Dreams of Home Sweet Home

The past two weeks has been a whirlwind of last minute trips and activities. From boats to beaches and buses to well more buses, at the end of each amazing but exhausting trip, i just want to look out the window and see home. Home home: snow, bay and family. I want is to be back in Wisconsin.

I am desperately trying to enjoy my last month but with last minute papers to write, presents to buy and trips to take, I am running out of patience and coffee.

I just want to light a fire, curl up on the couch and sip some hot cocoa. I want to do nothing and not feel guilty for it.

Every spare last minute here in Buenos Aires i feel like has to be filled with one last-minute adventure. But my spontaneity is just about burnt out and my tired bones ache for comfort, routine, and rest.

Burnt, Burnt Bottom

I spent the day after thanksgiving eating an amazing Thanksgiving dinner complete with stuffing, mashed potatoes, a really large chicken we pretended was a turkey and a couple bottles of vino.

It was as perfect as Thanksgiving can get in a place so far from my hogar.

I spent the day after the day after thanksgiving eating leftovers straight from the fridge and complaining about how bloated my stomach was. Just about perfect.

The day after the day... you get the idea... i spent laying naked around a pool in 85 degree cloudless weather. Thus the burnt, burnt bottom. But the redness, slight pain and the inevitable peeling is all worth it considering a spent a full day without clothes in one of the most relaxed places in Argentina: Santa Clara, the pueblito outside Mar del Plata.

It was a vacation in every sense of the word: from eating too much to being naked too much, it was everything i needed to break up the paper writing and god-awful presentations in Spanish.

But now i have returned to my concrete jungle and reality to discover i am not yet done with... ugg... responsibilities.

So i am buckeling down for a few more days, putting a few more papers and worthless presentations under my belt before i can officially take my burnt behind on vacation.

Thanksgiving far from home

My Thanksgiving meal consisted of a suprema al napolitana (breaded chicken breast covered with argentina's favorite vegetable: ham) and a side of mashed potatoes. It was as close as i could get to the turkey and stuffing i was craving.

But after my less-than-thanksgivingy meal, I was determined to at least get part of thanksgiving right: the stuffing. So to satisfy my craving and my family's demand for some "american food" i went to the grocery store to buy the ingredients.

An hour later i stepped outside into the 85 degree heat, my celery stalks peeking out of my bags ready to make stuffing from scratch. A long shot from the box that normally produces my family's thanksgiving staple.

4 hours later, the stuffing was done and not that bad considering it was a first attempt and it sat for an hour waiting to be eaten by the endlessly late argentines. And the responses, well they were amusing.

Gustavo poked it, literally stuck his nose in the air as if it smelled bad and then dosed it with soy sauce. Angeles ate it with exaggerated smiles and yummy noises. Maite ate half of it like she does all her food and then got distracted and started telling me a story about her friend paulina. Inaki, making sure i was watching, ate it all and gave me a big smile as swallowed the last bite. And teo asked for seconds, bless her heart.

Me, I ate it but barely tasted it. Its flavor was like something vaguely familiar but yet almost unrecognizable.

And then i started to get home sick because i remembered, that it didn't taste the same because it was missing the other sides: the spuds mom makes out of a box and pretends are from real potatoes, Aunt Peg's spicy spinach, grandma's apple crisp and all of aunt laura's appetizers.

But more than that it was missing mom, aunt peg, grandma, aunt laura and the rest of the family. Food just tastes different, better, when you know people you love made it, and when you are there to eat it with them.

It is my first Thanksgiving away from home and I sincerely hope my last because there is no where like hogar for thanksgiving.

waiting on argentina yet again

The bus i was riding home tonight hit a car. But that is not the crazy part. After it hit the car it sped off as if it could make a get away on the congested streets of BsAs. A hit and run in a bus! Now that is crazy

However the young driver made some judgment errors thinking his bus could outrun the cops that were at the corner. The cops "chased down the bus" and "pulled it over," an amusing sight at 10 mph. All the people on my bus were clapping until they realized they were walking home. It was one of the most crazy, surreal experiences of Argentina.

And that was just part of my day of demoras.

today there were delays on the subte, my tutor was 2 hours late to meet me and i had to walk home. All of this equals i wasted a good 60% of my day waiting on la Argentina to get its act together.

Honestly, i have learned to deal with the inefficiency and the occasion blatant stupidity. I don't have an anxiety attack every time something doesn't go as it is planned in my agenda. But good lord will it be good to be back to the land of efficiency, punctuality and sanity.

Yes, mr. anonymous commenter, this is "a bit extreme" and even as i write it i am laughing because these things i hate about argentina are also what i love. I love that people take their time, enjoy their coffee and their friends. I love that the country is so filled with passion it spills over into inefficiency and demoras.

But I also love doing my tareas well because i planned it out. i love being punctual and showing people i respect their time. I love not waiting in line for 3 hours.

I guess i am just wondering that 5 month old question- can argentina and america mix? Can i have passion and punctuality? And if i can't which do i really prefer? Do i even have a decision?

Unplanned without regrets

I went on my first unplanned, unresearched, unmapped out trip. I left my agenda at home, exchanging it for a really bad romance novel. I brought my lonely planet, contemplated following its advice and then stuffed it in the bottom of my bag and took another nap on the beach.

I spent 3 glorious days in Uruguay without one single plan and without one single regret.

I think that is the first time i can honestly say i lived for three days without either plan or regret. It is a liberating feeling.

From watching storms roll in over the ocean to watching the sun rise over stale beer. From singing the soundtrack of RENT to the shinning moon to skinny dipping in impossibly cold water because of the flip of a coin. From heated feminist debates to ridiculously corny pickup lines.

Uruguay was full of everything new, unexpected and alive; everything i have been lacking in my list-making world. I finally feel 22 and not 42.

Argentine is right: I am young. I need to think less and listen to the surf, the stories of strangers, and the flips of coins more.

Piropos: Last Rant, I promise

Today i gave my castellano presentation on piropos and let me just say it didn't go over well.

First let me acknowledge that piropos have been the theme of probably one too many blog entries. For that matter, piropos have probably played too large of a role in my Argentine experience, they have consumed too much of my thoughts, too much of my time.

That said, i am going to dedicate one more entry to piropos and their cross-cultural effects.

My presentation discussed the difference between argentine and northamerican women's views on piropos. For the most part I discovered argentines and northamericans received the same amount of piropos and generally the same type- everything from linda (pretty) to puta (bitch). But the reactions and emotions associated with the piropos varies greatly depending on the woman.

Argetines like the "nice" piropos. They smile and say thank you and feel good about themselves and their bodies after they recieve a "nice" piropo. If they receive an ugly piropo they tend to feel embarrassed or ashamed. If they don't received any piropos they also start to feel bad about their appearance. Piropos make up part of argentine women's self esteem.

Northamericans hate piropos, all kinds of piropos from linda to puta. They never respond with a thank you or a smile but instead a mean glare and occasionally the finger. They don't feel embarrassed by piropos, they feel pissed. Most northamericans feel piropos are a violation of their bodies and there lives.

So there are the differences. The problem comes in the analysis of the differences, of what i consider a "problem." I stated that piropos are evidence of machismo in the culture. I thought this was a very acceptable widely know fact not an opinion to be discussed. After all it is men evaluating women's bodies and appearances and declaring them in a public space to keep women in a subordinate role. In what world is it not machista to yell puta at an unknown woman on the street?

However my teacher Gabriella was clearly in disagreement with me. First she declared machismo too complex of a term to define and then that piropos are an understood agreement between the sexes of argentina rather than a violation.

I was shocked.

I simply could not believe a woman would justify and defend piropos. Yes i understand that piropos are part of the culture, but that does not mean one has to agree with them. I am american yet i do not agree with the inequality in the education system or unilateral foreign policy. Without looking in one's culture and seeing the inequalities, cultures never develop to become just, or simply they never develop.

Which brings me to my next point: equality. Gabriella stated she was a woman and she was proud to be DIFFERENT from men. We said of course, no one is denying the DIFFERENCE between the sexes (although i might debate the origin of this difference since i believe it is societal and not natural). However DIFFERENT does not mean unequal. The sexes can be different and equal. But to me equal and equality is more than Gabriella's definition of equal opportunity in the work force. Equal is being treated with the same amount of respect at home, at work and in the streets. How can i be a partner in a law firm and then called puta on the street? (Yes carrie that is the second rhetorical question i used- argentine has officially ruined me!)

I am going to state something that i'm sure would piss off any argentine: Piropos are a problem. And yes piropos are part of the culture. And yes there is a problem with the culture. Excusing piropos as a "natural" part of culture does not actually justify them, it just ignores them.

Piropos are a problem because they keep half of argentine's population in a subordinate role, where they can not reach their full potential, where they can not contribute 100% to their society. Piropos are hurting Argentine's society- and not just 50% of it, all of it. All argentines are hurt because all argentines are denied an equal society.

We are told to not judge the culture we are living in; to observe and learn but not judge. And for the most part i have tried to understand the lack of punctuality, the endless talking, the lack of efficiency, and the seemingly self absorbed natures of Argentines. In all honestly i have gotten used to these things- i even laugh about them now.

Much i will never be used to or laugh about piropos because they are personal and are a violation. It is a judgment but it is too true for me in this moment to not state it; to not say clearly, throwing all cultural non-bias out the window, that piropos are wrong and i will always hate them.

OMG

The only thing my 8 year old host brother has learned from me over the course of the past 4 months is the oh-so-annoying phrase "Oh my god."

He says it all the time now no matter what the circumstance or context.

I don't think he realizes he sounds like a valley girl diva using oh my god as an adjective, noun and verb.

I don't think i ever realized how annoying it is when i say it.

Well at least part of me will always be left with my Argentine family.

Querida Buenos Aires

Tonight Angeles asked me if i wanted to go home. And i actually surprised myself by repsonding quickly no.

If circumstances were different, if i had more money, more time, less responsibilities and less plans, I would stay in Buenos Aires.

As i tried very inelegantly to explain in my still awful Spanish, Buenos Aires has grown on me. It now has a permanent place of endearment in my heart.

I feel like i have been through a traumatic experience with the city and it has brought us closer, it has created a bond that i will hold with me forever. Buenos Aires will always be a home to me.

That said, I had a dream last night i was walking through the aisles of Copps grocery store picking out things to make Christmas cookies. I am so excited to come home and see friends and family who faces are fuzzy in my memory but whose presences have been with me the entire last 4 months.

But i will be sad to leave the family i have made here. My friends and my argentine family now have their faces, the sound of their voices and their gestures permanently in my heart.

And the memories. The memories are etched into my mind like the silver workers chiseling designs into the sides of mate cups.

Today was another memory chiseled into my mind.

Today we went to the feria de mataderos and wandered through the chorizo-smelling smoke of the parilla, watched the folk dancers smile and snap and browsed the endless artisan stands. And when gustavo rolled his eyes when angeles stopped again at yet another stand and then whispered an inside joke about wives and their waiting husbands, i felt like part of the family. When Maite leaned her tired head against my hip when waiting for her parents to barter, i felt like family. When Inga honestly told me at the end of the day that he was tired of talking to me, i really felt like family.

So this is traveling: making new homes and new families knowing in the end you will only have the new memories. New families to share with old families. New experiences to mix with an old life. A new home to leave for an old. And new memories to add to the old, to help create this colorful scrapbook of experiences that is becoming my life.

Mi nombre imprimado

I love seeing my name in print. It gives me a sense of accomplishment, like this whole experience now has a tangible point.

On Wednesday, the WSJ (Wisconsin State Journal - don't get too excited david :) printed an article i wrote comparing Cristina Kirchner, Argentina's now first elected president, and Hillary Clinton, the woman Republicans love to hate.

To be honest, it is not my favorite article. I simplified the rather complex dynamic between the representation of CFK and HRC for the sake of word count and readability. I could, and probably actually will, write a 25 page paper on just the comparison between two.

But oversimplification and the writer's regret aside, it is nice to have published proof about this experience. It is nice to know it all hasn't been a long, strange hallucination.

See my name in print here:
http://www.madison.com/wsj/home/column/index.php?ntid=255422&ntpid=2

Thoughts through the sweat

I came home today to an full inbox.

My first instinct was to scream, rip the computer off the table and smash it against the wall a few times for good measure just to make sure life couldn't reach me anymore.

Luckily, i am too poor to buy a new computer and my senses returned to me quickly. Instead of destroying property, i went for a run and thought long and hard through my sweat. And i seem to see things clearer now.

It is true that stress exists everywhere although different cultures handle it differently. Argentine seems to have the "don't worry, it will get done somehow" attitude. And i am starting to think it might be a good attitude to adapt right about now.

There will always be 3 people demanding your attention at the same time. There will always 5 more essays you should read and 2 more papers you should be writing. There will always be more things to do than time you have to do it.

But i will not always be in Argentina.

I have one more month to enjoy Argentina and take in all it has to give me (and exchange what i don't like for something better.)

And today, as a ran, i decided i am going to take it all in.

During my run, I took in the slow-walking, snobby old ladies who demand half the side walk for themselves and their poodles with booties. I took in the school kids passing the soccer ball back and forth with more skill and talent than most of the pro-soccer players in the United States. I took in the old men playing chest in the park with the tattooed punk kids smoking pot next to them. I took in the annoying group of 17-year old boys at the corner saying crude piropos to passing women (and i decided to exchange them for the cute curly haired argenine boys at Ramos Mejia.)

I took them all in because they are what makes up my memory of Buenos Aires. I will not remember these articles i am reading or the paper i will present. I will remember the good, the bad and the real of the characters of Buenos Aires.

Because that is what they are; they are characters in this crazy chapter of my life titled: Oh the places you will go.

Research- not fun in any language

Just a short entry to mention I hate endless research in any country and in any language

I am wasting the most beautiful last days of my trip attached to this damn computer staring blankly at a flickering screen.

I am living a sad sad life.

OK, i have to go. I don't even have time to reflect upon my sad emotion less existence.

Good night.

Noches Lindas

Sometimes you just find beautiful nights.

Nights when the air is warm and smooth. Nights when music turns to movements which turns to love, lust and hate. Nights when you can see all emotions: everything beautiful from dolor to amor.

Tonight was a beautiful night. A night filled with conversaciones intimas, new and old friends, musica apasionante, and French cheese and wine.

Tonight started with talks of la economia over smuggled French cheese and wine.

It progressed with un espectaculo alternativo de tango, where no one danced but everyone seemed to, where the instruments came alive, the accordion seducing the violin, the cello dancing melancholy in the corner.

It ended with an enamored couple making out on my doorstep in la madrugada, that shyly moved when I told them that I needed to break up there lovely caresses to enter my house and go to bed.

Tonight was beautiful. It was lovely in the way only another world can be, a world where nothing is understood but everything is felt, a world where you can appreciate the beauty others create, a world where you know you are part of the beauty.

Tonight I felt like part of a beautiful night in Buenos Aires.

Yeah, OK, Americans are a little weird

"Feliz Halloween." That is what we told our taxi driver as if to explain why we were dressed up as a greek goddess, a gypsy, robin hood and captain underpants (definitely the hardest to explain to Argentines.)

He looked at us as if we had lost our minds. Or were just 4 more crazy Yankees.

It is clear Argentines don't understand Halloween and in all likelihood don't understand north americans.

And standing sober on the sidelines i kind of understood why: we look like fools, drunken costumed fools.

We scream about bitches and ho's while grinding up against each other all while trying to keep our power ranger swords out of the way. Yeah the United States looks weird.

I had a very enlightened conversation with an Argentine about how the United States and Argentina are different. That was the conclusion of the night: Argentina and the United States are different.

And i think that is going to be the conclusion of my trip too: Argentina and the United States are very, very different.

Clarification: We are not americans. Argentines call us norteamericanos or yankees and get very upset when we call all ourselves americanos. For them americanos are all people who live in the continental americas. However they call us norteamericanos not referring to canada or mexico. They get very upset when you point this out.