 90% of my diet back home, I miss them a lot. There is “Mexican food” here, but not really. And for all of you who thought Argentines eat beans and rice because everybody in South America eats beans and rice—shame, shame, shame.

After we were fat and happy from a good lunch, we went browsing around Plaza Serrano. It was around this time that my boots were unbearably comfortable and I actually had felt the blister form and pop in short time. I had to find new shoes if we were going to continue our trek to find a stupid map guide for my geography class.

$100 pesos later, and I had a new pair of alpargatas. Yeah, they weren’t that cheap, but honestly I was about to buy two bags of chips and use those as shoes because I was that uncomfortable. I wish I’d been in Chinatown, because I’ve seen shoes there for $50! Sigh…

We continued up Santa Fe to find the map for my class and after visiting every book store, I came up empty handed and I’m sure Pablo was going insane looking for a book with someone that was still kind of walking like they were crippled. After 6 or so bookstores, we called it quits and exhausted, I took the Subte back, at least happy the 7 additional blocks after the Subte I could walk in my comfortable, but soon to be unbearably smelly shoes. You either get comfort or odor free—never both…

I remember today seeming like it was months ago...because it was...


Friday, May 4th, 2012

Today was Elan’s going away party, as he was in the first wave of students to leave Argentina. I remembered talking to him about leaving in May when we were in Bariloche exactly 2 months ago and feeling like May was an eternity away, yet here it was, his last night in Buenos Aires…Time is flying, and sometimes I feel like I’m making the most of it, but other times, I feel like I’m wasting it all away.

I’d just gotten a care package from my aunt that had Mac n’ Cheese, so I decided to make 2 boxes to bring to the party to give everybody a taste of their favorite American classic, because most of us are staying until at least June (and for me July). It was a hit and everybody kept asking where I’d found it—sadly, not anywhere in Argentina. In addition to the mac and cheese, we were actually having an asado, which is a giant barbecue. Grillmaster Elan was working hard at the grill to keep everybody satisfied. And yes, I am a vegetarian, but if you’ve been reading, you’ll recall my saying that here I am an Argentarian, meaning I will eat meat as part of the cultural experience, and asados are a big deal in Argentina, because sharing food, especially such large quantities of meat, is always a big deal. I normally hate chorizo/sausage, but I was grooving on the mini choripans we were making and the chicken was as moist as ever. Oh man. Ok, so maybe I’m not a true vegetarian. But I’ve only eaten meat no more than 2 times a month for the past 8 months, and I think we’d be a lot better off if this were the case for everyone. Sadly, it is not.

In addition to the abundance of meat, there was of course, an abundance of alcohol. Yet despite the quantity, everybody was under control. We were all social drunk—eager to tell stories, take pictures, have a laugh and enjoy good conversations. THIS IS THE KIND OF PARTYING I’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT!!! I had so much fun, and I think Elan and Toshy’s host mom said it best when she came out to say good night and we were concerned if we needed to leave, and she said no, no, stay! These are the nights you’ll remember forever. Not in an OMGTHATWASEPIC kind of way, but in the sense that something about it was inherently special because it represents such an ephemeral time in our lives—being young, studying abroad, taking in Argentina…

After god knows how many Dixie cups of wine, “Korean” photos (everybody making peace signs—oh Seoul how I miss you!) and conversations far and wide, I had to call it a night. I’d gotten to know everyone a little better, eaten excellent food and laughed all night long.

Sometimes I think I’m not spending my time wisely, and yes, there are days when the only thing I do is sit at home on my iPad, and there are also days when the only thing I’ve done is had a good conversation, but those are worth it. They are things I will remember forever because they reflect my favorite thing to do in Argentina. And even if some things here don’t work well, if at all, a conversation is something I can always rely on. 

Sleeping Beauty


Monday, April 30th, 2012

We had Monday and Tuesday off because of a national feriado. Unfortunately I didn’t travel because I wanted to save money, as well as the fact that none of my friends were traveling either for the same reason. But because it was a national feriado, everything was closed, so there was really nothing to do unless you wanted to just do something outside. So I slept. A lot. I hate myself for it. I really do. I got up at 2pm for 2 days in a row. WHAT!?!?! I seriously thought I maybe had a sleeping order or that I was getting mono. Because it wasn’t even like, oh I woke up at 10 but went back to bed. It was like I was completely incapacitated for 12 hours.

Turns out I do have a sleeping disorder—it’s called, I haven’t stopped once since I’ve gotten here and this was my first chance to get as much sleep as I needed because there was literally nothing to do—although I at least wished I could have read, or worked on writing. Additionally, I’m a night owl, so for me, going to bed at 2-3am and waking up at noon is OK. Also, I’m a habitual “snoozer”. The snooze button is the worst thing that was ever invented. And with my alarm app on my iPad, I can press snooze an infinite number of times. Problem? Yeah. But maybe it was good that this happened because I was so disgusted with myself that I realized I needed a change. I’m not saying I’m now the best at waking up, but 2pm—never again!!!

Chive on, you crazy diamond


Sunday, April 29th, 2012

In my first week here, I took a city tour with my program and since that time, we’d always vowed to make it back to Recoleta to pass through the cemetery as well as the feria there. After months and months of “no, next weekend, next weekend!!” we FINALLY made it. The weather was horrendously cold, however, so passing through the cemetery didn’t seem all that pleasing. Alright. Feria. I was on the lookout for a new bombilla because my bamboo one didn’t serve me too well, as the holes in the sieve portion at the bottom were just a little too big…Metal bombillas I’m always hesitant of because you can never tell which ones are going to corrode or otherwise get disgusting and every time you ask if it’s inoxidable, they of course reassure you ¡Sí, sí!

The wares at the Recoleta fair are stunning in some booths. There were beautiful, delicate wool scarves, impressive jewelry, and really just about anything you’d be looking for at an artisan fair. Sometimes prices were a little steep, so I recommend going to San Telmo unless you’re looking for something specific.
As we were looking at something especially knick knacky, a guy in a Chive shirt passed by and Angela almost had a heart attack. As a redditor, I am inclined to believe that first comes 4chan, then reddit and anything else is just the sloppy seconds of these sites that eventually trickles down to the bargain bins of tumblr. The Chive wasn’t anything I’d ever heard of but as a fellow Chiver, Angela of course initiated a conversation. Our random Chiver friend was on a business trip from Michigan as his company has holdings down here. It was his last day in town before heading back, so he was doing some shopping for friends. As often happens when you meet fellow travelers, it somehow becomes easy to chat and spend an afternoon talking over a beer and pizza—which is exactly what we did. Before we made it to a restaurant, however, we ran into two more Chivers wearing the same shirt! I wished I was a member of the club, but sadly, I was just the lone redditor taking everybody else’s picture. After running the gambit of conversations, we parted ways, taking delight in the fact that we just met a total stranger that felt like a friend simply because of a website. Madness…

Passing back through the fair, we walked by a stand with papier maché crafts and I locked my eyes on a paper mache cactus. I don’t know what it is about cacti here, but they’re everywhere and I find myself absolutely in love with them. You can buy them from flower stands off the street even. I want to buy one, but because of that whole customs “you can’t bring back live plants” thing as well as the fact that it would be impossible to transport comfortably…looks like I’m going to have to wait. So instead, I settled for a cactus craft. It is adorable and totally my style because everything is so bold and bright. It’s funky, to be sure, but it’s adorable. Looks like instead of becoming a cat lady, I’ve become a cactus lady…

Theater and wine, oh so fine


Saturday, April 28th, 2012

Having some doubt over the events I’d found online through vuenosairez.com (see entry “Contemporary, experimental Argentine film” for explanation), I was happy that Angela still decided to come out to Vendimia en Boedo with me. It was described as an evening of theater and wine. Once again, right up my alley.
Boedo is known as a cute little tango neighborhood in BA, in addition to having some bares notables. While it was quite a trek (D-E line), it was well worth it. We showed up early and enjoyed a bar notable, Café Margot. Bares notables are the historic cafes in Buenos Aires, some of which were places were famous writers went to hash it out with the pen, others where famous tangueros danced the night away. Some are famous just because they’re historic in and of themselves. Café Margot definitely had the historic feel to it, with lots of authentic looking vintage posters, as well as a dark, wooden interior. I could imagine myself scribbling away some good lines in there.

Then it was time for the theater. We showed up right on time, which is normally about 30 minutes early for Argentina, but we found that we were actually almost late and had to guzzle our wine down before the performance started. That is one thing about time in BA that I had forgotten—theater always starts when it says it does and if you’re late, tough luck.

The first performance was a one woman show where a woman, slightly on the verge of madness, had to defend her territory against the companies that kept threatening it as they took out more and more chunks of the habitat. Blame the wine or the fact that we were in a dark, warm theater, but I started to get a little sleepy. In and out of sleep, my dreams mixed with the play in a very strange way. It was like having an angry Spanish-speaking woman narrate my thoughts. And when I wasn’t dozing off, I was thinking about the fact that all too often we fixate so much on the natural side of our deleterious production habits, we actually forget about the people living in these habitats. Or we assume that because they’re “natives” that they can handle whatever terrain they’re given—as if the world hadn’t already screwed them over enough times on what their “terrain” is.

Then we were ushered back out into the lobby area for another round of wine. I think it was the same wine as before. And considering I thought the main purpose of this festival was the wine I guess I found that strange. But it didn’t take long before the theater portion eclipsed the wine by a long shot.

While I’d learned to not trust the descriptions of any artistic production here, I was somewhat doubtful of the performance to come. All I knew was that it was about 2 foreigners in Buenos Aires and there was a magic ball of light. But something told me this was going to be good. Understatement of the year.


While you have to know Spanish, French or both (as well as be a Porteño or someone living in Buenos Aires) to really get the full effect of Al Ritmo de Tina, essentially the story centers on a Spanish/French duo who decide to come live in BA and the audience delights at their discoveries of how the city is, how one gets around it, the Spanish spoken here as well as the little paradoxes and Porteño-isms of life. It was an excellent representation of what it’s like to be a foreigner here—I would know. I don’t think anyone stopped laughing or smiling through the entire play. Because for everything in BA that’s frustrating, there are many more things that are enchanting and beautiful. An additional theme was that of the allure of the unknown. The “magic ball of light” was representative of the globe and the friends used an artist’s dummy (a wooden art doll) to hop, skip and jump to different countries and when it landed on Argentina, they both felt that mystical feeling one does when they’re thinking of Argentina. It’s the same feeling I got before I decided to come here, too. It’s the chaos and culture of Buenos Aires, but it’s also the solitude and tranquility of Patagonia; the tropical, humid provinces up North and the dry, barren provinces that snuggle the Andes. Pairs of opposites that somehow make sense when you put them together. But that’s what I’ve come to love about Argentina. It is the land of polar opposites, black and white, yet somehow everything is grey. It's definitely something to adjust to, but now that I have, I am completely in love.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

"Contemporary, experimental Argentine films"


Friday, April 27th, 2012
As if the storyteller wasn’t weird enough, Angela, Olivia and I were about to embark on an even weirder journey to “contemporary, experimental argentine film” at “El ver de los árboles”. To me this sounded like the type of dreamy independent movie I was craving more of after BAFICI, despite the fact that while I was watching them, I felt disappointed. It wasn’t until a day or so after the movies that I truly realized that I enjoyed them. And when we arrived to our destination, the flyer seemed to indicate that that was exactly the type of movie we were about to see.

There was an art exhibit to pass through while we waited for the “theater” to prepare. I genuinely enjoyed the exhibit, which featured complex tangles of wires that came to life as projected light passed over them. Sometimes it looked like they were red hot with electricity, other times it looked like something a little on the galactic side—like a shooting star that kept going. It was absolutely captivating and I regretted not having my camera.

After the exhibit, we had high hopes for the art that was about to unfold before our eyes on film. The first film was no more than a minute long and showed just a few shots of a horse next to its mother, barely moving, until finally at the end you could see it moving. Ok. Not really what I was expecting, but 3 more to go. The next movie was supposed to be about a trip to Pamplona in the 70s as told through a diary, so I imagined “The Sun Also Rises” more or less taking place in the 70s. But again, the film wasn’t exactly normal and while there was somewhat of a plot (a fighting couple trying to recoup their love through this trip) so much was left unsaid. And unshown, as many images were blotted out with some sort of film-dissolving acid or the images reprojected on top of each other.

But that was nothing compared to the third film which was 20 minutes of dropping some type of acid onto the film that made it dissolve over the scene of a little boy on the beach with his family. Literally. 20 minutes of watching film dissolve. You know the expression “I’d rather watch paint dry”, well I think this was the film equivalent of that. Additionally, there was an even worse version of Boards of Canada playing in the background. I thought it was never going to end. It was worse than the time I had to see Transformers 2 in theaters and kept hoping every fade to black was the end credits coming on). And even though she kept her head forward the whole time, I could tell Angela was giving me a mental death glare.

The fourth film finally started and was more or less a movie shot with very old film showing no more than a guy driving through what I presume to be somewhere in the Buenos Aires province. Again, it was unnecessarily and painfully long. And finally it ended and again, we couldn’t believe what we’d just sat through.

I’m sure you’re thinking, Nikki, why on earth would you choose to see this AND bring a friend to suffer, too!? Because the pamphlet didn’t indicate any of this nonsense. Below are selections of the descriptions of the films, so you can understand the romantic fantasies I’d imagined:

“Un viaje a Pamplona en los 70. Detrás de los bellos relatos en los diarios de viaje, se esconde una historia de amor y fastidio.” (A trip to Pamplona in the 70s. Hidden in the beautiful tales of the travel journal is a story of love and upsets.)
“Un hombre realiza un viaje en auto con un oscuro objetivo en el que intentará borrar los rastros que ha dejado.” (A man goes on a road trip with the dark purpose to try and erase the faces of those he has left behind.)
“Un instante, el preciso momento en que cambia la luz y se percibe movimiento. El acto de mirar. La transformación de los colores, de las formas de los modos de hacer.” (An instant, the precise momento where the light changes and one sees movement. The act of watching. The transformation of colors, of the forms of the modes of being.)

See? Don’t those sound mystical? Now I know that “contemporary, experimental” films really just mean a guy dropped some chemicals over film and made a 20 minute movie about it then forced an innocent public to watch his self indulgent art.

Yep. This. For 20 minutes, in addition to: 
This. With music more horrible than this:

Once it was over, Angela and I were even more dumbfounded than after the storytelling event. We couldn’t help but wonder, however, what the point was. We tried to put ourselves in the directors shoes and really ask ourselves, ok, what would be the purpose of making this movie and why would we show it this way, in this form (for this amount of time…)? And really, I guess that’s the point of art. And as I realized years ago, one can never say what is and isn’t art (really, play the game with yourself and you’ll find that even a dumpster is art in its own right). But there is such a thing as “too much art” and these films were it. I challenge any hipster to watch "abc etc" by Sergio Subero and tell me they really, truly enjoyed all 20 minutes of it and can tell me why.

La Feria Internacional de Los Libros


Friday, April 27th, 2012

Last week, international film festival. This week, international book fair. This country is starting to seem like the romantic, intellectual fantasy I dreamed it was…

Remember the book fairs of the golden days of your childhood? Well take that, and multiply it by Latin America and add a line that goes on for at least two blocks to get in, and you have the International Book Fair. As normal, we all arrived at different times with Angela in the lead. To find her, I just went to the back of the line and made my way up until I spotted her in a stylish trench coat. Olivia managed the same and we passed the time quickly as we waited for Heather. Once we made it to the front, we were told that we didn’t even have to wait in line because we were students. Oh. Good to know…

Immediately inside, we were greeted by lots and lots of book stands. The arena you first enter had books separated by province, meaning that every book in that stand featured books written by authors from that area, or they were books that were based in that area. Alright. Not exactly what I was expecting, but still interesting nonetheless. Then we realized there was another huge arena and that was where the real action was.

Whoaaaa. Alright, that is a lot of books. There were bookstands from wall to wall, in addition to hundreds of people browsing through them. We didn’t really know where to begin, but we did anyways. There were books for all kinds and they came new and old. But regardless, were still expensive. Of course, the “classics” were the most abundant with at least 5 Borges works at each stand in addition to Martín Fierro and all the dirty war classics. After passing through the stands for about an hour or two, we started to see more or less of the same books. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I was sort of hoping that the books would be used and all sort of different. I’m not saying Borges wasn’t a genius, but I know Argentina has other authors to be proud of—in addition to all the other quintessential Latin American writers who knew a thing or two about the art of literature.

We lost Angela amongst the books and waited on a giant lime green sofa for her return. But that never came. How is it so easy to lose people amongst books? I think every time I go to a library with someone we each wander off and can’t find each other again. Each person is carrying out their written destiny within the aisles and pages.  Sometimes you’re enticed by a cover. Other times, you are flayed out in the aisle, absolutely captivated by a book you happened to pull off the shelf. And that’s just one of the many ways in which a book can so mercilessly hook us.

In addition to the books were also lectures and guest speakers. Seeing that we felt like we’d seen everything, we decided to attend a storytelling event. We weren’t really sure if it was a lecture about storytelling and how to do it or people doing storytelling. It was the latter. And oh what a treat it was…
The first speaker told 4 stories from where she grew up and I guess they were funny in the way that you kinda had to be from this specific town to really understand the humor. I laughed, but at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel like she had this hilarious romantic nostalgia for this place that I only barely understood—with some descriptions lost because my vocabulary for adjectives is somewhat lacking…

Then there was the second speaker. Her story was phenomenal. Not because I liked the story or that she was even particularly good at storytelling. No, I loved her because her story made absolutely no sense, she yodeled on two occasions and I thought maybe I was stuck in Pan’s Labyrinth juxtaposed with an episode of Sesame Street. In a nutshell, her story was about the magic of every day life that she believed in. I think. And how it could transport her through time and space. One moment, she was getting milk for her mother at the grocery story, the next moment she was transported to a tree with a nice goat nearby. And to demonstrate when the space-time continuum had been broken, she would yodel. As Angela and I started to fall asleep and have psychedelic dreams, the yodeling was definitely an alarming wake-up. To top off her already long, incredibly convoluted and absolutely obscure (obscure even by MY standards) story, she sang a song. More yodeling and some really strange lyrics and her crazy folk woman voice were enough to make us sprint for the door before the next “storyteller” could take the stage.

It was the kind of thing that while it’s happening you are screaming in your head “THIS IS SO HORRIBLE PLEASE END NOW I WANT TO GO!!!!!!!!!!!!” and feel like you’re the cantankerous first grader throwing a fit about not wanting to  go grocery shopping with mom right now. But this was way worse than grocery shopping. It was an hour of my life I’ll never get back. But an hour of my life that, upon inspection after it had elapsed, was absolutely hilarious. Something that in the moment sucks, but as soon as it’s over you can turn to your friend and say, “WHAT. THE HELL. WAS. THAT?!?!?!?! AMIRIGHT!?”, then have a laugh over how terrible it was, emphasizing the worst parts, which everybody agreed was the yodeling.

I have no idea who that woman was, nor what she actually does, because if she’s a storyteller, she’s either the best or worst one in the world. I can’t tell…