coca, consuela y chachi

Sometimes, things don’t exactly go as planned. In Argentina this happens a lot but I have learned to go with the flow, as long as my life is not put in danger.

On Tuesday Paloma and I left for a 6-day trip to northwestern Argentina, in the provincias of Salta and Jujuy. There was a little miscommunication and our flights were booked arriving and departing from opposite cities, but we quickly resolved this minor dilemma and thought that everything from that point forward would go smoothly.

Pero nos equivocamos.

Tuesday was a wet, rainy, windy, and all around gross day. I couldn’t even anticipate the turbulence that lay ahead, but my flight took off on time and besides the occasional bumps and drops, everything was going relatively smoothly.

An hour into the flight—just as we’re getting out of the intense turbulence zone—the captain announces that there is a gas leak in the plane and that we would be returning back to Buenos Aires. Yes, we were halfway to Jujuy so we could have just continued on to our final destination, furthermore there are several large cities in between Jujuy and Buenos Aires where we could have landed, but regardless the plane turned around and brought us back to the zone of deathly turbulence.

Gripping onto the side of my seat, palms sweating, heart racing, I was ready to just fast-forward to Jujuy. There was a plane crash in Patagonia less than a week beforehand, so that didn’t exactly help calm my nerves.

Coming in over the Costanera, the dirty Río de la Plata beneath us, passing the River Plate stadium, we were basically back at Jorge Newbery so I thought I was able to finally breathe. As we were coming in to land, just as the wheels are about to screech against the damp pavement of the runway, the plane starts to take off again. The pilot comes on the loudspeaker only to tell us that another plane was coming into land right behind us and that we had to loop around again to land. Sitting by the window, I curiously peer out the window to see if I could see the plane behind us. Not only could I SEE the plane, but it was just a few hundred feet behind the tail of our plane.

Hey Courtney, don’t you wish you had been on this flight?

Planes just don’t crash in the air…that is something that you can bet on NEVER happening. However, a lack of communication with the ATC tower may result otherwise. Seeing the nose of the other plane behind us, I was hit with a wave of nausea and felt like I was going to pass out. The woman next to me sees my panic and immediately takes my hand in an effort to calm me down.

Todo bien, todo bien.

And yes, everything was okay. I mean, the Jujuy airport was closed because of weather so we had to land in Salta and then be shuttled two hours in a combi to Jujuy, but I made it in one piece. (And only seven hours after I was supposed to arrive!)

Well, things can only get better from here!

Paloma and I went out to dinner at an empanadería with two French guys that we met in our hostel. I got empanadas de llama…¡increíbles! Northwest Argentina is known for their delicious regional food, such as tamales, humitas, sopa de maní, empanadas, llama, locro…and it actually comes picante!

The next day was May 25th, not only my beautiful mother’s birthday but also El Día de la Patria in Argentina. All stores were closed in the morning and the entire city of Jujuy assembled in the central plaza for a big desfile. We were in a sea of celeste and Soles de Mayo. Young school children, gauchos on caballo, members of the ejército, and veterans, among many others, filed down San Martín as they were presented to the observing jujeños. The sense of national pride, even in this city of less than 300,000, was tremendous and contagious. Instead of throwing candy to the spectators, alfajores and empanadas were handed out. The plaza was filled with pancho stands, mobile kioscos, and vendors selling Argentine flags, flag pins, flag ribbons…pretty much flag-anything. The marching band played some of Argentina’s national songs as the jujeños sang along. The orgullo argentino that was so simply and modestly revealed in the little city of San Salvador de Jujuy made me recognize my own orgullo argentino…I am an Argentine resident after all!

We spent the rest of the day exploring the city, wandering the street markets of pirated movies and imitation Nike products, trying new regional specialties, and munching on hojas de coca. Coca leaves are legal in the provincias of Jujuy and Salta, traditionally used for medical or religious purposes. I basically relied on coca leaves when I was in Peru in 2008, as they are very effective with fighting altitude sickness. Las hojas de coca saved me again this past week, as we were between 5,000-13,000 feet above sea level at different points throughout the week. The coca leaves also awesomely numb your mouth when you chew on them…which you know, is always fun.

On Thursday we went on an excursion to Las Salinas Grandes. I visited some salt flats in Córdoba, but the ones in Jujuy (and Salta) are known for being pure salitre that extend for miles and miles, so we decided to check them out. Our guide first took us through some small indigenous villages (one of the villages only had one telephone for the entire community!), up through the autopista panamericana, and into Purmamarca where we hiked in the Quebrada de Humahuaca through the Cerro de los Siete Colores. The different colors on the mountain are a result of different sediments, each color signifying a different time period. The air was thin, we were huffin’ and puffin’, but it was such an extraordinary view that our inability to breathe seemed trivial. The reds, oranges, purples, and greens of the mountains were so unlike anything I had ever seen before, and I can’t even illustrate the radiance of the quebrada in words nor in photos.

While some of us grabbed lunch at a deli in Purmamarca (this means jamón crudo!), others opted to have a more regional dish in a small village on the way to the salt flats. After trying two closed restaurants, we arrived at one that had lunch but only for three people. Some had to ration, but we left with panzas llenas. After lunch we went up to Las Salinas Grandes…sunglasses necessary. We spent an hour roaming around the infinite flats, taking pictures of ourselves in the palm of someone’s hand, standing on people’s shoulders, ninja-fighting, eating our mini-friends, and with our dancing Bolivian people. The blinding reflection from the purely white salt left us sunburned, tired, dehydrated, and partially blind (for those without sunglasses), but we all still had smiles on our faces. Before heading back to Jujuy we stopped back at the Purmamarca market where we all loaded up on llama sweaters, scarves, and other cosas artesenales. Jujeños are predominantly indigenous with dark complexions, so they are immediately drawn to my light green eyes. ¡Qué bellos ojos! I may or may not have used this to my advantage when it came to haggling prices. Winnnnn.

Paloma and I went to Tilcara on Friday, a small town nestled in the Quebrada de Humahuaca, about an hour and a half from Jujuy. We got there in the early afternoon and had a long (two hours!) lunch at a cute little restaurant, where we stuffed ourselves with empanadas, chorizo, and morcilla. We were seated in front of the window…ultimate people watching. A woman walked by selling indigenous dolls made out of seeds in a colorful dress…so naturally we both had to run out and get one for ourselves. We named hers Chachi and mine Consuela…and they are our new best friends. (Peep them lovin' each other to the left.) After lunch we began wandering the streets of Tilcara, hoping to make our way to the ruins or Garganta del Diablo. Well, we got sidetracked at the market (again, using my ojos verdes to my advantage), and ended up buying some pretty badass converse, woven with colorful, indigenous cloth. Don’t know how well these shoes will be accepted in the US, but I’m in Argentina for over six more months, and I plan on getting as much use out of them as possible. We headed back to Jujuy, stopped at our hostel, then went back to the bus station and hopped onto our bus to Salta. Paloma and I arrived around 10:30, and although we had a long day, we were still ready to hit up a peña. We got to La Vieja Estación around 11:30 (acceptable time for dinner in Argentina), getting one of the last seats in the house. Lots of folklore music, empanadas, tamales, and vino…buena onda.

The peña at La Vieja Estación in Salta

On Saturday we woke up early and got on a bus to Cafayate, about four hours south of Salta. Sara and Devon met us at the bus station and we immediately began our wine-tasting adventures. We started at Bodega Nanni, an organic, family-run vineyard. We were introduced to Torrontés, a dry white wine and Cafayate’s claim to fame. At Bodega Nanni we started talking to our tour guide who is actually from Boston. She was telling us about how she moved to Argentina for sustainable development in La Plata and then wound up working at this vineyard in Cafayate. She didn’t care that she was earning Argentine wages because she was so happy where she was. Talking with her really inspired me to do what I love. Right now, owning and running a vineyard seems to be my calling, but I’m still working out all the details. Walking around Cafayate, I fell in love. It is surrounded by gorgeous mountains, a similar landscape to Tilcara but much more green. The pink mountains in the distance make the beauty of Cafayate so incredibly unique. We went to three other vineyards, but I enjoyed the wines at Bodega Nanni more. They were much smoother than the others (especially Bodega Vasija Secreta, whose wine was a little too bitter for my liking), plus they’re all organic! After we vino-ed our way through Cafayate we wound up at an ice cream parlor that has Torrontés and Cabernet Sauvignon flavored ice cream…MAJOR win. Cabernet was my favorite, but they were both delicious. I mean…it’s WINE ice cream. A pretty ultimate fusion of life’s essentials, if you ask me.

Paloma left early Sunday morning so I spent the day with Mya and Kirsten. We had awesome luck with the weather all week; every day was sunny without a cloud in the sky. But on Sunday it was a bit gloomy, so we went to the supermercado, got some Malbec, cheese, crackers, and chocolate, and had a huge snuggle session in the hostel. LOTS of laughing, obvio, and before I knew it I was headed back to BA.

I’m off to Mendoza next! Bike-wine tours…here I come! (Watch out pedestrians.)

Chau,
audgentina.

dale dale dale

Studying abroad, I feel like everyone is entitled to one crazy, radical thing that they would never do in the US. You can become anyone you want to be when you’re abroad, so this is the time to be able to pull off that lip ring, even though you wear Topsiders and seersucker pants at home. Whether it is dying your hair dark brown, piercing your eyebrow, or getting a tattoo of the sol on the bandera argentina, I think everyone deserves this chance to be a little loco. As for me, I got my nose pierced. No, my parents are not too pleased about it (I believe my mother’s exact words were “EW! Gross!”), but I like it and it’s kind of goes with my Argentine persona.

Paloma and I have discovered this great bar in Las Cañitas called Soul Café, a retro-themed bar with ginormous dice hanging from the ceiling and oldies music posters on the wall. (The music clearly contrasts this retro theme, as most every other song is reggaeton, hip-hop, or something of the like, but it’s a great vibe nonetheless.) We often find ourselves beginning our nights there, since we can walk there from our apartments. Last Thursday after going to Soul Café we headed to Jet Lounge, a ritzy boliche on the Costanera. Really cool and legit people go there; cover is apparently around fifty pesos but somehow Paloma and I managed to land ourselves on some list that got us in for free. Sweeeeeeeeet. Yes, we may or may not have forgotten the password and ended up playing around with words along the line of DJ Fuego (the actual password was Farside)…but got in free nonetheless. Great music, great dancing, plus we scored a free bebida or two. Needless to say, this was definitely a dancing-til-6AM kind of night…

Tuvimos resaca the next day. Obvio. I met Emi at Starbucks around 6PM, which really turned my day around. Turns out ice-cold dulce de leche frappucinos are the perfect cure for resacas.

Last Saturday we were invited to a UBA (Universidad de Buenos Aires) party in San Isidro, a small town in the provincia of Buenos Aires. Every semester, the student government of UBA hosts this party in San Isidro on an estancia-like property. (I say estancia-like because I believe it is actually a property that is rented out for big events like so.) All we knew was that there would be drinks, asado, music, lots of Argentines and very few extranjeros. (I didn’t come across a single foreigner the entire night!) A short thirty-minute train ride away, we arrived in San Isidro not knowing what to expect. We met a big group of Argentines on the train up, so they helped show us the ropes. All the taxis are unmarked, so it would have been quite difficult for us to make our way from the train station to the party. Nothing anyone could have told us would have prepared us for this fiesta. The taxi dropped us off a few blocks before the entrance because there were so many people in the street (tailgating outside of their cars and whatnot), that the taxi couldn't go any further. The entrance into the party was HUGE and wrapped around the block a few times. Joining the party in the street, we had no idea what we were in for. There were bouncers (…BOUNCERS!) to get into the party, and…like…actual organization. (Like…what?) At least 4,000 people were there, and I would not be surprised if there were more. We met a ton of Argentines (=¡mucho español!), danced a lot, and had a sip or two (or three…) of my beloved Fernet.

One thing to keep in mind: lines mean nothing in South America. I learned this to some extent in Chile, when picking up our will-call tickets…the best way to get to the front of the line is shove, push, or cut. Paloma and I, considering this crucial piece of information, refused to be walked over like naïve extranjeras. We butt our way into the entrance line (although we wouldn’t have minded staying in the street party for an hour more…), (humiliatingly) obviously cut the bathroom line, and pushed our way to the front of the bebida line. But there must be some sort of organization to this disarray; if everyone else is cutting/pushing/butting their way to the front, there must be SOME order, right?

Getting home was an ordeal in itself. As trains stop running at 2AM, we had to figure out where the colectivo picks up. Not really knowing where we were (nor in which direction we wanted to go), we just followed the masses of people in hopes that they knew where they were going. Lucky for us, they did. Not so lucky was the colectivo driver, who went from a completely empty colectivo to one completely packed with loud, intoxicated jovenes. But I mean, it was 5AM on a Saturday night, what did he expect?

On Sunday we attempted (key word: attempted) to go to the Boca Juniors v River Plate fútbol game…also known as the Superclásico. Paloma and I thought we were too naïve and, well, AMERICAN, to attend such a chaotic sporting event, so we found it more suitable to go with a group, which I will leave unnamed. Needless to say, this “organization” (quotation marks necessary) proved to be the greatest disaster of my time thus far in Argentina. Let me just give a concise play-by-play of our unsuccessful venture:

13hs: We arrive at the general meeting place, a bar in Palermo. No, we did not receive a complimentary drink/shot as promised, but we got over it.
14.30hsWe leave in our transporte privado from the bar to the stadium. Granted, thirty minutes behind schedule, but we did not see this as a problem.
15hs: We arrive, and begin making vueltas around the cancha.

15.30hs: Still making vueltas.
15.45hs: We arrive at what we think is the right entrance, along with many, many other angry Boca fans. Mass gente, but we continue to wait. There is a line of policía blocking us from entering, supposedly because they are River fans.
15.50hs: Boca fans están hartos of waiting, so they casually begin a street riot. I wish I were exaggerating. They pushed over the police blockade and legitimately began storming towards the cancha. I had no idea where to go/what to do, nor did I have enough bodily strength/force to fight against the riot, so I was basically carried with the mass of people. The riot then casually ended with riot guns (I hope…) firing off, people seeking refuge, crying, etc. All of this happened in a matter of seconds that I had no time to appropriately react; I just ran with the crowd.
16hs: After all of that excitement, we were informed that Boca sobrevendió tickets to the game, thus we would not be able to get into the stadium. So, great.
16.10hs: We hear the kick-off whistle. Hearts are breaking all over La Boca.
17hs: After hopelessly haciendo vueltas around the cancha trying to find an entrance that would let us inside, we finally give up and find a park with a radio and choripan; almost the same thing. This actually turned out to be really fun, as we got to see what the común Boca fan did during games. Their excitement and energía was very contagious!
17.45hs: We begin to make our way back to McDonald’s, the designated meeting place for the transporte privado.
18hs: We arrive at McDonald's on time, but the bus isn't there yet. We wait.
18.30hs: Nothing.
19hs: Still nothing. A little fed up, I call the guy who organized this whole ordeal. He then informs me that he has returned to his house because “hubo demasiados problemas” but that the bus should be there soon.
20hs: NOTHING. At this point I’m starting to get a little angry, and I give he-who-shall-not-be-named a call. His only response to my telling him that the transportation had not arrived was: “ayyy, ¡qué problema!”
20.30hs: Two and a half hours have passed, so we have officially given up waiting for the transporte privado. That’s right; Paloma and I are stuck in La Boca. Alone. At night. With five pesos between the two of us. At this point panic should have start to set in, but we were too exhausted from our entire day of distress that we didn’t exactly grasp our dire need of transportation out of La Boca. We begin wandering the streets to hail a colectivo, but because of the game there were too many people so the colectivos hadn’t started running again. (A concept that to this day I’m not sure that I fully understand…but okay.) We’re positive that it would not be a good idea to walk a few blocks to an ATM to withdraw money (for obvious reasons…), so we wander between McDonald’s and the colectivo stop, unsure of what we should do next.
21hs: Even though we only have five pesos between the two of us, we give in and call a taxi. We would be able to get out of La Boca and stop at an ATM to get money at least, plus we had no other option.
21.30hs: Two taxis have already bailed, and we are running out of options. McDonald’s has to close sometime, and we are literally stranded.
22hs: Our last resort. Paloma’s cousin, Marcelo, lives in Palermo. We didn’t want to call him at first because he works and is busy most nights (and has a life), and because La Boca is basically on the other side of town from Palermo, but we had no other choice. He immediately came and got us, brought us back to his apartment, and gave us some vino to calm our nerves.

Yes, that all happened. An interesting experience and great story, however from now on I am going to plan my forthcoming pursuits on my own…without said “organization,” as they claim to be. (I prefer to use the term man-who-has-no-office-and-steals-plata-from-yankees.)

I have made such amazing friends this semester (hi Paloma), but unfortunately most of them are leaving within the next month. A month may sound like a long time, but in Buenos Aires it is not. Time flies so fast here, and before I know it we will be saying our tearful goodbyes. I have been making every possible effort to make friends that will be here next semester. I have joined CouchSurfing, which has helped me meet people in Buenos Aires who are looking to grab a drink, go to a fútbol game, or explore a town in the provincia. In the past week I have already made four new friends—three colombianos and one peruano—and I can already see the tremendous improvement in my Spanish.

New favorite place: Club Cultural Matienzo. I went with Erika and Paloma on Thursday night. It is in Las Cañitas, very close to my house, and they have different local bands and artsy bands every night. It is three stories; first floor being the bar and live music, second floor a mini, local art gallery, and the top floor is an outdoor terrace with a bar where everyone hangs out after the show is over. After the show we went up to the terrace, where we met some Brazilians who taught me my first Portuguese word/phrase: filha da puta. (I’m going to go ahead and take the liberty of not translating that…)

Because our attempt to go to a fútbol game last week was such a fail, we decided that we had to try again this week and go to the River Plate v San Lorenzo game yesterday. It was a very rainy and feo day outside, but that did not discourage us! We met Christian in Plaza Armenia and wandered in the rain, searching for a lugar with promociones. (It was a sporting event, after all…) Fed met us there, and a few jarras later, we began to make our way to Ivan’s apartment in Nuñez, just a few blocks from Estadio Monumental Antonio Vespucio Liberti, the River Plate stadium. Fed dropped off his bag, and told us that we ought to leave our keys and monedas as well, for security might think that they could be used as weapons or thrown at one of the players.

Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?

I was told that Argentine fútbol games are unlike any other professional sporting events in the U.S., but I had no idea. There isn’t even a comparison; heading to la cancha is like being thrown in the middle of the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona. The fact that I am alive and in one piece, able to recall the energy, vigor, and zeal of the River Plate fans, is in itself miraculous. And just to think: this was a tranquilo game.

A few things about Argentine fútbol games: fans are ruthless, and testosterone is high. The authorities do anything and everything in their power to attempt clashes between the home team’s fans and the visiting team’s fans, however they can only do so much. There are separate routes designated for each group of fans, and there is a small area of the stadium where only visiting fans can sit. If you are not sitting in the visiting section, then you better be routing for the home team. No alcohol is sold inside the stadium, another attempt to keep fans calm and complaisant, but again, this is just an attempt. At the end of the game, the home fans are not allowed out of the stadium until all visiting fans have left the cancha; another effort to avoid street fighting. People have died at these games…just to put it into a little perspective.

En route to the stadium from Ivan’s apartment, the streets were blocked off and taken over by a sea of red. Flags flying, arms waving, men and little boys shouting the lyrics to one of the many passionate (albeit crass) River canciones. As we got closer to the stadium, you could feel the stomping and shouting coming from the populares section. It was clear that we were in River territory. The policía are well equipped for this chaos, with police on horseback, military vehicles, some bizarre looking weapons, and even crowd-control shields. They know what they’re in for.

I was speechless when we arrived in the stadium. And just to think that this was a tranquilo game. On the opposite side of the stadium from the populares section, you could still hear them screaming, feel them jumping, and see them waving their arms all over the place. Red and white balloons and shredded newspapers were thrown in the air as it came closer to kickoff. We were sitting right under the San Lorenzo fan section, but if you ask me, no one was even there. I didn’t hear a peep coming from their fan section, so either their lack of enthusiasm is shameful, or the craze coming from River was so overpowering that I could hear the fans across the stadium better than I could hear the pansies above me.

We were able to snag great seats right behind the goal about ten rows in (don’t you love the lack of organization and general seating?), so we were really IN the game. Throughout the entire game, the fans were shouting the same lyrics of the River chants in unison, led by the populares of course. The energy was so powerful and really got me going. Intoxication would be the perfect word to describe the vigor of avid fútbol fans. The end of the game had high intensity, as River and San Lorenzo tied 1-1. It’s safe to say I’ve developed a new love (or obsession) with Argentine fútbol. I’ve never been a sports enthusiast (although I do love a good Cubs game), but Argentine fútbol is something different.

Tomorrow Paloma and I headed to the northwestern provincias of Jujuy and Salta, where we will (attempt to) immerse ourselves into their indigenous culture, become fluent in Quechua, and perhaps even ride a llama! (One can only hope…) I'm all packed (thanks Nina), so after my (self-determined) half day of school tomorrow, I'm off!

Chau,
audgentina.

PS HAPPPPPPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY IRENAAAAA I LOVEEE YOUU MY BABY GIRLLLLLL!

ya sé...unos días sin escribir

I know it has been quite some time since I've last posted anything, but I promise during this time I have been making the most of my time in BA. (Including fútbol games, street riots, making new friends, lots of dancing, and some choripan in between!) A super-post will be coming sometime tonight or tomorrow, but in the meantime here are some words that I would like to share...

“Si lloras por haber perdido el sol, las lágrimas te impedirán ver las estrellas.” 

-Mafalda, an Argentine cartoon strip written and drawn by Joaquín Salvador Lavado (also known as Quino)

Chau,
audgentina.

mi argentinidad

Inspired by my dear friend, mademoiselle ming, I have decided to compile a list of the top ten things that I am currently obsessed with. My life. Mi argentinidad.


1. Maté: An infused drink, prepared by immersing dried yerba maté leaves in hot water. A lot like green tea...except ONE MILLION TIME BETTER. I am literally obsessed. OBSESSED. I drink it before school, after school, in class, in the park, on the bus, during meals…you name it. (I’m even drinking maté right now!) I became hooked on maté in Bariloche (when I realized that the reason that so many Argentines are obsessed with maté is because of the incredible effect this little herb has on you), and I am now a certified maté maniac. Most extranjeros prefer maté dulce (maté prepared with honey or sugar) since maté amargo is an acquired taste, but I tend to stick with the amargo.

There is a specific etiquette for drinking maté…it is not like any other beverage. The same maté and bombilla are used by everyone drinking…no germaphobes allowed. He (or she!) who assumes the duty of the cebador pours water slowly, filling the gourd. The cebador will drink the first gourd of maté to ensure that the temperature is right, that it is not too strong, and that it is sin palo. (The first few gourds of maté also tend to be extremely bitter, so the duty of the cebador is to serve the maté with best quality.) The gourd is then passed clockwise, and continues to be passed clockwise. When you are handed the maté, drink the whole gourd.  The bombilla makes a very loud sucking noise when there is no more maté, but slurping isn’t rude according to maté etiquette.  The cebador is the only one who holds the thermos of hot water, so when the maté is empty, hand the gourd back.  He (or she!) will fill it with water and then pass it on to the next person.  Don’t you dare say gracias until you have had enough maté, for that would tell the cebador: no quiero más maté. NEVER stir/mix/move the bombilla, unless you like a clogged bombilla and drinking yerba straight from the straw.



2. Malbec: One of Argentina’s well-known varieties of red wine (but let’s be serious, there are MANY). The Malbec grape is mixed with Merlot and Tannat to give it its full-bodied flavor. I have not been to Mendoza yet (I’m going June 16!), so I cannot share my pretentious and knowledgeable opinion of the true body of the grape. HOWEVER, from my experience actually drinking this sweet vino, it is quite possibly one of the greatest things to come out of Argentina. It is such a suave taste…I find it very difficult to limit myself to just one glass. Never before have I enjoyed drinking anything like I enjoy a delicious glass of Malbec. Santa Julia is undeniably my brand of choice…and at sixteen pesos, who could say no?



3. Fernet: An Argentine spirit, and one that you need to let grow on you. Yes, it very closely resembles battery acid at first taste, but once I gave it a chance it was impossible not to fall in love. You don’t drink it straight, rather mixed with Coke; this has quickly become my drink of choice. There’s nothing like seeing a bottle of Fernet Branca on the bar sill and knowing that I’m actually in Argentina. It may seem a little weird that Buenos Aires offers me solace in the iconic bottle of aromatic spirit, but for me Fernet is part of the quintessential Argentina that I have grown to love so much.



4. Dulce de leche: Nothing like caramel and nothing like milk, despite what others may say. Dulce de leche is a spread that can literally go on anything. I have put it on toast, medialunas, chocolate cookies, apples, you name it. They love their dulce de leche here, and I love the fact that they love it so much. (More for me!) There even is an entire dulce de leche section in the “toppings & spreads” aisle in the supermercado, yet not a single jar of peanut butter. From dulce de leche ice cream at Freddo to dulce de leche topping on a crepe at any café in town, it would be pretty hard to spend a week in this city without coming across what I like to call: God’s gift from heaven.



5. AlmaZén Natural: The health food store halfway between my house and school, where I am a very loyal customer and have befriended the darling girl that runs it. I go there to load up on all kinds of snacks, and they have pre-made, organic, delicious meals, which I get often. And as a result of this (somewhat) healthy eating, my clothes still fit! Nope, the Study Abroad Fifteen hasn't hit me yet, but I still have a solid 8 more months to fight it.



6. Boho-artsy-chic: Buenos Aires style is truly one of a kind, and in turn is forcing me to leave my preppy roots where they belong: on the Eastern Seaboard. (No more Jack Rogers and J.Crew shorts for me!) Leather is inevitably wildly popular, as just about anything and everything comes in leather (except for leather socks…I’m still scouring the mercados Nina!). Art is a true addiction in Buenos Aires, and it is truly manifested in la moda. A unique fusion of style has come out of the influence of artsy/boho/hipsters, which seem to constitute the multitude of young porteños. This includes lots of loose dresses, leather boots, skinny jeans, high heels, crop tops (I am still trying to get comfortable wearing crop tops…but I’m getting there!), leather pants, combat boots, and big, loose graphic tees. Day by day the BA moda rubs off on me more and more; I’m coming pretty close to losing my typical jeans-shirt-cardigan ensemble all together!



7. Happy hour lasting until 23hs: I’m not just talking about happy hour, though. Everything here runs on a later schedule: lunch between 14hs to 16hs, dinner between 21hs-22hs (or even later on the weekends!), bars from 23hs-02.30hs, boliche from 03hs to….! This daily horario gives me so much more time in my day; getting out of school at 14.30hs and not having dinner until 21hs gives me six and half hours to explore a new barrio, relax in a parque (see #8), get café with a friend, mosey through the shops of Palermo Soho, or take a siesta because I was out until morning the night before.

Things do run slower here; some uninformed extranjeros may even go as far to say that the service “sucks” in Argentina. At first this slower pace of life irritated me, as I’m used to constantly rushing through my day, even when I’m in no hurry at all. But after three months of relentless irritation, I am finally able to appreciate sitting down for an hour and a half lunch, not get irritated when the mozo takes a WHOLE twenty minutes (¡qué asco!) to bring over the menus, and know that I need to flag down the mozo if I want or need anything…including la cuenta. But this cultural divergence has taught me to relax. There is absolutely nothing “nice” about going out to eat if you’re just going to rush through the meal. Argentines certainly embrace life by savoring every moment, and I am starting to now as well.



8. Parques: Quite possibly one of the things I love most about Argentina, especially Buenos Aires. Here I am in a city of nearly 13 million people, so inevitably the urban elements of the city are quite apparent. Crime, pollution, people very much like New Yorkers, lots of traffic (and honking wars)…nothing surprising. However, within this overwhelming urban conglomeration are lots of parks and plazas—big and small—scattered throughout all barrios in the city. Porteños take advantage of these public spaces, where they can rollerblade, run, walk their dogs, rent a bike (¡gratis!), take out a paddleboat, share some maté with some friends…it goes on and on. Because Argentina also has a rather…relaxed…open-container law, it is great to be able to charlar with some friends with some Malbec or a Quilmes without worrying about the policía chasing you down.



9. Argentine music: From cumbia to reggaeton to Argentine rock, I’m getting really into ALL OF IT. Cumbia is traditional and folkloric. Reggaeton is intoxicating. Argentine rock is renowned and quite catchy. I am thrilled to say that my iTunes is already filling up with Guasones, Soda Stereo, Babasónicos, Bersuit Vergarabat, Los Enanitos Verdes, Fito Paéz…the list goes on and on. This song by Babasónicos called “Pijamas” is without a doubt my favorite song at the moment; unfortunately for those around me, I’m often attempting (but failing due to me being exceptionally tone deaf) to sing along.

10. Asado: It’s not like my love (or obsession) with choripan is a big secret. Some of you may remember that I was a vegetarian for almost two years prior to my arrival in Argentina, but I honestly can no longer remember why I ever made such an absurd life decision. I find myself fantasizing about the aromas of an Argentine parrilla, as I must limit myself to no more than one asado per week unless I plan on buying a whole new wardrobe. The quality of meat in Argentina is not overhyped at all. Personally, I prefer chorizo and morcilla (I am an avid morcilla enthusiast, but unfortunately I stand alone) over tira de asado and bife de chorizo, but by no means would I ever turn down a jugoso slice of meat. (Not only because I am a true asado aficionado, but I believe most Argentines would simply consider it sacrilegious to say no.)


Chau,
audgentina.

la oscuridad

They say that los ciegos have heightened senses due to the brain’s ability to overcome losses of certain areas of stimuli…or something like that.

Last night, Cassie, Devon, Erika, and I went to see “A Ciegas con Luz,” un espectáculo musical gourmet en total oscuridad. None of us had ever been to such a show, so we had no idea what to expect. I, for one, did not think that we would be in a completely (and absolutely) dark room. There must be low lights o algo así…so I thought. Nope. Upon arriving at the theater, we were guided by the mozos/actores through a mysterious, pitch-black space. We were immersed in an area without any electricity, and we were forced to see reality from another dimension. Inferring from the sounds and smells, I imagined the mysterious space to be an elaborate, ritzy room, with a fountain area in the middle, columns to the side, and plants all around. The mozos guided us to our table, manos sobre sus hombros, where a plate lleno de comida (and lots of vino!) awaited us. (To facilitate our eating-in-the-dark, much of the food was put on skewers.) We had absolutely no idea what we were eating, but everything was so flavorful! There was a torta-thing, a skewer of carne, a bruchetta-like thing, and a caprese skewer. The postre was a chocolate cake…with a fruity topping…covered in chocolate…on a skewer! How they managed to do that is beyond me. I’m not going to lie, I felt pretty barbaric eating with no utensils, but was thankful for the oscuridad so no one could see me double-fisting my comida…

What makes El Teatro Ciego special is that many of the actors in the company are actually blind or with vision-impairments. Not only does the darkness facilitate the development of each individual’s senses, but it also promotes empathy among the members of the audience, erasing the differences between people that are perceived through sight.

While we were eating, the show was going on around us. Their stage was the same mysterious, dark place where we were sitting an eating. How the actors managed to move around without bumping into anybody is beyond me. We felt like we were right in the middle of the stage, getting splashed on, smelling fresh flowers and herb scents, hearing a train’s whistle right next to us, and smelling the burning gasoline of a motorcycle driving right by our table. During many parts of the show, I honestly forgot that it was pitch-black, because I was so focused on the fusion of the flavors and the sounds and smells around me that I didn’t even need to see what was around me. The room we were in truly felt elaborate, so you can imagine our dismay and bewilderment when the lights were turned on and we were in an ordinary dining room!

I am in love with this city.

Chau,
audgentina.

dos besos en las mejillas

This past weekend I went on my first ISA excursion to Puerto Iguazú. I had been avoiding excursions with ISA because I hate traveling in big groups, but I couldn't turn down this already-paid-for excursion to Iguazú...especially since everyone had been raving about this AMAZING asado. Thursday after school we boarded a cochecama omnibus and embarked on a twelve hour ride to Posadas, in the provincia of Misiones. We arrived early the next morning and transferred onto a smaller bus where we drove forty minutes to the small pueblo of San Ignacio. We arrived at Las Ruinas de San Ignacio sleepy, but ready to take on the busy day ahead of us. With the red clay contrasting with the bright blue (cloudless!) sky and luminously green flora, these Jesuit missions reminded me a little bit of the Mayan ruins I have seen in Yucatán, Mexico. After wandering around las ruinas for a while, we went into the centro of San Ignacio to the mercado de artesanía. The roads in San Ignacio were pure tierra colorada, giving this pueblito a very unique onda.

Our next stop was Estancia La Chaca, another forty-minute ride from San Ignacio. This estancia was so relaxing; when we arrived we were able to swim in the pool, lie on the hammocks, or play soccer, volleyball, tennis, or ping-pong. But when the food was brought out, everyone dropped whatever it was that they were doing, as this estancia is famous for having the best parrilla. The most delicious empanadas I have had in Argentina (which belive me, is a LOT) was at this estancia. They were so sweetly juicy with a perfect consistency. I dream about having these empanadas again. Then they brought out the choripan, probably my favorite thing about Argentina. Obviously, I had two. They had this pico de gallo-esque sauce to put on it, which gave it even more flavor. Finally was the delicious parrilla, complete with bife de chorizo, vacío, tira de asado, and everything else in between.

After I overstuffed myself (as I tend to do at parrillas), we were taken on a maté tour near the estancia. We were shown the difference between yerba maté leaves and regular tealeaves; las hojas de yerba maté tend to be a lighter green. We walked to the maté factory, where we saw the maté leaves being harvested and processed. During the processing of the yerba they are baked in this room where the leaves are directly exposed to heat, in an effort to destroy the ferments and avoid oxidation. Needless to say, we were only in this small room for a short period of time, as we overheated within seconds. In the next room there were piles and piles of Costco-size bags of yerba maté…¡mi sueño! We headed back to the estancia and had postre and cold maté, something I had never tried before; once with cold water, once with jugo de limón (¡BUENÍSIMO!). After we finished with the maté, we got back on the bus and drove four hours to our hotel in Puerto Iguazú, where we were greeted with fresh licuados, followed by an all you can eat buffet (including a fresh parrilla station, with lots of chorizo and morcilla…yum!).

We woke up early the next day to a complete breakfast buffet (just think: endless medialunas and dulce de leche), and left for the Parque Nacional Iguazú around 8:30hs. When we got to the park we took a train to the beginning of the paseo to Garganta del Diablo and walked across many, many puentes to the big waterfall. All I can say is OH. MY. GOD. I was sin palabras when we got to this magnificent sight. Thick mist and water everywhere, we were inevitably drenched at the top of the waterfall, but couldn’t even notice because it was just that spectacular. Everyone who had been to Iguazú before me had told me how powerful, emotional, and energizing the falls actually are, but I thought they were all full of it. I just couldn’t fathom the vivacity of the falls. But it is so true. Everyone was so energized. I don’t even know how to describe how I felt. It was so powerful and peaceful; I simply felt that it was just the falls and me. The exuberance I felt was real, and unlike anything I had ever felt before.

The park persisted to amaze me as we continued walking through the jungle, with endless waterfalls in sight. There are over 250 waterfalls in the park, but it feels like so much more than that. Basically, Niagra Falls is an embarrassment compared to Iguazú. We then went on a speedboat that took us underneath the falls. Yes, we knew about the speedboat the crashed a few months ago…but we were willing to take the risk. In our trajes de baño ready to get soaked, the boat would circle around a waterfall a few times, each time inching closer to the base. It was absolutely thrilling, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn’t screaming like a little girl.

Mid-afternoon we headed to Tres Fronteras: the point at which Río Paraguay and Río Paraná come together, creating the borders between Argentina, Brasil, and Paraguay (Paraguay on the left, Brasil on the right). It was pretty neat being only a few kilometers away from these two countries, both of which I hope to visit. We were there as the sun was setting, and while a group of Guaraní children sang some of their traditional songs it created the most perfect, relaxing end to an amazing day.

The next day we visited a Guaraní village. We boarded an open-air truck, which took us from our hotel to the pueblito. We wandered through the selva with our Guaraní guide, Luis, who taught us about their language, culture, and even hunting tactics. We then came across a group of Guaraní people, who sang us a few of their traditional canciones (much like the ones we heard the day prior at Tres Fronteras). I find Guaraní songs to be very melodic and soothing, so I bought a CD in hopes of using it for relaxation. Here’s a video that I took of one of the songs they sang to us (peep the kid swinging from the roof in the background):

They held a small market for us afterwards, selling their sacred virgin beads, rosaries, and other Guaraní artisan crafts. Once we finished browsing through the mercado, we headed back to the hotel (inadvertently tracking mud throughout the lobby…oops!). An asado was obviously my choice for lunch, and after quickly nomming we were off to the airport, headed back to BA. Being in the northeast part of Argentina for the weekend, we missed the sudden change in clima in BA and were in for quite a shock when we arrived and it was 12ºC. I have definitely developed a tolerancia porteña to the cold; it has been ranging in the teens (55ºF-65ºF) this week, and I have whipped out my faithful Barbour (who gets me through the hostile winters in Vermont).

Traveling with ISA was nice, considering it was already paid for and I could let someone else worry about the logistics and planning, but I definitely prefer traveling on my own in a smaller group. There’s just no way to travel efficiently when there is nearly fifty students. Plus, I found the program's excursion regulations to hinder on my characteristic independent spirit...sorry I'm not sorry.

Next adventure on the agenda is an indigenous journey to the provincias of Jujuy and Salta (including Quebrada de Humahuaca!) in northwestern Argentina at the end of the month. Just booked my plane tickets today! Until then, I will be hacking away at my extensive bucket list, studying for my parciales, and getting ready for the Superclásico next weekend (River Plate vs. Boca Juniors…said to be one of the greatest sport rivalries in the world)!

Chau,
audgentina.