The Procrastination Post, or “Why do I have an essay due tomorrow?”

It’s my last week in Buenos Aires and it’s an extremely bittersweet one.  It seems like it was only yesterday that I was agonizing (to which those closest to me can attest) over a name for this blog.  This sadly under-posted excuse for a blog.  But unfortunately that was 4 months ago and even with a final due tomorrow, I’ve decided now is the perfect time to reflect on my semester here. *wink*

It’s a bittersweet time because everything is wrapping up and just when I’m finally getting a hang of it here.  I’ve finally fallen for the porteño lifestyle just when I’m being forced to leave it.  I’m obsessed with the hours they keep here, all the activities this city has to offer, the libreria-cafes and the delightful customs of mate and asado.  I’ve discovered all these amazing Argentine authors whose works I just want to devour.  I could sit in a theatre here all day and never tire of the cinema Argentina has to offer.  And my classes are finally starting to come full circle, to the point where I’m excited about what I’ve learned.

I may be waxing a little to poetic, but I can’t help it.  It’s about that time in my voyage where I forget all the bad things and start to idealize it all.  And there was plenty of bad for that matter.  I won’t miss the bland food, the burnt coffee, hugging my bag against me to prevent “crimes of opportunity”, waiting for those damned colectivos when I’m late for class, being yelled at for being foreign, etc.  But I’m trying to remind myself of these less-than-savory characteristics of BA because it makes it easier to fly back to the States.

And I wanna come home.  To hug my family, to see my friends, to eat good food, to have a comfy bed again, to have an income, to embrace the sunny Southern California climate, to “do my normal life” in the words of Marcela.

There are definitely things I’ll miss: the blacklights on the 152, for one.  But I think I’ll be headed back in the near future and until then I’ll be “doing me”. *wink*

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes… (to be sung à la Bowie)

Newsflash: I haven’t been posting lately.  You weren’t aware were you? Just kidding.  I’ve definitely been out of the post game for a while because things have been crazy here in Buenos Aires for the past few weeks.  First I was traveling for spring break and then there were midterms and then I was traveling again.  Add in a few bouts of sickness and that’s my last 6 weeks.  So I’ve decided to jump back in, mostly so my family knows I’m still breathing and not lost somewhere in Patagonia.

I’ve been freaking out lately.  Mostly because the end of my 4 months here is rapidly approaching and part of me doesn’t want to leave.  I mean, 4 months? That’s all I get?  It seems like such a short time in the grand scheme of things.  With the end just around the corner, this semester seems so fleeting.  Like I’m just glimpsing a snapshot of this amazing city. But I’ve begun to realize that that’s not exactly true either.  I’ve been here a little over three months, but already I know enough about this city to recognize the little changes.  The tiny shop where I bought a beautiful scarf has become a candle store.  3 streets have changed directions.  I met some friends for drinks in a neighborhood were I fêted a birthday three months back and I barely recognized it for all the changes it’s undergone.  And perhaps the least enjoyable change: it’s gone from 80 and sunny to 50 and windy.  But, in the face of my all-to-soon departure, it’s comforting to know that however short my time in BA, I’ve still seen a slice of porteño life.

And aside from all these things I have noticed about BA, it’s becoming obvious that this city has had it’s affect on me.  It’s exciting to think about all the changes I’ll notice next time I’m here.

Uh oh…

I just got fingerprinted for my Argentine visa today.  After 21 years of avoiding it, I’m finally in the system.  I guess I can no longer steal a priceless gem from a foreign embassy, leave prints and get away with it.  You know what, they might even be coming for me as we speak… lol just kidding.

Like buttah…

On my way home from class today I saw “comer carne es matar” scrawled across the facade of an elegant restaurant.  Literally, “to eat meat is to kill”.  I was a little thrown off seeing that graffitied here, of all places.  Here, where meat, and a hunger for it, is part of the national identity.  Where barbecues are a national pastime. Where everyone knows the name of each cut of meat and how to butcher it.  Where vegetarians are delusional and vegans unimaginable.  And it’s not just that there is a lot of meat around.  There is a lot of good meat.  I can vouch for that after last Saturday night.  I went to dinner at Lo de Jesus, a well-known parilla, or grill, that’s been in business for about 60 years.  They say you can cut Argentine steaks with a spoon, and while I have not experienced that yet, Lo de Jesus came pretty damn close.  I had lomo jugoso (a tenderloin cooked medium rare), a side of pork chorizo and a bite of my friend’s salmon.  The salmon was the best I’ve ever had outside my own house, the chorizo was revelatory and the steak itself was like butter.  Believe me when I say Jesus is a fitting name, because this meal was almost a religious experience.

With Jesus in mind, how can eating meat be a sin?  How could you find the equivalent of MEAT IS MURDER scratched across a wall in one of the meatiest countries?  In order to understand, you must be familiar with two other very Argentine qualities.  First, Argentina has always been a very permeable culture with a special soft spot for adopting anything norteamericano, even if they don’t understand it.  Second, as a result of the long-term political upheaval and severe dictatorships of the 20th century, Argentines are very politically vocal, willing to manifest for a cause and apt to plaster their opinions all over walls.  Taking these factors into account, it’s easy to imagine a young Argentine with a green marker scribbling a PETA slogan on a building.  I just wonder if he knew that they stole it from The Smiths first.

And it probably doesn’t help that Argentine farmers are expected to harvest over 50 million tons of soy this year, a record amount.

Finally..

To get to Uruguay from Buenos Aires, you take a ferry, a ferry that leaves from the edge of town.  Now this ferry process is the real deal, like boarding an airplane.  After you check in, you go through security and then you wait and wait more and wait and then you wait on line.  But the waiting area is so chic and comfy, with a little espresso bar and leather couches, that your expectations of the luxury involved in your ferry ride are seriously elevated.  But what you don’t realize is that there are only two possibilities for your ferry: laboriously slow & calm or fast & turbulent. When your ferry finally docks and the seasickness subsides, you realize that it’s 4 AM and you still have a four-hour bus ride before you reach your destination.  But you probably end up sleeping through most of the bus ride.  When you pile out of the bus at Punta del Este, you realize one of your friends is really sick.  So you follow her to the bathroom and then try to explain, in broken Portuguese, why the stall is occupied to the Brazilian girl waiting in line behind you.

But a few hours later, you’re on the beach and that’s all that matters.

skyline

Beachbound…

I’m headed to Uruguay this weekend to hit the beach.  I’ll be living it up in Punta del Este, which is home to one of the top 10 beaches this world has to offer. Pictures & description to follow.

Sparks really flew. No really…

I guess I’ll start from the beginning…  On Sunday, my roommate and I decided to go to el barrio chino to see the New Year’s parade and maybe eat some egg rolls.  It was a beautiful day and the wifi was acting up, so I was really excited to get out of the apartment and see more of BA.  Although Chinatown was awesome, the parade was more like three guys prancing around and there were far too many people crammed into the main thoroughfare so we only stayed for an hour or so.  When we got home, around 5 pm, I tried to check my email but the wireless network was dead.  I didn’t think much of it because wonky wifi is a common problem here and I decided to watch a movie instead.  Fast forward to about a 9:47 pm when the power goes out.  After the wifi problems I was basically prepared for this to happen and I went out on the patio to watch the stars come out and wait for dinner.  About two minutes later is when I heard the yelling start: “¡Llama a las chicas! ¡Tenemos que salir!”  My host mom was yelling at her daughter to get us, we had to leave, go get the girls, right now! And the urgency is her voice was the kind that you ignore at your own peril.  So I shove on my shoes and get my roommate and we’re running to the front door.  That’s when the smell hit me.  I covered my mouth and yelled for them to do the same because my first thought was gas, that there must be a leak, that we need to get out of the building.  And that was the moment that the wall of smoke engulfed me.  I thought FIRE, FIRE and the need to escape became even more urgent.  Our apartment is on el piso primero which means the second floor.  My mom figured we could make it out but there was too much smoke and I yelled to get to the patio, my throat already stinging, the smell of burnt cable filling our front hall.  Gracias a Dios, we have  the luxury of a large patio because we went to the farthest edge and watched the rest of the apartment fill up with smoke.  My host sister starts yelling to the people watching from neighboring building that we need help, please call los bomber0s, the firemen.  So the four of us are sitting in the corner of the patio, my mother and sister sobbing because we couldn’t get the cat out of the building.  I’m trying to keep everyone calm because I know hyperventilating won’t help but I can’t stop thinking about my family back home, how will they know if something happens to me?  But the firemen here are fast and soon enough we saw their flashlights coming through the apartment and relief washed over me.  They got the cat out of the building and it turned out that no one was hurt.  I was outside wearing an oxygen mask and heard the firemen explaining that it was an electrical fire that started in the super’s office which cut the wifi and electric.  Then when someone took the elevator up, the fire climbed up with them.  We won’t have power for a week or so and everything carries a thin mantle of ash, however things are starting to go back to normal.  But sitting on the patio after the ambulances and firefighters and vecinos had all left, I remembered the Góngora and Garcilaso poems I’d read.  All the carpe diem and “coged de vuestra alegre primavera el dulce fruto” and Sra. Pendorf with her cara a la muerte.  After all that happened, I can’t imagine not making the best out of my time here in BA.  And I’ll never forget the irony of los bomberos lighting up their cigarillos outside our blackened building or the fact that I spoke intelligible Spanish throughout the whole ordeal.