I just wanted to post some good things (Buenas Cosas) that make me smile.
First and foremost- I got a job!
Not just any job, but a full time job including health insurance and a work visa. I'll be working for Avature, a software company. Technically it's customer service but it's not the terrible phone answering variety, more like client relationships with companies around the world. I also work with Jorge.Thanks Jorge for recommending me! Also thank you Galo, Michael and Flor who put a good word in for me as well.
Shobie being in town makes me look at Buenos Aires in a different way. I've been exhausted but the good news is I had a pleasant experience in Colonia, Uruguay. If you haven't read about my first experience, read it here. Shobie was set on seeing a beach. Here's the thing people- Buenos Aires isn't always hot and it's not a beach. However, it is summer right now and thus incredibly hot, but that doesn't change the beach situation. Colonia is only an hour boat ride away and has a nice river beach. I turned several shades darker, I may even be a different race now. I don't actually have any photos of me on the beach (no swimsuit shots, thank you very much) but here's a photo of me enjoying another good thing, Cookies and Cream milkshake with vodka supplemented by a game of Jenga.
I just got the job offer today, so I'm still beaming. It just so happened that I had already made plans with Magu for her to meet Shobie and I and go to this cupcake place nearby that she loves but I had never been to. It was a great way to celebrate. I had a chocolate orange cupcake with an iced dulce de leche coffee. Decadent and delicious. I don't have a photo of that yet, Magu has that, so I'll just leave you with a photo of a photo of Magu and I with Santa and two other girls, Ana and Caro.
This year has certainly contained more changes than any other in my life. I'm refusing to label this past year The Worst of my Life, instead I'll call it My Greatest Challenge.
January
I won a contest for the first time in my life. Two box seat tickets to a Blues vs. Blackhawks game with parking and a $100 Blues giftcard included.
I celebrated my 4 year anniversary with Jimmy.
February
Jimmy gave up on everything in his life, including us. All I remember about February is the feeling that nothing would ever be the same.
Going along with the nothing will ever be the same mentality, I decided to move to Buenos Aires minutes after the breakup.
March
I visited Denver, CO to see Abby and Jack. For 5 wonderful days, I was safe with my amazing friends who did everything to keep my mind on my move, my upcoming half marathon, and absolutely anything positive. We even celebrated Easter, my first holiday in 4 years away from Jimmy's family.
April
I completed my first half marathon. Emily and I trained separately but ran the first 5 miles together. I crossed the finish line at 2 hours and 22 minutes, 8 minutes faster than my goal time. Regardless, I cried the second I received my medal and found no happiness in my finish.
Less than one week after my finish, I signed up for another half marathon in Denver, determined to reclaim my moment.
On April 30th, I purchased my one way ticket to Buenos Aires, Argentina.
May
Roxy and I spent endless hours driving through a rainstorm to get to Denver. I finished my 2nd half marathon, crossing the finish line at 2 hours 9 minutes, 13 minutes faster than before and with a lot less oxygen. I dedicated my finish to my students at St. Cecilia School. I cried when I finished, but out of joy of seeing Jack, Abby and Roxy decked out in their supportive T-shirts right before I sprinted the last stretch.
I said goodbye to my beloved students through a speech about overcoming obstacles and finding the right motivation which, in my case, was them. I left them with a photo of my finish and the closing statement: "You can't stop people or things from hurting you, but you can stop them from destroying you."
On my last day as a teacher at St. Cecilia School, I received gifts, hugs and endless amounts of love. I have never been so sad to leave a job. In 9 months I never once woke up thinking "I don't want to go to work today"
For 7 days, I hung out with Rachel and Brent in Alaska where we baked cookies for our birthdays and drank wine out of a water bottle in the back seat of Brent's car and spotted a moose.
June
I went out to eat almost every day for 2 weeks in an attempt to see as many people as possible before my move.
I spent an incredible amount of time with Erin, Ellen and Sean, trying to soak up the last bits of happiness in St. Louis.
I nearly failed at packing up my life.
Two days before I left the country, I celebrated my 23rd birthday by having a combined birthday/goodbye party that lasted 12 hours. So many of my amazing friends came out to have a drink and give me a hug goodbye.
On June 22nd, I pulled myself away from my crying mother and boarded a plane.
On June 23rd I arrived sleep deprived and utterly overwhelmed in Buenos Aires. I collapsed in a fit of sadness, confusion and depression on my rented bed and slept until I could think straight.
I saw Jorge for the first time in a year and also met my friend Jenny. I had no idea these two would become my best friends in BA.
July
I started Au Pairing and English teaching.
For the 2nd time in my life, I had the unpleasant experience of watching Germany knock Argentina out of the World Cup.
I said hello and goodbye to some amazing people visiting and leaving BA. I had not seen Kadhir in years and it was amazing to spend time with him in my first month in BA. Issac and Will were great fun. Amina and I timed our arrivals and departures terribly and I was sad to see her go.
Sara and I went to see Belle and Sebastian. It was my first concert in BA, I loved it even if the concert etiquette of those around me was not too great.
I did an internet radio interview about traveling on the cheap in South America. It won't be out til January.
Cookie Day 2010 was a success, though it wasn't easy or as great without my mom.
Celebrated Christmas in 90 degree weather.
This recap doesn't even begin to show how hard this year was for me. I guess that's all part of the 2010 challenge, furthering my ability to not just survive but have a story worth telling and let's face it, no one likes a sob story. Thanks to everyone who help me get through it, you know who you are. I love you.
It's balls hot. Absolutely no hope for a white Christmas. No snow angels, no snowmen. Nothing.
No traditional food. The heat makes traditional American Christmas food illogical. That means no mouth watering hot rolls, no mashed potatoes and absolutely no pie of the pecan nor pumpkin variety.
No Christmas music. Okay, there is Christmas music, but you truly have to search it out.
No Christmas specials on TV. Where are all my childhood classics like Frosty and Rudolph? Where are the Grinch and Home Alone? Of course, The Christmas Story did make its way down here, too bad that movie is a piece of garbage.
No friends or family. Obviously, this is the worst one. Of course I have made friends here, but almost all of them are from out of town and they are all lucky enough to be hopping a plane home for the holidays. I'll just go ahead and lump No Cookie Day into this category since that's a bonding thing with my mom.
5 Things that Rule:
Ice cream. Of course, anyone that knows me knows that I would consume ice cream in a blizzard, happily. However, I must admit it's nice to put some Christmas music on my ipod and stop for some refreshing helado.
Beaches. What's that you say? You'd like to relax on a beach only days after Christmas without getting on a plane? No problem. I'll be in Colonia for a beach day trip days after Christmas.
Artesian Markets. Thanks to the huge hand crafted markets that pop up every weekend all over the city, I know all my gifts will be unique and thoroughly cherished by all the people I send them to.
Getting packages. Okay, I have mixed feelings about getting packages here due to the completely frustrating and illogical system (please see Correo Argentino, la puta que te parió) but it still cannot shake my love of receiving mail in any form.
New traditions. Of course I miss everything from home, but at the very least it is interesting to see how people celebrate here.
What kind of things suck and rule about your Christmas away from home?
This might be the longest blog post ever dedicated to cookies.
Every year for my 23 years of life my mother and I have done All Day Cookie Day for Christmas, which eventually morphed into All Day Cookie Weekend. It started before I was born; my mother, the baker, guiding two of her best friends, Kathy and Peggy in a cookie making extravaganza. As soon as I had the ability to help, I was a part of it. I started small with jobs such as adding sprinkles, stirring melting chocolate and scooping dough onto baking sheets. My absolute favorite job was using this ancient nut grinder with a little jack-in-the-box style handle. I distinctly remember the year Kathy thought it would save time to buy pre-crushed pecans. I stood in front of the counter, next to the stool I always climbed on top of to reach the action. I held the nut grinder in both hands, unable to understand what had happened to my job. Once I came to the realization that I would not need my beloved nut grinder, I cried. I cried and cried until my mom found some whole pecans in the cabinet and let me believe the grinding of those pecans were crucial to the entire operation.
As the years went on Kathy disappeared from the tradition and eventually Peggy did as well. Cookie Day and then Cookie Weekend became solely my mother and I's. My family is small, broken and overall disappointing. We have almost no traditions, no celebrations and barely keep in contact. Cookie Day has been a constant in my life, the one thing that meant Christmas was coming. Cookie Day has changed a bit over the years; the loss of Kathy and Peggy, the dropping from 7 variations of cookies to 6 (Sorry, Peanut Butter- you are too potent and cause too many issues with allergies and packaging), the extension of a single day to a weekend and a few other minor details. However, Cookie Day has held onto a lot of things as well.
My mother and I always plan for the first or second weekend of December, depending on when she is off work. I drop everything and go home on Friday night so we can wake up bright and early on Saturday morning with a cup of hot chocolate or coffee. We set out a game plan, set up stations in the kitchen and divide duties. Christmas music must be playing for the baking to commence. "All I Want For Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey must play a minimum of 5 times each day, dancing and singing included. Back in the day, my mom recorded a cassette tape with multiple appearances of the song. Luckily, we now have CDs to make that requirement a little easier to reach. Chinese food must be ordered for lunch because we cannot be bothered with cooking anything, the dish of choice is Orange Chicken with lots of Crab Rangoon. There is not real set time spent on baking, but the days are usually about 12 hours each. We make several batches of 6 different varieties of cookies: Chocolate Chip, Snickerdoodle, Sugar, Butter with Chocolate or Cherries, Mint Chocolate, Oatmeal and Mexican Wedding. We also make spiced pecans and almonds but these are mostly for us and a few very special people as the nuts are much pricier and more time consuming. These are usually made while we take on the daunting task of packing all the cookies into tins because another condition of Cookie Day is that we give almost all the cookies away.
This year, Christmas is all kinds of wrong. I am in South America where it is 85+ degrees every day which means no snow, no hot chocolate, and no sense in wishing for a white Christmas. Christmas spirit is seriously lacking here, which is truly depressing for a Christmas fanatic like myself. I won't be home for Christmas, which actually it's not all that bad. As I said before, my family doesn't celebrate much so I spent the last 4 Christmases with my ex's family; being home would only make me miss them more. So, it's not missing Christmas I am sad about, it's missing Cookie Day.
My mom and I both debated canceling it all together but we both decided Cookie Day must live on and we would both do our own Mini Cookie Days. Today was mine. I had a lot of obstacles. My mom has all the best baking supplies and ingredients on hand. Here in Argentina I don't even have the lovely gifts my mom has given me over the years. I have a tiny oven with no temperature control, just a little flame. I had to hunt down baking sheets, figure out how to ask for "cream of tartar" in Spanish and then find a place that sold it. I went on several failed expeditions to find chocolate. I also had to work around the ridiculous rules about buying a maximum of 2 kilos of sugar at a time or a few packs of butter. However, it all came together and I have photos to prove it.
I started the day with Chocolate Chip. Unfortunately, brown sugar is much darker here so they look burnt but I promise they are perfectly baked and delicious. I was even able to find a bakery supply store that sold actual chocolate chips, something I was sure didn't even exist here. I was planning on buying a block of chocolate and chopping it up. When the lady saw me clearing her shelves of the impossibly small bags she offered to sell me a kilo for cheaper. Thank you, nice bakery store lady.
After Chocolate Chip I moved onto Snickerdoodles. These are tricky because they are super thin and thus very sensitive to temperature. It took a few test tries with some adjustment of time and the little flame in the oven but I got them to be be perfect.
Lastly, Sugar Cookies. I mostly made these for the sake of the Christmas coloured sprinkles because, let's face it, all cookies are sugar cookies. Sugar cookies are tasty but they are more for show than anything else. I decided to make a very special gift for my mama:
Long story short, there is a book called "Love You Forever" that my mother and I have history with. She gave me a copy when I was 10 and my parents got divorced. She wrote in the front cover about how proud she was to be my mom, etc etc. She stole it from me and wrote in the back cover when I moved here. I'm going to try to have a photo taken with me in it so I can send it to her as part of her Christmas present so no telling! Luckily, she has no idea how to properly use the internet so she'll never see this.
I even ordered Chinese for lunch. However, the Chinese place was out of chicken and Wan Tans (the closest thing to Crab Rangoon). What the hell? The spring roll and tofu and vegetable dish was still tasty though.
It was a bittersweet day. I definitely felt like Christmas was more real after my first tray of Chocolate Chip came out of the oven. Of course, I felt pangs of sadness every so often because Cookie Day without my mom just isn't right.
I'm glad I did it though! Even though now my table is overrun with cookies and no one is left in the city to give them to.
Today I finished reading The Hunger Games. I literally finished it in two days. I'm not going to say this book was the best novel I have ever read or the most genius plot line but I will say that the suspense and action was perfect. I started reading it yesterday and never wanted to put it down. I told myself I was going to bed at midnight and at 1am I had to force the book from my hands and face the fact that my alarm would be sounding in 6 hours. After I got back from my Boot Camp class I was thrilled to see an email from my boss telling me to come in the evening instead of the day, leaving my day wide open to read. I hunkered down in my bed and blazed through all but the last 40 pages before I had to go to a job interview. After the interview, (which went well, by the way) I refused to go to work before I finished those 40 pages. I was immediately filled with sadness at no longer having a book.
Here's the thing- I live in a Spanish speaking country. All the readily available novels are in Spanish. Yes, I can read novels in Spanish but to be honest, I just don't want to. I live for reading. I love savoring each word, diving into vivid descriptions and finishing books in absurdly short periods of time. Spanish is a beautiful language but it lacks the glorious array of adjectives the English language has. Also, I'm never going to be able to read a Spanish novel at my normal speed-of-light pace. I am terrible at making books last. I felt like the title of this book was so fitting for me. I was starving for a good book and I devoured it like a literature deprived maniac.
English books are sold here, but they tend to either be incredibly cheesy romance novels or teen books like Twilight. Even if I spot a book I truly want, the price is way beyond my budget. Argentina also does not have public libraries. This is a sad, sad situation for a total bookworm like myself. A few months ago I was at a Feria Americana which is basically huge garage sale (hence them referring to Americans) and I saw The Gangs of New York for only 1 peso. I bought it without even caring what book it was. I had vaguely seen half the movie, but my mind was only fixated on paying 1 peso for an English book. It never crossed my mind that I wouldn't like it.
Okay, prepare yourselves for my next statement: I hate history. Yes, I know it's important and we have to study history so it doesn't repeat, etc etc. That's great and all but I find it excruciatingly uninteresting. You know what The Gangs of New York is? A giant history book in disguise. I know people who would love this book and I can even see why. It's not poorly written andthe characters are interesting enough, but when it comes down to it, it is history. I am still struggling through it. You can criticize my hatred of history all you want but before you do, ask yourself if you liked your Spanish class and remember that you can respect something and still absolutely despise studying it.
This post really isn't about my hatred of history anyway it's about my absolutely insatiable desire to read. I forgot how much I loved tearing through a book. I was only able to bring 2 books with me and I finished them within my first month. I am buying myself some books for Christmas. I am so glad Emily sent me The Hunger Games to remind me what reading a good, in no way related to history book is like.
I apologize for my hiatus. I have been incredibly busy as of late but I have missed my blog! To make up for my time being MIA I am writing a nice long update with crazy amounts of photos.
I had a little haircut party in my apartment. My friend Nina is a hairstylist and came over to dye Jenny's hair and cut mine and Phil's. We all look excellent!
I celebrated Thanksgiving in Argentina. As it is 85+ degrees every day we skipped the turkey and opted for a potluck that in no way involved any traditional food other than the apple pie. There were only 2 US citizens present so no one seemed to mind.
However, I couldn't give up on Thanksgiving completely so I took on the daunting task of making a pumpkin pie from scratch. Argentina lacks canned pumpkin puree, premade pie crusts and spices like nutmeg and ginger are not as easy to find as in the States. The pumpkins here are also not the familiar orange ones from home. This baking adventure was so time consuming I worked on this pie on 3 separate days. I photographed most of the process so I can walk you through it.
This is the pumpkin I had to deal with. No jack o lantern making possibilities here, just lots of jokes related to the incredibly phallic appearance.
I don't have a proper knife so I cut through the pumpkin with a steak knife (not easy or safe) and boiled the chunks.
Once the cubes were boiled I had to cut off the skin and squeeze the water out by hand and then leave in a colander to drain before I could mash it up to make the puree.
This is where I should have a photo of me rolling out the dough and baking the crust but I actually made the dough at someone else's house. My lovely boss Janet let me use her kitchen and supplies for that part.
I then mixed the pumpkin puree with eggs and sugar and poured it into my partially baked crust.
After making the pie filling I made a streusel topping with flour, brown sugar, butter, cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger. Nutmeg in Spanish is "nuez moscada" in case you ever need to know, as I did not.
45 minutes of baking and this was the end result. I was nervous to try it, but is is delicious. Success!
It's hot and not at all Christmasy here, but I have really amped up the Christmas music listening and I also bought a tiny little tree for 18 pesos and flashing lights for 10. I was too broke to spring for decorations. I might make some for the tree and my apartment if I have the time and energy this week. Jenny is leaving soon (another "Sick of Goodbyes" post is forthcoming) so she wrote me a Christmas card that I promised not to read until Christmas day. It lives under my tree for now.
I received 2 long awaited packages from my mother. She bought me lots of summer clothes because so many of mine were lost in the move and also sent the few pieces that survived it. The two boxes also had Reeses, 2 jars of peanut butter, drawings and a card from my 7 year old cousin Jodi and a ridiculously long letter from my Mama. I won't lie to you, I cried at the sight of my mother's handwriting. We both are devastated that for the first time in my 23 years of life I will not be home for All Day Cookie Weekend. I love my mommy and I miss her dearly. The letter was the best part of the package.
This week was my last week as an Au Pair for the Ressia family. I'm still very much in contact with the family and will continue to see them and even do some paid work for them but we ended official au pair gig. I was pretty sad to say goodbye but I know I'll see them soon.
This weekend was very eventful. On Friday I went to Jorge's fancy office end of the year party. A bus took us about an hour outside the city to a club. We arrived and there was a man in a suit playing the violin. Jorge and I almost collasped in giggles when the man raised his bow and began to play "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". Absolutely ridiculous. After some classical music with the violin they switched to random 90s dance music including "What is Love?" and other favourites. After that a Merengue band from the Dominican Republic performed. So strange but I had a good time.
On Saturday I woke up early just to take on the pie making challenge and then babysat for most of the day. After that I went to the BuenaOnda Moonlight Yoga event, which I always enjoy. It's an hour and a half long yoga class at night followed by a homemade vegetarian meal. Afterwards Jenny and I went out for drinks. We ordered a couple shots called "Ball of Fire" and I swear the bartender looked like a chemist. It took no less than 5 minutes to make the concoction and the finishing touch involved putting the shots on an iphone for the light and he poured the vodka in and tiny rainbow coloured balls of some other alcohol danced their way to the top. I wish I had a photo of those crazy shots!
Today Jenny and I woke up early, considering that we went to bed around 4:30 and met up with Jorge. It's Jenny's last weekend so we went to Parque de la Costa, a theme park about an hour train ride away from Buenos Aires. The weather was great and the lines weren't too long so we had a great time, as you can see in this ridiculous photo. (Jenny and I are on the far left)
After all that awesomeness, I am exhausted but I was determined to finish this blog before passing out tonight. I will not wait this long between updates next time!
Also, because I'm obsessed with Christmas and especially my Cookie Day tradition with my mom, I'm curious- what Christmas traditions do you have that you would be sad to live without?
I am thrilled to introduce my second guest blogger, Emily Sims. Emily and I have been friends for a few years now. We ran a half marathon together in St. Louis, MO and we now work together on Travelated. She is an awesome writer and spins some lovely words in her blog Check, Please. Emily wrote a post about her arrival to France, where she lived for 2 months during college. I think it fits in nicely here on my blog about being away from home. Actually, she and I had pretty similar breakdowns (see my first entry for those messy details). I wrote a guest post for her as well.
You Can’t Go Until You Actually Leave
In the 24 hours since I’d left home, nothing had gone according to plan. I expected to die on the plane, I didn’t; I expected arrive in the town from Beauty and the Beast, I didn’t; I expected not to break down less than one day after leaving home, I did.
Boarding that plane to France was, at that point in my life, one of the most difficult things I had ever done. My parents and younger sister took me to the airport in St. Louis and accompanied me to the A gate security line. My dad started waving when he was about two feet away from me, and didn’t stop until I was through security. That’s just how my dad is.
I managed not to start crying until plane actually started moving. This was truly an accomplishment—at 21 years old, I was a bit of an emotional wreck. I tried to keep telling myself that I was a grown up now and this is what grownups do, but I kept crying. Two months is a long stretch, and the prospect of being gone that long with zero chance of seeing your family is very, very hard. College is different. If you start to get homesick, you drive home the next weekend. There would be no driving home from France.
It also didn't help my mental state that I was fairly convinced that I was going to die. There were too many plane rides and connections; surely one of them would have a mechanical failure and I’d die in a fiery explosion in the middle of Kentucky. Or something.
I had to catch a connecting Air France flight in Atlanta. After arriving in the Atlanta airport, I headed for the correct gate just in time to board. I walked down the skywalk and saw a stunningly beautiful flight attendant at the door of the plane. “Bienvenue,” she said to me, stepping aside to let me pass. Her eyes raked over my face, my clothes in a split second.
I had taken great care in selecting my outfit for the trip, and I thought I looked Paris chic, when in truth in my short-sleeved black sweater, tea length gray sweat-skirt and Wal-Mart clearance aisle flip-flops, I looked like nothing more than homegrown Midwestern shit. One glance from the Parisian flight attendant, her dark hair coiffed perfectly in the most rigid of buns, her blue belt cinching her waist even smaller than it already was, her beautifully arched eyebrows arching even higher at the sight of me, and I knew that nothing about me, my scraggly dark blonde hair or pale face, was going to cut it in the streets of France.
Oh well.
I arrived in France without any explosions or even any turbulence. In baggage claim, I nearly cried at the sight of my hunter green American Tourister, which I affectionately referred to as Green Monster, spinning toward me on the smooth silver of the baggage carousel. It was quite the reunion, wayward girl and suitcase.
Dragging Green Monster behind me through the Marseille airport, breathing hard and hungry, I tried to force my brain to remember that it understood French. Signs were everywhere, but in my confused, sweaty, and desperate state I couldn’t read even the easiest of words. I stopped walking and stared at the signs all around me, feeling overwhelmed and dizzy and ready to quit before I had even begun. People swarmed in front of me, beside me, all around me. I couldn’t understand, I just couldn’t understand anything quickly enough.
Breathe, I told myself. I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, my brain remembered that it spoke French. I calmly looked around me and saw an information desk to my right. Green Monster and I clunked on over.
“Excusez-moi, madame?” I said.
“Oui?” asked the beautiful young woman at the desk. Her thick brown hair curled gently against her shoulders, her perfect teeth smiled up at me. Her name tag, perfectly pinned to her lapel, parallel to both ceiling and floor, informed me of her name: Annette. With barely a flick of her chestnut eyes, Annette took in my disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, and dingy clothes. Her smile faltered, but to her credit, she managed to hold on to it long enough to assist me.
“Where is—I mean—Ou est…le…le bus pour Aix-en-Provence?” I managed to sputter.
Annette stared at me like I was a freaking idiot and pointed to her right, out the door. I followed her arm and saw a sign with a large picture of a bus just above double doors that lead outside. Less than 15 minutes on the ground and already the French thought I was stupid.
Classic.
The bus ride took about half an hour, and I started to freak out a little when we got to Aix. I really had expected Aix to be a small provincial town; I was thinking Disney style French village like Beauty and the Beast, but it's not—Aix is a city. It's not Paris, but it's still a city, and there were more people than I had expected. As we wound our way through town, I grew more and more intimidated and scared. Where were Belle and Gaston?
When finally I arrived at my hotel, I locked myself in my room and the full-on mental breakdown that I needed. I was in France and completely, utterly alone.
After a good cry and a shower, I dressed in clean clothes. I wrote in my journal for two hours. I straightened my shoulders. And then I packed a little purse, donned my flip flops like a beauty queen, and opened the door.
----
I, personally, am glad she did not run into Gaston. We all love Belle but now that we are adults does this douche really look all that appealing?
I recently went to see Belle and Sebastian here in Buenos Aires. Being able to see them anywhere would have been awesome, but seeing them in Buenos Aires, playing in front of a shockingly large crowd was amazing. My experience was only slightly soured by the fact that I was sitting between two of the most annoying girls of all time. This rant will be about concert etiquette, something these two girls clearly know nothing about.
No cell phone conversations
Okay, if you are trying to find a friend who is also at said concert, this might be acceptable, though texting seems like a much more logical and effective plan of action. However, having a full conversation on your cell phone is not only pointless but annoying to everyone around you. They always go a bit like this: "HEY! WHERE ARE YOU?.....WHAT?.....WHAT?!....I'M AT THE CONCERT! HELLO? I AM AT THE CONCERT! WHAT?! I CAN'T HEAR YOU. CAN YOU HEAR ME? WHAT?!" What exactly do you expect to get out of a conversation like this?
No long conversations during songs
Perhaps you think because you are not holding a cell phone to your ear that you are entitled to have as loud and as long of a conversation as you please. Incorrect. Save the drama about your recent fight with your BFF for the down time between bands. I don't want to hear you screaming over my favourite song about what a bitch Jessica is or how your boyfriend is being a dick. You paid for this show and so did I, so let's enjoy it, shall we?
No singing along if you don't know the words
This is not your shower, so save your half singing, half humming off key for when you are confined to a small space. If you know the words, sing your heart out, if not, keep your mouth shut so the rest of us can hear the real version, not your haphazardly concocted one.
No screaming during quiet parts
Have you people never heard of dramatic pauses? The performer didn't bring out his acoustic guitar and pause to let the strings ring out so you can scream"I WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABIES!" loud and clear. Respect the slow and quiet songs and stop screaming nonsense while the performer is attempting to speak.
No dancing without music
I love to dance it up at concerts too, but I reserve that for when music is being played. When the performer is having a chat with the audience or a roadie is fixing a mic there is absolutely no reason you should be wildly flailing your arms and shaking your hips. Bad dancing is completely forgiven when the music is going, but without it, you look like you are suffering from an ant infestation within your clothing.
Those are my biggest gripes, though I could surely think of a few more minor things. What bad concert etiquette have you guys suffered through?
Jorge and I decided to do a blog switch, our topic being how we met and how the internet influenced our friendship. You can read my guest blog on his site when he posts it. So Facebook has this nifty new feature where the "View Wall-to-Wall" used to sit. It's called "View Friendship" (take a moment to savor the unintentional poetry there). Essentially it's a compendium of every interaction you've ever had with a Facebook contact-- every Wall post, every comment and "Like", every photo in which the two of you are tagged together. It seems to be a feature designed specifically to ellicit that sickeningly mushy "awww we've been through so much" wave of synthetic feeling that washes over you before (or without) realizing that online interaction is fleeting, inconsecuential and impersonal. Like posting a hilarious Youtube video on somebody's wall is equivalent to sharing a real-life giggle fit. Like commenting on a despondent status with a sympathetic smiley is the same as a real-life shoulder to cry on. Indeed it would be really simple to dismiss all online interaction as nothing but typeface on a computer screen, or binary code, imitation of life. But as Rease and I sat at her Buenos Aires apartment scrolling through our Friendship Page, impishly giddy from the two bottles of cheap white wine we'd picked up and designated our own, it hit us-- or at least, it hit ME-- just how much it all meant. And how, for the great majority of our friendship, it was all we had. I met Rease about four and a half years ago (which in itself is pretty mindblowing, to me). At the time I had pretty much adopted a Hostel in Buenos Aires as my residence as I sorted my papers out to enroll in school. Truth of the matter is, I didn't really know what I was doing. I wasn't sure why I was there, except I didn't want to go back home. I was essentially a lost soul, making fleeting friendships with random strangers from all sorts of nationalities. The kind of deep friendships you form when you meet other people who are also traveling-- strong bonds over drinks at some local bar, heartfelt goodbyes and a promise to keep in touch that would dissolve into just another hastily scribbled e-mail address in my scrapbook. Now, Rease remembers our first actual interaction with a lot more detail than I do. All I can remember is sitting around in the Hostel living room (as I often did) and eventually starting a conversation with these two American girls. One (Rease) spoke to me about The Magnetic Fields, the other (Rachel) was a Pearl Jam fan (I distinctly remember asking her "You're a Yield person, right? You look like a Yield person"). Now, it's a wonder we even made it that far into that conversation, since apparently I was a petulant dickhead and interrupted Rease's attempt to communicate in Spanish with an exasperated "Okay, are we gonna do this in English or Spanish?". Again, I don't remember this episode very clearly but I know myself enough to know I was probably not trying to be a dick. Like every other time I've ended up making an ass out of myself, it's entirely unintentional. I moved out of that Hostel a couple days later, not really expecting to ever see Rease or Rachel again. Before I left I gave them the URL to my blog-- a sporadically-updated mess of a Livejournal I've had for almost seven years that's mutated into a more presentable WordPress site. And thank goodness I did, because for a long time that site was our sole interaction-- Rease and Rachel would leave comments on random entries whenever they cared to know what was going on in my life. Then along came Facebook, with its straightforward, user-friendly and hyper invasive access to every aspect of somebody's life. Suddenly the "Friendship" seemed a lot more real, a lot more tangible, a lot more... convenient. A random comment every once in a while turned into the occasional Wall post. A "poke". A picture comment. And eventually, a good three years later, a message in my Inbox proclaiming their return to Buenos Aires. Through the magic of Facebook we arranged Hostel reservations, coordinated times and places to meet. And through Facebook we said "goodbye" when they left to continue their adventure elsewhere. That by itself was way more than I ever thought our friendship would yield, because, again, I was pretty certain I wouldn't see either of these girls again. But earlier this year I received a message from Rease telling me she's thinking of moving to Buenos Aires. That's all fine and good, except, you know, SHE'D BE MOVING TO BUENOS AIRES. One thing you have to understand about Buenos Aires... it's a seductive mistress. Given the proper weather, you could easily spend a few days here on vacation and convince yourself it's the place to be. And you make these fantasies of spending your days living the porteño life in this enormous, beautiful metropolis which captures equal parts Paris and New York City. But then you set up residence here, and you find yourself in a torrentuous sea of people and places and HAZARDS, all around-- a tumultuous mess of political turmoil, civil unrest and bad manners. And then the beautiful Athens of South America you fell in love with reveals its face as a gap-toothed, buggley-eyed whore. I know this. I've lived here for five years. I was able to soldier through the little pests and nuances of this city because I deeply love the things that are GOOD about it. But would this deeply-opinionated girl who doesn't eat red meat be able to withstand all the nastiness that comes with living in one of the biggest cities in South America? Also, have I mentioned she doesn't eat red meat? But I played along. I helped her with a couple things. I looked into a few others. But only when she was physically manifested in front of me did I really believe she was going through with it. And there she stood. And here she stands now, nearly five months later, soldiering through, taking the good with the bad. In these few months she's become one of my closest friends; a fellow expat who knows the joys and pains of living far from home, a friend to hang out with on a failed weekend, a knowing ear to whine to when things don't go my way, and a seemingly eternal source of amusement for her idiosyncratic quirks. So you can scoff at the concept of social networks. I know lots of people who do. But I know what I've gained from them to be much more valuable than the feeling of superiority you get when you smugly proclaim "oh, I don't do Facebook". I wouldn't trade it for anything.
2006, in the hostel where we met with Ellen and some random Catamarcans.
2009, at Parque de la Costa theme park in Tigre with Rachel.
2010, celebrating Argentina's win over Mexico in the World Cup.
Today was a really great day for the strangest of reasons and I want to share these with you all. I woke up at 9 to go to an outdoor Boot Camp class in beautiful, much cooler than usual weather. After that I started working on a guest article I will be writing on Buenos Aires. I'm excited that i was approached and asked to write for someone else! After that, I headed to work. This is where the truly amazing part of my day comes into play. I had to catch the bus, which takes me to a train station. This is a tricky thing to time, nothing is worse than arriving at the train station just as a train pulls away. The short version of this story is I caught the train. The long version of this story is too awesome for text, so I recorded a video for your viewing pleasure:
I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. Rease- 1. Buenos Aires Public Transportation slash slow waddlers- 0.
I realized I never wrote about a few things in my blog because I wrote about them on Travelated instead. So, I'll post the links for anyone who cares about the following experiences:
I feel like a good follow up to my homesick post full of ranting and sadness would be a thank you note, a sort of shout out to the people who get me through everything.
Instead of just listing names, I would like to list actions. So here is a sincere, heartfelt thank you to anyone who has:
Video chatted with me. You have no idea how big of a difference it makes in my life when I get to hear your voice and see your face.
Sent me a package or letter. It's expensive and inconvenient to send me packages, which is why I am so flattered when anyone goes to the trouble to do so.
Asked me how I really am. Everyone wants to hear that every day is the best day of my life, that I never work and I am basically on a super long vacation with never ending resources. It helps when you guys keep it real.
Surprised me. I love surprises, whether it be a gift, an email, a phone call, a gesture-- it doesn't matter. I love that you put the effort into catching me off guard with something that makes me smile.
Written me an extra long email. I love life updates. Again, people are under the impression that I have endless amounts of interesting stuff to say and can't be bothered with a boring, US based life. Wrong. I am dying to know how you are and what you are doing, so I really appreciate when you take the time to tell me.
Commented on my blog. I started this blog to keep in touch and to document my life abroad. It's nice to know people care enough to read it.
Met me for an extended coffee, lunch, dinner, etc. I love having long conversations with people who have interesting things to say. I've always been picky with friends and I feel lucky to have the friends I have here. I certainly chose quality over quantity and I don't regret it.
I think each of you know who you are. I love you all so much. Things might not always go right for me and I may be the pickiest person in the world when it comes to choosing who I will spend time with, but that mindset has brought me to you, and for that I am grateful.
Here are photos representing my first few months here.
I have spent a lot of time away from "home" and a lot of time outside the United States. I have literally never been homesick. I have missed my friends and family, of course. I have even longed for certain foods or places, but never have I thought to myself, "I wish I was home instead of here right now".
Well, it had to happen eventually, right?
It's official. I had my first homesick day the other day and I am not even exactly sure why.
Here's the thing, I don't really have a "home" in the sense that most people do. The house I grew up in was sold, repainted and stripped of all my memories long ago. I moved out of my mother's home at the age of 18 and never moved back. I no longer have a bedroom at my mother's house either, so I really have no physical attachment to the house at all. My family is small, I have basically no extended family at all, at least none that I can slash want to talk to and we never get together for any sort of celebration. I'm not saying this so everyone will feel bad for me, I'm just trying to show you that I'm not trying to be tough when I say that I don't get homesick, I just have never had much to feel truly connected to.
Moving here semi-permanently has made me realize that you can be homesick just for your country and, for me at least, the things you miss are never what you would have expected.
Silly things I miss include but are not limited to:
Peanut butter
Reese's
Pepper shakers on tables
Really good pizza
Cereal
Coins being readily available
ATMs that give bills smaller than $100
Central AC
$1 beer specials
Movies without terrible dubbing
These little things are worth mentioning, but they are trite and certainly wouldn't cause me to wish I was in the US instead of here. The following things, on the other hand, have a little more depth.
Clean streets
Littering is out of control here. I am shocked and appalled every time I see someone purchase gum, candy, cigarettes, etc and simply toss the packaging right onto the ground as they stroll past a perfectly acceptable trash receptacle.
Common courtesy
I have come to realize that the rest of the world has made me feel guilty for being American. I was never conscious of this before, but before traveling I never really thought of Americans as being a particularly polite group of people, mostly due to how other countries view us. However, we really are very polite. Think about how many times you hear the words "please", "thank you" "excuse me" and even "bless you" from complete strangers in the United States. Our government may bully other countries and we may have a lot of racists, but we will hold doors, say bless you when you sneeze and say excuse me as we bump past you.
Along the same lines, Americans have a lot more tact. When someone looks like hell we ask "Are you tired today?". If someone looks fat, we say nothing. If someone makes a less than tasty dish we smile, swallow and commend them for trying. We focus on the positive. Not too long ago my landlord decided to tell me I was looking especially fat, as if I really enjoyed Argentine food. First of all, I don't enjoy Argentine food. Second of all, I work out 6 days a week and buy expensive health food. Lastly, you're an insensitive bitch.
Proper work ethic
I explained to a student who works for IBM that in the US we are technically allowed a 15 minute break for every 4 hours we work in but no one really takes it in fear of looking unproductive and lazy. He responded by laughing and saying in Argentina it is not uncommon to take a short break every hour simply to walk around outside, smoke, chat, or do whatever you want. I wasn't even surprised, because I have stood in line at a grocery store, waited for a check at a restaurant, and endured countless other seemingly endless and unpleasant waiting games here. Employees often decide their personal conversation is far more important than your business and simply cannot be bothered with you.
Well behaved children
I have a lot of experience with kids of all ages, but early childhood development has been a serious interest of mine for a while. I believe I have a great connection with small children and really know how to get to them. For this reason, it is especially painful for me to watch a child throw a massive fit and get what they want, or tell their mother to "shut up". Are you serious? I know some people believe kids are babies until they cannot be carried anymore, but I will tell you right now I can make a 3 year old speak respectfully and take "no" for an answer, there is no reason any parent cannot do the same.
Men who don't believe in Machismo
Machismo is basically the traditional Latin American belief that men are the caretakers, the decision makers, and have the overall control over women. It is not always so extreme, it may be as simple as being overly flirty and throwing compliments and love around so much that it ceases to mean anything at all. I am not impressed by your money, nor your ability to tell me how beautiful I am in 10 different ways in 20 minutes. Give me something worth taking about. Give me depth in your conversation skills and don't you dare call me princess.
Good music
What the hell was Argentina thinking when they came up with Reggaton and Cumbia? I used to think "Wow that song is really popular, I hear it everywhere" until I came to the terrible realization that it is not the same song, but in fact several songs that sound exactly the same. Also, the common courtesy of using headphones is not often observed by the young douchebags who love to blast this so-called music from their crappy cell phones.
American business practices
As much as I hate the compensation culture of the United States that makes it so everyone solves every problem with a lawsuit, I do enjoy that the laws protect me from being screwed over or taken advantage of. In the US, I would never have to deal with shady business practices like last minute raises in rent or not getting what I expect when I purchase something. However, in Argentina, you don't get the same protection.
Hearing my name as it is meant to be said
My name is Rease. Not Grease. Not Riiks. Not Tere. Not Re-ah-say. REASE. I know I could go by Teresa and my life would be easier, but you know what? No one calls me that and I don't want them to. When someone named Jose comes to the States, does he have to go by Joe? No. I've even learned to semi-roll my R's just to better say my name, but no one wants to accept it.
I'm still really happy here, and overall, this city is still really interesting to me. My every day Spanish is really improving and almost every day I am challenged and I love that. Do I get tired of Spanish and relish the solace of my English music, books and television? Yes. However, I still enjoy learning how to properly ask for a ripe eggplant, casually ask if people are up to do something, or formally ask if health insurance covers pre-existing conditions. Living here is like having a really weird internship; ever-changing tasks that are a mix of fun and mundane with a pretty sad but mostly livable salary. I don't plan to go back to the US anytime soon, but I can promise you that is where I will end up. I may not really have a hometown, but I definitely have a home country.
Now that I have pointed out all the things it took moving away to miss, I want to know, what do you think you would miss?
Shobie being in town makes me look at Buenos Aires in a different way. I've been exhausted but the good news is I had a pleasant experience in Colonia, Uruguay. If you haven't read about my first experience, read it here. Shobie was set on seeing a beach. Here's the thing people- Buenos Aires isn't always hot and it's not a beach. However, it is summer right now and thus incredibly hot, but that doesn't change the beach situation. Colonia is only an hour boat ride away and has a nice river beach. I turned several shades darker, I may even be a different race now. I don't actually have any photos of me on the beach (no swimsuit shots, thank you very much) but here's a photo of me enjoying another good thing, Cookies and Cream milkshake with vodka supplemented by a game of Jenga.
