As spring semester looms ever closer, I find myself wondering what to do with this blog. Many of us Middlebury students had study-abroad blogs, and I’m sure many of us will leave them as is, a perfectly-preserved account of Fall 2012 somewhere in cyberspace. And that was what I was planning to do, too, up until sometime over winter break.

While I was back home in Minnesota, I talked to so many of my oldest friends and family members who told me how much they enjoyed reading my posts. Some of my favorite moments over winter break were when I ran into someone I hadn’t spoken to in months and heard, “I loved your blog!” It made me realize how useful of a tool the internet can be when it comes to staying in touch over long distances. It also made me realize how the reflection and sharing doesn’t have to end when the spring semester begins.

So here’s what I’m going to do. Posts from my time in Argentina will be categorized as such. Any posts I manage to make about New York will also have their own category. And if I periodically find the time over this coming semester, I’ll write a handful of updates about all the exciting classes I’m taking. My fellow Middkids, you are more than welcome to unsubscribe, since you guys will likely be hearing about my time at Middlebury first-hand! Plus, I don’t blame you for being all blogged-out after a semester of posts about Argentina, Italy, France, Spain, and so on.

Of course, this great plan means I need to get cracking. I’m so behind. I’m already back in Vermont, and I still haven’t closed the book on my Argentina chapter. I feel like there’s one last Argentina post left in me. One last bit of reflection, one last thank-you to all of you for following along on the journey, and then I’ll be ready to write about the next adventures – this past month in New York, and the upcoming semester at Middlebury.

—-

It’s been a little over a month since I got back from Argentina. I read through all of my posts the other day and it felt like reading a dream journal from years ago. It’s funny how quickly the entire life that I built there has started to fade from my mind. I remember everything I wrote to you about, but the challenge is to hold onto the day-to-day. The smell of Isa’s incense, the feeling of swaying back and forth on those crowded subtes, the taste of a fresh apricot, my little goings and comings from the little orange house – the memories of all the smallest details of every day in Argentina are the glue that hold the larger experiences together. And the larger experiences are the things I’ve already shared with you.

So in that spirit – some thoughts about the little things. The things I miss, and the things I don’t. What I don’t miss:

• broken sidewalks and dog poop
• the mysterious absence of good peanut butter and plain yogurt
• smog
• paying for water at restaurants
• getting pickpocketed
• piles and piles of dense academic readings in Spanish
• cow-toe shoes (seriously)
• milanesas, tostadas, and basically every other variation of meat and white bread
• horn-honking
• non-functioning pepper mills
• bland food

And what I do miss:

• cheese and onion empanadas (so, so good)
• rainstorms in the city
• those wooden subway trains
• fresh, cheap fruit
• the feeling of scoring a seat on the colectivos
• watching a kid understand an English grammatical concept
• mate, all day, all the time
• bakeries everywhere
• the hard concrete benches on the patio at FILO
• excitement over monedas
• cheap, wonderful Malbec red wine
• yoga classes with Isa
• popcorn fights with Mati
• the feeling of speaking Spanish and doing it well

the last bottle of Malbec

Two “bigger things” deserve mentioning as well. The biggest thing I don’t miss about Argentina is the general sense of desconfianza (distrust) that I found everywhere. Isa and I had some conversations about this. We both come from places where we weren’t used to having to automatically distrust everyone around us. In a country where corruption abounds in the government, police force, and nearly every public service, it’s just common sense to consider the person walking past you on the sidewalk “guilty until proven innocent.”

Growing up in Minneapolis, where the Minnesota-nice jokes abound, I wasn’t used to having to automatically assume that all the strangers on the street meant me harm. Buenos Aires was such an intense and tiring place to be, simply because I always had to have my guard up. For someone like me, with my head in the clouds more often than not, I needed to learn how to pay hyper-attention to every little thing around me and quickly assess if I was in danger or not. I’m not saying necessarily that every part of the city was dangerous, but I certainly had to be on my guard in a way that was completely new to me. I’ll admit it was a relief to come back to Minneapolis and feel something inside myself loosen and relax for the first time in five months.

But the biggest thing I’ll miss is the people, and how I learned to communicate with them. Isa and I became close and had many great conversations. The crazy part is that when I think back on those conversations, they seem so natural that I remember them being in English, until I remember that we only spoke Spanish the whole time.

I made so many great friends there that I’ll never forget. The feeling of mastering a second language alongside new friends with shared goals was what kept me going throughout this entire past semester.

All of you, of course, also helped. Reading your comments made me so happy. It gave me a way to feel connected with my home places as I explored new ones. And I don’t want the conversations to end here – these posts only scratch the surface of everything I saw and did and felt during my  time there. Call me, email me, find me on campus if you’re around – because I want to hear more, and tell more, too.

Thank you all so much!

A few last photos before you go -

the final walk back from Villa 21-23

so much Malbec

the final parilla

the church I attended - La Iglesia del Buen Pastor

my empty room, right before the taxi came to whisk me away

As I would say in Argentina – not goodbye, but nos vemos – we’ll see each other.

lifting off on a hot summer night

I return to you after a long two months of not posting a single thing. Has it really been that long? Since last posting, I’ve fallen in love with Patagonia, struggled my way through a stressful exam season in Buenos Aires, came home to Minnesota and a Christmas with family and friends, and taken off again for New York City, where I am currently blogging from.

Phew.

I have to admit that Argentina feels like a far-off dream at this point. Life is moving by almost too quickly, and every day there are a book’s worth of experiences to share!

Nonetheless, I really want you all to see a bit of what I experienced in Patagonia, that harshly beautiful land in the far south of South America. So with that in mind, the following is a post I began writing on December 18th. Afterwards, I will fully update you on the next leg of my journeys – New York City!

So without further ado, here is the finished draft of Patagonia experiences, as I remembered them on December 18th. Hope you enjoy.

———–

I got back from Patagonia late Friday night. Buenos Aires was muggy and noisy, and I rolled down the taxi window in hopes of getting a bit of a breeze. It felt so strange to be back in the city. I had an amazing time in Patagonia, of course. I didn’t want to leave. I’ll try and describe it as best I can, but obviously with these kinds of things, it’s hard to explain what it was truly like. I’ll try to cut back on words and show some good photos instead.

Just a few minutes ago, I was in my bed, trying to fall asleep, but my mind started buzzing with images and words and thoughts about my time in Patagonia. So I decided to turn my laptop back on and get some of them down before going back to bed.

First leg of our three-part trip: El Calafate. So I love airports. I love the way they look and even smell. I love pulling my little bag behind me, following the signs, and even going through security. Being in an airport means I’m going somewhere exciting, whether it’s back to school or to visit people I haven’t seen in a long time or even back home. Or in this case, one of the most amazing places on Earth.

As I sat by our gate with Zach and Imran, I got that happy flippy stomach feeling that comes when you’re about to set off on a new adventure. I only got more excited on the plane. After a three-hour flight (and a complimentary alfajor, thanks Argentina) I started to see strange new things outside of my little window.

The ground was a sandy yellow color, dotted with grey splotches. This landscape looked nothing like the endless mess of buildings in Buenos Aires. The plane started landing and the closer we got to the ground, the more confused I became. I couldn’t figure out a sense of scale – were the grey splotches trees? Shrubs? Mountains? Shadows? Were those ridges small bluffs, or enormous cliffs?

Finally we touched down. I still couldn’t figure out what I was looking at (yes, there were grey-green scrubby plants everywhere, and both small bluffs and large cliffs) but I figured I had a couple of weeks to figure it out. Leaving the airport, we walked outside and were instantly greeted by gusts of cold, fresh air. I couldn’t get enough of just breathing in and out – after the thick, smoggy air of Buenos Aires, it felt like drinking cool water.

El Calafate is a small town next to a big blue lake, with one extremely touristy main street and lots of smaller, dustier side roads. Our hostel was on one of these side roads, and Jenny and I enjoyed the short walk into town. Plus, it meant we had an amazing view from our hostel room window. If any of you ever get down to El Calafate, stay at Hostel America del Sur. Honestly. It was clean, comfortable, and full of buena onda. We had a great conversation with another Jenny, a 27-year-old girl from the Netherlands, and Tarik, a 61-year-old man from Turkey. From our table by the window, we could watch as the sun finally began to set around 10 pm, turning the lake a deep, dark purple.

The next day, it was time for the main attraction of the El Calafate area: the Perito Moreno glacier. The common theme of this post is going to be “these pictures don’t do it justice.” We got to walk all over the pasarelas (walkways) and see the front of this incredible glacier from every angle. Every few minutes we would hear a groaning, cracking sound like distant thunder. Little bits of ice were sliding off into the lake.

it was larger than life

El Chalten ended up being my favorite part of the trip by far. It was so easy to plan our days exactly as we wanted them. The village of El Chalten was established as a military base in the eighties in order to protect the Argentinian-Chilean border. It makes sense – hiking up into the awe-inspiring mountains is so easy to do. We simply left our hostel and walked through the streets until we reached the trailhead, then continued on into the forests.

Jenny and I would hike the trails together, sometimes talking about things both significant and silly. But usually we would just fall into a silence and a rhythm of walking. Sometimes we’d both start whistling some song that was stuck in our heads, usually this one:

We even were able to camp out one night instead of staying in the hostel. That meant that after reaching the top of the Laguna de los Tres trail, the steepest one in the park, we were able to relax there and not worry about starting the four-hour-long journey back to the village.

This was my single favorite spot in all of Patagonia. We laid down at the edge of Laguna de los Tres and fell asleep in the shadow of Fitz Roy, arms flung over our heads. I woke up with sunburnt lips, for the sun had come out while we napped and turned everything around us to dazzling shades of blue and white and black.

Laguna de los Tres - those brightly colored dots are people

I wanted to stay forever and keep looking at Fitz Roy

After four full days there, we left on a five-hour ride to Puerto Natales, the small Chilean town that serves as a jumping-off point for the nearby Torres del Paine National Park, home to some of the most spectacular natural scenery in the world.

I won’t bore you with the details of our trip – suffice it to say it included a freak rainstorm, lots of laughs, crowded tents, rickety bridges, cold mountain streams, breathtaking views, undercooked beans, inside jokes, long rests at the top of steep hills, and so much more – but know that it was incredible. Exploring one of the most awe-inspiring landscapes on earth with some of the best friends I’ve made was an experience I’ll never forget.

the river by our campsite, from the rickety bridge. that's Jenny journaling in the foreground

we could drink all of our water straight from the lakes and streams

the tree pose in front of Lake Nordenskjöld. it was the most unbelievable blue

and of course...the top of the French Valley. the other end of the valley behind me is about 17 miles away, and all that green in between is a massive forest. just to try and give you a sense of scale

Will, Zach, Imran, Ryan, and especially Jenny – I’ll never forget our time in Patagonia. Here’s to the trip of our lifetimes (so far)!

I’ll leave you with a panoramic video I took at the top of la Valle Frances, the most impressive viewpoint in the entire park. We even disobeyed the trail markers and climbed up to a spot we shouldn’t have been in (notice how the wind nearly knocked us over) but it was worth it for these views. It’ll be a long time before I see anything half as amazing again.

T-minus 11 hours until I’m on my plane to Patagonia. It really sneaked up on me, to be honest. These past few weeks have been so full of school-related stress that I hardly had time to process the fact that I was leaving so soon. So today it hit me (about two hours ago, actually) that yes, tomorrow you’re going to Patagonia. 

I just finished packing: one suitcase, one backpack, random clothes, ukulele, brown rice, my amassed spice collection, a book I should study for my final geography exam (yeah right) and my camera, of course. My passport and residency papers are on my desk.

The nagging feeling of you’ve forgotten something is keeping me up. So maybe writing a short blog post about our makeshift Thanksgiving (or Día de Acción de Gracias) here in Buenos Aires will make me sleepy? Whatever – it’s worth a shot.

I woke up on Friday and began cooking. No, actually. I started making the pie crust at 9 in the morning. The madness didn’t let up until 5 pm, after a lot of work and two grocery runs, including one trip with three kilos of potatoes and a 5 pound pollo de campo. I figured out why Thanksgiving is in November, too – in the US, it’s at least a little chilly out, and cooking over a hot stove doesn’t sound so bad. But in Buenos Aires, November means 90 degree heat (or about 33 degrees Celsius, if you like). In a kitchen with no A/C and a stove that’s been on for five hours straight, that translates to one sweaty day.

So does it make sense to celebrate Thanksgiving in a foreign country? Not really. Lack of ingredients, time, and air conditioning all made it difficult. But I read a lot on my friends’ blogs and on Facebook about how they celebrated. It’s all about working with what you’ve got – in my case, chicken instead of turkey, dried herbs instead of fresh, and some oddly shaped pie plates. But I thought it was really great to see how all of my friends, both here in Argentina and abroad in other countries, made time and exceptions in order to celebrate. Being far away from family, we came together in our own little family and made do. So in a way, yes, it does make sense.

Plus, the food was pretty darn good.

my hair is a testament to the humidity in that kitchen

friends gathered around the table

the Thanksgiving chicken was a great success, despite a finicky oven!

of course there needed to be pies. thanks Dad for the recipes!

a deep-dish pie of sorts, since pie plates don't exist in Argentina...

buena onda

Our unorthodox celebration continued. After dinner (and a long period of lying on our stomachs in the yoga room, trying to digest), we went to FILO where there was a huge end-of-year party happening outside on the notorious patio. I haven’t been able to show you all any pictures of my university yet, but the patio is where all the students and professors hang out – talking together, laughing, playing windpipes and guitars, smoking cigarettes and weed and sharing a liter of Quilmes. It’s always a mess and it’s always buena onda.

Well, the patio was packed when we got there. Everyone was dancing to loud cumbia and talking over the music. In one corner someone had set up a makeshift parrilla using an old wire bedframe and was roasting a ton of chorizo on it, sweet smoke billowing everywhere. Beer as well as fernet y coca was being sold by the 5-peso cupful.

I sat down with my friends and took it all in. It was bittersweet in a lot of ways – I felt comfortable and happy in that strange wonderful party, but still very much like an outsider. I watched the hippies of FILO talking and laughing with their friends and thought about how much this university meant to them – how much time they had spent here. I thought about how if I had been born in Buenos Aires and attended FILO for these past two years, how much I would love this messy crazy disorganized building where the pigeons fly in through the windows and perch on the chairs, where wall-sized political posters hang from the ceiling, where there’s no toilet paper or soap in the bathrooms, where everything functions at 75% efficiency at best but how that’s all okay.

It was also a goodbye of sorts. I’ll come back a few times to study in the library and of course, take my final tests (noooo), but this past week was my final week of classes. Everything is different from here on, and it makes me a little sad to think that as soon as I started to really feel comfortable in the chaos of FILO, it was over.

we'll miss you, FILO!

But all in all, an off-beat and wonderful Thanksgiving. I’m thankful for this experience, the amazing friends that I’ve made, and everything I’ve learned so far – about Buenos Aires, about Argentina, about Spanish, about myself.

Well, it’s time to get a little sleep before my flight. I probably have forgotten something but that’s alright. Wish me luck in Patagonia!

Love,

~Claire

Hi everyone!

Four months in Buenos Aires and one more until I come home to piles of snow and family Christmastime. So much has been happening, and I’m finally starting to realize exactly how little time I have left here. All those little stores and shops and cafes and restaurants I’ve seen from the window of a colectivo, all of those unvisited fairs and museums, all of those unattended concerts and plays  - well, it’s crunch time. And I still need to write a twenty-page paper about the work I’ve been doing with Uniendo Caminos, as well as prepare for two final oral exams…

Turns out academic stress speaks Spanish too! But it’s okay. This is my last week of classes here at FILO, and big exciting things are in the works! Here’s what the rest of my time in Argentina will (hopefully) look like:

Now until November 27th: Frantically finishing up my classes, staying late nights at El Coleccionista working on my paper, cooking an entire Thanksgiving dinner for me and my friends, and going gear shopping foooor…

November 27th – December 9th: …PATAGONIA! I can’t wait. My friend Jenny and I are going to spend two weeks in Patagonia, the magical land at the end of the South American continent. This deserves its own map, so here you go:

southern Patagonia - a suggested route, which we will more or less follow for the first half

First we’re flying into El Calafate, a small town about a three-hour flight from Buenos Aires. There, we’ll go to see the Perito Moreno Glacier.

we'll hopefully get to walk on top of some parts of it

 After two days there, we’ll be taking a three-hour bus ride along the famous Route 40 to the small village of El Chalten (it’s a bit north of El Calafate, if you check the map). As the hiking capital of Argentina, El Chalten is the jumping-off point for eager backpackers.

the tiny village used to be a military base. the famous Fitz Roy mountain looms in the background

 We’ll stay there for five days, taking lots of day trips around the area. Next we’ll cross the border into Chile (check your map again) to go to Puerto Natales, the town close to the extensive Torres del Paine National Park. Here, close to the end of the world, the continent starts to splinter off into the sea, and the landscapes become even more sublime and bizarre.

los Cuernos (the horns) of Torres del Paine

los Torres (the towers) of Torres del Paine themselves

After four days exploring this area, I’ll return to El Calafate to fly back to Buenos Aires on the 9th. I can’t describe how excited I am.

December 9th – December 22nd: I frantically attempt to finish said 20 page paper and study for those final exams, but let’s be real – it’s much more likely that I’ll be traipsing around the city trying to do everything at once. Seeing my tutora Flor and her family, going out a few more times, riding all the colectivos, taking pictures of everything I’ve been taking for granted, saying goodbye to the amazing people in Uniendo Caminos, finally going to el Teatro Colon, stuffing my face with one last asado, singing at my last concert with the Buenos Ayres Consort, filling my suitcase with dulce de leche, alfajores, vino tinto, and yerba, saying goodbye to Mati and Isa -

December 22nd: I fly home to Minneapolis.

It’s going to go by so fast.

A few random photos before you go?

view from the window of a bar in San Telmo

a caipirinha special? yes please

(I went to study at La Biblioteca Nacional – the National Library – a few days ago. Normally this time of year, BsAs is sunny and hot, but that day, there was a thunderstorm brewing. From my vantage point way up on the fifth floor, the spaceship-like windows of the library tinted everything an eerie grey, and the unending urban sprawl stretched on underneath the dark sky. I packed up my things in a hurry, went back through the numerous strange security checkpoints, and ran for my bus before the clouds burst.)

(I tried to snap a photo of my view from the front seat of the colectivo but this doesn’t really show how pretty the rain and the lights actually were. Buenos Aires is usually a very loud, dusty, and overwhelming city, which is why I love the few precious days of rain we’ve had here. Everything becomes cleaner and fresher. The cars that normally drive at reckless speeds slow down to make it through enormous puddles. People walk carefully on the sidewalks so as not to slip, and everyone carries a black umbrella. Everything moves a little slower. I wouldn’t mind a few more days of summer rain.)

subject bookshelves in the little back room of the comedor where I work with Uniendo Caminos

Time is going by so quickly. As I write this here in the library at FILO, I realize that tomorrow is my last day of classes here. If I return, it’ll be to study for final exams or share a beer with my friends on the patio. As my regular routine changes, so do my feelings about this place. I feel more comfortable and happy here than ever, but with that comes the sadness that I don’t have much time to enjoy that feeling.

But what am I saying? Things may be coming to a close, but there’s still a lot of excitement left to come, too.

Speaking of which, I have no idea what my internet access will be like in Patagonia. Hostel computers are sketchy at best. Expect at least one post reassuring you all that yes, this is in fact the most unbelievable place in the world.

Love from Buenos Aires -

~Claire

Judging from how posts on all of my friends’ blogs have also slowed down, I can guess that we’re all starting to hit the busiest part of the semester. It’s the same story here in BsAs – we’ve all been bogged down with monografias (papers), proyectos (projects), parciales (midterms), and for me and my friends Zach and Alexis, one particularly hellish take-home parcial that we completed in the space of a hectic weekend.

As the saying goes, we’re too busy living life (barely surviving?) to write about it!

But today I’m biting my thumb (hello Shakespeare) at my piles of reading I should be doing and instead writing a quick post for you all. Many things have been happening, but I’ll try to focus on just one for now: La Noche de los Museos (Night of the Museums) here in Buenos Aires.

A bit of background. First off, Buenos Aires is an extremely literate city. One thing that’s always impressed me about this place is how many people I see reading at any given time of the day or night, in any place you can imagine. Harried commuters always grab a copy of the free weekly La Razon as they hop onto the subway, and even packed in like sardines, everyone’s thumbing through the pages. At every cafe I go to there’s at least one couple sitting and sharing a newspaper. Pedestrians wind in and out of traffic, noses buried in a book. Kioscos can be found on every street corner, selling every type of magazine imaginable: from fashion to recipes, home decorating to pop psychology, diplomacy and sports and cars and pinups and diets and science and geography and angry politics and nice politics and everything in between. It’s not uncommon to go over to someone’s house for Sunday afternoon lunch and then spend most of your time there reading  - after the meal, someone prepares cafe and everyone shares newspapers, sips coffee, and reads quietly, only interrupting the silence to ask for a different section or to point out something interesting.

As la capital mundial del libro (the world capital of the book), Buenos Aires is crammed with not only book fairs and used bookstores but also museums. It’s a huge part of this idea of cultural literacy that seems so present here. There are well over a hundred, and seeing them all would take much, much longer than a semester!

So once a year, the city hosts a huge event called La Noche de los Museos. Basically, all the museums in the city are free and open to the public from 8 p.m. until 3 a.m. There’s special programming, concerts, and much more.

Buenos Aires is normally alive all through the night, but this was something else. There was so much buena onda, and so many people walking the streets at midnight. My friend Jenny and I made our way to the MALBA (Museo de Arte Latinoamerica de Buenos Aires), one of the most famous museums in the city.

And now…a story in photos!

walking to the MALBA, along with a herd of Argentinians

and lo and behold, la Bomba del Tiempo (from one of my first-ever blog posts) was giving a performance in front of la Facultad de Derecho!

so we crossed the street to get a better view...

...but there were sooo many people crowded onto the steps.

so we kept walking to the MALBA, passing Floralis Generica once more (remember?) it was open for the special occasion

we've arrived!

we met two Vermonters in the hour-long line, and they offered to take our picture :)

pictures with Frida

my favorite sculpture

contemporary art

then we crossed The Beautiful Bridge. recognize it from my other post?

gorgeous night, gorgeous building, gorgeous person!

dulce de leche tentacion, chocolate suizo, capuchino caramel

It was a great night, although our feet were horribly tired as we made our way home on the colectivo.The cure? We hopped off at the sight of a heladeria and bought a quarter-kilo of ice cream. Not sure what the logic is there but it made sense to us, sooo…

We got back home at around 2 o’clock. Just another night in BsAs – the majority of the people our age were actually heading out at that time, obviously. I went to sleep, as I do.

More to come! I can’t promise constant updates (sooo busy) but I’ll make time for another post sometime soon.

Much love from Argentina -

~Claire

Hola a todos -

I want to quickly preface this post by saying that this weekend has been full of ups and downs. You know how we all have bad days and good days? Well, Friday was a pretty bad day. I was in a funk for a number of reasons, but the main one was that I had suddenly realized how little time I had left in Argentina and how little I had accomplished (or so I thought). I began one of my not-very-useful thinking patterns, where I blamed myself for living too much in my own head during this trip and not where I am physically, in Argentina. I went to bed Friday night feeling exhausted and disappointed in myself.

Well, I woke up Saturday morning from strange dreams and stumbled to the bathroom to wash my face. The water took a second before starting and that tiny pause brought along a huge chain of thoughts that I’ll try to describe briefly.

Recently we’ve been having problems with the pipes in the house, and so all of this past week a man named Victor has been doing plumbing work in the kitchen. Victor is from Jujuy, a province in the north of Argentina where everything is mucho mas tranquilo. When he’s working in the kitchen or taking his lunch break, we talk and talk about how big cities are fun, but how we’d much rather be in the country. He tells me about his family back in Jujuy and how he’d like to move back there soon. He tells me about the different harvest seasons here in Argentina, since he also works as a crop-picker.

There’s something about him that makes all of us in the house feel calmer. Even when the entire kitchen is in pieces so he can get at the pipes, and all of us are stressed out by the process (among other things), having him around makes things feel better, somehow. Isa whispered to me one day as we ate lunch in the other room that he seemed like un iluminado. To me, it just seems that he’s very aware of how little in life is worth getting sad over. You can see it in his face and the way he talks.

The little hiccup in the water flow from the bathroom faucet made me think about all of this. I won’t say it was a magic moment, but something clicked.

I went to my internship that morning as usual, but something was different. I felt more comfortable working with the kids on their English homework. I played a little ukulele for my friends. And when it was time to go, I asked what I had been wanting to ask for months: if I could stay behind so someone could show me around the barrio.

My friend Julie, who lives in Villa 21-23 de Barracas, was more than happy to show me her home. I met the priest of the Iglesia de la Virgen de Caacupe, the church that serves as the center of life for many of the Paraguayan immigrants who live there. He told me all about the different works the church has been carrying out in the area, from teen rehab centers to homes for seniors to schools for the children. I learned so much more, but I’ll save it for another post. The important bit is that when I left the barrio four hours later, I felt happy and fulfilled in a way I had been lacking.

And good things kept happening. Funny how that works when you start saying “yes.” I went to see an amazing play/circus act/dance performance at a nearby local theatre with Christina, the woman from Switzerland who’s staying in our house. Instead of taking a taxi home, we walked the 15 blocks and I told her about my dreams of visiting Switzerland, and she quickly offered to put me up if I ever made it to Zurich. We then talked excitedly about everything in life we had hopes of doing.

I returned home, checked my email, and suddenly remembered something. My friend Neda, whom I met through choir, had invited me several times to come visit her at her quinta, or country home, in El Pato, a small town about 45 minutes southeast of the city. Every other weekend or so she would bring it up, and I would always tell her the usual: Me encantaría ir, pero tengo demasiado trabajo. 

I sent her an email right then, asking if they were there for the weekend. She responded right away and told me how to take the bus there in the morning. So I woke up early, found the big red bus that said La Plata x Centenario, and climbed aboard, watching for la Rotonda Alpargatas where I had to get off.

the entry to their property in El Pato

Neda and her husband speak perfect English and Spanish, and their friend Luciana that was helping them out had spent a year in London, so the day was a mix of both languages. We didn’t talk much though – we all spent most of the day on various projects around the property. I pulled weeds for hours and it felt wonderful. I had missed doing things with my hands. There is nothing quite so satisfying as pulling up a dandelion and feeling the entire wormy white root come out of the ground whole.

there were so many beautiful roses in bloom

I fell into a sort of weed-pulling trance. All it took was being outside, far away from the noise of the city, as I searched for weeds and runners and pulled them out with my hands. My body started doing it on its own. Grab, twist, pull, and so on.

This peace continued throughout the day as I helped plant tomatoes and hang CDs from fruit trees to scare away the birds. I made onion soup for dinner and the four of us ate quietly, talking a bit but mostly just savoring the food and the day.

Nighttime came on and they told me that they were going to meditate for thirty minutes before bed. Somehow it was made clear that I wasn’t exactly invited to participate, and although I understood, I still went to bed feeling like it had been a bit of a jarring end to an otherwise perfect day.

The next morning I woke up and as they meditated once more, I took a walk around the grounds with my camera. I swung on the big swing and jumped on the trampoline. The sunlight was perfect.

the big swing in the willow tree. you can face east or west and watch the sun rise or set

shameless self-shot on the trampoline. don't worry, at least I didn't put up the other four...

But then something funny happened. I walked over to the little stream, and I stood there. And stood there. And stood there. For the first time since arriving to Argentina – heck, for the first time in a long, long time, I found myself thinking about nothing.

At first it was almost startling. Those of you know me well know how much I live inside my own head, and how often that leads me to think myself in circles and become sad for no real reason. But there I was, with my head completely empty. I lost track of time – I think I might have stood there for at least fifteen minutes, if not thirty.

Suddenly Neda came up behind me and asked me how my morning was going. We sat down on the stream bank, pulling up little leaves of grass, as she explained that they hadn’t meant to make me feel unwelcome last night. It was just that the type of meditation they practice requires at least a year of learning and training in the School of Practical Philosophy.

“But I’ll do a contemplative exercise with you now, if you’d like,” she offered.

So we sat there and she told me to let my mind “fall still.” We then went through each one of our senses, paying attention to each one without comments from the mind. It was most striking when I opened my eyes and realized that I wasn’t thinking “tree, grass, stream,” but instead just seeing shapes and colors without labeling them.

She asked me afterwards in her soft British accent, “How did you find that?”

I explained to her that it was just what I had been needing. This entire day in the country, and especially these moments by the stream. It’s hard to explain. This is my longest blog post so far, and I still feel like I haven’t really explained anything, but something fell into place that morning. I’ve been becoming happier and happier here, but this feels more permanent, somehow.

sitting on the swing

Enough crunchy granola for one day. As always, more thoughts and photos to come.

Love from BsAs,

~Claire

Three months behind me and two ahead. And unlike before, I’m no longer scared of the rest of my time here. When I was writing my one-month post, staying here in Buenos Aires for four more months seemed nearly impossible. I wondered, How on earth am I going to fill all that time? How on earth can I speak Spanish for four more months? I don’t know if I have enough words in me for four more days, let alone four more months.

But somehow – time just fills itself. A day passes and I look back in amazement at how it happened. I go to classes, visit different places, cook good food, write letters, walk up and down the streets, ride countless buses and subways, clown around with my friends, and somehow each day is filled. And even though there are plenty of difficulties, I’m learning how, at the end, the good always outweighs the bad.

So, some moments of success, both big and small:

1. Getting grades of 5 and 7 in my first two exams for Geografia Social Latinoamericana and Historia de la Educacion Argentina, respectively. These marks are out of 10 so it might not sound too impressive, but on the first test I only answered 7 questions…so 5 out of 7 is pretty excellent! Also, after asking around, I realized that I had scored just about average, if not a little higher, as the other students in the class. I wasn’t kidding when I told you that FILO is a demanding place.

2. Offering mate to the girls that sit next to me in Historia de la Educacion. They seemed pleasantly surprised (and a little taken aback) when I filled up my own wooden mate cup, poured hot water into it from my new metal thermos, and asked, after taking my turn first, “¿Querés mate?” I won’t lie: they seemed surprised that an extranjera would take the initiative to bring and make her own mate, not to mention that it had buen sabor – good flavor. See, I’m learning!

3. Making a dessert that my family could actually eat. So some of you have noticed that I’ve been baking up a storm here. Cooking keeps me happy and helps me feel connected to my family. Well, I was making lots of cakes and pies but both Isa and Mati have celiac’s disease, meaning they can’t eat gluten. This meant that I usually ended up eating a fair amount of said cake myself. Not necessarily the best outcome (although I wasn’t exactly complaining). But the other day, I made a ricotta cheesecake (the filling was basically already gluten-free, with only one small tweak) and all I had to do was use gluten-free cookies to make the crust. Isa pronounced it increible. Success!

4. Playing ukulele for my Geografia profesora. Enough said.

5. Having a great conversation with some Ecuadorian girls that I met through my choir – and beginning to make plans to host an epic Ecuadorian feast for all our other choir friends!

6. Having a wonderful after-dinner conversation with Isa. It started out with us quietly drinking a couple glasses of wine. Out of nowhere Isa looked right at me and said, “I’m very curious to see what kind of profession you’ll choose when you’re older.” She told me that her reading of my personality made her believe that I would be happiest working closely with people, especially kids. So when I told her that I was hoping to become a high school teacher, she smiled and agreed, blue eyes peeking over the rim of her glass. The conversation then turned to other topics: life callings, making mistakes, following your heart, asking the powers that be for direction, the frustrating mystery of the future, and relationships. Phew. I finished my glass of red wine and sat there at the table, incredibly happy that I could talk about such things in another language.

7. And finally, a moment of huge success. My aunt Lucy and uncle Pepe (my mother’s brother and his wife) came to visit their daughters Gaby and Dani (my cousins). Well, it had been 4 years since I last saw them. At that point I had only had three years of Spanish, and although I could understand a lot of their conversations, communicating directly was much harder.

So now we arrive at my reason for being here in Buenos Aires, in Argentina. Why did I start learning Spanish? To one day be able to speak in Spanish with my family from Ecuador. Period. Yes, I’m learning a lot at the Universidad de Buenos Aires and how to survive in a big city.  But the main goal has always and will forever be communication with my Ecuadorian family.

Well, I did. We talked and talked. And I’m continuing to do so. And it wasn’t a big lightning bolt of newness or anything like that. It felt natural. It didn’t take much thought or effort. I met them for lunch and we talked. We caught up on each other’s lives, like families do.

Needless to say, I’m glowing with happiness.

Would you like to see some photos?

Back at el Cementerio de la Recoleta, where I took all those pictures a long time ago

Uncle Pepe and his flan (I get my sweet tooth from the Alcivar side of my family)

Standing on "The Beautiful Bridge" up in Recoleta, looking at the Facultad de Derecho (the Universidad de Buenos Aires School of Law). Can you see the huge flower in the back?

Underneath the bridge

Inside la Facultad de Derecho

We went for lunch and then walked around Recoleta. It was hot and sunny, without a cloud in the sky. Soon were were sweating! The cool air and clean columns of the lobby of la Facultad de Derecho were a welcome relief from the heat.

We then continued walking to Floralis Generica, a massive sculpture right next to la Facultad. It was almost too bright to look at.

it opens at 7:30 am and closes at 8:30 pm, like a morning glory would

Oh, I have so many stories to tell and so little time! Right now I’m going to bed so I can get up early and keep studying for my next big test this coming Tuesday. But all is going well. More than well, even. I’m happy and every day I find more things to love about being here. I’m confident all of you, my friends studying abroad, are feeling the same way. :)

Love from BsAs,

~Claire

So for some reason I always find myself writing blog posts on rainy days. But I’ve found a spot where I work and think best – upstairs in Isa’s bedroom/yoga room, with the lanterns on and a stick of lavender incense burning on the desk. It’s very Zen.

Of course, I still haven’t exactly succeeded in completing my homework. Making a human development index from scratch? It’s hard! It doesn’t help that I’ve been sick with fever for the past two days, although I’m feeling much better now.

Anyways. Last night my sleep was full of vivid dreams. Isa would say that it’s because the full moon arrives today. My friends would say it’s because of the fever. Myself, knowing what the dreams were about, would say it’s just another manifestation of my permanent nostalgia. Though I don’t remember the details, they all had something to do with my childhood, family members, memories from long ago, feelings and fears that I had as a child, and so forth. I remembered waking up feeling as though I had taken an extremely tumultuous ride in an erratic time machine.

But you’re here to read about Spanish! Hence why I’m telling you all this: because in the last dream I had before waking, I was talking with my host brother Mati about Pokemon, and yes, we were talking in Spanish. Not a particularly emotional dream, like all the others, but a touch of nostalgia nonetheless.

(It probably doesn’t help that we watched a dubbed version of Pokemon: 2000 together on Monday…)

Enough about dreams (for now). What about a dream come true? I finally have a new camera! My new Canon Powershot Elph 300 HS will finally help me share some more experiences with all of you. This past Monday, for example (before I got sick)…

…Jenny, Imran and I made out for Palermo to study in style.

we splurged and ordered "el desayuno porteno:" tostados con mermelada y queso crema, y tambien jamon y queso!

meanwhile, Jenny got really excited about her submarino (a glass of hot milk with chunks of chocolate to dip inside it)!

Like I’ve mentioned in my previous posts, Palermo is one of the upper-scale and more tourist-friendly barrios of Buenos Aires. I’m a disgrace of a geography major for not providing a map until now!

All three of us live in Caballito, and getting to Palermo involves waiting patiently for the red 55 colectivo (which sometimes takes its sweet time arriving)!

To provide a bit of scale, the trip from roughly the geographical center of Caballito to roughly the geographical center of Palermo takes about 30 minutes. Bear in mind that this involves unpredictable BsAs traffic, though!

It’s fascinating to observe the different types of people that walk around Palermo versus those in Caballito. We were constantly distracted from our homework by the different accents we heard in the bar. At one point I actually stared (yes, I’ve forgotten all discretion here) at an American couple two tables over from us, speaking loudly in English. They even ordered in English, which amazed me. I felt stuck in the middle – I’m not a tourist like they were, but neither am I a native. I was stuck between privately making fun of them and feeling empathy. It was a weird feeling, and one that I still haven’t fully explored. At any rate, Jenny and Imran and I reveled a little more in our ability to converse freely in Spanish. Sometimes we take it for granted!

When we started to notice that more and more tourists were arriving, with their eyes on our prime location by the window, we packed up our notebooks and headed for another place: Libros del Pasaje.

Imran contemplating philosophy (he never stops studying)

Libros del Pasaje is a cozy cafe/bar/library, a magic combination where I can basically cover all my vices at once: coffee, good food, and a ton of books. We sat there and studied for another handful of hours, listening to chill cover music (in English…) and watching the odd mix of tourists/natives wander through.

though I didn't take this picture, this is the vantage point from where we were sitting :)

I was a big fan of the doodle wall in the back of the shop

Although it was gray and gloomy outside, Libros de Pasaje was full of buena onda - an extremely common BsAs phrase essentially meaning, “good vibes,” or even just “awesome.” We know we’ll be back!

Till the next photoshoot,

~Claire

I’m sitting here on this rainy day finishing up a cup of instant café that I made from hot water, whole milk, coffee granules, and cinnamon, and so I thought it might be a good time to write a bit about Argentinians and their café. 

I’ll preface this by saying that before coming to Argentina, my experiences wtih coffee followed the progression fairly typical of Minnesota suburbia: starting with “training-wheels” coffee from Caribou (loaded with sugar, chocolate, marshmallows and other such tonterias), then moving on to just “plain” mochas, and finally being content with a latte with only one shot of syrup. Black coffee? Nah – like many others, I always loved the smell, but didn’t care for the bitterness.

Well, that’s certainly changed. Turns out that maybe the reason I didn’t like straight-up coffee in the United States wasn’t because it was too bitter, but maybe because it wasn’t bitter in the right way.

What does that mean? Well, let me tell you a bit about the culture of café here. First off, un café refers to both the drink and the place. And there are a ton of cafés in every part of the city. No matter where you go, you can find a place to get your caffeine fix (that is, if you’re not already hepped up on mate). But here, coffee is about way more than just making it through the day awake, although that certainly plays a part! Like the culture of restaurants in general here in Argentina, coffee is for drinking slowly. It’s for savoring. It’s for sipping bit by bit as you have an hour-long conversation with someone else.

“Oh, I just think that the café para llevar (coffee to go) is so cute!” gushes my tutora Flor. “Starbucks is pretty new here, but everyone just thinks it’s so interesting how you can buy it in a little paper cup and carry it with you on the street!”

(Two things: yes, we were having that conversation in Spanish, and yes, Starbucks has arrived in Buenos Aires.)

The idea of taking your coffee (or any food, for that matter) on the run is extremely counter-intuitive to a porteño. In the United States, I always see people chowing down on fast food in their cars, while walking down the street, and so forth. Here, that practice is just about nonexistent. Tomar un cafe is a huge part of Argentine culture. There’s even a list of 53 cafes notables (notable cafes) that have a particular history and as such are protected under law. The most famous? Cafe Tortoni, where famous Argentine writers (such as Borges) and performers shared tables, coffee, and conversation.

It's so beautiful! I still haven't been...

So with all that in mind, I enter a cafe. I sit down wherever, and the waiter makes his way over in his own time. Everything happens a little more slowly, and that’s just fine. I can ask for a menu (la carta) if I want, but it’s usually easier to just order the minute he comes over. What do I want?

When I first arrived in BsAs, I usually ordered un cortado - a little cup of half espresso and half milk.

stole this from the internet, but this is pretty representative! little cup, little spoon, little treat...and a big sugar packet.

There is always, always, some sort of little sweet included with the order. Depending on how nice the place is, it can be anything from a little piece of candy to a small piece of sweetbread. At El Coleccionista, our favorite cafe close by to our houses, sometimes we get little cookies with dulce de membrilla baked in the center.

A little glass of water, with or without bubbles, is also included. Another reason we love El Coleccionista? We also get a little silver pitcher of water for refills.

Medialunas (croissants), cafe con leche, and the little cups of water in the background - a fairly typical spread

Other potential orders: una lagrima (a small cup of hot milk with a drop of coffee in it), un cafe con leche (coffee with milk), and even a good old cappuchino. What you won’t find? A Campfire Mocha, that’s for sure. Sorry to all the Caribou fans!

Whiskey, chocolate, espresso, cinnamon, nutmeg, cream...hmmm.

Although I will admit that one time, I did order un cafe irlandes - that is, an Irish coffee. Completely decadent and excessive.

Of course, you can also order a straight-up cafe (or cafe doble, if you really need a kick in the pants). But here, black coffee isn’t watery drip coffee – it’s rich and dark. I’m under the impression that here, there is little difference between espresso and coffee. Usually, I see BsAs natives dumping an entire huge sugar packet in one little cup of cafe, but as with my mate, I prefer it more amargo. A sprinkle of sugar will do. I love it!

So now my only fear is that I’m going to develop (have already developed?) a bit of a caffeine addiction. Although I never feel any significant effects from caffeine, lately I’ve been craving mate and cafe more and more…uh oh. Amanda, get ready to drink a ton of mate upon my return!

But the good thing? I’m going to save a ton of money at Caribou once I get back to MN. ;)

Love and miss you all very much,

~Claire

Enter me. Of course I wasn’t going to say no – it was a chance to do some more of what I had been doing in the internship, but with someone more my own age and in my own way, instead of simply helping the kids with their already-assigned homework.

So we met up for the first time at the Plaza de Congreso (a subway ride for me, a colectivo for him) and talked a bit in Spanish. I wrote him a sample conversation and recorded it using his phone, and then we practiced pronunciation for a while. Although sometimes it was hard for me to explain why a certain vowel sounded a certain way (think about it sometime, English-speaking folks! we have so many different vowel sounds!), it was still an overall success, I think.

But the next two times we met up, he wanted to go to McDonald’s for our lesson. I figured, why not? What better place to learn a bit of conversational English, right?

Well, I could go on and on about what it’s like to be in a McDonald’s in Buenos Aires. It’s so familiar, but so very different at the same time. Some of the meals have the same names as their American counterparts; some are direct translations, like the Cuarto Libra con Queso; and some are completely different.

there's a dulce de leche sundae?!? thank you Argentina

There are two counters – one for the regular food.and one for the whole McCafe spiel that they’re doing now. But because here, coffee is such a big deal (shoot, I still haven’t done a post on coffee here! I always forget how little you guys actually know about such everyday things here), it’s not like ordering a coffee in a paper cup like we do in the US.

Omar asked me what I wanted from the cafe, and I asked for un cafe, which here basically means espresso. He ordered the same, and everything came on a little tray: two little ceramic cups of espresso, two little glasses of bubbly water, four HUGE sugar packets, and a little bowl of tiny galletitas (cookies). Yup, that’s all included whenever you order coffee. But more about that later, since this is a post about McDonald’s (or at least it’s trying to be)!

Well, the lesson progressed as usual, and after Omar left, I decided to stay there to study. It was mostly because I didn’t feel like paying for another coffee so I could sit in a different cafe, but it was also because I was so fascinated by what I saw.

The place was full of businessmen in suits, teenagers in Adidas sweatpants, leather-bag-toting chetas (a great word that basically means snob) from the richer barrios, Bolivian immigrants, old ladies in fur coats (even though it was 70 degrees outside), BsAs hipsters with checked shirts and tight pants, entire families with all their kids in tow – in short, nearly everyone. And that was new.

One thing I haven’t really mentioned much here is how stratified the society in Buenos Aires is. As a product of many things (mostly European colonization which then caused high concentration of income in very specific areas/demographics), the barrios here are extremely divided by class. Going from my middle-class barrio of Caballito to the posh barrio of upper Recoleta feels like traveling between worlds. I won’t get into a sociological discussion here and now, but it becomes very clear that race plays a huge role in all this. Yes, Midd kids, I know that race is a sociological construct, don’t worry. But I can sit in a park in Recoleta and people-watch, and if I were deaf, I wouldn’t be able to tell that I were outside of the United States. If not for the rapid Spanish coming from their mouths, I could easily forget that all the people walking by were probably born here. Every type of European descent, and hardly a darker-skinned face of a Bolivian or Paraguayan immigrant among them.

But back to McDonald’s. It was the only place I had seen so many social classes come together. There was something so strange (and yet oddly entertaining) about seeing pairs of attractive young businessmen in suits talking animatedly to each other while stuffing themselves with fries. I couldn’t get enough of the ladies in fur coats and their gossip. Hordes of middle school-aged kids came through, dressed in matching pants and sweatshirts.

Oh, and I will unashamedly admit that I loved creeping on the adorable Argentinian guy who was studying a few tables over from mine. Seriously, though – most of the attractive guys I see here seem to have either a look of permanent melancholia or a certain yes-I-know-I’m-lovely-to-look-at vibe. But this guy actually smiled at a noisy toddler running past his table! No one does that here! No one!

What was I talking about? Oh right, McDonald’s. Well, the truth is that maybe not. Maybe I’m talking about how cool it is that I know BsAs well enough now to notice things like that. Maybe I’m sharing how nice it was to just sit in one place and people-watch. Maybe I’m telling you how I snorted out loud when Taylor Swift started playing and the businessman sitting next to me turned to see what on earth was so funny.

Or maybe I’m confessing something. Maybe I’m confessing that yes, even though I know McDonald’s is a horror of globalization/capitalism and a source of such bajones as poor health, the demise of our agricultural system, culture sterilization, etc, etc…I was really enjoying being there. I guess I missed listening to trashy American pop (oh hello I Whip My Hair) and smelling french fries.

Or maybe I just miss what it’s like to drive somewhere in the old Grand Caravan, listening to KDWB or The Current, singing along without a trace of self-consciousness, seeing green trees, not thinking twice about what everyone I pass is thinking of me.

Pretty sure that’s it. But don’t get me wrong – as of late I’ve been feeling so happy and comfortable here. It’s only that sometimes, that old achy feeling of longing for home creeps back. Strange that it would manifest itself in a post about McDonald’s? Well, I guess so.

Guess I’m an American after all. Oh well. ;)

Love from BsAs,

~Claire