comemos chivito, tomamos fernet

Monday was a national feriado (celebrating el Día de la Raza, or Columbus Day), so Lidi and I made our way across the Río de la Plata to Montevideo.  It was a great weekend, even though things didn’t exactly start out smooth.

Because it was a long weekend and we like to leave things until the last minute, Buquebus was booked solid, so we had to resort to Seacat.  We didn’t think this would be a problem…until we boarded the ferry.

Thursday was incredibly windy and rainy, making it difficult to even get to the ferry terminal to begin with.  We finally made it there in one piece, checked our bags, went through immigration, and began making our way to the ferry.  We could not believe our eyes when we saw the ferry tiny boat.  The storm dominated the little Seacat.  Within the first five minutes after pulling away from the puerto, the boat began swaying from side to side, resulting in passengers, muy mareados.  One woman was passed out on the ground of the boat.  People were screaming and getting sick, all the while water was pouring in from the sides of the boat.  I saw my life flash before my eyes.  Luckily, it was an express boat, so we only had to deal with this locura for an hour.

Our bus from Colonia to Montevideo was just as eventful.  There was one loud borracho, who seemed as though he must be pregaming for a football game by the amount of cold ones he was tossing back.  We later found out that he had snuck past customs and was carrying drugs with him, so he was booted off the bus.  (C’mon dude, you need to be more stealth.)  While aduana was dealing with him, the woman in front of Lidi and I asked Lidi if she would put her luggage (aka a plastic garbage bag) under Lidi’s seat.  We thought it was a rather weird request, but Lidi told her to just put it under her own seat.  Two minutes later, aduana came back on the bus to ask this woman to open her plastic bag.  Sorpresa: she was smuggling drugs.  Good thing Lidi didn’t take the bag, otherwise we’d probably still be in Montevideo.  Ayyy.  We got to the hostel in Pocitos around 12am, rallied, and went to Tres Perros per the hostel’s recommendation.  One weird Uruguayan “custom” we observed: men oddly dominate the bars.  Some would say this would be a good thing, but it was just weird.  We would go as far to say there was a 1:4 girl to guy ratio.  Definitely not something we see every day in BA.

Friday we woke up to torrential downpours.  Not the weather for sightseeing, so unfortunately we spent the majority of the day at el shopping, changing money, grocery shopping, and basically seeking refuge from la lluvia.  We found a small Mexican joint for lunch, and by the time we were finished the rain had cleared up.  After dropping everything off at the hostel, we decided to walk down to the beach.  It was incredibly chilly and windy (a HUGE temperature change from last weekend in Córdoba!), but still beautiful.  We finished at a bar called Che, getting an early start on the evening.  On our way back to the hostel, we stopped at a chivitería for some comida típica.  So good.  Chivito is a lot like lomo, but better and más completo.  We went back to the hostel, fell into a deep food coma, and woke up and rallied to go to Asia de Cuba.  (Not very uruguayo…pero bueno.  They had 2x1 promociones de cerveza, so we weren’t going to complain!)  It was a lot of fun; great music, but we were missing our energía porteña.

Saturday was not very rainy, so we decided to explore Ciudad Vieja.  Just as we got of the colectivo we passed a California Burrito Co. (conveniently just as our resacas began to kick in…), so we just HAD to stop for lunch.  Claramente, we love Mexican food, especially in Uruguay.  We went to the Mercado del Puerto, where we went to Roldós and tried their infamous sparkling wine.  It was interesting, to say the least, and something that we had to do in Uruguay.  We then made our way to an artisan market in El Centro, while wandering through some barrios near the puerto.  It was the bicentenario in Uruguay, so there were lots of celebrations, performances, and desfiles in the street.  Pretty neat.

After our much needed siestas, we woke up to some talk downstairs of a possible asado that evening.  Instinctively, we sprinted to the market to pick up some bife y chori, and joined the rest of the porteños in the hostel for an asado.  We wound up going back to Asia de Cuba again that night, not as great as the night before but we still raged.

Sunday was another dreary, rainy day in Montevideo, so we slept in and laid low with the fellow porteños in the hostel.  I whipped up my genius salad creation for Lidi, which made everyone else laugh.  (¡La yanqui está haciendo algo para la latina!)  After a lot of laying around, Lidi and I went to the beach for a bit, to el shopping, then back to the hostel for another asado.  I really can’t get enough chori.  We decided to go to El Living for drinks with some of the other porteños from the hostel, where Lidi and I sipped on some delicious sangria.  There was this creepy old man in the hostel, an old surfer dude in his 50’s from Punta del Este, who has clearly smoked and drank too much for his own good.  On several occasions this weekend we caught him pulling a Peeping Tom into our private room.  He managed to follow us to El Living, where the bar owner literally threw him out (after seeing his insane level of creepiness).  When he was within twenty feet of us it was funny…any closer, and not so much.

On Monday we went to a delicious pizzería for lunch, then spent the majority of the afternoon walking around like uruguayas.  (Maté y termo en mano.)  We wound up in a pretty shady plaza, per the recommendation of the jovencito in the hostel, so we quickly bounced and wandered our way back to Pocitos.  Once we were back at the hostel, we quickly got our things together and before we knew it we were on our way back to BA.  Luckily, on Buquebus this time.

For the past three weeks I have been traveling nonstop, so I am excited to actually be in BA for a bit.  I’m in the process of scheduling a two-week trip to Patagonia, but details are all still up in the air.  In other news, I turn 22 in six days, and could not be dreading it more!

Chau,

audgentina.

cerveza and freakz

What’s a year abroad without an Oktoberfest weekend?!?  I mean, Villa General Belgrano IS the Munich of South America…

Side note: I have found out that it is indeed possible go from my house in Belgrano to the bus in Retiro in less than thirty minutes, even while stopping for some chori.  A little risqué perhaps, but definitely doable.

We got to VGB around 8am on Friday morning, a little groggy and disoriented after the 12-hour bus ride.  Once we were all together, we got on a bus to Los Reartes.  After unknowingly missing our stop, we were dropped off literally in the middle of nowhere, unsure as to where we were actually headed.  After a long, sleepy walk in the cordobés heat, we managed to make our way to Cabañas Dali Luma, complete with a parrilla and pileta.  We settled in, showered, and changed, and were on our way back to VGB. 

Is this not the most ultimate hitchhiking car?

Buses are few, so we resorted to the standard Latin American form of transportation: hacer dedo.  (Yes, I can finally cross that off my bucket list!) Santiago and José de Mendoza managed to shove five of us in the back seat of their 1980’s sedan, even though the weight of all of us resulted in the back bumper dragging on the ground.  Sorry, dudes.  After having lunch in VGB and seeing that the Oktoberfest activities hadn’t started yet, we got loaded up on asado essentials and headed back to Dali Luma.  We spent the rest of the beautiful day by the pool, saving up our energy for that night’s asado.

Four sliced fingers later, our asado was ready.  It was an asado completo, with a full ensalada, chori y bife.  I guess I was a little too excited to eat my chori, because I spent the rest of the night with excruciating heartburn.

The cabañas were right on the Río Los Reartes, so we spent that hot Saturday morning and early afternoon chilling by the river, getting ready for the locura of Oktoberfest al cordobés. 

VGB is a very interesting place, a lot like Epcot’s Munich.  After getting our steins, we went around to all of the stands, fully absorbing the pedo argentino.  There were plenty of crazy people dressed up wearing wigs made of questionable materials, dancing to weird German music, taking steins to the face.  After many hours immersing us into the so-called German culture, we headed back to Dali Luma for a late night asado.  Luckily, this round of chori nomming was heartburn free, and I was sure to make up for the chori I was not able to eat the night before! 

After a lot of indecisiveness on Sunday morning, we decided to spend the day in the city of Córdoba.  It was a long walk along the river, to the main street, then up the main street until we came across the bus stop.  We knew it would be a while before the bus would come, so we figured we might as well get comfortable.  There just happened to be an ice cream parlor across the street from the bus stop, so we loaded up on the best ice cream that I’ve had in Argentina.  (Which is saying a lot, since the ice cream in Argentina is AMAZING.)  What was even better about this ice cream was that a medium cone was only 12 pesos…take that Freddo!  We spent a solid two hours sitting on the side of the road, basically looking like vagos, waiting for the bus.  We got to Córdoba around 4pm, found lunch, and wandered around the city for the rest of the afternoon. There are lots of college students in Córdoba, with both Argentine and extranjeros, so it’s a very young city.  But it’s also a very small city and we did not need more than a half-day there.  I’m definitely glad I came to Buenos Aires to study; I can see myself getting bored in little Córdoba.

But I mean, there is nothing like the energía porteña.

We went to La Zete for dinner, a delicious Middle Eastern restaurant.   It was a pretty early dinner…for Argentine standards…around 8pm.)  The food was amazing, but unfortunately I had to dip out early to catch a bus that would get me back to BA in time for my 8am class…rough.

This weekend, I'm off to Montevideo with Lidi!  Not sure what to expect, other than ridiculousness and (possibly too much) pedo.

Chau,
audgentina.

una mochila de cuero

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.

Chau,
audgentina.

tengo sueño

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!

Chau,
audgentina.

julio: mapaches, chongas y cerveza

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!

More to come soon!

Chau,
audgentina.

todas las cosas que merecen lágrimas

I took quite the ride on an emotional rollercoaster this week. Lots and lots of highs, but also many lows, as this week was filled with tearful despedidas.

I have found that some of my best of nights out have usually started with a unexpected torrential downpour. (Kanye '08?!) This was definitely the case on Wednesday night. Rana, Cassie, Devon, Quynh-Le, Leo, and I went to see Onda Vaga, one of the many awesome Argentine indie rock bands that I LOVE. Y sentir el frenesí de la canción, salir con mis amigos delante del río con un cielo aparte o en un cajón. De cualquier forma que me dé satisfacción y comprensión, y nunca culpa de haberle faltado el respeto a nadie. The concert included lots of dancing, jumping, singing, yearning over the beautiful musicians, and plenty of Quilmes-induced hugs and affection. The concert ended at 11PM…leaving us feeling very confused as to what to do next, since our nights seldom start before midnight. By fortune we were able to hail a cab to take us to Quiroz, where we munched on some REAL fries (one of BA’s rarities), sipped on some Malbec and sangría, and savored one of our last nights together.

Thursday marked the end of my first semester classes…finally! I have one last final in the beginning of July, but until then I’m freeeeeeeeeee! Paloma and I commemorated this achievement by treating ourselves to Tatú. Those delicious empanadas never get old. That night I had a real night out on the town with my API loves, renting a bombbb party bus (basically a boat on wheels with super tacky flashing lights…so epic.), raging around the Obelisco and up and down Avenida 9 de Julio for an hour or so, then ended up at Asia de Cuba, a boliche in Puerto Madero right on the river. (You can see the Puente de la Mujer from the patio!) We danced ‘til the sun came up…muy buena onda toda la noche. (The best part of the night quite possibly could have been me falling asleep on the colectivo home…at 7AM…waking up AT my stop! Qué suerte, ¿no?)

Odio las despedidas. They began on Friday and only got harder as the day went on. (The resaca that I had from the night before didn’t help matters either!) We met for the ISA despedida at Deli-Wok, a tenedor libre including chorizo, sushi, a complete parrilla, and over ten different tortas. I wound up stuffing my face with chorizo (making mini-choripan!) that I didn’t even make it to the postre table…typical. After a few chau’s, hasta luego’s, and nos vemos re pronto’s, I found myself roaming Cabildo, making my way home for a much needed resaca siesta. A few Melona bars and a three-hour siesta later, I had rallied and Paloma and I were off to Fuerzabruta.

If you ever get the chance to see Fuerzabruta, DO IT. Re imprecionante. Fuerzabruta is an Argentine theatrical company, similar Cirque Du Soleil, aesthetically innovated through flying acrobats, flashing lights, and experimental props. A serious mind orgasm. You can really see Argentina’s Carnaval influence in the choreography and execution of the show. The aerial (a 6-foot high moving treadmill and 20-foot flying curtain), aquatic (two clear-bottom, mobile, tilting pools suspended from the ceiling), and acrobatic (the thirteen cast members fly, run, and dive down into the audience to bring guests up on top of the flying curtain) components of the show make it the most unique show I have ever seen. At some points the pool dipped low enough for the audience to touch it, at others they were rained on and pelted with foam blocks and shredded cardboard. This is the touring Carnaval. We unfortunately weren’t able to be in the campo (where the real party is!), but we still were moved by the dynamic energy of Fuerzabruta. Here’s a video I caught of the end of the show, just to get a little idea of the incredible insanity that we were part of:

After the show we headed to Sugar to obsess over the unbelievable spectacle that was Fuerzabruta. We ran into Fer and some of his friends, who we lucky to give their despedidas to Paloma before she left. Our last night ever obviously ended with choripan…what better way to conclude our last night in BA together, right?

My heart was as gloomy as the cielo on Saturday: dreary grey overcast, bitter cold, and departing friends. I woke up with a pit in my stomach, knowing the tristeza that was to come. Naturally as soon as I woke up I went straight to the United Airlines website to see if the cenizas would work in my favor and close down Ezeiza as they had done on Friday. Unfortunately, I did not have such luck. Paloma and I met at Tatú for one final almuerzo of the empanadas that we love so much. We then made our way to Plaza Belgrano, for some of her last-minute maté purchases…crucial. Before we knew it, it was time to meet at UB to say our last despedidas to many of our ISA friends. I held myself together pretty well until I went to comfort Paula and Erika, whose teary eyes got my waterworks going as I anticipated the dreaded despedida. Paloma and I had to get out of there before the bus pulled away, and as we walked down Zabala away from UB we lost it. We walked back to her apartment, arm in arm, tearfully reminiscing the awesome times we have had together these past five months and realizing how much we were going to miss each other. Arriving at the corner of Libertador and Sucre, I came close to throwing myself in front of one of the speeding cars. We sat on her stoop, holding each other, sobbing, not wanting to leave. Definitely one of the hardest despedidas of my life.

In La Paloma, Uruguay...get it?! HA HA

And to my sweet Paloma, mi media naranja: words cannot express how much I miss you already. My phone rings a lot less and I still haven’t been able to bring myself to Tatú without you. Walking by our meeting spot on José Hernández makes my heart ache. I never would have been able to fall in love with BA as much as I have if you hadn’t been by my side, going on all these adventures with me. I will miss asustando creepy porteños into thinking we’re novias; bailando toda la noche con vos; getting choripan at 6AM; taking the colectivo in a rather “happy” state of mind and having the whole bus laugh at us; our almost-daily Malbec dates; and going one day without seeing you and freaking out because it feels like it has been forever. Sos mi hermana de alma y nadie podría reemplazarte. Big Mama ya te extraño, but I know we will meet again. Our next adventure: Brasil 2014…it’s happening. ¡Te quiero con todo mi corazón!

I, however, was not the only one shedding lágrimas this weekend. Yesterday River Plate played Belgrano, a fútbol team from Córdoba. Soccer game in Argentina are always full of energy, but this game was no ordinary one. River needed to win this game by two points in order to keep their standing in the A league. Mechi warned me about the anticipated ferocity of this game, and how exactly fanáticos de River would respond if they lost. I even received an email from the US Embassy, warning me that “given the stakes, this soccer game will be an emotionally charged event for a large number of fervent River fans. Depending on the outcome, the situation could get out of hand and hooligans may confront police and/or destroy property.” Woah. I live two kilometers from the River cancha, and I could still hear the shouting and cheers all the way in my apartment. I decided it would be best to get as far away from Nuñéz as possible, so Paula, Erika, and I met up at a choripan place in Recoleta to watch the game. River scored in the very beginning, but they got a little too confident and their execution went downhill from there. For the most of the game they just needed one more point to stay in the A league, and with all of the close shots on goal I thought that they would be okay. But then, in the second half, one of the defensemen messed up their plays, letting the ball sneak into the goal. The game was now tied, requiring River to score two points in the remaining twenty minutes of the game. Lágrimas streamed down the faces of all the River fans, as they knew they were soon to face cruel, history-making defeat.

Their despondency was apparent, and quite frankly prevented them from playing their best. The game ended at 17hs, tied 1-1. Fans were throwing boards onto the field, hitting both Belgrano and River players. The police had to create a human barrier around all of the players and escort them back into their pits. People were climbing down onto the field from the stands, hoping to storm the players. Police used high-powered hoses to attempt to stop the riots in the stadium. But the locura didn’t end there. As part of Argentine fútbol game regulations, the irate River fans had to wait inside the stadium until all opposing fans had left and were a solid 15 blocks or so away from the cancha…for obvious reasons. Fans were rioting in the streets for hours after the game, and many still remained inside the stadium, fearing the violence outside. Angry fans were throwing metal bars and stones, setting off bombs, and carelessly driving their cars through masses of people, leaving 25 injured. Police responded to these rioters with teargas, helicopters, and high-powered hoses, but it still took hours to end the brawl. They needed to clear over 50,000 fans from the stadium’s perimeter, which is not an easy task if you know Argentine fútbol aficionados. This is the first time in River’s 110 years as a club that they are being relegated to the B league. Uproar was definitely anticipated, however definitely not to this extent.

I have quite a bit of time until my last final, so Erika and I have decided to explore a new barrio each day. Today is El Centro, where we will get a little taste of iconic Buenos Aires.

Chau,
audgentina.

argentina: mi amor, mi alma, mi vida

My life in the past four months, en fotos, videos y música.



Canción: "Ojalá Que Este Verano No Nos Maten!" by La Ola Que Quería Ser Chau

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!

la vida vale más que el oro

I just got back from an amazing week in Bariloche. However, before I was able to witness the serenity of Argentine Patagonia, I had to spend nearly an entire day on a bus…alone. I can sum up my twenty-two hours of solitude with: four runs of Madonna’s concert video (each time more unpleasant than the last), an almost drug bust, lots of melatonina, swollen ankles, and some re rico ravioli. Upon arriving in Bariloche, I may or may not have misunderstood where the bus station was in relation to the central part of town, thus walking nearly five kilometers with all of my stuff, wind in my face, sun destroying my retinas. But at least I ended up getting some exercise after legitimately not moving my cuerpo for almost an entire day. (Seriously, too much melotonina. Didn’t even get up out of my seat ONCE. Fail.) Staying at a beautiful hostel right on Lake Nahuel Huapi, I couldn’t have been more relieved when I finally arrived. (Seriously…backyard is the lago. Unreal.) It always surprises me how easy it is to meet people in hostels. I spent most of that night in the kitchen making dinner (homemade macaroni and cheese OBVIOUSLY. Which also lasted me three days. So frugalicious.), and met so many people from all over the world, some of which I ended up hiking with the next day.

I woke up early the next morning to hike through Cerro Otto and Cerro Chico. Two completely different hikes, both so beautiful, and both so full of FOLIAGE! April falls right in the middle of otoño in the Southern Hemisphere, so I definitely came at the right time. Being from New England, I’m a sucker for foliage, so I felt right at home in Bariloche. From Cerro Otto you are able to see all of Bariloche, the lake, the islands, the mountains…everything! It was incredible and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t spend a solid hour at the top absorbing the vista. Cerro Chico had the most surreal, serene vistas…I honestly felt like I was dreaming.

The next day was the end of the world. Actually. Torrential downpours, high-speed winds…if my vacation hadn’t been so short I probably would have spent the entire day seeking refuge in a cellar with canned food and bottled water. However since that wasn’t the case, I decided to risk my life and explore El Bolsón, a hippie town two hours south of Bariloche. When you get into El Bolsón you see a sign that says la vida vale más que el oro, a true testament to their hippie status. There is a big, nice market with the usual food, clothes, jewelry, and it even withstood despite the rain. People were running through the streets, loving the rain. Being surrounded by so many people loving life had really surprising effect on me, and left me really contemplating la vida as I pulled away from El Bolsón. Deep stuff, I know. Sarah, Valentín, and Kelsey had rented a cabaña in Bariloche for the week, so when I got back from my hippie experience I went straight to their lugar for lots of music, leftover macaroni and cheese, Pisco, Fernet, and Malbec.

The next day was COLD. I’m not talking I’ve-been-in-BA-for-three-months-and-now-I-have-no-tolerance-for-cold cold, I’m talking Vermont-in-late-fall cold. The winds were only getting stronger and it was so cloudy that it would not have been worth taking the well-anticipated Tronador hike. (¡Qué lástima!) I met up with Sarah, Valentín, and Kelsey for some late-morning helado at Jauja, which apparently has the best ice cream in Bariloche. I went for the dulce de leche bañado en chocolate…sinful. Because the weather was so awful, we decided to rent a car for the day. It wound up being $53AR apiece, INCLUDING gas for 200 kilometers…an INCREDIBLE deal. (…albeit two of the doors didn’t open and the car really struggled up/down hills…) We drove around the Bariloche area, exploring what we wanted to explore without freezing to our very cores. Hotel Llao Llao (PS Mom and Dad…we are staying there.), a puerto near Isla Victoria, Lago Escondido...¡a todos lados! I came back to the hostel for a maté sesh with some of my hostel friends, then made a big couscous mezcla for dinner (obviously accompanied by some Malbec). Actually, in Bariloche I discovered a Malbec that might just rival my usual fav (Santa Julia). Terruño Andino: FIFTEEN PESOS, and so, so smooth. I will obviously need to hold an official taste test…hopefully I can find Terruño in BA!

Sarah and I spent Saturday exploring Bariloche since the weather unfortunately didn’t allow us to hike. We wandered through a few artisan markets, finding a huge one inside (where we were able to seek refuge from the blustery conditions outside). After getting little artisan leather wallets, we headed back to my hostel and ended up drinking maté for two hours, sitting by the window in the lounge that looks right onto the lake. Drinking maté for such a long time, we both for the first time felt the REAL effects this mysterious yerba has on people. It was such an amazing, natural feeling. We now know why Argentines love maté so much...

Bariloche is the chocolate capital of Argentina, so we’d be silly not to indulge. After our extended maté sesh, we wandered back into town for some Malbec and chocolate. We went to Mamuschka, which allegedy has the best chocolate in all of Bariloche. Walking into the store there are tons and tons of glass cases filled with all different kinds of chocolate. Obviously I didn’t resist my urge to buy EVERYTHING I wanted, and it only came out to $35AR. Incredible. My favorite chocolates were the banana and dulce de leche covered in milk chocolate, and the cashew and dulce de leche covered in white chocolate. Okay fine you caught me…I’m OBSESSED with the dulce.

It wouldn’t be a vacation in Argentina without a massive feast at a parrilla, so we met up with Kelsey’s host brother Agustín and his friend (who is from Bariloche), and the six of us made our way to El Boliche de Alberto, a famous restaurant in town. We started off with some chorizo y morcilla (both SO AMAZING! I’m addicted to morcilla), then we had some bife de chorizo, vacío, and tira de asado. So much delicious meat, I was stuffed for a solid 24 hours. The whole meal, including vino (and lots of it…), came down to $73AR a piece…less than $20USD! The meat here is so delicious and flavorful, I almost feel guilty paying so little.

I woke up early the next day for my bus back to BA. Yes, I spent all of Easter on an omnibus. The bus rides really weren’t that bad. By no means am I saying that I recommend wasting an entire day sitting in a moving metal box, but it could have been much worse. Argentine bus companies actually are legit: seats recline pretty far back, pillow and blanket included, decent food, and …variable…movies. If you are going to subject yourself to a bus ride over six hours, you have to be comfortable doing it. Plus, because it was Easter, everyone got huevos de Pascua when we boarded the bus! Sweeeeeet.

It’s safe to say that I’m in love with Patagonia. Everything is so serene and simple; I can seriously see myself going back down there for an extended period of time while I attempt to avoid the real world.

Off to las Cataratas del Iguazú tomorrow!

Chau,
audgentina.