A few weeks ago, I was at dinner with my host mom and got talking about yoga and the Yoga Park. She said I could take classes at the same place she does if I wanted and she'd help me register the next day. For $130 pesos(about $30US)I got a month of yoga classes twice a week and anyone who knows the average price of a single group yoga class in the states knows that this is crazy cheap. I've been going for the last two weeks and so far, I've been the only person in class. Which means I'm basically getting private yoga lessons.
The instructor can't say my name properly so in yoga class, I'm Victoria (my middle name). She's a very calm middle-aged woman named Adriana who has been wonderfully patient with me. The instructions are always in Spanish and I'm able to understand almost everything Adriana says. It's been a fun way to learn some new Spanish vocab-a lot of body part names and motions. It helps that she demonstrates a lot of the exercises but there are times when I won't change a position because I didn't understand what she's said and she'll calmly correct me or say it a different way.
The class practices a form of yoga called Ashtanga which is very calm and low-key, focusing on breathing, posture and flexibility. It's a different cup of tea than the much more dynamic Hatha yoga I was introduced to at the Yoga Park. Although I think I prefer Hatha between the two simply because as a runner, I am used to very dynamic and physical exercise, practicing Ashtanga is helping me to slow down and think about different aspects of my mind and body that I don't when I'm running. Realizing how my breathing changes when I am carrying more stress is something I would probably never notice otherwise. Happy happy, namaste namaste.
Flash forward to today's class. I showed up a few minutes late meaning I was right on time. In Argentina, show up on time and people will look at you funny. Once again I was the only person in my class. Adriana asked me if I needed to borrow a pair of socks (she had a few clean pairs in her bag) but I thanked her and said I was fine. We began our session with the guided relaxation and I could feel the subconscious stress in my body start to shake out and burn off like some kind of early-morning stress fog. A few minutes later, we were doing an exercise where you lay on your back, pull your legs into your chest and grabbing the tops of your knees, you slowly rotate your legs in a circle. You would think this is an easy thing to do; lay down, move legs in a circle. But apparently there are a number of ways one can do this wrong. Almost every time I do this exercise, Adriana makes a small correction. Either my legs need to be a little wider apart or my torso shouldn't be moving, today it was my lower back coming too far off the mat. Even though I understand most everything she says, it can be tricky to get it quite right. The motions and positions are so subtle and specific that even in English I think it'd take me a few times to get the correct form down. It's always a humbling moment when I don't understand something simple and have to be told again.
Towards the end of the session, Adriana offered me a light blanket in case I was cold. Why the multiple offerings of blankets and socks? Because in the last few days, the weather here has turned a lot colder, from mid-80s to mid-60s and while I'm kind of enjoying the change,for porteños, it might as well be Siberia. I politely declined the blanket, explaining that this weather wasn't cold for me and that where I'm from, it snows most of the winter. I've discovered, when trying to convey the difference in Michigan weather/temperature to an Argentine, telling them you get lots of snow in the winter usually does the trick.
I left the class feeling calmer, stretchier and happy that finally, my high tolerance for cold weather is at least somewhat useful.
Patagonia on Friday-shoooop
-j
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
art projects, underground music shows and alfajores:puro porteño
Entonces..
Yesterday afternoon I met Chelsea at the Recoleta feria to be the wing woman in her quest for a leather bag. It was one of the first days that truly felt like it was autumn and the break in humidity and high 80s weather was fine with me. Of the ferias I've been to, I've been to San Telmo twice and Recoleta about 4 times(it's a ten minute walk from my house)and between the two I like the layout of Recoleta better. It winds and loops and sprawls enough that people are not forced to explore its vendors like a strange sort of mass processional.
We began looking for her bag and almost immediately I saw a man selling beaded bracelets and necklaces. A blue bracelet caught my eye and when it comes to the color blue, I'm like a moth to a flame. Price was $25 pesos but I sweet-talked him down a little to $20. I then gave Chelsea permission to physically restrain me if I tried to buy anything else. We kept walking and found the vendor selling the leather bags she had seen before but the bag she wanted had been sold already. Tragic stuff. So we wandered around some more and saw some pieces of paper and drawings taped up on a big sheet-metal dividing wall just behind a row of vendors' booths. After a half minute of observing, I decided it looked like some kind of project that was (hopefully) open to the public. So we walked over and asked a young woman with a clipboard and paper what the dealio was and she told us it was an art project that her and another woman were doing for their class at UBA(University of Buenos Aires). Basically, they gave you a piece of blank paper to draw whatever you wanted to and afterwards they would ask you a few questions about what you drew and why. A free chance to draw whatever I want in the middle of a park? IN THERE like swimwear.
Chelsea and I grabbed some paint, water and brushes and started on our masterpiece which had no real theme or direction. There were a few cans of spraypaint and I kid you not, I lamented the fact I didn't have any stencils on me. Definitely going to knock out a few and keep them in the bolsa when I go wandering around. I painted the FOKUS eye and added "Arte es..." below it, then threw in the sun, some clouds and ocean waves for good measure. Chelsea painted a cat and some other dopeness I can't quite recall. While we were cementing our reputations as the next Picassos, a woman looking like Penny Lane 40 years of grass,pastillas and band chasing later, came by the project and after briefly talking to one of the women in charge, grabbed a can of spraypaint and went to town on the dividing wall itself. One glance at the faces of the two women in charge told me that this wasn't exactly what they had in mind and probably (meaning definitely) wasn't legal. She graffiti'd something along the lines of "leave us be, let us be free". We finished painting and answered the questions they had for us-why did we paint what we did, what did we think about street art. Afterwards, we hit them up with our own "Art is.../Arte es..." project and they were very willing to participate. One of the women quickly pulled up her sleeve and showed us her very own "Art is..." tattoo. It was crazy cool to find someone who had that kind of ink!
It was starting to get dark and we were starting to get hungry so we went to Palermo and hit up a Mexican restaurant. There were so much color on every square inch of the place that it was like a visual sucker-punch. Yummy yummy cheesy quesadillas and tacos hit the spot. If only they'd had jarritos.
Plan for the evening was a music show at the house of someone we knew in Buenos Aires. We were told to arrive around 9:30 and got there at 10p. We were mad early and Little Dragon was quietly hanging on the airwaves. Eventually more people came and the music started. Two acts played and while I liked both, the second act really went in. During the break, Chelsea and I talked to some of the musicians and collected some pretty great "Arte es..." phrases and photos.
After the music had winded down we hung around for a while and chatted with the musicians. All of them were independent musicians and artists and as party favors were passed around they gave us the heads up on a lot of great, off-the-beaten-boliche path places and people. As we headed out, Earth Wind and Fire's "September" came on the stereo-the vibe of the whole night was very chill and silly and warm and I'm excited about digging deeper into the underground art/music world of BA.
Woke up craving alfajores like nobody's business.
This concludes another random snippet of my life in Buenos Aires.
Over and out, amigos.
-j
Yesterday afternoon I met Chelsea at the Recoleta feria to be the wing woman in her quest for a leather bag. It was one of the first days that truly felt like it was autumn and the break in humidity and high 80s weather was fine with me. Of the ferias I've been to, I've been to San Telmo twice and Recoleta about 4 times(it's a ten minute walk from my house)and between the two I like the layout of Recoleta better. It winds and loops and sprawls enough that people are not forced to explore its vendors like a strange sort of mass processional.
We began looking for her bag and almost immediately I saw a man selling beaded bracelets and necklaces. A blue bracelet caught my eye and when it comes to the color blue, I'm like a moth to a flame. Price was $25 pesos but I sweet-talked him down a little to $20. I then gave Chelsea permission to physically restrain me if I tried to buy anything else. We kept walking and found the vendor selling the leather bags she had seen before but the bag she wanted had been sold already. Tragic stuff. So we wandered around some more and saw some pieces of paper and drawings taped up on a big sheet-metal dividing wall just behind a row of vendors' booths. After a half minute of observing, I decided it looked like some kind of project that was (hopefully) open to the public. So we walked over and asked a young woman with a clipboard and paper what the dealio was and she told us it was an art project that her and another woman were doing for their class at UBA(University of Buenos Aires). Basically, they gave you a piece of blank paper to draw whatever you wanted to and afterwards they would ask you a few questions about what you drew and why. A free chance to draw whatever I want in the middle of a park? IN THERE like swimwear.
Chelsea and I grabbed some paint, water and brushes and started on our masterpiece which had no real theme or direction. There were a few cans of spraypaint and I kid you not, I lamented the fact I didn't have any stencils on me. Definitely going to knock out a few and keep them in the bolsa when I go wandering around. I painted the FOKUS eye and added "Arte es..." below it, then threw in the sun, some clouds and ocean waves for good measure. Chelsea painted a cat and some other dopeness I can't quite recall. While we were cementing our reputations as the next Picassos, a woman looking like Penny Lane 40 years of grass,pastillas and band chasing later, came by the project and after briefly talking to one of the women in charge, grabbed a can of spraypaint and went to town on the dividing wall itself. One glance at the faces of the two women in charge told me that this wasn't exactly what they had in mind and probably (meaning definitely) wasn't legal. She graffiti'd something along the lines of "leave us be, let us be free". We finished painting and answered the questions they had for us-why did we paint what we did, what did we think about street art. Afterwards, we hit them up with our own "Art is.../Arte es..." project and they were very willing to participate. One of the women quickly pulled up her sleeve and showed us her very own "Art is..." tattoo. It was crazy cool to find someone who had that kind of ink!
It was starting to get dark and we were starting to get hungry so we went to Palermo and hit up a Mexican restaurant. There were so much color on every square inch of the place that it was like a visual sucker-punch. Yummy yummy cheesy quesadillas and tacos hit the spot. If only they'd had jarritos.
Plan for the evening was a music show at the house of someone we knew in Buenos Aires. We were told to arrive around 9:30 and got there at 10p. We were mad early and Little Dragon was quietly hanging on the airwaves. Eventually more people came and the music started. Two acts played and while I liked both, the second act really went in. During the break, Chelsea and I talked to some of the musicians and collected some pretty great "Arte es..." phrases and photos.
After the music had winded down we hung around for a while and chatted with the musicians. All of them were independent musicians and artists and as party favors were passed around they gave us the heads up on a lot of great, off-the-beaten-boliche path places and people. As we headed out, Earth Wind and Fire's "September" came on the stereo-the vibe of the whole night was very chill and silly and warm and I'm excited about digging deeper into the underground art/music world of BA.
Woke up craving alfajores like nobody's business.
This concludes another random snippet of my life in Buenos Aires.
Over and out, amigos.
-j
Monday, April 16, 2012
so i know it's real... [[finding thrift stores in buenos aires]]
Today something wonderful happened.
Today, I found a thrift store in Buenos Aires.
So? Why is this a big deal?? Well, what makes this a rather epic discovery is the near-total lack of secondhand and thrift clothing/anything in BA. The culture here is more one of buying high quality items and wearing them until they are falling apart. People don't tend to throw things out or donate old clothing anywhere close to the amount that many people do in the States. Great for them, but for me, this messes with my shopping style.
Let me back up by saying that at home, at least 80% of my closet is comprised of items gathered from Salvation Army, Goodwill, those random shops that have an "everything in this bin is $5". I love how much cheaper thrift stores usually are and paying full price for an item just confuses me. I won't buy my delicates secondhand (pre-worn underwear gives me the heebie-jeebies) and jeans are usually a full-price purchase but other than that I don't understand why you would pay $30 for a grey threadbare t-shirt at American Apparel(to pick an easy target) when you can find the same damn shirt for $5 at Salvo's. If this makes me a snob/hipster/whatever, oh well. To me, shopping thrift and secondhand is just logical. It takes time, patience, and you aren't guaranteed to find what you are looking for right away, but the payoff is huge...(pro-thrifting rant over)
Coming to Argentina and not being aware of their "buy quality and keep forever" culture, I was disappointed to realize that finding thrift/secondhand clothing would be a challenge. There's a decent amount of true vintage shops, meaning old clothing from major labels and investment pieces, but that didn't do much for me except make me wish I had a grown person's clothing budget and after a few weeks I'd all but given up finding something akin to Goodwill or Salvo's.
Until today, when I decided to take a different way home after class,originally in order to find a post office to mail some postcards. About halfway home I walked past a storefront with the words "Juan Perez Vintage" in big red letters, and then I saw a telltale pile of assorted clothing on a wooden pallet in the window below a sign reading "$5-10". My heart started racing, my pulse quickened, I was having a physical reaction to the unexpected presence of secondhand clothing.
I walked in and put my backpack in a locker, threw the keychain around my neck and started in on the long racks of clothing that ran along the walls. My hands shook slightly as I began methodically picking my way through each item. It's best to go thrifting with an idea of what you want to find but very low expectations about actually finding it and the only thing I'd really been needing was a cardigan to replace my black one that had been "misplaced" at the Yoga Park. Por suerte, I found a soft grey cardigan, the long kind that you can wrap around your body. It was $35 pesos (less than $10US). Did a quick check for major stains, holes and did a quick sniff of the pits and tucked it under my arm.
After briefly perusing the rest of the store, I retrieved my backpack and went to the counter to check out, but not before rooting through the $5-10 peso pile and emerging with a light navy long-sleeve shirt for $10. It would've been impossible to convey how stupid-happy I was to the cashier so I kept the reason behind my dopey grin to myself.
Floating out of the shop I walked home with a renewed sense of faith in Buenos Aires. This Friday I'm going to San Telmo to bum around and do some day-time exploring and not gonna lie, finding another thrift store would be alright with me...
-j
Today, I found a thrift store in Buenos Aires.
So? Why is this a big deal?? Well, what makes this a rather epic discovery is the near-total lack of secondhand and thrift clothing/anything in BA. The culture here is more one of buying high quality items and wearing them until they are falling apart. People don't tend to throw things out or donate old clothing anywhere close to the amount that many people do in the States. Great for them, but for me, this messes with my shopping style.
Let me back up by saying that at home, at least 80% of my closet is comprised of items gathered from Salvation Army, Goodwill, those random shops that have an "everything in this bin is $5". I love how much cheaper thrift stores usually are and paying full price for an item just confuses me. I won't buy my delicates secondhand (pre-worn underwear gives me the heebie-jeebies) and jeans are usually a full-price purchase but other than that I don't understand why you would pay $30 for a grey threadbare t-shirt at American Apparel(to pick an easy target) when you can find the same damn shirt for $5 at Salvo's. If this makes me a snob/hipster/whatever, oh well. To me, shopping thrift and secondhand is just logical. It takes time, patience, and you aren't guaranteed to find what you are looking for right away, but the payoff is huge...(pro-thrifting rant over)
Coming to Argentina and not being aware of their "buy quality and keep forever" culture, I was disappointed to realize that finding thrift/secondhand clothing would be a challenge. There's a decent amount of true vintage shops, meaning old clothing from major labels and investment pieces, but that didn't do much for me except make me wish I had a grown person's clothing budget and after a few weeks I'd all but given up finding something akin to Goodwill or Salvo's.
Until today, when I decided to take a different way home after class,originally in order to find a post office to mail some postcards. About halfway home I walked past a storefront with the words "Juan Perez Vintage" in big red letters, and then I saw a telltale pile of assorted clothing on a wooden pallet in the window below a sign reading "$5-10". My heart started racing, my pulse quickened, I was having a physical reaction to the unexpected presence of secondhand clothing.
I walked in and put my backpack in a locker, threw the keychain around my neck and started in on the long racks of clothing that ran along the walls. My hands shook slightly as I began methodically picking my way through each item. It's best to go thrifting with an idea of what you want to find but very low expectations about actually finding it and the only thing I'd really been needing was a cardigan to replace my black one that had been "misplaced" at the Yoga Park. Por suerte, I found a soft grey cardigan, the long kind that you can wrap around your body. It was $35 pesos (less than $10US). Did a quick check for major stains, holes and did a quick sniff of the pits and tucked it under my arm.
After briefly perusing the rest of the store, I retrieved my backpack and went to the counter to check out, but not before rooting through the $5-10 peso pile and emerging with a light navy long-sleeve shirt for $10. It would've been impossible to convey how stupid-happy I was to the cashier so I kept the reason behind my dopey grin to myself.
Floating out of the shop I walked home with a renewed sense of faith in Buenos Aires. This Friday I'm going to San Telmo to bum around and do some day-time exploring and not gonna lie, finding another thrift store would be alright with me...
-j
Monday, April 9, 2012
trannys, drunk biking, colombian backpackers and a chubby aussie-my weekend in Mendoza
First, I'll start by telling you all that I now think in Spanglish. It's confusing but kind of awesome.
Last weekend began Semana Santa, basically Easter Week, which meant no class Thursday or Friday. So, about half my program decided to venture to the wine region of Mendoza to booze, bike, raft, hike and do other outdoorsy shit.
Now about Mendoza..sadly too damn much occurred for a play-by-play account so here's the highlight reel, so to speak.
Left BA Wednesday night on an omnibus (a big-ass double-deck tour-lookin thing). We drove out of a storm and could see lightning zinging the city over and over from a distance. Apparently the storm was so bad that in the province(not city) of BA, 13 people died.(almost typed se murieron)
About two hours before we pulled into Mendoza, the bus stopped at a restaurant and everyone got a cup of coffee and some medialunas (which are like sweet, glazed croissants). Cool with me. However, the woman sitting outside the women's bathroom with her damn box of rationed portions of toilet paper FOR SALE was not cool. I can't fully explain why but as a woman, something in my core firmly believes that if toilet paper is available in the vicinity of a bathroom, it should be FREE. Of course there wasn't any toilet paper in the actual bathroom, OG perched outside the door had apparently cornered the TP market.
Taking a stand in support of the right to have freely available toilet paper, I held it til Mendoza.
Finally we got to Mendoza, got a cab to our hostel and checked in. We stayed at La Puerta hostel and having been in my fair share of hostels, La Puerta was trailing the pack. However, to my knowledge, no bugs or diseases were acquired during our stay and the breakfast pastries were bangin so all's well that ends well.
Chelsea and I had beds in a large, communal room, shared by four other women in their late twenties. One woman looked like a well-done drag queen and by the end of the weekend, I'd seen way more ass-crack than I cared for.
That night we waited too late to order food and since all the markets were closed for semana santa we feasted on crackers and alfajores for dinner. Movie of the night was the Miley Cyrus Disney movie, which I can say with minimal shame I quite enjoyed. Followed tragically, by a Spanish-dubbed version of Passion of the Christ. Everyone in the hostel gathered around the two TVs and watched it with a transfixed intensity. In the US, we watch Charlie Brown's Easter or the 10 Commandments, in Argentina-they keep it real, crucifix,Jesus and all.
Next day, we tried and failed to get our shizz together for hiking. Plan B? Wander the city with Natalia, our new found Colombian friend. Natalia was in her mid-30s to early 40s (never asked) and was in the middle of a sabbatical year after living in Madrid for 12 years. We spoke entirely in Spanish and I realized how normal the juh-ing of Argentinian Spanish had become to me. For dinner we walked a few blocks to get burgers and pizza with our other new friend, Danny Donnelly, an Australian passing through on his way to Chile. When marking his leftovers, I told him to be real obvious about it-I'd left a half liter of 7 Up in the fridge the night before but came back to find it almost gone. So he wrote in big letters "Chubby Aussie's breakfast."
The night's viewing selection: Shrek.
That night, the crone quartet came back to the hostel at 6am. They were some loud drunk mufuggas, not even bothering to keep the volume down to a drunken stage-whisper level but preferring to just be upfront with their conversation. I pulled out my earplugs and discovered to my horror, that one of them had disappeared.
Our final day in Mendoza we had signed up for Mr. Hugo's wine tour on a friend's recommendation. We get to Mr. Hugo's, expecting an all-inclusive guided bike tour and wine. We got..a cheery grandpa man handing us numerous styrofoam cups of red wine and no tour guide. Helmets obviously optional. First place we went to was a beer garden-the beer was amazing and I'd bet very good money that our waitress was packing a pair of huevos beneath that mascara and 5 o'clock shadow. We ended at a winery that gave us samples of olive oil, jams and chocolate as well as a complimentary shot of liquor or absinth. It worked.
25 kms, 5 hours and even more styrofoam cups of wine later, Chelsea and I took a taxi back to the hostel. We looked at each other with our wine-stained teeth and sun-baked faces and broke out laughing at what had happened that day. Per usual in Argentina, what we got was a version of what we expected. Nothing went according to plan but it all went alright.
Back on the bus to BA and the in-bus movie was.. Tree of Life with Brad Pitt. Freaking weird-ass movie. I eventually had to close my eyes in order to stop feeling like I had unwittingly entered into someone else's acid trip. By the time we got off the bus in BA, I was glad to be "home". Went back to my apartment and collapsed.
Next adventure, Patagonia.
Sike, every day is an adventure here
-j
Last weekend began Semana Santa, basically Easter Week, which meant no class Thursday or Friday. So, about half my program decided to venture to the wine region of Mendoza to booze, bike, raft, hike and do other outdoorsy shit.
Now about Mendoza..sadly too damn much occurred for a play-by-play account so here's the highlight reel, so to speak.
Left BA Wednesday night on an omnibus (a big-ass double-deck tour-lookin thing). We drove out of a storm and could see lightning zinging the city over and over from a distance. Apparently the storm was so bad that in the province(not city) of BA, 13 people died.(almost typed se murieron)
About two hours before we pulled into Mendoza, the bus stopped at a restaurant and everyone got a cup of coffee and some medialunas (which are like sweet, glazed croissants). Cool with me. However, the woman sitting outside the women's bathroom with her damn box of rationed portions of toilet paper FOR SALE was not cool. I can't fully explain why but as a woman, something in my core firmly believes that if toilet paper is available in the vicinity of a bathroom, it should be FREE. Of course there wasn't any toilet paper in the actual bathroom, OG perched outside the door had apparently cornered the TP market.
Taking a stand in support of the right to have freely available toilet paper, I held it til Mendoza.
Finally we got to Mendoza, got a cab to our hostel and checked in. We stayed at La Puerta hostel and having been in my fair share of hostels, La Puerta was trailing the pack. However, to my knowledge, no bugs or diseases were acquired during our stay and the breakfast pastries were bangin so all's well that ends well.
Chelsea and I had beds in a large, communal room, shared by four other women in their late twenties. One woman looked like a well-done drag queen and by the end of the weekend, I'd seen way more ass-crack than I cared for.
That night we waited too late to order food and since all the markets were closed for semana santa we feasted on crackers and alfajores for dinner. Movie of the night was the Miley Cyrus Disney movie, which I can say with minimal shame I quite enjoyed. Followed tragically, by a Spanish-dubbed version of Passion of the Christ. Everyone in the hostel gathered around the two TVs and watched it with a transfixed intensity. In the US, we watch Charlie Brown's Easter or the 10 Commandments, in Argentina-they keep it real, crucifix,Jesus and all.
Next day, we tried and failed to get our shizz together for hiking. Plan B? Wander the city with Natalia, our new found Colombian friend. Natalia was in her mid-30s to early 40s (never asked) and was in the middle of a sabbatical year after living in Madrid for 12 years. We spoke entirely in Spanish and I realized how normal the juh-ing of Argentinian Spanish had become to me. For dinner we walked a few blocks to get burgers and pizza with our other new friend, Danny Donnelly, an Australian passing through on his way to Chile. When marking his leftovers, I told him to be real obvious about it-I'd left a half liter of 7 Up in the fridge the night before but came back to find it almost gone. So he wrote in big letters "Chubby Aussie's breakfast."
The night's viewing selection: Shrek.
That night, the crone quartet came back to the hostel at 6am. They were some loud drunk mufuggas, not even bothering to keep the volume down to a drunken stage-whisper level but preferring to just be upfront with their conversation. I pulled out my earplugs and discovered to my horror, that one of them had disappeared.
Our final day in Mendoza we had signed up for Mr. Hugo's wine tour on a friend's recommendation. We get to Mr. Hugo's, expecting an all-inclusive guided bike tour and wine. We got..a cheery grandpa man handing us numerous styrofoam cups of red wine and no tour guide. Helmets obviously optional. First place we went to was a beer garden-the beer was amazing and I'd bet very good money that our waitress was packing a pair of huevos beneath that mascara and 5 o'clock shadow. We ended at a winery that gave us samples of olive oil, jams and chocolate as well as a complimentary shot of liquor or absinth. It worked.
25 kms, 5 hours and even more styrofoam cups of wine later, Chelsea and I took a taxi back to the hostel. We looked at each other with our wine-stained teeth and sun-baked faces and broke out laughing at what had happened that day. Per usual in Argentina, what we got was a version of what we expected. Nothing went according to plan but it all went alright.
Back on the bus to BA and the in-bus movie was.. Tree of Life with Brad Pitt. Freaking weird-ass movie. I eventually had to close my eyes in order to stop feeling like I had unwittingly entered into someone else's acid trip. By the time we got off the bus in BA, I was glad to be "home". Went back to my apartment and collapsed.
Next adventure, Patagonia.
Sike, every day is an adventure here
-j
Monday, April 2, 2012
the hippie farm of hare krishna-my weekend at an Eco Yoga Park
This weekend I went with a few friends to an Eco Yoga park about an hour outside the city. We arrived and were greeted by more nature than we'd seen in a good month. A friend had told me about the park when I said I was studying abroad in Argentina.
All vegan and eco-focused, there was no smoking or drinking or drugs of any kind allowed in the park. The park is run by Hare Krishnas and one of the monks showed us to the volunteer rooms. They were clean and comfortable, and when staying in a hostel-like place, those are really some of the most important characteristics.
We quietly walked into the second half of the afternoon yoga session in the temple, a white dome-shaped building which reminded me a little of something you might see in the David Bowie movie, "The Man who fell to Earth". I could do a lot more of the exercises than I thought I would be able to do. This form of hatha yoga is an integral part of the Hare Krishna beliefs so there was a deeply spiritual aspect to the session.
In the evening, we all piled in two small cars and drove to the nearby town of General Rodriguez to listen to a swami (spiritual figure-I want to say similar to a monk) who had just returned from six weeks in India. Everything was spoken in Spanish but one of the swamis translated in one part of the room for those who didn't know Spanish. I strained my ears to listen to the Spanish and understood nearly all of it but my brain kept wandering over to the English translation and at times I felt confused as to which one I was hearing. Before the swami spoke, there was a meditation recitation of a Hare Krishna mantra. There was a lot of chanting this weekend, which in the beginning I felt silly joining in on but by the end of the weekend, the strangeness had pretty much gone away.
At one point in his talk, the swami said "...y la funcion del alma es amar"(the function/purpose of the soul is to love) to love infinitely and everything. And for some reason, this hit me over the head with its profoundness. Something clicked into place. It seemed so obvious. Why hadn't I realized it quite this way before? That one sentence is still resonating with me and will stay with me possibly forever.
The next morning we got up at 5am for an optional pre-dawn meditation session in the temple. I had such Camino flashbacks of rolling out of a bunk bed in a strange place, getting dressed by flashlight and heading out. So much of this weekend had me flashing back to my time on the Camino, between the communal meals among strangers from a half dozen different countries to swapping stories using three languages to convey your point to running out of toilet paper. The morning meditation was early, dark and a lot of mumbling my way through sanskrit. The stars were jaw-dropping. In BA, I forget just how many stars there really are. Out there, in the pre-dawn sky, they were a beautiful sight to take in.
At 7am we were up again to start our volunteering for the day. In exchange for 4 hours of volunteering, we were able to stay at the Eco Yoga park for a fraction of what it costs to merely visit. We were placed in the garden and handed hoes to dig out rows for planting. I never knew there was a right or wrong way to hoe, but apparently there is. After we had done our best with our rows, Maria the person in charge of our work, came through and essentially destroyed them, showing us the correct method. One thing about Argentina in general-when directions are given, they are usually vague and people tend to wait for you to interpret them (usually incorrectly) and THEN you are shown or told the correct version. We also picked tomatoes and some indeterminate squash, both of which showed up in our meals later in the day.
After lunch we went on a short tour of the park and its grounds. A very cool place but the mosquitoes try to eat people alive. I never realized that a mosquito can pierce right through leggings, but they definitely can. At the end of the tour, one of the monks ran towards our group with a phone, asking if there was a Jordan Kifer there. It was my study abroad program director calling. Due to a miscommunication with my host mom, she didn't know I was spending the whole weekend at the Yoga Park. Of course, I had chosen not to bring my iPhone or laptop and hadn't checked my phone since last night. I rushed in to see that I had 16 missed calls and text messages and called my host mom to tell her where I was and to straighten things out. Being accountable to more than myself is a concept I am honestly a little out of practice with. Whoops.Afternoon yoga session that had me breaking a sweat by the end of it followed by a shower and delicious dinner. In the evening, there was an 'art therapy' session, which had us starting out in a circle giving group massages and made me think that yes I really had gone to a hippie farm for the weekend.
No volunteer work on Sunday meant sleeping in until...8:30 the next morning. After breakfast, we went to a nearby dairy farm where I tasted the freshest yogurt and milk I've ever had in my life. We bought chocolate milk, a chunk of mozzarella cheese and some dulce de leche from the woman who made all of them, Patricia. She was churning a vat of soon-to-be mozzarella cheese as we talked to her. There's something to be said for getting your food right from the source!
Chelsea and I were able to collect some really beautiful "Art is..." phrases from some of the Mothers(like nuns) as well as a lot of the other volunteers and visitors at the park and I can't wait to see the photos.
Leaving the park after the final yoga session yesterday, we rode back to BA, watching the sun set and the building get taller and larger. Soundtrack for the car ride?: Pink Floyd's 'The Wall'. What other way to top off the weekend?
The weekend was one I'll remember for a very long time and has made me think seriously about how I can incorporate yoga into my life when I get back to the US. I am so grateful to have had the time there :)
-j
Sending love and light to JH. You were in the sunshine this weekend, I have no doubt.
All vegan and eco-focused, there was no smoking or drinking or drugs of any kind allowed in the park. The park is run by Hare Krishnas and one of the monks showed us to the volunteer rooms. They were clean and comfortable, and when staying in a hostel-like place, those are really some of the most important characteristics.
We quietly walked into the second half of the afternoon yoga session in the temple, a white dome-shaped building which reminded me a little of something you might see in the David Bowie movie, "The Man who fell to Earth". I could do a lot more of the exercises than I thought I would be able to do. This form of hatha yoga is an integral part of the Hare Krishna beliefs so there was a deeply spiritual aspect to the session.
In the evening, we all piled in two small cars and drove to the nearby town of General Rodriguez to listen to a swami (spiritual figure-I want to say similar to a monk) who had just returned from six weeks in India. Everything was spoken in Spanish but one of the swamis translated in one part of the room for those who didn't know Spanish. I strained my ears to listen to the Spanish and understood nearly all of it but my brain kept wandering over to the English translation and at times I felt confused as to which one I was hearing. Before the swami spoke, there was a meditation recitation of a Hare Krishna mantra. There was a lot of chanting this weekend, which in the beginning I felt silly joining in on but by the end of the weekend, the strangeness had pretty much gone away.
At one point in his talk, the swami said "...y la funcion del alma es amar"(the function/purpose of the soul is to love) to love infinitely and everything. And for some reason, this hit me over the head with its profoundness. Something clicked into place. It seemed so obvious. Why hadn't I realized it quite this way before? That one sentence is still resonating with me and will stay with me possibly forever.
The next morning we got up at 5am for an optional pre-dawn meditation session in the temple. I had such Camino flashbacks of rolling out of a bunk bed in a strange place, getting dressed by flashlight and heading out. So much of this weekend had me flashing back to my time on the Camino, between the communal meals among strangers from a half dozen different countries to swapping stories using three languages to convey your point to running out of toilet paper. The morning meditation was early, dark and a lot of mumbling my way through sanskrit. The stars were jaw-dropping. In BA, I forget just how many stars there really are. Out there, in the pre-dawn sky, they were a beautiful sight to take in.
At 7am we were up again to start our volunteering for the day. In exchange for 4 hours of volunteering, we were able to stay at the Eco Yoga park for a fraction of what it costs to merely visit. We were placed in the garden and handed hoes to dig out rows for planting. I never knew there was a right or wrong way to hoe, but apparently there is. After we had done our best with our rows, Maria the person in charge of our work, came through and essentially destroyed them, showing us the correct method. One thing about Argentina in general-when directions are given, they are usually vague and people tend to wait for you to interpret them (usually incorrectly) and THEN you are shown or told the correct version. We also picked tomatoes and some indeterminate squash, both of which showed up in our meals later in the day.
After lunch we went on a short tour of the park and its grounds. A very cool place but the mosquitoes try to eat people alive. I never realized that a mosquito can pierce right through leggings, but they definitely can. At the end of the tour, one of the monks ran towards our group with a phone, asking if there was a Jordan Kifer there. It was my study abroad program director calling. Due to a miscommunication with my host mom, she didn't know I was spending the whole weekend at the Yoga Park. Of course, I had chosen not to bring my iPhone or laptop and hadn't checked my phone since last night. I rushed in to see that I had 16 missed calls and text messages and called my host mom to tell her where I was and to straighten things out. Being accountable to more than myself is a concept I am honestly a little out of practice with. Whoops.Afternoon yoga session that had me breaking a sweat by the end of it followed by a shower and delicious dinner. In the evening, there was an 'art therapy' session, which had us starting out in a circle giving group massages and made me think that yes I really had gone to a hippie farm for the weekend.
No volunteer work on Sunday meant sleeping in until...8:30 the next morning. After breakfast, we went to a nearby dairy farm where I tasted the freshest yogurt and milk I've ever had in my life. We bought chocolate milk, a chunk of mozzarella cheese and some dulce de leche from the woman who made all of them, Patricia. She was churning a vat of soon-to-be mozzarella cheese as we talked to her. There's something to be said for getting your food right from the source!
Chelsea and I were able to collect some really beautiful "Art is..." phrases from some of the Mothers(like nuns) as well as a lot of the other volunteers and visitors at the park and I can't wait to see the photos.
Leaving the park after the final yoga session yesterday, we rode back to BA, watching the sun set and the building get taller and larger. Soundtrack for the car ride?: Pink Floyd's 'The Wall'. What other way to top off the weekend?
The weekend was one I'll remember for a very long time and has made me think seriously about how I can incorporate yoga into my life when I get back to the US. I am so grateful to have had the time there :)
-j
Sending love and light to JH. You were in the sunshine this weekend, I have no doubt.
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