one month mark and more arte es...

So, Friday marked one month of being in BA. Hard to believe I've been here that long but when I think about how differently I feel now in comparison to that first week, I believe it. I am still getting to know the city, (pretty sure I'll be saying that even as I board the plane to come home though)and I'm more comfortable with exploring and taking risks. Classes have started and while I'm not in love with any of them, except my poetry class maybe, I am learning a lot of things outside of them.

Last Friday my friend Chelsea picked up free tickets to go see an orchestra at Teatro Colon. I'd been there earlier in the week for a class visit but when I saw the teatro lit up at night for a performance, it took my breath away. The lights on the balconies of the seven levels reminded me somewhat of the scene in Harry Potter & the Goblet of Fire when they're at the Quidditch world cup (yeah I just made a HP reference). It was one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. When the music started, I closed my eyes and felt like I was floating on the notes. At the risk of sounding like both a nerd and a hippie, the best I can describe how I felt is to say it felt as though my soul were being fed by the music, the lights, the sheer beauty of my surroundings.

On Saturday I went with Chelsea to the Recoleta feria close to my apartment and we got six new phrases and photos for the "Arte es..." project. It was easier to get into the swing of asking people and we found some great characters. One woman was very zen about it when we asked her, she had such a quiet but vibrant energy about her and I loved it. Another was a woman and her friend (they looked like sisters) who were from Hawaii. I wished I had asked them how the hell they ended up in Buenos Aires. They gave us their info card and asked for the website where the photos are being posted (www.fokus.org/artis/)so maybe I can retroactively inquire..
Another character was a man selling handmade hats. I had been questing for someone selling their own HANDMADE hats, I saw a lot of mass-produced ones but there's something deeply personal about handmade hats, there's a pride in them. This man agreed to be part of the project and put on one of his hats for the photo. Gotta love it!

I am so glad that I got my shit together to make the Art is... project happen in BA. I feel so lucky that Chelsea hopped on board with her camera, don't think I could do the project the way I want to without a partner in crime. Cheers to people being in the right place at the right time. For me there's something so beautiful about being able to share what I'm passionate about with other people and use art to enrich my experience in Argentina. It's really just further confirmation to me that incorporating your passion into what you do will lead to crazy awesome incredible things, opportunities, people, experiences. It's easier for people to vibe with you when you're doing something you honestly love. It shows :)

Damn, that was a bit sappy wasn't it?

To seal my fate as a earthy crunchy nerd, I'm going with a group of friends to an Eco Yoga park this weekend-vegan/vegetarian food, yoga sessions, music therapy, theoretical discussions, run by Hari Krishnas. I'm so excited for it.

We've come to the end of another snippet in my life.
stay tuned for more..assuming I come back from the hippie farm.

-j

mi dia fue un quilombito

meaning... my day was a little bit of a clusterfuck. Quilombo is probably one of my favorite Argentinian slang words-not the dirtiest but fun to say and very versatile.

Let's back back back it up nah...

Woke up this morning at 6:30a for my 8am class at UMSA (the local BA university I'm taking a class from). Today was the first class-Estado y Politicas Publicas(the state and public policy). I was gonna be a PoliSci major before I found International Studies so I've taken my share of public policy-related classes before. All I need to do is pass this thing. Not even do well, just..sobrevivir(survive). I go on autopilot and forgot that my class starts at 8 not 8:30. At 7:45 I got a text from another IES student taking the same class asking if I was close. Well fuck, I haven't even left my apartment building yet. I fly out of the apartment and realized it was raining and I didn't have my raincoat with me. Hauled back up, grabbed my jacket and walked to the bus stop, which is on the corner. I wait...five minutes later the line I needed comes down the street. I stuck out my arm to flag it down. It sees me, and the other three people waiting. Fucker passed right on by. Awesome.

Finally caught the bus and then walked to UMSA. I met Zach, the other IES student. 10 minutes late but thankfully Argentinians don't believe in being on time. Ever. So we climbed the five flights of stairs because there was a huge line for the elevators. Found the class, sat down. Bueno.
Professor rolls in, starts class. Speaks at a good speed, I'm keeping up. Talking about things I'm familiar with. Awesome. Then...he spoke faster and faster and I'm sad to say I didn't have the balls to raise my hand and ask him to slow down. Also, he starts writing notes on the board. Except they aren't notes, they're fucking glyphs. He writes letters, like SL or E, circles them and draws a bunch of arrows connecting to other circled letters. I lost the thread of his lecture, looked down for five seconds and three or four more circled mystery letters had appeared like mushrooms. Great.

Fast forward an hour and my brain was fried. It actually felt hotter and flattened. The professor ran out of class. I turned to Zach. He looked deflated. A girl in the class asked us if we're all right. We straggle out of UMSA and walk back to the IES center. It was raining, obviously. Back at IES we strategized about other, easier classes to take. Historia de Argentina, I'll see yo fine 1st year-level ass tomorrow.

After lunch, during which I unsuccessfully attempted to open not one but 4 packets of ketchup for my burger, I walked back to my apartment. I collapsed on my bed, checked emails and felt a bit better. Today my Visual Arts in the City class had a visita at the Museo de Arte Moderno(its Spanish acronym is MAMBA which makes me smile-Kill Bill anyone?) I caught the colectivo and grab a rail. It's hotter than a mug on this goddamn bus, lots of people and 97% humidity doesn't mix. Actually 97% humidity doesn't seem to mix well with anything except my hair, which by the end of the ride looked like a white girl version of Diana Ross early 70s, post-Supremes. I'm on the bus and I'm sweating. I don't mean buckets, I mean slow, steady, under the bra, trickle down the back annoying-type shit. I look at the woman next to me and she is pristine-hair done,high heels and no profuse sweat beads on her brow. THE HELL? Do porteños have a no sweating on the colectivo-gene???

I got off the bus and start walking the three blocks to the museum. Glad for the breeze I passed by a random park/wasteland and in my peripheral vision I see a man pissing on a tree. I ever so slightly turned my head his direction to confirm. Yep, a grown man, dick out in the daylight, peeing on a tree. Oh San Telmo. Oh Buenos Aires.
I arrived at the museum, still lowkey ladysweating. At least here so was almost everyone else. We started the tour of the exhibition. A few works of art down and we are looking at a large canvas of white paint, a big block of white. As I was standing there, I felt that disgusting sensation of sweat rolling quietly down my back, then as though to balance everything out, my boobs retaliate with their own trickle of perspiration. Fantastic. During the rest of the exhibition, my mind kept floating away and fun.'s song "Some Nights" played soothingly over my inflamed brainwaves.
By the time the exhibition is over, I felt flattened, sticky and not overjoyed about that exact moment in my life. I flirt heavily with the idea of emailing my conversation partner to cancel our meeting later that evening but decide to go home, regroup and go.

Reaching my apartment, I collapse onto my bed, feeling like I was sinking into it as waves of fatigue rolled off me. A power nap and regrettable WEAK-ass cup of instant coffee later and I left to go to my meeting with my convo partner. We talked for an hour, half in Spanish and half in English. I have found that there is a direct correlation between how awake I am and how good my Spanish is. Therefore in my artificially conscious state, my Spanish tonight was shittay.
Walking home I felt better, glad I had gone to the meeting and so happy it had cooled down. As soon as I got home I booked it to the bathroom and took one of those life-fixing showers. Feeling more like a human, I putzted around on my laptop and Skyped my mom until my host mami called me to eat dinner.

At dinner I asked if I could use the stove to cook some eggs on the weekends. She said no, she was too afraid that the gas would not be turned off all the way and that basically I could kill everyone in the building. I wanted to say that I'd been successfully not killing people via natural gas exposure for about 10 years of stove use but this was just not a situation to argue about. I am taking this slightly harder than I probably should but the stomach wants what the stomach wants and I want some goddamn eggs.

So, that was my quilombito of a day. Now I'm making it (almost) all better by listening to fun.'s new album and getting lost in the excessive drums and bass.

-j

"arte es.." san telmo #1

So, at home I'm involved in a group called FOKUS(Fighting Obstacles Knowing Ultimate Success)In a nutshell, FOKUS is an arts-advocacy group that believes everyone is an artist and that art is one of the best ways to bring people of different kinds of backgrounds,races, genders, religions, politics...together.
There's the phrase "Art is...what unites us" and before I came to BA, me and another FOKUS member developed a project centered around the phrase "art is..." using postcards.

Why is this important? When I knew I was going to study abroad, I knew I wanted to do a spin on the postcard project and take it to the streets, literally. After a few weeks of adjusting to being in Buenos Aires, I finally got organized enough to move forward on my idea. So yesterday I bought a chunk of different colored construction paper and two big colored markers, writing out "Arte es..." in big letters on each piece of paper. I also wrote out (s/o to the superior Spanish skills of Suhaly Bautista)a short paragraph of information about why we were doing this project and what we were asking people to do.

There are a lot of different ferias (street fairs/markets) in Buenos Aires but one of the biggest and most well-known is in San Telmo every Sunday. I wanted to go to San Telmo and ask different street artists if they would complete the phrase and let us take their photo with what they wrote.

I proposed the idea to my friend Chelsea who has a knack for photography and a much more sophisticated camera than I do. I wanted her to come with me and take the photos and thankfully she dug the idea and said yes.

So, this afternoon we went to San Telmo and started at the beginning of the feria, which runs along one of the main roads in the barrio. I'm not the type of person who naturally approaches people I don't know so asking different street artists if they'd participate was stepping outside of my comfort zone. Being comfortable with what the project was and the reasons behind it made approaching people much easier.

The first person we approached was a man in his mid-twenties who was doing caricature portraits. He said yes but asked several times for a moment to think of a good answer. I assured him that there was no "right" answer and to take his time. While he was pondering a worthy answer, a huge argument/borderline fight broke out behind him. Apparently there had been a theft. This slowed down his thinking process but eventually, he put marker to paper and wrote a very eloquent response. Chelsea took his photo and we moved on.

The second person we asked, an old man playing a guitar, said no. He was very nice and out of everyone we asked, was the only person to decline. Moving slowly through the cobblestone street, we looked for people whose work was their own, especially those working on the same items they were selling. A man who worked with wire and metal agreed and let us take his photo. Another woman, sitting in the shade behind her table knitting a hat(she was selling knitted scarves and hats)was almost zen-like in her agreement to participate.

We approached a couple, sitting on the curb behind their work of decorated and patterned sneakers and hightops. The woman seemed a bit shy but they agreed and their friend, whose table was right next to theirs, asked what we were doing and if he could also complete the phrase. He proudly posed with what he wrote and then told us that he was from Colombia. Each time a person said yes and wrote down what art meant in their lives, I felt a surge of excitement, a tiny victory.

Something that I noticed was how different people's actual reactions to my asking them to participate were in comparison to what I thought they would be. I didn't expect the caricature drawer to be so thoughtful and almost painfully slow in his response nor did I expect the rougher looking man who worked with the wire and metal to be so forthcoming and nice. Some people responded to the phrase very quickly while others paused and I wondered how often, if ever, had someone asked what their art meant to them.

Everyone we asked was very friendly and had varying degrees of curiosity about the project, who we were and where we were from. At times stumbling over my explanation of the project, I was always able to successfully deliver my point.

As we neared the end of the street, I was happy with how the afternoon had gone. We had ten responses out of the eleven people we asked and all but two of them had agreed to pose with their completed phrase.

Stepping outside my comfort zone paid off and I can't wait to go to other ferias and ask more artists and performers what "arte es..." for them.

Art truly is what unites us. Today was absolute proof.

www.fokus.org

-j

real talk: half-formed thoughts on race, ethnicity, self-identification in Argentina

In the United States, being Latin@ has a huge range of meanings, definitions and connotations. There is such a large mix of different countries of ancestry and origin as well as increasingly diverse ways that people are self-identifying. Risking generalization in the hope of conveying a point, in the US there is an ongoing struggle with a desire to be 'white' among many Latin@s. This is certainly not true of everyone, and I can say from experiences with friends of mine that among younger Latin@s, there is a stubborn pride to connect with one's culture and embrace their entire identity/ies. Before I go off on a huge separate thread...

Being in Argentina, the racial diversity seems to be more muted, even in comparison to Michigan. For me, coming from the University of Michigan 'bubble' where the majority of Latin@s on campus are not European-identifying or desiring to be so, Buenos Aires has been interesting. I will speak on Buenos Aires, as I don't have any real experience outside of the city yet. In Buenos Aires, something like 90% of residents are of pretty significant Italian origin mixed in with several other European countries. The overall 'hue' of Porteños(BA residents) is white. There is a great affinity for European things, trends, customs, which to a degree makes sense as a majority of the population IS of European descent. However, in contrast to my experiences in the US, there is less of a proclaimed "Latino" identity. Yes, they speak Spanish and yes, Argentina is a South American country, but the self-identification of people in BA is (as I suppose self-identification is anywhere) very complex. At the risk of making another dumb, uninformed observation- I venture to say that a significant portion of BA residents cling to a quasi-European identity with a 'tinge' of Latin@ because they can create the identity without a great deal of other/outside voices contradicting it.

On a side note, being in BA, where people are mostly 'white', I have had to check my own assumptions about what 'Latin@' looks like. For me to see someone with blue eyes and blonde hair who is a native Argentinian, I need to remember that being Latin@ does not equate to any specific race or ethnicity.

One topic/issue that I want to educate myself on is the presence of Bolivian refugees in Argentina. Noticeably darker than many Argentinians, I wonder if their presence creates a certain unease among more European-identifying Argentinians. Are they afraid that by identifying with a more Latino identity, they risk losing something, some kind of superiority or cultural prestige?

Ethnicity and self-identification are issues that challenge people around the world. In no way do I wish to pass judgement on what is a 'better'/more authentic way of identifying oneself nor do I pretend to know much about the underlying and complex reasons behind how Argentinians construct their own identities. But I do believe it is worth thinking about and, in a respectful, open way, to question why.

Make of this what you will.

-j

SUBE card success and other general life updates

So two days ago, I went with a group of other IES students to our appointments for criminal background checks, because honestly why wouldn't you wait two weeks after someone has been in your country to make sure they're not a bat-shit crazy person or packin a violent prior criminal record? Makes total sense.. We arrive at the building and it all moves surprisingly quickly, I fill out a form, pay $30 pesos and get fingerprinted. I asked if the woman wanted my toe prints too and she cracked a half smile. Afterwards, we went to Cafe Tortoni, which is this beautiful, very famous coffee place in Buenos Aires. It's apparently the oldest one in the city. We were the definition of American tourists as we walked into the cafe, which is actually more along the lines of a small concert hall than a little cafe, and sat at the tables they set up for us. I usually don't like feeling like such a straight up tourist but when the coffee is that good and free, I'm gonna set aside my pride.

On the walk back to the IES center, a few of us saw a Correo(post office) on the street and decided to see, on the off chance, if they had the terribly elusive Sube cards. There was no line, the nice woman behind the desk had Sube cards and within 15 minutes, about 10 of us walked out with our cards in hand and damn near pissing excitement. It was amazing.

Yesterday afternoon after I walked home from class, I decided to take out the camera (my hardcore point and shoot Nikon..) and wander around Recoleta, the barrio (neighborhood) where I live. There's a good amount of street art here of varying degrees of complexity and form. Ranging from a simple political message written in hasty capital letters to a neon stencil of Charlie Brown on a skateboard, to a street-long elaborate mural with different kinds of nature and wildlife depicted. I wandered down a cobblestone side street called Calle Bellini, with no one on it. The buildings were lovely, many with bright colors and it seemed like the street the rest of the city forgot. Some of my favorite stencils were a skeleton, Charlie Brown and Britney Spears.

In other business, this week has been much nicer weather-wise, highs in the mid-70s and partially cloudy. I can roll with that. All but two of my classes have met, with the last of my IES classes meeting today and UMSA (the local Buenos Aires university I'm taking a class at) starting Tuesdsay. About UMSA-I'm mildly freaked out. I know that the Spanish spoken will almost certainly be way faster than my little mind can keep up with. But as long as I don't tragically and epically fail, I'm hopeful it will be a cool chance to meet some Argentinian students and improve my Spanish. I need to pass this class, not set the curve. Which they actually don't have here. No grading curve, no Ctools, no office hours and usually no syllabus. Yeah, I'm super pumped.

Also, St. Patty's Day is this Saturday. A little piece of my heart breaks knowing I won't be in Ann Arbor for the shitshow that will take place. There's nothing quite like seeing the whole place go green, drink with your friends without a huge amount of societal shame, crash for a few hours and then live to rage again.
But, I'm here in BA and interested to see what St. Patty's looks like in South America.


Over and out.

-j

Raincoats and Adele in Once

Can't believe this is the start of week 3. Tomorrow brings the start of classes through IES and the return of homework and a real schedule. I'm kind of looking forward to having more of a regular schedule and the presence of homework is the definition of familiar.

In packing for Argentina, I would say I am happy with almost everything I brought or decided not to bring. There are a few things I wish I'd brought more of (underwear comes to mind) and other things I just haven't found myself wearing (such as dresses). The one thing that I almost brought but oh so regrettably did NOT pack was my raincoat. It's great, Patagonia brand, a nice cream color, mesh pockets, adjustable hood, breathable. And it is currently sitting on a chair in my room in Michigan. Bumba.
Therefore, after being caught in a virtual monsoon last week, I spent all of the following week in various stores along Santa Fe avenue and on Carlos Pellegrini questing for a raincoat, only to be disappointed in the high prices and lack of hoods. No, I had to politely tell the salespeople, I did not have $750 pesos to spend (the rough equivalent of $200US) on a raincoat. I had to stumble through explaining my price range an embarrassingly large number of times. After a certain point, I stopped looking on the nicer streets, because the reality was my pocketbook didn't have quite that much wiggle room to remedy my idiot error of not packing my existing raincoat. I asked around for suggestions as to where I could find a decently priced raincoat in Buenos Aires. Now this seems..well, like a stupid thing to have to do. Rarely in my life have I missed the all-inclusive shopping experience that is Meijer and Wal-Mart. In the United States, I can tell you five good places off the top of my head where you could go and buy a raincoat and have a large amount of colors, sizes, styles and price points to choose from. Regrettably, I am in Buenos Aires, and the world of Wal-Mart does not seem to exist.
After hearing from several trusted and more knowledgeable sources, I set my sights on Once, a barrio in Buenos Aires that is known for its' cheaper shops and stores. I was also told to watch my belongings very carefully, which is saying something, because in Buenos Aires, to consciously hold onto one's things is as habitual as breathing. Having been warned, I took the 101 to Once yesterday with a friend from IES. Both being idiots and not having packed our raincoats, we held on to the hope that Once would be our raincoat salvation. We met on the corner outside one of what must be ten million kioscos and began trolling down the main street of Corrientes. Putting our faith in sports-equipment stores, we checked out block after block of shops selling Nike, Reebok, Adidas, Fila. Nothing that fit the bill. The deal breaker seemed to be that none of the raincoats we found had hoods, which was somewhat of a requirement. As I felt the sweat start to trickle down my back and I wondered what was wrong with this country, we walked into a small shop selling a combination of sports equipment, shoes, and sports jackets. Looking through the warm-ups and pullovers, our eyes roved over a rack containing rain jackets. Excitedly, we examined them-looking at price, size and hood-having. All three requirements were met. Way too shamelessly, we try on the coats to be sure. They fit. Adele's "Rolling in the Deep" comes on as we hurtled to the register. I'm sure the saleswoman thought we were crazy. Crazy Americans.
We pay, we exit. We freak out.

In closing I would like to say that yes, buying a raincoat really can be the highlight of your week. I'm living proof.
Bring the rain, motherfluzzas.

-j

Dear Mr. Chubby Sube man...

Dear Mr. Chubby Sube Man,
(to preface, a Sube card is like a pre-paid debit card you can use on the busses, trains, and subways of Buenos Aires. Otherwise you need to have coins to ride all these lovely modes of transportation and coins are pretty difficult to come by. Sube cards are useful as shit but apparently impossible to get)


Que boludo! I really enjoyed waiting 2.5 hours in line under drippy AC units and being stared at by a little Argentinian girl with a juice box the size of a small boulder. While the side conversations with the older married couple was mildly enjoyable, the real treat was when you came down the line and profiled me and my friends for being Americans. No, coño, you were not magically out of Sube cards after the person in front of us, no we couldn't come back tomorrow, and no we were not leaving just because you told us to.

I write this with sore feet and a growing dislike for the ridiculousness that can be the Argentinian government.

Sincerely,
Jordan

week 2

It's already Thursday of Week 2. I can't believe how fast this one went. A much smoother emotional ride in comparison to the rush of events that last week was. Each day I am learning a bit more about the city, how to speak Spanish (boludo, anyone?) There are definitely moments of frustration but I am far more excited about discovering the city and learning more Spanish.

There are a few things I'm going to write more about later but some teasers are...
-My hate letter to Mr. Chubby Sube man
-God damnit, weather.com
-"This is NPR, National Public Radio"...

In closing, BA is still HUGE and Skype is still a lifesaver.

besitos
-j

rain rain go away..wait, this class won't count?!

Today I had my first Spanish class at IES. It went great, small class size, chill professor, etcet. Later today, I find out that the class level won't count for me because it is the equivalent to a course I took at U-M. Well shit. So now I am in the process of trying to get the class counted for something else or if I have to, try and switch into the next higher level. I don't think I'll be too screwed over if I can't switch and it won't count but it'll be crappy.

Apart from that, I went to UMSA, the local BA university I'll take one class from. It was fine, they fed us. Then after registering to sit in on classes during the "trial period", I look outside to see it POURING. I am wearing moccasins. Balls, or rather soggy mocs.

I brave the rain because a taxi just isn't in the budget and make it home. I drop off my laundry and a few hours later, I pick it up, folded and fresh and nothing markedly shrunken or ruined.

At least that went well. And since it is once again a weeknight, I get dinner from my homestay. Savings!! Hahah. But really, when you're on a budget and a fair number of things in the future depend on you staying as on budget as possible, it can be a wee bit stressful when EVERYTHING seems to start costing money. Do the best you can, and pinch pesos where possible.

So here I sit, listening to the thunder and some old jazz standard coming from my host parents bedroom, doggedly plodding ahead.

besitos
-j

"It's just like Dorthy..."

After reading my previous post, my dad sent me this email. Further proof I have the best parents ever.

"You are loved, and learning about your self. It's just like Dorthy , you need to travel to find out there's no place like home. It happened to me when I went to FL. for 1 1/2 years, it was great... and found out what Dorthy did. I never want to stop traveling, it reminds me what I have , how lucky . XXOOX Papa"

-j

day by day

There are multiple moments in every day in BA where I wonder "Why am I here? Why have I voluntarily put myself in an often stressful situation where I struggle with a different language and way of doing things?" Am I hard-headed? Do I forget how much I can stress about new things and uncontrollable events? Well, probably. Which is why each day is an adventure, even if all I do is go to a different barrio and take the bus like I did today with an IES friend. Today, riding the bus and getting off at the wrong stop, in a sketchy part of town, and finding our way back to the market we came to see and then afterwards finding the right bus to go back home was my adventure, my grand accomplishment.
As someone who is used to doing many things in one day and then going here to Buenos Aires, where a formerly simple task can become the event of my day, I have to constantly remember to be patient with myself. It is really starting to sink in that I will be here for the next three months and three weeks. Mentally I have always know that, but now the emotional part of what being gone for that amount of time is beginning to hit me. And this means sometimes having a mini panic attack and having to talk myself off the proverbial ledge.
I am so blessed/fortunate/lucky to have the most incredible, patient and loving parents. They are holding my hand through this emotional roller-coaster in so many ways. They are always there to Skype me when I want to, send me supportive emails and as my dad did today, let me know that Michigan won their basketball game. Their love and support knows no distance and I don't think I could do this without them. We all have our angels, don't we?

So here I sit, on my bed, listening to Marc Anthony and the ambient noises coming in from the open window, doing my best to take it one day at a time.

besitos
-j

Not available outside the US

I have recently discovered that neither Hulu nor Xfinity's content is available outside the US. Jerks.

-j

la boca and life at 5AM

Yesterday was my first full week in Buenos Aires but these past seven days have felt like so much longer. Throwing myself into everything that I need to learn to get around BA and enjoy the city is to be honest, exhausting. I have to be patient with myself and realize that each day there are little victories. And as much as everyone at home says how lucky I am and how they wish they were here, I want anyone considering traveling abroad to understand that it is a lot of work. The payoff is great and perhaps the biggest reward is that as a result of having to navigate such a different set of rules, customs, and language, you will know so much more about yourself as a person, what you can handle, what scares you, how you cope with the stress of being far from home or struggling with tasks that were previously simple such as taking a bus or going to class. You gain a level of self-sufficiency that allows you to know that almost always, you can do what you think you cannot, it just might take a few tries. I considered myself a pretty independent and self-sufficient person before I went abroad last summer and came back knowing that I can handle much more than I thought. I know that being in BA will do that for me as well. Roll with the punches.

Aside from my philosophies on life, yesterday I went to La Boca which is a working class barrio in BA known for its colorful houses and tango. It's on the port and has a bad reputation for being a place you don't want to be after dark, especially as a foreigner and as a woman. During the day however, La Boca is full of tourists looking for a photo with a tango dancer or to take pictures of the iconic bright houses.

I walked around with my camera and did my best to notice the unnoticed. I snapped quiet pics of the old men sitting on a bench with their white hair and canes and the man dressed as a devil enjoying a cup of mate outside a restaurant, the alleyway leading to someone's apartment. To me, these seemingly unimportant people and places are often where the best stories lie and the most interesting characters reside. There was so much color in La Boca, so many murals and paintings and different decorations. My eyes overloaded on the richness and vibrancy of the sheer volume of color that surrounded me and I wished that other parts of BA had this same kind of visual intensity.

After crashing back at my homestay, I went out for my first major night in BA. I left the apartment at 12am. This was leaving early. Meeting up with some friends from IES, we walked to the bus stop to wait for the 39 line heading to Palermo SoHo or as I call it, Bar Land. As we walked along Santa Fe avenue, we passed little kids eating ice cream with their parents or families in the middle of dinner. Saddest sight on the walk to the bus stop was a group of Argentinian girls who weren't any older than 14, dressed in far too little clothing and all clinging to their cigarettes. I wanted to throw a blanket over them and tell them to value their childhood! BA goes hard, even at 14.

Going out in BA when you don't know the ropes is a lot like being a freshman at college. You don't know where you should go, or much of how to get there. You fumble with what you say, the dumb questions you ask, and you reek of new kid on the block. But that is just part of the game. A fun night later spent at an outdoor bar, I quietly rolled into my homestay at the ripe old hour of 5am. Crawled into bed and opened up the Hulu. Hulu isn't available to those outside the US.

BA struggles.

Off to shower and make friends with the butcher on the corner.

besitos
-j

estancias, ropas interiores y walmart

Well hey kids--

Tomorrow will be my seventh day in Buenos Aires. I really can't believe it will have been one week. The amount of changes that have taken place in that amount of time blows my mind a little bit.

Buenos Aires gets a little less gigantic-feeling each day and the more I get to know people in my program, the less I feel like I'm doing all of this solo(dolo). Yesterday I finally got my phone for Argentina-a jacked up Nokia that has T9 texting and no idea of what the internet is. What up, 8th grade?? On that note, I don't think I've ever used Facebook chat so much in my mothafluzzin life, even in my middle-school heyday. With texts and calls being in short supply on our planes prepagos (pay-as-you-go plans) and not everyone having a phone quite yet, Facebook has become the main way people in IES (my program) are posting information, making plans and staying in touch. Notifications overload. Between the T9 texting and Facebook chat blowing up, I really think I might be technologically regressing.

Apart from the technology adjustment, the inevitable has occured; I have officially run out of clean underwear. No one's gonna lose a life here but shit's serious, clean drawers are a basic thing. Solution? Brave the intimates store on calle French and make my virgin voyage into the purchasing of clothes in Argentina. The chances for awkward situations and lost-in-translations to occur are huge. Most likely I will have unintentionally propositioned someone in the shop before all is said and done. Stay tuned.

I never thought I would actively miss Walmart but being pretty much anywhere outside the US forces you to go to five different stores for your list of five different items instead of going to one store that fucking has everything under one blessed roof. There are many things the US fucks up on-going to war with countries they don't need to, eating themselves into diabetes and heart disease... but Walmart and Meijer exist for a reason. For a REASON. Forget freedom or liberty or the Constitution, the United States' gift to the world is one stop shopping. And I miss it.

Oh yeah, today I went to a ranch, with a llama and some ducks. More on that later.

besitos
-j