Last night I lived my worst [social] nightmare: I'm at a fancy open-air party on the rooftop of a bar where everyone is gorgeous and heavily made-up, chatting around tables over glasses of wine or standing around in sealed off groups, leaning in to hear each other over the sound of music and other conversations. The only person that talks to me is a 60-year-old man that asks me in broken English, "Che, linda, where you from?" The only people I even remotely know dislike me, ignore me, or make me uncomfortable and the friends I was supposed to meet never show up (read: were too drunk to move in somebody's apartment). Needless to say, after one unforgettable conversation and a visit to the bathroom, I cut my losses and went home.

But after that sucky night, it was practically a requirement that today be fun. Soon after waking up, I had my second lesson in glass working, a hobby of my host father's. Francisco has an entire upstairs studio connected to a terrace that overlooks the city where he pursues this passion, once a means of income, now purely recreational. He took lessons many years ago but now studies techniques from beautiful illustrated books. Angel, a friend in my program who lives with Francisco's mother, came over for her first glass working lesson and stayed for lunch. Afterwards, we visited La Boca, a big tourist destination in the south eastern corner of the city of Buenos Aires. It was overcast, but we could still admire the brightly-colored buildings and enjoy walking up and down Caminito. We stayed long enough for Angel to do the requisite photoshoot with one of the suave tango dancers that line the street and steal ideas from a craft booth displaying glass chimes and jewelery.

Next, we took a brief tour of La Casa Rosada, "the official seat of the executive branch of the government of Argentina, and the offices of the President" (according to Wikipedia). We saw one beautiful, ornately decorated room, in addition to several simple but large rooms, adorned only with large framed photographs of notable figures in Argentina's history. Afterwards, we went to one of the free performances at the tail end of the tango festival in Buenos Aires. I'm kicking myself for not planning ahead enough to attend any of the ticketed events, but fortunately there are several free, first-come, first-served shows and dances this weekend before the festival ends on Tuesday. For a while, we watched the couples that occupied a designated dancing area and then went in search of food along a large pedestrian walkway lined with stores, restaurants, street vendors, karaoke singers, and the most upscale mall I've ever been into. We stumbled upon a small helado shop (I was drooling over my dulce de leche granizado and crema moka), got completely disoriented, and then parted ways.

And to complete this quintessentially/touristy/stereotypically Argentinian day, I got empanadas and pizza (don't judge me) for dinner from a greasy Resto-Bar two blocks from my apartment. I'm pretty sure it's really starting to show, though, because instead of whistling or making kissing noises, a Man That Might Have Catcalled (in better circumstances) shouted out, "Boom boom!" as I walked by.

Back to the city again (or, "It's been a while," pt. 3)

After Iguazu, we headed back to Buenos Aires once again to dive into classes. "Dive" is actually the perfect term to explain how I felt this past week: like I was falling headfirst, floundering, scrambling to try to piece together my class schedule while juggling sports, music and social events. Really a better title for this segment would be "Crying in public places." But did I give in to the terror and the loneliness? Did I ask myself, "Who do you think you are, galavanting around Buenos Aires like you own the place?" Did I call myself a fraud, think myself incapable and deluded? Yes. Yes, I did.

But then something remarkable happened (and I'm feeling very Eat, Pray, Love as I write this): Things came together. Everything that had been whirling around ten feet above my head finally settled, and after my class let out this past Thursday, August 19, exactly four weeks after my arrival in Buenos Aires, I could breath (I was going to write "I felt ten pounds lighter," but that would be the exact opposite of the truth). I have a class schedule, a frisbee team, a private lessons teacher-it's still the beginning, but it's certainly the makings of a (thank goodness) routine. And as for my fortune... well, that's a theme for another post.

I went to Iguazu! (or, "It's been a while, pt. 2")

And it was big! But, as I told my mom (I know it sounds spoiled), waterfalls aren't my favorite natural wonder. So although I'm glad to have seen it, I wouldn't go back a second time.

It's been a while

But let's just get right back into it!

In my room here, there's a fortune from a fortune cookie taped to the mirror that says, "Buscate un buen compañero de viaje antes de buscar la ruta"; essentially, "Find a good travel companion before finding your route." More on that theme later!

So these past few weeks have been really busy, and for the sake of time I'll try to keep my descriptions brief. I'll talk about what I actually did first, and then talk about my feelings (minimally!). Before school started, we went on a program-organized trip to San Antonio de Areco, a small province about two hours outside of Buenos Aires. It was relaxing.

There was really good meat.

And a horse show:

That got kind of intimate...

Then it was back to the city, where classes started soon after. Chaos ensued. But after the first week of classes, we had a long weekend so...

Paciencia y fe

Although I wasn't the first to pair these virtues, I've found myself calling upon them countless times in the past few weeks-patience while I reorient myself to Argentinian time, something as elastic and subjective as life itself (in this way it's more genuine than American time, which constructs a fear of being late or having to hurry), and faith that I will begin to feel at home, however long that might take. That said, I have the twin hope that my life in the United States and at Wesleyan might feel as full of promise and possibility as it does right now.

I feel like there's so much room to grow here. I am making choices to pass my time doing things I find fulfilling, and I've barely even begun to explore the city. But after all the cultural and linguistic barriers I will have to break down just to survive here, will I be able to translate this experience to my life at home? Study abroad advisors say that students often experience more severe culture shock upon their return to the United States, and I'm already dreading it. I know it's fruitless to think so far into the future, but as with several other things in my life that I've started with relish but suspected were finite, I feel an enormous sense of loss before the adventure has even begun.

Yes, I will take advantage of every day I have here until I run out of money or strength, or both. This merely serves as a gesture to remember the reality of my time here before I lose myself completely in wonder.