bolichori

Good news: I managed to find a tourist bus to get me back to La Paz, so no hitchhiking/donkey riding for me! (Hitchhiking IS on my South America bucket list, but I guess that will have to wait for Patagonia.)

It was so nice to not be on a bondi lleno de bolitas stankin’ up the place. I was a bit nervous crossing the lake in San Pedro de Tiquina, as the little boats just didn’t seem strong enough to carry such a large vehicle. But alas we made it, after waiting for forty minutes with bolichori all around us. We arrived in La Paz around 5:30pm on Saturday afternoon and got right to mercado wandering and pirated DVD scouting. La Paz, on top of being 3,200 meters above sea level, is also an incredibly hilly city, so you can imagine our exhaustion after walking around for three hours. We came back to a delicious meal of SPICY chicken (yes, spiciness actually exists in Bolivia!), arroz, and “fried potatoes,” according to the menu. (Also known as French fries…I love broken English translations.)

The sights in the actual city of La Paz are rather limited, so Sunday was devoted to lots of salteñas and more mercado browsing.  Taking advantage of the boliviano-dollar exchange rate was beyond epic.  Sunday night, dinner at the hostel was bolichori…obviously I went for seconds.  So good.

All in all, Bolivia was amazing.  Ten days was by no means enough time, so I definitely want to go back soon.  Uyuni, Potosí, and the Amazon are on my Bolivia part two checklist.  Being back in BA has been great though, lots of parciales so I have been rather busy.  Today I got my first Argentine haircut!  I was beyond nervous going into it, but they did an amazing job!  It feels amazing having my hair short again.

I am about to walk out the door to head to the bus station.  This weekend I’m going with Jenny and some of her UBA friends to Villa General Belgrano, in the provincia of Córdoba, for some Argentine Oktoberfest!  I am beyond excited, but also a little nervous to see how all of this goes down.  Details to follow.

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.

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.

las cenizas

2012 may have come early for those of us in the Southern Hemisphere.

Last Saturday, el volcán Puyehue erupted in southern Chile, resulting in the evacuation of near 4,000 people in the area. However, the destruction didn’t stop there. The volcanic cenizas soon arrived to the Argentine Patagonia; particularly affecting the cities of Bariloche and Villa La Angostura, both located less than 100 kilometers from the volcano. Bariloche has over a meter of volcanic ash on the streets, and the techos of some houses have even collapsed because of the weight of the cenizas. But just a few days later, and some 1,700 km northeast from the eruption site, volcanic cenizas arrived in Buenos Aires. Zero visibility, a light layer of ash on the parked cars on the street, a musty overcast, and the pesky little cenizas even snuck their way onto my desk through my open window. Flights coming in and out of BA were cancelled for a good week, forcing Allegra and her novio to take a 40(!!!!!)-hour bus ride back from El Calafate. I think it’s safe to say that they’ll never set foot on a bus again for a very, VERY long time. 9,000 km west of the volcanic eruption, cenizas have arrived in Australia. AUSTRALIA. I mean seriously, what is happening to this world?!

Besides this little taste of mundial destruction, BA has been BA: busy, fun, and unpredictable. I have begun hacking away at my bucket list with Paloma since she leaves next Saturday…#depression. Our traditional post-cena wine dates last week included Möoi, sipping on our best friend, Santa Julia; and 878, where we stepped it up with some classier vino and some torrontés crème brûlée (which quite possibly may have been the greatest thing I have ever tasted...EVER).

One of my favorite places to go out at night is Club Cultural Matienzo. It is in Colegiales, very close to Belgrano, and every night they have a different event going on. Whether it is live music, tarot readings, or a local art exhibit, each night provides me with a fun time meeting new people and doing something new. On the first piso is the stage and some seating, where the events generally take place; second piso is the art exhibit with some more seating; and on the top piso they have this awesome outdoor terraza, covered with murals of crazy things only starving artists would think of drawing. Thursday night I went with Paloma, Rana, and Cassie, where we sat on the terrace, sipping on cheap, alternative cerveza while attempting to blend in with the starving artist community of Buenos Aires. I think I have found my people.

Friday afternoon Paloma and I went to Parque Tres de Febrero, BA’s Central Park. Lunch consisted of many empanadas from our favorite empanadaría, Tatú, and torrontés that we bought in Cafayate. There was a great deal of overcast due to the high concentration of cenizas in the cielo, but we had fun relaxing in the park and running away from a particular man shouting piropos at us. We did a little shopping afterwards, where I FINALLY bought a few things to add to my nonexistent winter wardrobe. Friday night we met up with Danny, Jay, Luisina, Lale, Mauri, and Noe at Noe’s apartment for a previa, and then heading to Mandarine Club for some boliche time, where La Champions Liga happened to have a little concierto! After our minor situation last weekend with the ladrones, Paloma and I were EXTREMELY cautious (and possibly borderline paranoid) when it came to guarding our bags, but didn’t let it ruin our night. I believe we got home around 6AM…totally normal. Muy buena onda esa noche.

Saturday was the first cloudless (and ceniza-less) day since the whole ceniza fiasco began, so Paloma and I went to Tigre. (It was my primera vez!) It’s about a forty-minute train ride from Belgrano, but once we got off I felt like I was miles away from the city. Tigre lies on the Paraná Delta and is a popular weekend destination for many porteños. Upon our arrival, Paloma took me directly to Waffle Mundo, where we each snacked on a delicious waffle, topped with dulce de leche, frutillas, crema y bananas. So. Delicious. We spent the remainder of the day wandering around the markets along the port, enjoying the semi-clean aire. As we headed back to the train station, a thick, grey cloud began to take over the beautiful pink/purple/orange…welcome back cenizas. Saturday night Luisina invited us to a birthday party, which pretty much consisted of drinking some Malbec and Fernet, lots of dancing, and of course choripan at the end of the night. Typical.

We struggled to drag ourselves out of bed on Sunday, for we had to get a relatively early start (…around 12) to get to la Feria de Mataderos. Mataderos is a barrio a little over an hour from Belgrano by colectivo (very close to Liniers, where the barrio boliviano is), and on Sundays they have this fantastic market that puts Recoleta and San Telmo to shame. Last Sunday also happened to be the 25th anniversary of the Feria de Mataderos, so there were even more vendors, performances, street food, and people than normal. Wonderfully overwhelming is how I would describe the market. There is literally EVERYTHING there, including a dulce de leche liquor. (Is this real life?) We did some shopping, took some pictures with a donkey/mule/pony-like creature (pictures to come), and obviously wound up eating some choripan. (Seriously, I don’t know what I’m going to do without chori in my life.) I finally gave in and bought my first leather bag for $80 AR! I love this place…and my new bag.

My two Argentine loves: Fernet y choripan

This week has been relatively uneventful as it marks the beginning of finals. Two classes down, two to go. Yesterday I grabbed lunch with Sara at Mark's where I had my first filling sandwich in a very long time. (Chicken, guacamole, tomatoes, and brie cheese…there are no words.) Afterwards I headed to Dada, a restobar in Plaza Serrano that turns into a fashion market in the early evening. Got a few winter essentials as well as some knock-out turquoise earrings. True life: I am a market junkie. Tonight I leave for Mendoza with Cassie and Paloma (hopefully the cenizas won't get in our way!), where we will be drinking LOTS of vino, horseback riding (our little Kentucky girl has never ridden a horse before! The irony will be epic), eating lots of asado, exploring the Andes, and maybe becoming a bit of a daredevil!

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

invierno en junio? no puede ser.

It’s coldddddd! Coming here in February, I was eager to leave the frigid New England winter behind me and come right into the middle of summer in Buenos Aires. I knew that this bliss had to end eventually; ahora hace frío and I never take off my Barbour, while in the Farmington Valley my favorite chongz are reuniting in the sunshine, enjoying the beautiful summertime weather that I once had. A little jealous.

As I came back from my incredible journey northwest, I found myself both broke and buried in schoolwork…quite possibly my least favorite combination. Ever. Luckily, my lack of funds left me with no choice but to work on my essay for my Populismos class, which required my full and undivided attention as I attempted to teach myself everything that we have gone over this semester. (It is quite difícil to understand Señor Mumbles…)

I have been spending my days really getting to know different areas of Buenos Aires. On Friday Erika came to Belgrano, where Paloma and I introduced her to our long-established tradition of choripan in the park. (Our dear friend Santa Julia obviously wasn’t left out.) We then showed her around Barrio Chino (where I bought a gorro to help me combat the bitter invierno winds), and wound up aimlessly wandering around Belgrano for the remainder of the afternoon: something, which I sadly had never done in my four months living in BA.

Paloma and her cousin, Marcelo, took me to el barrio boliviano in Liniers yesterday, where they introduced me to mote, salteñas, and much more delicious Bolivian comida. After getting this taste of mini-Bolivia, I MUST find a way to go to the REAL Bolivia.

Last night Paloma and I went to Terrazas del Este, a boliche on the Costanera. We had been wanting to go since basically our first week in BA and finally got around to going last night. The music is awesome, the club is amazing, and we were having a blast. Yes, we were having a blast. We were having so much fun, in fact, that we let our guard down for no more than four minutes, in which time my camera and cell phone were stolen, as well as Paloma’s debit card, license, and passport copy. Rookie mistake: no matter where you are, always be aware. We have walked by a block full of callejeros at night, been stuck in La Boca, and walked through Almagro alone, but it is at this nice boliche in Palermo we get robbed for the first time. Boludos.

Despite our taste of mala onda, we had a pretty good weekend. The sun has been out without a cloud in the sky (except for the ladrones), which motivated us to take full advantage of our days. But it is June, which is not summer in the Southern Hemisphere, and even the sunshine hasn’t been able to warm us up enough. Wintertime is truly imminent, but at least I won’t have to deal with any nieve!

It is hard to believe that four months ago today, I was arriving in Buenos Aires not knowing anything about this city that has become so much part of who I am today. I had no idea how to get to school (which is two blocks from my apartment), how to speak in voseo, or how to use the Colectivo. Now, I seldom refer to a map, have completely removed words such as tú or tienes from my vocabulary, and never use the Subte (I am a Colectivo girl!). Four months ago I was completely overwhelmed by this city, and now I can’t remember what it was like to feel lost in this city. (I believe my actual words were: “BA is big and I am small and I don't speak porteña so I figure I'll just wait until someone can guide me through the overwhelming labyrinth of mass transit before I end up God only knows where.”) I am so incredibly in love with BA, and am so relieved I still have seven more months before this sueño has to end. (It also turns out that my friend Alex is considering extending his stay, so I won’t be completely sola! Fingers crossed…)

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!

mi argentinidad

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


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

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



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



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



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



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



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



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

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



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



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

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


Chau,
audgentina.

la oscuridad

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

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

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

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

I am in love with this city.

Chau,
audgentina.

la meca norteamericana

Buenos Aires, la meca norteamericana - lanacion.com  

I read this article the other day in La Nación, one of the national Argentine newspapers. Thought it would be interesting for everyone to read and get a taste of what BA is like! (Google translate will be very helpful for most!)

Chau,
audgentina.

¿existe la naturaleza en la ciudad?

In an effort to break-in my hiking boots pre-Bariloche, I decided to take a stroll through the Reserva Ecológica Costanera Sur yesterday. I ended up walking close to 10 km throughout this fresh and natural ambiance. Situated on the coast in Puerto Madero, it spreads along the Río de la Plata, where many people were sun tanning, picnicking and enjoying the allegedly fresco day we were having (mind you: it was 68ºF). It was pretty wild to see all these trails, as well as a wide variety of trees and birds, while in the backdrop I could still see the BA skyline. In a city of 10 million people, it is still possibly to escape from the polluted commotion and escape to a fresh place of tranquility.

Off to Bariloche tomorrow, be back the 25th!

Chau,
audgentina.

la gripe

Tos + dolor de garganta + estornudo + congestión = una receta para la gripe.

I have lived away from home since I was fourteen, thus have become accustomed to taking care of myself when I get sick. Because I have essentially been taking care of myself for the past seven years, I have forgotten how nice it is to be cared for by someone else.

It started as a slight cold when I got back from Chile, but only proceeded to get worse and worse. I began sleeping as much as eighteen hours throughout the day, my sinuses started acting up (as my family will tell you, they always do…), and developed a wicked cough that would wake me up in the middle of the night. I get these standard colds all the time, but when this one started getting worse I began to long for the care of my mom.

Luckily, it’s not as if I’m completely alone here in BA. From the moment I started getting sick, Silvia immediately became re preocupada and went above and beyond to take care of me. She began insisting that I allow los vapores decongest my system (by sticking my head over a pot of boiling water), and made me comforting meals such as sopa de miso.

Unfortunately I missed out on a trip to Rosario this weekend, but Silvia’s comfort made me realize how grateful I am to be in such a loving home. I have been here only a little more than two months, yet I felt as though I was being taken care of by someone who has known me for much longer. Porteños sometimes get a bad rep of being cold, dismissive, and unfriendly, but I find that if you choose to reach out and form relationships with them, they will show you a warm, cariñoso side that will allow you to see the world from todos lados. I didn’t even realize that I was 6,000 miles away from home, because the love and care I received in this foreign country was all the same.

It’s true: I really do feel at home.

Chau,
audgentina.

locapalooza

Last week was Amanda and Abbie’s last week in BA before they moved to Lima (Peru…not Ohio) for the remainder of the semester. Every night of the week we managed to have an adventure of some sort to commemorate our amazing two months together. Monday night we went to Sálvame María, a local favorite of ours (in Belgrano) that serves an amazing chocolate mousse cake as well as our favorite Malbec, Santa Julia (hey stewn!). We usually come to Sálavame once a week and enjoy sitting outside until one in the morning (or later!) just chatting and enjoying the still fairly warm night breeze. On Tuesday we met up for a night out in Palermo, starting at Sugar Bar and eventually making our way to Kika Club. Paloma and I managed to stay out until 7:30AM…a true accomplishment coming home in broad daylight. Inevitably the next day was a first-class struggle, but we survived.

In fact, we still managed to pull ourselves together for a night of margaritas at another favorite restaurant, Xalapa. Read up, seriously the best margz in all of BA. Their enchiladas poblanas are also unreal. We ended the night very…happy…and proceeded to have extremely deep conversations on the Colectivo ride home, followed by a mood-lightening photoshoot that resulted in me missing my bus stop. Oops.

Our last night together was Thursday night, as I left Friday morning for Santiago de Chile. We went to Club Aráoz, a boliche that has hip-hop/reggaeton nights los jueves. The music is always great, but it’s a tradeoff for the kind of people the boliche attracts. Let’s just say that this isn’t exactly where I’ll find my novio porteño. We still had a blast, staying out until about 6:30AM. I have definitely fully adjusted to the nightlife horario here in BA. Before coming here, I never could have fathomed staying out that late under ANY circumstances. (What could I possibly be doing that late?!) However, after being here two months, I have gotten used to everything running later—dinner starting around 10 or 11, people heading to the bars around 1, and to the clubs around 3—so staying out that late doesn’t phase me anymore. Sorry Mom and Dad!

BUT, I did have my flight to Santiago the next morning. Luckily I had packed the night before because after coming home at that unacceptable hour of the morning, I pretty much only had time to shower and get changed...without a wink of sleep. As soon as I got on the bus to the airport, I was immediately hit by my fatigue and was left essentially non-functioning for the remainder of my travel day. In an attempt to wake myself up when I got to Ezeiza, I went to McDonald’s and got an egg and cheese sandwich on a bagel. Best. Decision. Ever.

It was when I was sitting outside of McDonald’s, incredibly sleep deprived and inhaling my egg-and-cheese when I realized that I had NO idea where I was going once I got to Santiago. Yes, I had the address of my hostel, but that was IT. I had no map of Santiago or anything, and I was on this flight alone and had planned on meeting up with my friends at the hostel. I somehow managed to hack onto a non-secure WiFi network in the airport to figure out an ideal bus/Metro course and crossed my fingers that all would go as planned. Well, somehow it did. I arrived at the hostel in one piece, and collapsed in my bed IMMEDIATELY. I woke up five hours later to the smell of a tasty, smoky asado. For 5,000 pesos we were able to have unlimited amounts of asado and cerveza. (Disclaimer: in Chile they used fake, Monopoly-style money, where about 500 pesos is equal to one US dollar.)

We woke up the next morning and immediately rallied for Lollapalooza. Getting our tickets from will-call was a bit of a frenzy (in fact, the most inconvenient, not-thought-out process I ever witnessed first-hand), but we managed to figure out how the “sistema” worked (shoving yourself to the front of the mass of people and sticking your passport through the bars until someone grabbed it), and were out of the mess in under an hour. We returned to the hostel, changed, prepared stir-fry for our late-night dinner, and left for the festival.

The weather this weekend was amazing. Eighties and sunny, it was perfect for Lollapalooza. We arrived around 2:30PM and bounced from show to show pretty much until the festival ended. The definite highlight of Saturday (and Lollapalooza in general) was Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros. Seriously, if you have the chance to see him…DO IT. He was INCREDIBLE live and he brought this adorable little boy onstage which pretty much made me die inside, it was so precious. We came back to the hostel after a long day of Lollapalooza-ing to our delicious stir-fry that we had prepared before we left. Great decision.

Sunday we arrived to Lolla early so we could see Devendra Banhart. Kiley, Alex and I did not realize how much of a sensation he is in South America, because it was a true locura getting into that show. (We should have expected it though, considering he is Colombian…) Seriously, RIOTS. People were climbing the fence; Chilean soldados on caballos were keeping the crowds back…I have NEVER seen anything like it before. We BARELY made it into the show, but I’m so glad we did because he was amazing. Definitely one of the better shows of the weekend. Other amazing shows this weekend included Cold War Kids and Kanye West—who I had seen in 2008 (LOLZ CT chongz!).

Sarah and I had the whole day in Santiago, as we were the only ones whose flight back to BA wasn’t until the evening. We spent the day exploring the nearby neighborhoods, having lunch at a French/Chilean fusion cuisine (weird, I know), and hiking La Virgen del Cerro San Cristóbal. (I use the term “hiking” loosely; as we were too worn out from our Lollapalooza-ing to actually hike it we took the trolley up instead). The view was amazing and looks over all of Santiago. Santiago is such an incredible city and turned out to be so much different than I thought it would be. I was expecting it to be polluted and dingy, but it turned out to be a much cleaner city than BA (which really isn’t that hard), with a beautiful landscape as it is nestled in the Andes. We were so grateful to see some of the city before returning back to BA, since we traveled all that way for just the weekend.

As for this week, I have been bed-ridden trying to fight off the post-Lolla gripe. A true struggle let me tell you. Next adventure on the agenda: Bariloche (in ten days!!).

Chau,
audgentina.

justicia, verdad y malbec

Banging pots and pans, carrying signs and posters with pictures of their missing loved ones, shouting: ¡Que aparezcan con vida nuestros hijos! Every day until the end of the Dirty War, women known as Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo gathered in the place of the same name, begging that their children be returned, safe and unharmed, from the mysterious detention centers scattered all throughout Argentina. It is now 35 years later, and they have not given up. Every Thursday at 4PM, Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo continue their protest. Being a Spanish/Political Science/Latin American Studies major, it’s safe to say that I’ve done my fair share of research on the Dirty War and the Madres. (Actually, anyone who knows me at all will tell you that I take every research opportunity to approach a different angle of the Dirty War in Argentina. Weird interest, I know.) But today was THE day to go. March 24 is a national holiday in Argentina, commemorating those disappeared during the Dirty War in the 1970s-80s.

Abbie, Paloma and I met up early this afternoon and began our Día Nacional de la Memoria por la Verdad y la Justicia (what a mouthful!) by touring La Casa Rosada. La Casa Rosada essentially is the same thing as the White House, except for that it solely consists of government offices; the president lives in a separate house. It's free to enter La Casa Rosada and you can get a tour of the whole building, including the presidential offices where you can also sign a guest book. (I wrote ¡Viva la Argentina!...I wonder if Cristina will actually read it.)

We then plopped ourselves down in the Plaza de Mayo where thousands of people had gathered to celebrate today’s national holiday. Commemorating 35 years since the last golpe militar, people from ALL kinds of organizations—not just the Madres—gathered to protest for justicia, verdad, and igualidad. We had packed a picnic of tostadas integrales, jamón crudo, uvas, and Malbec (of course. I love being abroad in a wine country!). Soaking in the energy of the march was an indescribable experience. More and more people kept filing in from Avenida 9 de Julio; easily fifteen thousand marchers. We had some entertaining interactions with vendors and beggars, but it made for an all-around incredible afternoon.

After the march, we continued walking down Avenida 9 de Julio, against the traffic of the marchers so we were able see more of the partaking groups. From socialists to students to H.I.J.O.S., the diversity of the participants astounded me. We made our way to the Obelisco, a historic icon of Buenos Aires (which I shamefully had not gone to visit until today). There were marchers all throughout Avenida 9 de Julio, and it seemed like forever before the marchers began to dwindle down.

I came back from the march actually high on LIFE (and some Malbec). Such an incredible and eye-opening experience. As for now, I’m headed off to Córdoba for the weekend!



Chau,
audgentina.

shakira, carnaval y san patricio

SHAKIRA. Oh. My. God. Thinking of that night still brings me chills. It is definitely safe to say that my life has changed for the better. I was never a huge fan, but thought it would be fun to see her live in Buenos Aires. I arrived at the festival with a few friends around four in the afternoon. Thanks to Cassie’s inconspicuous maneuvers, we were able to sneak in a whole picnic of fruit, sandwiches, a liter of Coke and a bottle of Fernet—an Argentine spirit that at first taste resembles battery acid but it really does grow on you. We set up camp and enjoyed the sunshine while some of the smaller acts played. Ziggy came on before Shakira, and as the daughter of an exceptionally devoted Bob Marley fan (what would be the male version of a groupie?), it was pretty awesome to see him play. You can totally hear his father’s influence in his voice, and he even played a few Bob songs towards the end. Throughout his performance, more and more people started to shuffle in, but it wasn’t until the end of the festival when I realized exactly HOW many people were there. Shakira really is a GOD in Latin America. Although she is actually Colombian, she really does consider this entire region to be her home turf. The first thing she said upon arriving on stage was “no hay lugar como estar en casa” (there is no place like being home). The crowd went NUTS over every song she played (especially “Loca” and “Loba”…two of my personal favorites). She even played a 90s throwback: “Underneath Your Clothes.” English-speakers were the evident minority, but we rightfully went nuts when she sang this song.

The festival ended around midnight, and it was then that I realized that there were tens of thousands of people at this concert. (Final headcount: 45,000. Thanks Cass!) Por eso, finding a cab was near impossible. We had anticipated this, so instead of hopelessly trying to hail a

cab right away, we stopped at one of the many pancho stands along the boardwalk in Puerto Madero for some late-night nomz. You know I can’t get myself away from those panchos. It took us a solid hour to find a cab that wouldn’t charge us $100 AR to take us back to Belgrano, but our tummies were happy, and that’s all that mattered (even though we didn’t get home until close to 3AM).

URUGUAY. If someone had told me a few years ago that my junior year spring break would be spent in Uruguay, I would have laughed in their face. Until I decided to study abroad in Argentina, I knew NOTHING about Uruguay and never would have imagined that there were such serene beaches in that country. Amanda, Abbie, Paloma and I set off on our journey late on Sunday night. Our transportation to La Paloma consisted of a ferry from BA to Colonia, then a bus from Colonia to La Paloma. I was imagining the Buquebus (the ferry) to be a dinky little ferry like the ones that go from the Cape to Nantucket. Wrong. This ferry had a delicious food kiosco, fully stocked duty free store, bar on deck and a glass elevator. This Buquebus almost resembled the Titanic.

We arrived in Uruguay towards the tail end of Carnaval, and let me just say GOOD LORD. I always thought that Carnaval was all street parties, costumes, and good times. No one told me that you literally need weapons of defense in order to survive Carnaval in one piece. I wish I were kidding. We began our aventuras uruguashas (note the accent!) in La Paloma, a small beach town in Eastern Uruguay. The population of La Paloma is less than 4,000, which had led me to believe that the locura of Carnaval wouldn’t be as intense here. Yeah, well FALSE. Regardless of the time of day, it was actually impossible to walk the streets—be it the main street through downtown La Paloma or one of the small side streets—without getting foamed, hit by a water balloon, or some other weapon of minimal destruction. It was funny at first, but after that first time I was ready to take out the suckers with a full-blasted water gun.

Other than the Carnaval mayhem, La Paloma was incredible! (Said mayhem actually made my time in La Paloma more interesting! Quite the experience…) I absolutely LOVED the hostel we stayed at and would return there in a heartbeat. They had the most delicious dulce de leche (locally made, I believe) and the staff recommended the greatest local asado restaurant. Hands down best choripan I have had yet.

After three days in La Paloma we headed west to Punta del Este. But of course it wouldn’t be a South American backpacking adventure without a smoking bus breaking down in the middle of nowhere! (Soaking up the Uruguayan atardecer definitely made up for this minor transportation mishap.) I was pleasantly surprised by the efficient communication between the bus drivers. They only had us waiting (albeit on the side of the ruta…) for a half-hour before the new bus came and got us. They told us on the bus that those of us going to Punta del Este (having to transfer buses in San Carlos) would not be able to be dropped off IN San Carlos, rather on the side of the ruta. GREAAAT—I thought—ANOTHER HOUR ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD. Wrong. Right when we pulled up to the side-ruta drop-off location, our bus taking us to Punta del Este pulled up and we got on our way. It seemed a little too easy, because how could South American transportation POSSIBLY be so (relatively) efficient?

After meeting up with Allegra, Sheehan and Paula our first day in Punta del Este, we decided to make some sangria and rent a boat for the afternoon. This ended up being such an amazing day. We first went to Isla de Lobos, the habitat of SO many sea lions. Seeing this was incredible, but then our boat driver told us that we could get out and swim with them! They came so close to us; it was unreal.

We then went to Isla de Gorriti, which is an island off the coast of Punta del Este where people will take their boats and jet skis to relax on the uninhabited island (only infrastructure on the island: a beach bar). When we arrived on the island—around 4:30PM—everyone, including us, was in verrrrry good spirits. We made many friends there, including some Argentines who let us take out their jet skis!

The rest of our week in Punta consisted of lots of beach time (checking out Los Dedos!) and taking advantage of the bustling nightlife, re parecido to the nightlife in BA (but obviously on a much smaller scale). We managed to find a very cheap seafood restaurant (with paella AND sushi…WIN.), which was convenient when the week came to an end and our funds did as well.



CLASE. I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. It actually feels like a lifetime ago that I was doing homework, studying for exams, and taking notes in class. I’m taking four classes: Historia de movimientos políticos y sociales (with ARGENTINES! Eek!), Historia económica en Latinoamérica, Sistemas políticos: los populismos en Latinoamérica, and Taller de escritura. Some classes are easier to understand than others, it really depends on el profe. None of my books are in yet (and won’t be in until Wednesday), so I conveniently haven’t had to do any homework yet. I’m hoping this study abroad experience will be more abroad and less study…but we will see how these classes go. OH…and I don’t have Friday classes. Helloooooooooo three-day weekends. This is really how life should be.

Over 10,000 kilometers from Ireland and you can still find wild St. Patty’s Day celebrations. I know I did, and was not expecting to at ALL! Obviously a ploy to gather all the Americans in the Buenos Aires area, get them drinking a little, and let the rest of the night unfold as it inevitably would. I’m not complaining—I had a GREAT time (peep me with a midget dressed up as a not-so PC Spanish leprechaun).


I then spent the entirety of the day following St. Patty’s in the Migraciones office, waiting to get my permanent visa. The incompetence of the empleados and inefficiency of the process astounded me, but I was too “weak” to notice all that much. But I am officially a resident of Argentina…hooray!

Amanda, Paloma and I went to the Recoleta market today, where I bought a pair of re cómodas leather sandals for $50 AR. We spent the day browsing the market, relaxing in the park, and walking through El Cementerio de la Recoleta, where iconic Argentines are buried (such as Evita Perón). We made a b-line straight to Evita, and hogged her grave for a little bit. Oops. Tomorrow is Cassie’s birthday, so tonight we’re going out to celebrate at a club called Rumi. Should be fun!

What’s on the horizon:
-El Día del Campo: Mañana. Not really sure what this día will consist of, but I’m guessing gauchos, maté, asado, and empanadas. An unbeatable combination.
-Córdoba: next weekend. Next Thursday and Friday are feriados nacionales, so on Wednesday night we leave for our long weekend at an estancia in Córdoba. Hiking, horseback riding, asado, maté and a fresh, outdoorsy weekend away from the not-so buenos aires of Buenos Aires. My lungs will be ever so grateful.
-Santiago, Chile: April 1-4. LOLLAPALOOZA…need I say more?!

Chau,
audgentina.