Lots of highs to one big fat low. That pretty much sums up this past week.
Thursday was Lale’s birthday, so naturally we all headed to El Alamo for some Argentine debauchery. (There wasn’t even a line outside…my generous gift to Sr. Rodriguez.) Lots of Fernet, questionable Alamo draft, and countless que los cumplas feliz’s.
Friday night we were still nursing our resacas, so Fran, Sole, Lale, Vale, and I went to Noe’s for an easy night of pizza, Fernet, and juegos de mesa…until 4:30AM. I love Argentina. I also love the charades version of Sexonary. I definitely increased my…adult…vocabulary.
I could go chronologically and talk about what we did Saturday—Lidi, Lu, Rochi, and I went to a previa with un montón de Fernet followed by a boliche, standard Saturday night in BA—but you already know how that story goes. I’m going to move on to my HIGH of the weekend/week/month/year/life: on Sunday I went to San Telmo and finally found a leather backpack! I have been searching for the ultimate mochila de cuero basically since I got to BA and I finally found one that is bien hecho (a rarity in Argentina). I am so in love with it (and how I look when I wear it) that this past week I have started aimlessly marching around the city just so I can be seen wearing it.
Sunday night I went to Paula’s house with Sofi, where she made us arepa and salsa, a typical Colombian dish. Accompanied with Sofi’s maté, it was quite the merienda panamericana! Next time, I’m bringing macaroni and cheese to represent my portion of the Pan-American spectrum.
In recent news, Silvia is officially an abuela! Her oldest daughter just had her first child, a baby boy named Milo. I have yet to meet the little nub but according to Silvz he looks like Mr. Goo.
As of right now, I have been rolled up in a ball all day combating an epic case of intoxicación alimentaria. I will spare you all the details, but let’s just say that it will be a while before I go back to Barrio Chino to get sushi. Ouch.
UNREAL. Naturally, I was too intrigued by these shavasana kitties to just leave it there, and before I knew it, I was googling "Yoga Cats,” deciding which one of these epic felines was my favorite. I have been cracking up for the past thirty minutes, and now bringing myself back to focus is a lost cause. Here’s to having a productive afternoon! I seriously recommend bringing these cool cats into your life, you certainly will be enlightened.
Someone decided to play a cruel joke on me this semester by giving me class at 8AM. Todos los días. I have not had such an early routine since high school, and I do not like it one bit. It is just plain offensive that I am expected not only to be up and functioning by then, but ALSO to be able to speak and absorb material in Spanish. So rude. I could be positive and say that it’s not that bad, since I end most days by noon and have the whole day free…but I’m still cranky from waking up at 7:30AM.
Because I have such an inflexible schedule as far as going out is concerned, I definitely have to take advantage of the weekends. I have been enjoying hanging out with my group of Argentine friends these past few weeks. They are from all over the country, but have come to la Capital Federal to estudiar. We sip maté together during the late afternoons and go to previas together on the weekends. I was nervous about returning to BA without mi media naranja (MISS YOU!), but I am in good hands with these argentinos. On Friday, Lu, Lidi, and I decided during our afternoon maté sesh that we wanted to have an easy, low-key night. We were all tired and the single-digit temperatures weren’t exactly enticing us to go out. But of course one thing led to another and before we knew it, we were heading to El Alamo. Una noche tranqui, we kept telling ourselves. Wrong. We wound up staying from 8:30PM-3AM. I’ll go ahead and let you guess how the night turned out.
Nene, ¿querés coca?
In just a few weeks I will be making my way up to Bolivia for a ten-day journey. I will be going to Cochabamba, Copacabana, Lake Titicaca, and La Paz. As much as I love spontaneously planning trips, I was unable to do so for Bolivia, as Americans require a visa to enter the country. I have spent the past weeks running all over the city getting everything in order, from a questionable yellow fever vaccine to countless returns to the Bolivian consulate, where I certainly got a taste of the real third world. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I'll blend right in. My ojos claros and waspy skin complexion just scream Bolivian indígena, don't you think?
This next part is for you, Primetime.
While I was running all over the city getting my Bolivia visa in order, I decided to finally aprovechar of the Italian influence here in BA by gong on a mini pizza tour of the city. First stop was Pizzería Kentucky. Despite the re yanqui name, it is actually a clásico espacio porteño. The Argentine owner befriended a yanqui from Kentucky and named his restaurant chain after their meeting. The pizzería’s tacky, flashing neon sign definitely stands out among the classic architecture in Palermo and Recoleta, but after being here for almost seven months, I had to go. The pizza was good, but I wanted more. The next stop was Guerrín, in Tribunales. Better and cheesier, but I still wanted more. Last was El Cuartito in Barrio Norte, where I had the most deliciously succulent pizza that I’ve had in a long time. (Naples is the obvious exception.) So satisfied, I cannot even explain.
But this pizza exhibition was not just for my personal enjoyment. It was a learning experience. Several things I have taken from this pizza tour:
1. Una porción is not enough.
2. Thick, soft crust is the way they do it in BA.
3. No crazy flavors. None at all. Just many variations of what I consider to be plain.
4. If you’re just getting a slice, you stand up and eat it at la barra. Like farm animals.
5. Naples is an unfair comparison. Not everyone can make their pizza taste like big drops of heaven, so you need to give the underdogs a fair shot.
That being said, my pizza tour has forced to realize that I must join a gym. I’m not enjoying it one bit, but after countless bife de chorizo, Oreo alfajores, and choripan, I didn’t exactly have a choice. At least now I no longer have to feel guilty about going to the chori stand for an afternoon treat!
It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that I couldn’t bear to last a year without reuniting with my favorite chongs, so instead of being crunchy and backpacking around South America with just a pair of socks and a Swiss Army knife, I hopped on the next plane up to los Estados Unidos!
I didn’t exactly announce the date of my arrival…in fact I lied and told everyone except Prima that I was coming home on July 12th. I came home on July 5th. Yes, I am the world’s WORST liar ever, so everyone was impressed with my ability to keep this to myself. Turns out it is a LOT easier to keep something this HUGE to yourself when you’re a hemisphere away.
Sopresa, biatch! (Note the pasty Argentine winter skin)
I’m obsessed with WelcomeHomeBlog, and even though I don’t know anyone in our troops overseas, I have always dreamed about having a “soldier reunion.” So I took matters into my own hands and gave myself my own geniusly executed soldier reunion. I started by bbming Nina all day telling her there was something important that I had to tell her and that I would be calling her when she got out of work…aka CLEAR YOUR SCHEDULE FOR ME. Around four o’clock I called her, as I was just a few blocks away from her apartment. I told her to get outside and managed to stall the conversation until I was in front of her building. “No. Stop. Shut the front door. That isn’t you. That can’t be—” Girlish screams, tears, and countless embraces followed her brief denial of my stateside presence. Obviously our first order of business upon reuniting was picking up a bottle of wine, bringing it to the Hudson River Park, and doing some long overdue catching up. It was here where we met our friend Diamond, quite possibly the most flamboyant black man we have ever encountered. I miss him right now more than anything.
Anjuli and Prima came down to the city that weekend and we did what we do best: raged. Raged so hard in fact that when Prima and I came home at 3:30AM a little “loopy,” we ordered a pizza and decided it would be a good idea to get a little shut-eye before we nommed. Wrong. Woke up at 7:30AM with ten voicemails and even more missed calls. Sorry for portering.
The rest of my time in New York revolved around going out to delicious meals with Mommy, Nina, even more food, alcohol (mainly margaritas and G&Ts), and reuniting with some of my Porter's and OWU loves that are in the city for the summer. I even ventured all the way over to Brooklyn to see Julz! Catching up with Ella was definitely the highlight of my time home. She is so wise and cool, I just hope I can be as successful as she is when I'm that old! (Keyword: old)
Seeing as it had been over six months since I had seen my beautiful sister, I demanded that Mommy and I roadtrip up to Burlington. Six hours and a torrential downpour later, CC and I were reunited for the first time in way too long. Never again will we face such cruel separation. We enjoyed delicious artisan crepes as we sat on Lake Champlain…followed by Burlington’s infamous soft serve; the maple walnut and black raspberry duo is a winner. After dinner CC and I went up Pearl Street only to be reunited with the one and only KILEY SCHULZE! It was a beautiful Argentine reunion, I only wish I could have smuggled her back here with me. (Miss you, mama!) Mommy spent another night up in Burlington with us, buying us pretty things, getting us massages, and taking us out to eat delicious food. She left a few days before I did, giving me the chance to get in touch with my inner Vermonter. Some may say that we lucked out with amazing weather that weekend; if by amazing you mean the scorching sun and suffocating heat, then we did! We spent the mornings nomming on delicious bagels from Burlington Bagel Bakery (I may even dare to say that it is better than Bagelworks), afternoons lying on the beach, and evenings pretending we have livers made of steel. As much as I loved all of the sister time I was having, my entire body was pretty much shot by the end of the weekend…aka time for me to head back down to Dorset.
For those of you who didn’t know, CC is the author of golden shinanigans, where she posts cool things she sees and likes. I know she is a million times cooler than me but please don’t rub it in.
My time in Dorset revolved around RUFUS, the Bachelorette, RUFUS, delicious food, floating on the Stratton Pond with Mommy, and…RUFUS! We are uncertain as to Rufus’s swimming abilities therefore he did not come with us to Stratton Pond, but next summer I will be determined to showcase his inner Michael Phelps to make up for the damage that Scooper caused. Also in VT I helped Mom & Dad make some Argentina plans. The whole family is coming down for winter break (Mom and CC on December 9 and Wright and Dad on December 18) and I could not be more excited! I LOVE MY FAMILY! THEY ARE THE BEST!
In an attempt to rage like it was 2008, Sarah, Prima, Anjuli, Grace, Nina, and I made it over to the Cape for a classic weekend of dysfunction, 10AM kings, and raccoon slaying. As Nina so eloquently phrased it in Phlerm Phile, “We went to the cape with a few of our friends, all of whom, like us, have questionable IQs/common sense. What sprung from this group of degenerates sharing a house together was a situation whose hilarity I COULD NOT EXAGGERATE.” We seriously need a reality TV show. Immediately upon arrival we obviously opened up a few bottles of Australia’s finest and before we knew it Nina was passed out and Anjuli was playing hair stylist.
Pre-strippage
After nomming delicious breakf sandz, dealing with a certain deli worker’s unprofessionalism (he clearly did not even go to deli school…), and an early morning game of Kings, we decided to go to Quisset for the day. As we pulled up to the house, we took one look at the big hill and began wondering HOW we could get someone to roll down it. Just imagining the epicness of one of us rolling down and down and down this massive hill was hilarious enough. But of course, we did not drop it. Sarah and I spied a backgammon board in the living room and being the WASPs that we are, challenged each other to a game…but raised the stakes. Loser has to roll down the hill…in their birthday suit. One bad roll led to many more bad rolls and before I knew it, all of Sarah’s pieces were off the board. F. (Fortunately backgammon is purely a game of luck so I am still confident in my skillz as a backgammon hustlaaa.) Before my defeat had even sunk in, she had rounded the troops and unwillingly dragged me outside to strip down and begin rolling. Regrettably this momentous occasion was completely documented, putting an end to my aspiring presidential campaign. Sarah ever so kindly posted my dress on the fence, a solid 100 feet from the point at which I stopped rolling. Ultimate walk of shame.
Dysfunction didn’t end there. The next morning we woke up to discover that someone had forgotten to close the dumpster lid taking the trash out the night before. Inside the dumpster were three raccoons…and one of them was dead. Animal Control on the Cape isn’t open on the weekends, so we had to take matters into our own hands. We began by throwing rocks and sticks into the dumpster, at which point we confirmed that there was in fact a dead raccoon. After almost staking one of the raccoons (accidentally, we swear.), we decided it was time to take a break from all our hard ‘coon slayage attempts and nom on some breakf sandz. While eating we decided to google “what to do when there are raccoons in your dumpster.” No hits. (We did learn that, ironically enough, raccoons find the smell of urine to be “very offensive,” so at least we had a Plan B.)
When we returned to the scene of the crime, the two live raccoons had bounced, leaving us with just one coon corpse and some trash. Appointing the dumpster opener (Graciela) to trash duty, we scooped up the mess (with a snow shovel) until all that was left was the lone ‘coon. Nina ended up being the one to man up and pick up the dead raccoon…whose hand was wrapped around a chain in the dumpster, clearly trying to escape. (Did you know that raccoons have opposable thumbs?!?!)
With the raccoon steadily balanced on the shovel, we walked it out about 50 into the woods. Once Grace delivered her heartfelt eulogy (“I gave you the best night of your life…I also gave you your last.”), it was launching time. Unfortunately Nina lacks the upper body strength necessary to catapult the ‘coon deep into the woods (tehehe), but it got the job done. The epicness of this raccoon launching cannot be captured in words, so we took a video to illustrate the hilarity of it all. (How many Porter’s girls does it take to get rid of a dead raccoon?)
My little man is bigger than me! Unreal.
By early Sunday evening we were once again heading our separate ways, but my roadtrip didn’t end there. With a quick stop in Hingham to see Maggie, I made my way up to Bridgton, Maine, to creepily wander around an all boys camp…woo! Wright was so excited to see me, he could barely contain excitement. Seriously. When he saw me, he sprinted up to me and picked me up and twirled me around! I do believe there were tears. We made our way down to Freeport to have some delicious lobstaaaaah rolls on the haaaaahbaaah. On our way back to Bridgton, we spontaneously decided to do a little $15 bungee. (Who needs safety regulations anyway?) I’ve never heard Wright scream louder. Once our locura came to an end, it was time for Wright to go back to camp and for me to start making my way back to New York.
I wasn’t even in New York for 24 hours when Nina and I decided that it was imperative for us to go to Connecticut. Making it there in record time (one hour and forty minutes BOOYAH), we needed to figure out how we were going to kill the next five hours while Prima and Grace were still at work. Deciding what to do took no time at all, as we instinctively made a beeline to Truffles to pick up some delicious Cajun chicken salad, then to the ex-Epicure for some bubbly, and finally to Highland Park for some OJ, ice, and Yorks. The most ultimate picnic. We headed “deep” into the woods of the Hillstead for a Porter’s afternoon…so excellent.
Naples was the obvious choice for dinner, and a few pizzas later we were rolling our way back to Prima’s house. (FYI: Naples has changed their French fries. They no longer have their infamous big, delicious fries, rather new thin, McDonald’s-esque nubs. Tristeza. At least the nice, cool ketchup hasn’t gone anywhere!) After bugging Hari to hang out with us, we cracked open a bottle of Pinot Grigio and watched the latest PLL (not sorry). So good.
We made it back to NYC again in record time (someone sign me up for NASCAR please!), and embarked on a nearly nine-mile walk from my apartment to Nina’s, then across the Brooklyn Bridge (soooo NYC!) and back to Nina’s. (That ought to make up for the excess calories we had been consuming.) It was such a great day to do this walk, with the unbearable NYC heat and humidity! We have never looked better. En serio.
NJ Transit = partaaaay trayyne!
And then there was New Jersey. Being New Jersey virgins ourselves, we decided we had to go and see what all the fuss was about, so we made our way down to THE Shore. Luckily for us, NJ Transit had us go from Penn Station to Trenton (WIN), Trenton to Philly, and Philly to Atlantic City. In Trenton we saw real Jersey confrontation, as some chong got in some poor woman’s face for the automatic toilet not flushing. (She clearly did not go to toilet flushing school…) Upon arrival in Atlantic City we had a few hours to kill, so we popped a squat on the curb and cracked open our emergency bottles of Stella…aka we blended in perfectly!
Before I knew it my last night in the USA had arrived. With some Indian with Dad and drinks with Brooke and Nina, I could not have had a more perfect sendoff. One highlight of the night was making (…or forcing) Nina to try a Fernet and Coke, my favorite Argentine cocktail. Let’s just say it’s going to take some serious work and determination to get her to love it like a porteña! Mommy took us to a very francais lunch on Monday, with lots of delicious sandwiches and desserts. Mmmmm. After a very tearful goodbye I was on my way to LaGuardia, where I was hassled about my visa by American morons who do not know how to read international dates. (Clearly they didn't even go to school.) Sitting on the runway in NYC for a solid three hours, I arrived in Atlanta with legitimately eight minutes to run to the other side of the airport. Sweet life. Once I got on the plane I was informed that my seat had been given away, so I came pretty close to sitting on the floor for the entirety of the eleven-hour flight. (There is only one flight to BA from Atlanta per day, and I was not about to spend 24 hours in Atlanta.) My bags did not make it to BA (shocker), but they were delivered to me the next day, sin problemas!
I am back in BA, safe and sound. I am missing my wonderful family and crazy friends lots, but I know these next five and a half months are going to fly by. It’s unbelievable that over half my time here in Argentina is already over! Since being back I have been crazed with course registration and renewing my visa (I am an undocumented extranjera at the moment!), but have made time to hang with mis amigos porteños and drink lots of maté!
