Thanks, mom

"So glad you're doing this. I'm sending the [blog] address out to family/friends/the whole world."

Cool -.-

Some culture

Every year, thousands of Argentinians march to commemorate the death of a national hero. July 26th, 2010 was the 58th anniversary of Eva (Evita) Perón's death, and I was lucky enough to take part in this tradition. That evening, the streets were packed with people brandishing homemade torches (often abandoned and left blazing on the streets and sidewalks), fireworks, huge signs and flags. There were several groups of percussionists, slow-moving trucks, and people with microphones leading the crowd in rallying cries. At the conclusion of the march, there was a huge stage on which hundreds stood or were seated , from which several politicians and social leaders spoke to the crowd. I'm afraid I can't translate much of what was said, but there was a video montage that made me tear up. Needless to say, it was an emotional night, although as a foreigner, I may not understand the true significance of Evita's image in Argentina's collective memory.

The next evening, I went with my host family to a performance by a percussion ensemble called La Bomba de Tiempo. It was a special winter break performance, so there were tons of kids with their families. Before they opened the doors, we stood in a line that was blocks long. The concert was in an open air complex and featured several well-known Argentinian children's performers. The percussion group played for hours, rarely stopping, and encouraged people to dance and clap along nearly the whole time.

Finally, last night I met several friends at a bar called Alamo. It was packed at midnight and only got busier throughout the night. Although we made our best effort to practice our Spanish, it quickly became evident to everyone that we were Americans. Luckily, the bar seemed to attract a fairly international crowd, so we weren't the only non-Spanish speakers. Around three, we left and the line out front had finally diminished, but inside the crowd showed no sign of thinning.

Our program coordinators joke that Argentinians are so busy with work, school and socializing that extranjeros often wonder when they sleep. But seriously... when??

On "Galletitas"

A brief revelation on "galletitas," or little cookies. It's easy to accuse a cookie of being too dry. In fact, I often become enraged when I consider the baker that carelessly abandons her cookies in the oven until they are so overdone that they more closely resemble crackers than cookies. But never did I consider that I was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle: that these small cookies, in their assorted shapes, sizes and colors, relatively flavorless and dry as bone, were incomplete. They were missing their soul mate. The poor things were never meant to be consumed alone, and to do so is as fruitless and dissatisfying as eating a cigarette. No, you musn't forget, these cookies are meant to be dipped in hot tea or coffee, or they will leave in your mouth a fine dusting of sadness, a last reminder of the empty life they led.

Save yourself the pain; dip then delight in the fusion of flavors and textures of a rogue cookie, tamed. And before you condemn the idiot baker that ruins batch after batch, consider that she may have had far grander plans for these galletitas than you can possibly conceive.

Getting settled

I just finished unpacking most of my belongings. I'm now living with my host family, composed of a young couple, Verónica and Francisco, and their almost three-year-old daughter Manuela. They have a lovely house/apartment a short busride away from the international university FLACSO. Most rooms have dramatic high ceilings, which gives the house a spacious, if drafty, feel. I have a nice bedroom with a desk, lots of closet space, and a loft for the bed.

My host family is napping now after we all spent a long day with Francisco's extended family. I was feeling so confident in my Spanish, having successfully conversed with my immediate host family over several meals, but listening to fifteen or more Argentinians chatting around a dinner table was humbling, to say the least. (I literally couldn't understand anything... to say the most.) The conversation rarely turned to me, but when it did, I had to ask people to repeat even the simplest questions, like where I was from and what I was studying.

The meal we shared that afternoon was extensive. The main course was essentially a fondue with a base of sardines, some kind of dairy product and several other ingredients I couldn't identify. Into the sauce we dipped lightly steamed vegetables (broccoli, cauliflower, butternut sqash, brussel sprouts, potatoes), as well as raw vegetables (carrots, leaves of cabbage, radishes, tomatoes) and cubes of ham. For dessert, we had what I can only describe as chocolate and dulce de leche flavored ice cream logs in addition to assorted sweets from an Arabic bakery, including a flaky, syrup-drenched pastry similar to baklavah.

I've barely been awake for ten hours but I'm already exhausted. In my defense, it's a cold, rainy Sunday in a new country. But I'm getting settled.

First Day in Buenos Aires

Today was my first day in Buenos Aires. I had my first Argentinian empanada de pollo, café con leche and walked around the city for a little while with some new acquaintences. I'm writing on a small travel computer which I will do my best to keep safe. Although I was looking forward to having a low-tech experience here, the computer helps me feel more connected to home, which I want, at least for now. I meet my host family tomorrow, but between now and then we have an introduction dinner and a full day of orientation activities.

I still hardy feel like I'm here, in a new city, with a group of people I've (for the most part) never met before. I can only take it a day at a time, because thinking too far into the future is so overwhelming. I'm dazed, but I'm also very exited to see what these next few weeks will bring. Many things feel backwards: it's winter, I'm far away from friends and family, and the language is unfamiliar. But remarkably (as Alex recently pointed out), here I am on the opposite side of the globe, and yet everything is right side up.

Independence Day

Happy fourth of July (tomorrow)! This is my first official post, so welcome! I figured I've been on the verge of a breakdown for long enough (I always cry before big life changes) that I should just go ahead and write already. To give you an idea of what you're getting into, I envision this blog as a cross between Adventure Time and True Life: I'm relocating for love. Anyway, the countdown is on! I leave for Argentina on the evening of July 21st, so... whatever, you do the math. I'd like to post several times a month while I'm abroad, but I won't have my laptop with me, so posts may be brief and low tech. You'll experience the pictures, recipes, and dance moves in person.

But before I think of returning to the United States, I have to think about the excruciating and complex process of leaving. It means saying goodbye to close friends and family until *gulp* next year (Which reminds me, New Years Eve party at my house!). It also means that I'll have to buy five months worth of shampoo and conditioner, which is probably the hardest thing to conceptualize.

In addition, I'd like to make a few shout outs. I'd like to begin by thanking all the families that paid me to watch their children this summer, even though the little brats never even gave me one stinking silly band. Whatever. That money will pay for many completely legal alcoholic beverages as well as a few weeks of travel at the end of the program if all goes as hoped. Next, I'd like to say a brief prayer for all the cows that will die by some gentle Argentinean man's hand so that I might have several tender rib roasts per day. Finally, I'd like to bid bon voyage to friends that are also traveling abroad next semester, as well as those that remain at Wesleyan to hold down the fort until spring.

Again, Happy Fourth! Light fireworks, attend a BBQ, bear arms (and more, rawr), GO USA!