Rocky

Came across an article that was written yesterday about Rocky, the puppet guy from church I wrote about in my last blog.

A hostage and a monkey

His name is Alan and he used to drive taxis in Britain. That is, until he went to Syria to use his driving skills to transport medical supplies and food to civilians who need it.

Then last December, when we were all in our separate churches singing advent hymns of peace and hope,  he was separated from his group of aid workers and taken hostage by the most lost, hurt, insecure and unloved-feeling souls in the world. We have been hearing them on the news by the name ISIS. Really, they’re just a tiny army built up by preying on people who are angry for their suffering, desperate to repay the world for their misery. Those are the people that are hiding Alan.  

They have beheaded many before him, and now they say he is next. 

His wife sends out a plea. He was just giving aid to innocent civilians, she says. Can’t you show mercy? Where is mercy? 

Alan. 

Where is he right now, and what must be thinking? Does he feel alone? Belligerent? Terrified? 

Where is mercy? 

***

Mercy showed up in church, of all places. I have come to rarely expect him there. It’s as if saying the word makes him run further from the pews and the robes and the 2 minute passings of peace in which we are supposed to find time and space to reconcile ourselves to one another before entering into worship. 

But he showed up last Sunday morning in Bingo, a monkey hand puppet that travels around with Rocky, a wild-eyed white man from Camden. Bingo stopped and talked in his excited little high pitched voice to elderly women, men in suits, babies, and Father Michael. 

“He wears that puppet all the time,” my housemate, Matt, leaned over and whispered to me. “He’s from Camden. Talked to some pretty rough guys with that thing. Last year he got jumped and his first monkey got torn up. But now he’s back at it with Bingo.”

I watched, curiously, as mercy’s head whirled around, looking for the ones that needed him most.

Oh Hey There, Camden

Well, I’ve been in Camden for two weeks. I’ve been planning for my return ever since I left five years ago and have been busy studying classism and racism and urban cultures of violence, going to conferences on community development, traveling abroad to beef up my Spanish skills – all with Camden in mind. There have been countless conversations with a whole slew of diverse people about the dreams and fears and questions that go along with the idea of coming back. Then there’s the nine months I spent roaming the planet, getting the adventure itch out of my system so that I could readily plant myself here and grow some roots.

I’ve been preparing to transplant myself into Camden for so long, and now I’m here and there is nothing spectacular or dazzling about it by any means. But it is good. 

I live in South Camden across the street from a liquor store (ours opens at 9am - earlier than any other liquor store in the city) and the closest house with people that actually live in it is a block away, so the neighbors I have had the most interactions with this far are the regulars at the liquor store and the crews that like to sit on our front stoop and deal drugs. They might be into some shady means of supporting themselves, but they help me back out of my driveway, offer to finish sweeping up the sidewalk when I come out with a broom, and let strangers know I’m “a Christian girl, not no prostitute!” so I can’t complain.

My housemates and community members have already established their rhythms of life, so I am kind of the odd fish, floundering around and wrestling with what being here should look like, and I’m sure all of my optimism and ideals seem cute to them.

And while the certified nursing assistant class I found downtown is probably the easiest class I’ve ever taken in my life, I’m learning a lot about how education can be done well for people who haven’t had the ability to finish high school or make it to college. I’m also learning a lot culturally. The class has adopted me as their pet white girl. Most of them are confused about why I want to be living in Camden and think it’s hilarious that I know more Spanish than some of the hispanic people in the class, but they’ve embraced me with open arms, love laughing at the inevitably ultra-white and middle class things I say and do, and have taken it upon themselves to teach me important things about living in the hood. I love them all already. And my street vocabulary is growing just as much as my medical vocabulary. To top it all off, I could really get used to wearing scrubs every day. 

The past few weeks have also brought with them a crash course on the great perks of adulthood, like car insurance and the processes and expenses that come with moving and attempting to be financially independent. My savings account keeps reminding me that it doesn’t like hanging out so dangerously close to empty, but I landed a job at a diner (that’s got a super diverse staff and is into healthy, local food!), so barring surprise expenses for the next few months, all should be well. And if not, my roommates and I have bets that a pair of friendly elderly twins that hang out in front of our house all day are loan sharks, so I could just support the local economy. ;)

At any rate, even though there is a part of my soul that longs to be in a place where I can see the beauty of the changing seasons, breathe in clean air and hike through mountains, my soul is overwhelmingly glad to be in this place. There’s so much growing to be done here. I’ve been challenged and humbled and tripped up already in just a few short weeks. I’ve had loads of opportunities to love God well, love people well, and love myself well, and am pumped for those opportunities to keep showing up so that I can get better at recognizing them and taking them. One of the best realizations I’ve had in the past few days is that unlike the past several years of my life where I’ve been jumping from one thing to the next, I have time here. Time to ease in, to build a balanced life, to grow relationships. I’m not leaving anytime soon. Which means that I can invite DaShawn (the grinning 13 year old that stops by multiple times a day) in to cook sometimes, and sometimes I can turn him away without feeling like I’ve thrown away a precious opportunity. I can have days where I’m really invested in others and days where I am tired and need to spend time alone to recharge. I think it’s going to be a challenge for me to stop letting the fear of not-enough-time have so much power over me, but I am comforted by the time that I have in Camden and look forward to learning how to thrive in this place.

Apoderamiento

My host family has two little dogs, Hanzi and Cookie. Early last week, Cookie got her period for the first time. I’m not sure if it was the smells or what, but two days later Hanzi discovered his crazy dog libido, and he hasn’t spent much time dismounted from Cookie’s back end since. Normally, I would find this mostly humorous, and at most, slightly annoying. But it’s been driving me crazy. I get really frustrated every time I see it happen. It’s like Hanzi knows the feminist in me is in captivity, and he’s standing on the other side of the bars, rubbing it in my face.

Okay, “captivity” is a very dramatic metaphor. But people have asked me what’s been the hardest thing to adapt to culturally, and for the most part, it hasn’t been hard at all from a cultural standpoint. But an answer landed in front of my face this week. Empowerment. I feel like there is such a lack of women’s empowerment here. 

But the catch is that this empowerment is incredibly elusive, so I can’t really tell if I’m justified in making this claim. 

Women have plenty of presence here. In the pharmacy my host family owns, there’s a pretty equal amount of men and women employed. Since I’ve been doing a lot of shopping for a wedding lately, I ended up in shoe stores where men were assisting me, and carpentry stores where women assisted me. Backpacking stores are pretty equally staffed, too. There are loads of women studying traditionally male professions and Argentina has a woman president. The problem is not that roles in society are inaccessible. 

I feel incredibly different here though. I know in the US, I care less about my image than the average woman. But here, the contrast between me and everyone else feels distinctly amplified. I walk by a lot of people every day and there is no one else wearing cargo shorts and old flip flops. No one else whose hair is still wet from showering. But I do find lots of long hair and high heels and mascara. Again, not different than the US. Just more of it. And less of me.

I was paying for something the other day, and before any words even came out of my mouth, the cashier asked me where I was from. I get this question a lot, but usually it comes after my terrible Spanish accent or lack of suitable vocabulary, so I attribute it to that. 

It amuses my host mom to point out how I am different than Argentine women. During one car ride, she brought up the way that every other women at their church dress and look, and explained that “our men” like it when we make the effort to look nice for them. It helps them to be proud of us and not be tempted to be with other women. I almost laughed out loud, but the sadness that this is a real thought lots of people live by stifled my laughter. If a woman doesn’t look good and their husband starts pursuing other women, this is in part her fault for not trying to look more pretty? Where is this duty in our wedding vows? How does any of that line up with love, faithfulness, and self-control?

Several men have told me that “women in Argentina just really like to dress nicely and spend time getting ready.” Do the women realize that the men don’t know it’s for them? Do the men ever wonder why the women are spending so much time on their appearance? Who are we doing this for? And why? I doubt anyone is intentional in their ignorance, but it seems like so few people are asking questions that need to be asked. 

It’s not that being interested in what you wear and how you look is wrong. Enjoying it isn’t the root of all evil. I know several incredibly empowered women who love to spend time on their wardrobe and the appearance they give off. They have reminded me that clothing and bodies can be sites of art and expression. For all of humanity’s existence, we have been expressing ourselves and our thoughts and beliefs through what we wear and how we present our bodies. Not inherently bad. We are embodied people.

Still. When it’s almost everyone in a culture operates one certain way, that seems more like indoctrination, not free thought. 

But I get caught here, because I am not from this culture. So I can’t say for sure what is closer to right and what is closer to wrong. I carry my own history into this history. 

I want to talk to people about it, but it’s hard, because I can’t easily approach the topic without coming across as offensive or ethnocentric. 

It seems like almost all the women here enjoy the roles they have. And I fear acting like a colonizer, coming in with my sociology degree from the US and weighing another culture’s amount of women empowerment against my concepts of beauty and gender as social constructions. 

Oppression is so much easier to discern when the oppressed know they are being oppressed and can validate that to you. Maybe nobody is being oppressed here. But I don’t really believe that when I say it. 

As I was eating lunch today, I watched my host mom’s face as she was laughing about something. It struck me how incredibly beautiful she looked in that moment. I wondered why it struck me just then. And then I realized she wasn’t wearing any makeup. How did we ever get to the point of thinking products make us more beautiful than laughter does? 

Me cayó la ficha

ALSO (sorry, I'm going blogging crazy today):

1. THEY DON'T HAVE DUCT TAPE HERE. You can't even buy it. I'm not sure how Argentinos have survived as a species this long.

2. Whipped cream is ultra scarce here. And ultra expensive. Someone told me $30 a can. So sad. The poor deprived childhoods these people must have had.

3. My host brother graduated from university the other day, and getting to be a part of the traditional Argentine graduation tradition was one of the best things I have ever experienced in my life. Basically how it works is when you're taking your last final, all of your friends and family come and wait outside, and when you are done, the take you into the parking lot and bombard you with eggs and flour and yerba and weird mixtures of vinegar & dairy products and paint and pretty much whatever other old things they can find in their home. And they cut up the clothes you're wearing and sometimes even cut your hair. It's the best. I want this tradition so bad.

Entretenimiento

The way Spanish speakers (or at least Argentinos) say "Disney" is one of the funniest things ever.

I decided making a video of this and posting it here would maybe be taking it a little too far, but if you ever hang out with a Spanish speaker, you should bring up Mickey Mouse and see where that goes. (Cuz the way they say "Mickey" is just as hilarious, and then you'll probably get to hear both.)

Los Extranjeros Son Para Riendo

When I took my first ever Spanish class 4 years ago, I remember my Spanish teacher telling us a funny story about a girl who was learning Spanish abroad. Apparently her stomach had growled and she tried to apologize by saying “Estoy avergonzada, tengo hambre” (I’m embarrassed. I’m hungry), but instead said “Estoy embarrassada, soy hombre,” which means “I’m pregnant. I’m a man.” I remember laughing a lot, but then hoping I never made a mistake that bad.

But unfortunately (or fortunately, if you’re my host family and enjoy retelling these stories to whoever comes over to visit as a way of updating them on my progress in Spanish), I have made quite a few of these kinds of mistakes. I haven’t called myself pregnant, or a man, but I do have an incredible knack for saying really sexual things without the slightest intent to.

There was the week I kept trying to use the verb “to take,” but didn’t know it, so I looked it up in my dictionary and spent time memorizing the verb “coger” only to use it in class the next morning and find out that in Argentina, that verb means “to fuck.” Oops.

And then there was the time I was trying to say that I thought the world would be a better place if all the world leaders were crammed into small cars and forced to go on periodic long road trips together, and somehow I ended up saying that I thought world leaders should just have sex with each other. I still have no idea how I managed that one.

And then there was the time I was talking with my host dad about food justice, and mentioned preservatives in food, only to find out that a “preservativo” is a condom.

I’ve made some entirely non-sexual but nonetheless embarrassing mistakes, too. Like the time Marcos took me to a panaderia and I pointed at something and asked if it was a robber (choro) instead of a churro. Or the time we were singing in church and I didn’t hear the pastor say “men only for this verse” and spent the whole next verse wondering why the register seemed to have gotten lower until the women-only verse started and my wondering changed from wondering why the register changed to wondering how many people heard me singing.
In reality, I’m glad for all the mistakes. It’s less embarrassing and more just hilarious and fun and part of the learning process. And besides, what’s the fun of a foreigner if they don’t give you any reason to laugh at them?

Un Mes

My Argentinean monthiversary was actually two days ago. But we took this picture last night. A month already. That's crazy. Even though I still feel pretty incompetent most of the time, my Spanish has definitely improved quite a bit since I got here. Here's to hoping the next month brings a lot more competency. And some good adventures.

Dibujitos truchos

Meet Pato Lucas:

You thought his name was Daffy. But you thought wrong.

Pastel de Carne

Most of the pictures I take are like leftovers in your fridge. There aren't really enough ingredients to make a normal meal, but you can't just throw away the food you do have, so you make meat loaf. I've got plenty of pictures and thoughts that don't fit in an entire one-themed blog post, but are definitely sufficient for making meatloaf. So this post is full of leftovers that I like:

1. There are lots of unions here, and sometimes they have cool semi-dangerous but exciting protests with loud fireworks and drummers and people singing and random fires and mobs of people marching down streets preventing traffic from going anywhere. :) Apparently this is a very regular occurrence.

This protest happened a few blocks from my language school. I'm pretty sure it had to do with inflation and the way it's ruining people's lives:

2. This song that gets played in the car a lot. I will never get sick of it:

3. Argentina's version of retro candy from yesteryear is shaped like ice cream and filled with alcohol.

4. There are really cool kids that show you how to climb onto the roofs of buildings in their neighborhood. (I know that's pretty universal, but man, I love these kids so much. They're my favorite part about Argentina. Even better than dulce de leche.)

5. When you go grocery shopping, they lock your reusable shopping bags you bring with you in a bag so that you can't steal anything, keep the key at the front of the store, but make you carry around the locked bag. I'm not sure why this was so humorous to me. Maybe because security is such a non-concern in every other aspect of life here, but you can't be trusted with reusable shopping bags.

6. In the same line of humor (which I'm really not sure is funny to anyone but me): you can drive like a madman, stop signs barely exist, and it's pretty much unheard of to get pulled over for disobeying traffic laws (not that there really are any), but it's illegal to make a right turn on red. And people actually obey that.

7. Subway (and pizza) are eaten with forks and knives. (I don't love this so much as I love making fun of it (Maybe Argentina will teach me to be civilized (but I doubt it))).

8. Cool parks with circle thingies and people casually doing circus tricks in the trees.

9. Hay muchos catedrales

10. At traffic lights, people perform for you. (Of course they come to your window for money afterwards, which I'm sure could get old when you live here all the time, but it's pretty entertaining for three months.)

Los Cocos

So this is old news, but I never posted pictures from when I went to the Sierras a few weekends back. Considering how much I love mountains and that it's where I had my first asado, I feel like it's momentous enough that it'd be shameful to not share.

The drive may have been my favorite part. The pictures I took do such terrible justice to what I saw, that I won't even post them. I cheated and found this one online. Es mucho mas parecido.

As for asado, asado's like the Argentinean version of BBQ. Except based on how intense of a culinary sport asado is, I think it'd be offensive to compare the two. I don't know if I'm sufficiently qualified to describe it yet, but basically, instead of grilling with pre-made charcoal, you burn a fire and you keep moving hot coals from the fire to under the grate where you slow cook the meat. Asados are really common social events. Wikipedia also tells me that asado is the national dish of Argentina. I suppose I should verify that with Argentineans, but it's not too hard to believe.

Anyway, this was the asado in-process at the youth retreat I went to in the Sierras. So much meat.

There's a lot more green and a lot less brown on this plate than I think is normal for an asado, but in the name of documenting my first asado, here it is:

And this is what time it was when we finally ate. I was the only one that thought this was weird. Yes, that says 12:47. No, not in the afternoon. Mmm dinner.

Totó, tengo la sensación de que ya no estamos en Kansas

So traveling to another hemisphere brings with it a whole array of big and little cultural and geographical differences. I definitely haven't experienced major culture shock like I might in a non-westernized culture. Lots of things are similar, but with some sort of twist. Still. Noticing the differences has been thoroughly enjoyable. Here are a few of the things I've noticed over the past few weeks:

1. Cool Street Vendors, Artisans, and Tradespeople

Like this guy. He's called an afilador, and he sharpens knives with an electric sharpening thingermajigger that he powers by pedaling his bike. Big fan. Also, his name is Nico.

2. Muchos Zapatos

Never in my life have I seen so many shoe stores. SO MANY SHOES. I'm almost certain it's not an exaggeration to say there is at least one, and more often two or three zapaterias on every block on my walk to class. They don't sell anything else. Just shoes. Dress shoes. Es increible.

3. The stars are upside down

It didn't occur to me before I left that when I got here, I'd get to see Orion upside down (AND during the summer). Probably nerdy, but I thoroughly enjoyed flipping out about this. Thank you random astronomy class in college.

4.  Squirrels

There aren't any. I can think of some people that would love to move here for that reason alone. There are, however, still mosquitos. And a crap ton of stray dogs. They're everywhere. (I'm not kidding... one wandered across the front of the room during the sermon at church this morning.)

5. Also, Index Cards

They're about as hard to find as squirrels. Just a tad easier. Argentines are apparently post-it note sort of people. When I asked my host family about them, it took them awhile to even think of what they were called. I finally found some at this one office supply store. But there weren't options so I will have to survive with having lines on both sides (my life is hard).

6. Weddings

It's normal to have the guests pay to attend them. I guess that's one way to avoid a big bill.

7. Funerals

Calling hours start the same day that the person dies and go on for a whole day or two. Just thought that was interesting.

8.Speaking of funerals...

I'm banking on avoiding my own in the next three months, but the way people in this country drive is crazy so I'm never totally sure. (Mom, don't worry, I'm mostly joking. They do drive crazy, but it also seems like drivers are generally extra aware to make up for all the crazy driving going on.) If road rage was to be most futile in any place in the world, this would be the place. (Let's overlook the fact that I am a very inexperienced international traveler with very little credibility to make this claim.) Not getting cut off left and right is a rare exception to the norm. There are very few stop signs at corners, so most intersections are kind of just a free for all. Right of way goes to whoever doesn't stop. The police don't really enforce much, except for at random checkpoints where they like to pull you over and check your identity documents and intimidate you with their big guns:

Also, it seems to be a nationally agreed upon rule that you absolutely never stop for pedestrians. So I've had to learn to be a more skilled walker.

9. Maybe sort of egalitarian bathroom signs

Okay, this actually doesn't apply to all of Cordoba or Argentina, but I was at a cool vegetarian restaurant the other day (which is VERY rare, since the standard Argentine diet is made up of bread, sugar, and meat), and they had this sign on the door of the women's bathroom. I could go into a sociological break-down of the pros and cons and implications of this sign, but for now I'm just going to share my initial reaction, which was to be happy that she had short hair. Especially since I'm starting to get a sense that, even more than in the US, long hair seems to be a standard of beauty here.

10. Unfriendly Trees

Some trees in Argentina have developed defense mechanisms against being climbed. (When I set that sad news aside, they're pretty fascinating)

In other news, it rained this morning and I got to stomp in puddles the whole way to class. :)

Grafiti Feliz

I've seen more optimistic graffiti here than anywhere else. People confessing their love to each other on walls and such. (Lots of protest graffiti, too. People here are really disappointed with Monsanto. And their president.)

I pass by this one frequently. It says "Youth is a divine treasure."

I'm pretty sure "animo!" means something to the effect of "cheer up!"

And a dinosaur. And this isn't the only one I've seen. We need more dinosaur graffiti in the US.

This doesn't fit under the category of happy, but I really love the image of the grandmother in the rocking chair, and it is still way better graffiti than random defacement. This wall was painted with faces of "los desconocidos" (the disappeared) - men, women, and children that went missing several decades ago in Argentina. In the 70s there were two opposing political groups and the right wing military group seized power and arrested thousands of left-wing citizens who were never heard from again after the arrests. It is very likely that these people were all tortured and murdered in secret detention centers.

Panza llena, corazon contento

It means "full belly, contented heart."

My host brother Fede taught me that phrase the other day after we finished off lunch with some fruit salad and dulce de leche. Woof. That stuff is muy rico.

Besides speaking an entirely different language, Argentinos have an entirely different culture when it comes to eating. 

I’ve been here a little over a week, and I’ve divested myself of any hope of real breakfast. There are no pancakes or omelets or bowls of cereal to be found. This was breakfast this morning. For everyone.

Okay, I confess. I ate two pieces before I took the picture. You can eat your miniature toast with butter or honey. 

The saving part of breakfast though, is that we have mate cocido, which is what’s in the mug. It’s yerba mate (a super traditional and popular drink in certain parts of Latin America), but instead of drinking it out of a mate gourd like this…

…you brew it on the stove with yuyos (extra herbs - like mint, orange peel, peperina (a common herb that grows in the sierras)), strain it, and drink it out of a mug. It’s muy deliciosa. 

In Argentina, lunch is the meal to look forward to. It’s the biggest meal of the day, and we eat around 2:30. There’s always some sort of meat, but not as much as I thought there would be. The way everyone talked about Argentina, I imagined that I was never going to see anything green for three months and that every meal would be mostly carne y pollo (beef and chicken). But I’ve had a few vegetables here and there. And las ensaladas de frutas (fruit salad) are muy popular aca. 

Dinner isn’t usually until 10pm and it’s a lot smaller. I was pretty nervous about that at first, because normally my stomach’s usually pretty ready to eat around 6. But every day in the early evening, someone inevitably brings out a mate gourd and there’s some sort of pastry or something to eat. 

Speaking of pastries, that’s another part of Argentina I’m going to miss when I leave. There are panaderias everywhere. They’re little bakeries that sell all sorts of different kinds of breads and pastries. It’s normal to hit up the panaderia every day for a snack. So much butter and sugar. En los productos de las panaderías, en el mate… en todo. 

So for all my complaining about not eating much breakfast, the way we eat here is actually pretty great. If I’m really hungry between breakfast and lunch, I can just get a couple facturas at the panaderia for 7 pesos (less than a dollar) to tide me over. And going to bed with a full stomach is pretty wonderful. 

In addition to pastries and mate, there are a lot of sweets specific to Argentina. My favorite so far are golocinas (candy/cookie) called colaciones. They’re especially popular in Cordoba (at least I think that’s what my host mom said), and they’re super sugary and filled with dulce de leche. So so good.

And alfajores. They’re sandwich-style cookies with some sort of filling between the layers of cookie and usually coated in something. They’re sold everywhere. Even in the pharmacy my host family works at:

There's also just a lot of candies I've never heard of. Today I tried what's called a "media hora," which translated means "half an hour." It's a small hard candy that supposedly lasts half an hour. It was licorice flavored and tasted terrible, but you can't just spit out a candy that lasts half an hour. It's like the closest real-life thing to Willy Wonka's Everlasting Gobstopper. But I timed it, and it only lasted fifiteen minutes. I feel betrayed. 

 Me, after 15 minutes of sucking on licorice:

Anywho, that’s Argentina from my stomach’s point of view. I’m currently accumulating a list of other fun, hilarious, weird, scary, and fascinating cultural differences. I’ll get around to blogging about that eventually. 

For now, I’ll leave you with this fun fact: milk in Argentina comes in a bag (un sachet). It’s like those milk pouches from elementary school. Except bigger and without a pointy straw.

Lo mejor dia

Today was the best day I've had in a long time. I went with Marcos (I don't really know what to call the people hosting me.. "host brother" sounds weird, but that's essentially what he is) and his fiance Ale to the villa (un barrio pobre/poor neighborhood) near his house. They typically go there on Saturdays and spend time with this one family that's got 9 children in it (and one on the way). But we ended up seeing three of the kids and their mom elsewhere and went with them to a birthday party.

We spent the whole afternoon and evening at the birthday party. Everyone was hanging out in this garage and there was a bounce house and foosball table on the street, and there were kids and adults of all ages running around and playing together for hours. Potato sack races (with real sacks), musical chairs, pinatas, music, laughter, babies to hold. There were plenty of people, so no one had to be burdened with talking to me really slowly for too long, and I felt super welcome and normal.

I love that 4 year olds are the same no matter what country they're in. Being thrown in the air makes them laugh, whether you speak their language or not. And kids that want your love will receive it even if you can't communicate coherently. Hugs translate so well. So does kicking butt at foosball.

At one point, three teenagers surrounded me and spent twenty minutes grilling me with all sorts of questions about how to say things in English and what kinds of things are different from Argentina in the United States. Since they were all talking super fast, and all at the same time, I had to ask them to repeat everything they said about 12 times, but somehow we managed to understand each other.

It was the best, longest, and most laid back birthday party I've ever been to. The whole day reminded me so much of the best days of Mission Year. So much joy.

At the end of the day, I was so happy to be exhausted and crammed into the tiny back seat of a car with a sleeping child on my lap, a pregnant mom, and two older children. I think we're all going to sleep well tonight.

Joy. Joy. Joy. So much joy.

Amigos Nuevos

This is Hans. We are friends. 

Zapatos y Pesos y Tormentas, Oh My!

Yesterday was a solid day. En la mañana, I went into the center of Cordoba with the familia. They own a pharmacy there, so while they were working, I walked around the city and explored lots of shops and saw all sorts of people. I found the language school I’ll be attending next week, and I took a test that will place me in the right class. Walking around for hours, I learned that Argentines really like shoes. Just about every other tienda was solely dedicated to shoes. So. Many. Shoes.

I spent my siesta researching exchange rates and how they work and why the Argentine peso has depreciated in value so quickly. A year ago, 1 dollar = 5 pesos. As of today, 1 dollar = 8 pesos. And in the black market, 1 dollar = 13 pesos. Es loco! 

 

I think I have been more up to date on Argentine news in the past three days than I have been up to date on US news in the past year. Other people’s news is so much more interesting. 

Last night, algunas parientes (some relatives) de la familia came over to swim and drink mate. There were three nenas (little girls). Las nenas weren’t sure what to make of me at first – I don’t think they’d ever met anyone that couldn’t speak Spanish. But I didn’t know what to make of them either. It was the first time in my life that I couldn’t have a conversation with a five-year-old because their vocabulary was too wide. 

Anyway, tuvimos una tormenta anoche (we had a big storm last night), and everything cooled down significantly. Hopefully the warmth that left here will find its way to all of you.

Los fotos

Some quality Chilean culture, brought to you by the Santiago airport:

And some pretty mountains (the Andes):

Grados de Celcios

Today I learned that 43 degrees Celsius equals 109 degrees Fahrenheit. Take comfort, mis amigos norteamericanos. Argentines are in solidarity with your extreme weather problems right now.

I also am continually learning and forgetting vocabulario nuevo. I decided to try writing down, before I go to bed, the vocab words I remember from the day. We'll see how that goes. Hopefully I'll eventually get to the point of having too many to make it worth it. Last night I only remembered three. =P I'm aiming to do better today.

Also, verb conjugation and I are not friends. 

Estoy aca! (I am here)

Snowy goodbyes in Syracuse,

Monster airplanes, 

Two dinners (because I didn’t know my flight would feed me delicious meals for free),

Patient and talkative Chilean seatmates, 

Excellent Latino movies (except for that one where I couldn’t figure out why the main characters were upset and had to break up),

Free wine, blankets, and those stylish looking eye mask sleep-aid thingers,

Several 5 minute naps,

A wee bit of confusion and mix up as to which country I needed to meet my host family in,

Breaking (and fixing!) part of the bathroom stall in Cordoba’s airport while trying to shove myself,  my violin, and my giant suitcase out of it,

Four security checkpoints,

A quick hop from winter to summer,

An embarrassing moment where I tried telling two people that they looked really familiar to me, but then they didn’t speak English and everything I tried to explain in Spanish just made me seem weird and creepy,

Lots of lost games of spider solitaire,

A host family that’s taught me about a billion words already that I’ve probably mostly forgotten (I feel bad for the amount of patience they’re going to have to expend on me)

And 33 horas later, Estoy aca!