Gabrielle's blog

Though I still have a month left in Argentina, it’s incredible that my year here is drawing to a close. My relationship with time has been very interesting. For one, I feel as if coming here was something I’ve looked forward to for so long. At times it seems as if I’ve been here forever and simultaneously, this semester has flown by.
The most rewarding part of my abroad experience has been learning a city – its language, customs, inconveniences and culture. I’ve lived in three homestays, totaling eight months of observing how Argentines are behind closed doors. Through this, I’ve learned things that would otherwise be impossible to know from being publicly acquainted such as truly knowing what the Argentine diet consists of (meat and very few vegetables) or the rule about wearing shoes to dinner. My current madre has truly let me into her family, referring to me as her otra hija (other daughter) and bringing me to her country home to do asado (barbeque) with her family. As I said in my last post, I truly have a sense of how the Argentine upper class lives.
I hope to maintain the relaxed air I’ve developed here. I want to remember to spend time with people and that being a few minutes late is not life or death. On the other end of this vain, however, I hope that I’ve not completely lost the drive and work ethic that is evidenced in New York. I think here it’s a mixture of having less to do and a more leisurely culture, but I hope to strike a balance once I’m back in New York.
I hope to remember my Spanish but, sadly, I know that the day I leave Argentina is probably the best my Spanish will be in my life. This fact is unfortunate and I’m still searching for ways to keep it when I’m back. I’m very open to ideas and suggestions.
I’m not sure what my overall takeaway from this experience will be, I think only time and distance will reveal the most poignant aspects. For now, the strongest elements are friendship and thankfulness. I’ve become an incredibly proud US citizen, not in a gun-waving way, but I’m so happy to come from a country that has a comparatively stable and functional government. So many things that I took for granted are now things that I profoundly miss and appreciate about the US. For example, I cannot wait to not have to pay for water at restaurants or constantly watch my feet when walking down the street for dog poop.
I’ll deeply miss Argentina. It’s lovely and a fun-loving wonderful place. I encourage everyone in this course to visit at some point; it’s like nowhere else.
The picture is Eva Peron's grave. I find this to be a fitting last photo. 

The best piece of advice I have for people coming to study abroad in Buenos Aires is to prepare to relax and go with the flow. BA is an incredible city, but it’s a hard place to live, more so even than New York in many ways. I’ve learned to love living here, but there are many facts about how the city runs that took getting used to. For example, oftentimes, the ATMs are out of money or don’t work on holidays and weekends. As an orientation leader, I was able to watch people’s initial reactions to this. “Why is it out of money?” they would ask me as if I have control over the flawed Argentine banking system. I just shrugged and explained that Argentina is not the United States.
 
I learned in AP US government that United States citizens have a very particular political culture where we expect people and companies to be held accountable for their actions. This sentiment could not be more different in Argentina. Businesses, such as the post office, will technically close at 5, but don’t bother coming after 4 because they have finished working for the day. Things like this used to make me so frustrated with Argentina, but I’ve modified my attitude and relaxed. Changing my mindset has made all the difference; I no longer let the small inconveniences bother me to the degree that they used to.
 
Furthermore in Argentina, timeliness and punctuality are not regarded as important; events hardly ever begin as scheduled and if someone is 15 minutes late, they’re on time. As a very prompt person, this used to drive me crazy. I regarded punctuality of others as a sign of respect and alternately, I found it disrespectful when people would be late. I’ve learned over time here that people are doing their best and being late just happens. One major factor is that the bus always seems to take longer than expected, but sometimes, it just is hard to be on time. Living in a homestay, I never know when my homestay mom will want to chat on my way out or I’ll decide to straighten up to be convenient for my roommate on my way out. I’m guilty of losing a bit of my timeliness, but the intent is never to inconvenience the person I’m meeting. Life here just moves a bit slower and you have to take that into account. Argentina’s been an incredible place to live and you’d be hard-pressed to find a country as relaxing, but with that comes a slower and more inconvenient pace of life.

I took this picture of a giant container of dulce de leche. It's proven to cure any bad mood ever.

Having spent the last seven months in Buenos Aires, I’d like to think I know the city incredibly well. Indeed, I’ve lived within the same two-block radius and I pridefully know the streets of my neighborhood, Recoleta, like I’ve grown up here. Surprisingly, people ask me for directions frequently and, even more surprisingly, I often am able to give them correct directions. I had the very sad realization, however, that as an upper-middle class foreigner, I know very little of the city of Buenos Aires as a whole.

There are many factors that have contributed to my introversion to the safe, upper class, gentrified areas of Buenos Aires. To begin with, Buenos Aires is an enormous city. The urban center has nearly three million residents and greater Buenos Aires has almost twelve million. It is 126 square miles (I’m not including the outside provinces) in size compared to Manhattan, which is only 23 square miles. In other words, it’s huge. It takes considerable amounts of time to move from neighborhood to neighborhood, even by taxi. The city has a very complete bus system but they move very slowly during traffic and the subway is fast, but very dangerous and there is not one convenient to my house.

The neighborhoods that I spend time in are Recoleta, Palermo and sometimes Puerto Madero and San Telmo, which are both really cool neighborhoods, but are further and located in burgeoning areas. The neighborhoods where I spend time have the most to offer in terms of contemporary, interesting restaurants, bars, museums and galleries. The great majority of Argentine restaurants have steak, empanadas and not much else to offer so by this time, I’m very tired of the local fare and am constantly in search of creative, vegetable-filled meals.

The truest reason that I don’t explore other areas of Buenos Aires is that the city has not yet become integrated socioeconomically. This not only means that the less developed neighborhoods have little draw other than run down residences and local, mediocre restaurants, but they are not safe for tourists to wander around. Overall Buenos Aires is a fine place to be, but I stick out as a local for the way I dress and my curly hair.

I would like to be the person who has discovered every inch of the city. This isn’t to say that I don’t explore, I go into other neighborhoods such as La Boca where the soccer stadium is near the docks, but only when I have a specific destination in mind. In my opinion, Buenos Aires still has a long way to go in terms of infrastructure, overall city cleanliness and socioeconomic divide before it can be a truly united city. For now, the rich live their lives separate from the poor and unfortunately, I’ve been placed on one side; keeping me from the other. I hope in the future when I visit Buenos Aires, other neighborhoods will have emerged and the city will be entirely, as lovely and culturally fulfilling as the parts I have come to know and love.

The image is train tracks that run through the city. Oftentimes, you even must cross train tracks to change neighborhoods (cue obvious metaphor).

I entered a cab last night and was happily surprised to hear the Beatles playing. Now usually one can expect good music from the cab drivers here; I’ve heard Madonna, Lady Gaga, classic tango, jazz, Argentine pop. It’s always exciting to hear what they’re playing and the drivers are always happy to turn up the volume if you ask. I have, as I’m sure I share with many, a deep fondness for the Beatles so I asked the cab driver if he liked the band. He laughed and turned to me, pulling up his shirtsleeve a bit to reveal a tattoo saying ‘Lennon’ in ornate cursive.  And then it hit me: I’d been in this man’s cab before.
Now Buenos Aires is a city with almost three million people and more than twelve million in the greater metropolitan area – needless to say there are thousands of cabs. Getting into the same one was maybe bound to happen in the course of a year, but to me it was such a neat coincidence, particularly since Marco (he gave me his card) drives such a pleasant cab.
Marco is a younger man, early thirties, with a slight build. He has typical weird Porteño haircut that’s buzz cut with a mullet. His car is a simple Fiat, but it’s clean and doesn’t seem like he smokes in it. He pulled no less than five Beatles CDs out of his globe compartment at one point.
We proceeded to chat about our love for the Beatles for the entire drive home. His favorite album is Abbey Road, mine, the White Album. At one point, he turned on “Help” and we just sang together. I explained the United States tradition of a wedding song and how my parent’s was “Here Comes the Sun” and he agreed that was a good choice.
My chat with Marco was great for many reasons. Firstly, I’m beginning to realize how much my Spanish has improved throughout the year, both in understanding and speaking quickly with a better accent. It made me feel like a woman about the city that I’d happened upon the same taxi twice. Our exchange wasn’t creepy at all; it was just the two of us sharing enthusiasm for a band. Despite my wariness of the aggressive Argentine men, this showed me that they aren’t all sex-driven machisimos. Marco was an excellent example of the peaceful eclecticism that’s so great about Buenos Aires. 

Though I’m sure it’s been mentioned in passing, I don’t think I would be adequately portraying my time in Buenos Aires if I did not devote significant homage to meat. For those who aren’t aware, Argentina is known for its beef. With ample pampas (fields), Spanish conquistadors brought cows to Argentina in the 16th century and it’s history ever since.
 
Parilla’s are the restaurants where steak is consumed. Many are very casual, unlike the refined image of a steakhouse in the United States. The typical steaks are not prepared with any sauce or seasoning, they let the flavor of the meal speak for itself. There is sometimes a chimichurri sauce, which is a finely minced mix of tomato, onion and pepper. My initial trips to the parilla were confusing because the names for cuts of beef are, obviously, different here. My two favorite cuts are bife de lomo, which is filet mignon, and entraña, which is skirt steak. Sides are usually a salad, French fries, Spanish tortilla and proveleta, which is a large piece of grilled cheese. Yes, that’s as sinfully delicious as it sounds.
 
An asado, the Argentine version of a barbeque, is a sacred tradition in their society. It’s a long process of cooking meats and spending time with friends and family. My homestay brother gave me the lowdown on the process. It starts with a trip to the butcher shop and each person has their preferences of cuts and meats. His asado included three different cuts of steak including shortribs, chorizo, blood sausage and what I think was intenstines, but it tasted good so I was nervous to ask. Hours before eating, the meat is put on the grill. The grills here are ingeniously designed with the grate on a crank to move it closer and further from the fire depending on how the meat is cooking. Guests usually trickle in and keep the griller company, drinking wine, beer, Coke or water depending on the time of day and mood. The meats cook in phases so the meal is drawn out, the griller periodically bringing around the different meats as they cook. Every asado I’ve attended has lasted hours and always ended with deep sleep.
 
Meat is a part of Buenos Aires. I smell steak when I walk down the street and it puts me at ease. Being a butcher here is a point of pride and is an important part of their society. Not queasy to the sight of raw meat, I peer into the meat shops with fascination at the skillfully cut flanks. The asado is such a welcoming, group activity. For men to be the griller is a point of pride, a total indication of their machismo culture. Argentina is known for having excellent beef and in my weathered experience, it doesn’t disappoint. 

The photo is from an asado I attended in rural Salta (northwest Argentina) prepared by true gauchos.

I chose “The Foreigners” by Maxime Swann because she came and spoke to my creative writing class last semester. It was intriguing to me to read a work where I’d met the author and therefore, had a sense of the mind that created the story. I knew that the characters were based loosely on people she had encountered so I thought that would be interesting to see what sort of people are colorful enough to inspire a book. Overall, I found the characters to be unbelievable, acting in ways that actual people wouldn’t. I did relate strongly to one particular theme – the behavior of the upper class.  

The great consciousness of class is a very prevalent notion in Buenos Aires. It is breached mainly through the character of Isolde, an Austrian who wants more than anything to be a part of the ex-patriot upper class. Awareness of wealth and pedigree is incredibly strong in Buenos Aires, more so in my opinion than in the United States. For porteños, they must live in an elegant Recoleta (or maybe Palermo because it’s quite trendy nowadays) apartment, maintain a maid and furnish their home with European antiques. Probably, they have a weekend estancia in Olivos or Pilar. My homestay madre is part of this class and the strangest part about it is that they don’t see themselves as upper class. It’s the norm to them to have a weekend home because all their friends do. My homestay brother thought it was strange when my roommate and I told him that neither of us has one. They don’t act snobbishly, but the separation of wealth in Argentina has left the upper class kind of clueless.

The wealthy ex-patriots are another story. The ones I’ve met are young and live in Argentina because their jobs are online and can be done from anywhere, computer programming, finance, etc., and they can live a higher standard of living here while still getting paid in their native currency. All of them live in Palermo and run in the same circles, going to the same trendy bars and having gentrified asados together on Saturdays. Though they live in Argentina, it’s not an Argentine existence.

Swann captured their lack of involvement with Argentine culture well with a scene about a group of ex-patriot women who meet weekly to discuss their problems and initiatives. They chose to ban Argentines from their get-togethers because they didn’t want to make them feel uncomfortable. In other words, they aren’t trying to integrate. I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve experience pangs of this unfriendly sentiment. Even after 6 months here, I have very few Argentine friends. Not for lacking of meeting them, I’ve met many, but I haven’t felt a connection to many. I’m further ashamed to say that the Argentines I feel closest to are from the upper class previously discussed. This is not to say that I’m the face of refinement, but the upper class Argentines have been more relatable from a Western perspective. Swann definitely captured this class hierarchy in her novel.
 
The picture is of my fancy homestay Recoleta living room. Note the antique furniture and ample windows displaying the European style building across the street and park at the corner.

I love brunch. This is among the essential facts about my character and my favorite weekend hobby. When I came to Buenos Aires, I was worried about the brunch situation when I learned that medialunas (smaller, sweeter croissants) or white bread toast and café are typical breakfast fare. Thankfully, with a little research and dedication to the cause, I can defiantly say that Buenos Aires has great brunch if you know where to go.
 
Buenos Aires has a definite trend towards shabby chic cafes. The traditional Argentine cafes have a very austere, classic style so it is easy to spot the hip places. The cafes I like usually are decorated in pastel colors with mismatched chairs and tables. The music playing is usually American indie rock.
 
Egg dishes are integral to the fare of a typical brunch spot. As I’m gluten intolerant and cannot enjoy French toast or pancakes, they are really all that I have to look forward to. Poached eggs are the most difficult type of egg to prepare and if the yolk is hardened, you might as well just not bother. I’ve unfortunately had some over-cooked poached eggs since coming to Buenos Aires, but it’s happened to me in the United States as well. Overall, Buenos Aires does a good job with their brunch and here are my favorite spots:
 
Oui Oui – Right in the heart of Palermo Hollywood, this eclectic café is worth the perpetual wait. Their signature basil lemonade will quench your thirst and their desserts are lovely. If you opt for their mousse amargo (bitter mousse), they bring it out in a giant bowl and ladle an ample serving onto your plate.
 
Malvon- Another shabby cheap spot in the emerging Villa Crespo, this café will serve you enough brunch to keep you full all day. For $80 pesos (about $18 USD), you receive a main dish, side dish, granola parfait, cornbread and lemonade of the day. The sides include gluten free pancakes so they instantly won my heart over, but for those gluten enthusiasts, they also have bagels with all the fixings, including lox (the picture is from a blog's review). 
 
Home Hotel- I found this chic hotel by e-mailing a local food blogger about the best bloody mary spot in town. In addition to a great, spicy drink, Home Hotel boasts thai chicken salads and huevos rancheros alike. Furthermore, the environment is contemporary and chic. I went here on my 21st birthday and it was a great place to celebrate.
 
Perhaps brunch isn’t the most authentically “Argentine” meal, but these “good, great places” keep me sane among the Parillas and empanada takeout cafes.

This week I finally did the Graffitimundo street art tour of Buenos Aires – a three-hour walking tour that highlights and explains the evolution and existence of the ample street art that enhances the walls and buildings of this city. The street art movement in Buenos Aires began in the 1990s when Argentines went to Europe and the United States and saw the art there. Laws in Argentina permit people to paint their buildings how they please so oftentimes, artists get permission from building owners and are able to paint during the day. Spray paint is imported and, therefore, expensive so young artists rely on their parents funding. Because of this, street art is treated in a more accepted, respected light from outside their community than in other countries. Additionally some artists use creative materials for their pieces such as regular house paint, dirt and petrol.
 
The variety of themes was extensive, ranging from goofy images such as a Bart Simpson smoking weed to political. There was a house painted with the same three phrases repeated in various fonts using the colors of the Argentine flag in support of their president, Cristina Kirchner. The artists have tags, which are their signatures or symbol to indicate that the work is theirs. Some have themes and images that they use continuously. One artists paints men in Mexican tiger costumes fighting in shades of blue and another does large bears in muted tones with strong, visible brush strokes. Stencils are also a popular form.
 
The tour guide, a native Porteña, was clearly friends with the artists and shared their process for each piece and anecdotes. By the end of the tour, I had a clear sense of the graffiti community. It seems relatively small and tight-knit. There are rebels within it, but for the most-part, the artists know and respect each others’ work. They’ll even occasionally add onto their friends pieces as a sign of approval.
 
Street art is a great medium to represent Buenos Aires because it’s wacky and constantly evolving. I’ve been to fine arts museums here; I’m in a class where we go weekly to see classic pieces of the Argentine art oeuvre. Buenos Aires, to me, isn’t a still life or a war scheme captured in oil. It’s silly and unexpected and sometimes doesn’t make sense or the references are dated, but at the end of the day, it’s fun. I hope the United States evolves to a place where we can appreciate street art more as a serious art form and therefore it would be more abundant. It adds a great deal of spice to the urban landscape. 

I took this picture of a wall in San Telmo.

Goffman’s theory of the front and back regions in society and MacCannell’s elaboration and further specification of this were so fascinating and spot on to the authenticity of life and particularly travel experiences. Living in a homestay has given me such an interesting “back” view of Argentine daily life and customs. When living with someone for four months, the barriers come down. My homestay madres (I’ve had three now) have no opportunity for mystification when they first get up in the morning and we’re shuffling around each other in the kitchen, looking for maté; that’s their real lives and I have the unique opportunity to be a part of it. Different stages, however, exist within the homestay. Dinner each night is probably as frontal as homestay living gets – our madre chooses the menu, the time is set; it’s pretty staged.
 
There’s a definite shift in people’s behavior the moment they notice that I’m from the US and indeed not Argentine. It always happens the moment I speak; no matter how good my Spanish gets, the US accent gives me away. I can tell that people immediately put on barriers and become more formal. I oftentimes feel judged for all the horrible Americans they’ve had to encounter overemphasizing their broken Spanish loudly while they’re just trying to have a café con leche and medialunas or speaking down to them like a cleaning lady. It’s hard representing oneself when there is so much baggage that comes along – United States, Florida, female, Jewish. I feel tired just listing it.
 
I disagree with their notion that a sightseer is trying to have an authentic experience, but a tourist wants a caricature of the society. When I’m living in New York, I never go see the Statue of Liberty, heck, I only visit museums when I have very little homework. Alternately, having lived in Argentina, I know the citizens don’t go to Teatro Colon or the Recoleta graveyard just to stroll and rekindle their memories. The landmarks of one’s culture are not places where people spend time. They are, however, important backdrops to the city that create theje no se pa (I’m sorry French speakers) of each place. Though landmarks become trite and touristy, they helped to build the city into what it is. The Recoleta cemetery is a mark of the outrageous wealth of Argentina in the 19th century and the importance of family within their culture. The cheesy milongas come from a fascinating history of the mixing of immigration slang through the Lunfardo dialect and people who didn’t speak the same language communicating through dance. Cities needed these at one point to build the culture and now they are fossils to teach those who don’t understand. 

The image is from the Boca neighborhood, once authentic, now a rather touristy place to visit.

“The Ministry of Special Cases” by Nathan Englander was a historical fiction novel about a Jewish family whose son was taken by the government during the Dirty War in the 1970s. The Jewish community shuns the Poznans because Kaddish, the father, was an hijo de puta and he vandalizes graves professionally to erase the pasts of other people’s shameful heritages. 
 
The book painted a really sad picture of Buenos Aires in its bleakest hour when the government was corrupt and detached from its citizens. Though technically the government here has been a democracy since the end of the war in 1983, the political culture of the citizenry here still projects the aura of depression from being under a military dictatorship. Last fall was their presidential election and people’s responses when asked about their support for the political parties, the overriding apathy and mistrust for politicians was the overwhelming reaction. Argentines see all politicians as the same distrustful people just with different names and faces.
 
It was really interesting to see how the people in the book felt towards the government during this truly awful time because they were jaded and wary already. The Poznans became divided after their son had been missing for some time, Lillian, the wife, trying to work within the government institutions to retrieve him and Kaddish giving up hope and feeling truly that he was dead. Though the end left the reader with an ambiguous answer, I felt the tone went from playful at the start to bleak by the end and I believe the son to be dead.
 
I’ve read a fair amount of Jewish historical fiction, my favorites being “Everything is Illuminated” by Jonathan Safran Foer and “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay” by Michael Chabon. Both of these books were about World War II, either tracing a family’s ancestries or their experiences during. I find this niche-genre interesting because there are definitely enough books written with Judaism intrinsic to the tone that it constitutes a sub-genre but I think people often don’t associate these books together. To read a piece of Jew-lit here did not really give me a deeper understanding to my Judaism in relation to my time here in Buenos Aires because the Poznans were outsiders from the Jewish community.
 
The description of the Recoleta cemetery was the part of the book I was able to associate strongest with my experience in Buenos Aires because I’ve been there a few times and it is a truly memorable place. Kaddish goes in to vandalize one of the mausoleums. The description of the cemetery having been there really enhanced the scene for me (the picture I included is an aerial view of the cemetery, a city within a city of sorts). The book also brought out my dislike for the bureaucracy of government agencies within Buenos Aires, which isn’t necessarily a feeling I like to remember. I did draw a deeper understanding of what everyday life was like during the Dirty War. 

My new routine has barely been established as of yet, we’ve had only four days of classes thus far and already two vacation days for Carnival. Coming back to Buenos Aires, I finally feel very established with my way around the city; I know the places to go, but more importantly, the places to avoid. Despite this, I am still learning the intricacies. Just today, I got incredibly lost on the bus, forgetting that there are two routes the 39 bus can take (which would beg the question, with over 740 bus lines, why not make it into two?).
 
I live in a different homestay than last semester with an older woman named Mavi who epitomizes the aging Porteña. Physically, she’s thin, incredibly tan and dresses like the 1990s. Her personality is judgmental and she loves to scold and pry into my business. I have a suspicion that my bedroom is a converted maid’s quarters because it’s behind the kitchen and has no window. It’s stifling in the summer and I’ve been sleeping with my fan propped on a chair facing directly at my naked, uncovered body. Needless to say, it’s been a rough adjustment from my previous homestay where I had a ceiling fan, balcony and friend in my “madre,” but I’m learning to cope.
 
The gym here is among my favorite people-watching locations and I can say with confidence that porteños’ way of exercise is far different than in the US. Today, despite every cardio machine being occupied, I was the only one breaking a hard sweat. Most treadmills were taken with people lightly strolling, some of the hardcore people at a light incline. Women and men have clearly come to scope each other out, taking careful consideration in matching their scrunchies to their sports bras or not doing too many reps consecutively and risk breaking a sweat. The thin, attractive population of Argentines mystifies me because their exercise regime is quite leisurely.
 
The diet here is far more basic and less varied than in the United States; it consists mainly of different combinations and preparations of bread, meat and cheese. Discovering that I’m a celiac over break, my diet here has changed drastically because all of the quick and common foods have wheat, for example – empanadas, sandwiches, tarts. Needless to say, the meat culture here is incredible and divine steaks can be found for $40 pesos (about $9 USD). Let me clear some misnomers about Argentine cuisine: no it is not spicy, Argentines are quite sensitive to spicy food though they use a lot of salt; no it is not the same Mexican food, I wish sometimes it were though.
 
My favorite part of life in Buenos Aires remains the leisurely lifestyle, the hours spent idling in cafes without waiters bothering you to order more or leave or just sitting in the park chatting into nightfall.
 
The picture is one I took at a neighborhood parilla where we got a steak, chicken, fries and soda for about $10 USD per person. 

 The body language of Argentina enlivens the city in every capacity. I’m not sure if it’s a cause or effect for me; whether my shortcomings of the language lead me to gesture emphatically to make my message more clear or whether it shows my mastery of the culture that every point is driven home with a dramatic hand motion. Each facet of Porteño life comes with distinct and uniquely vibrant body language.
 
Walking down the streets here is loud and close and goes beyond the invisible boundaries that we in the United States keep so dearly. Here in Argentina, staring is not considered rude. Indeed on the collectivos (buses), streets, restaurants, people will gaze directly and unabashedly. At first, I found this uncomfortable and I would avert my eyes, but I’ve learned to stare directly back at people, even giving them a good ole’ New York up-and-down. Two can play at that game. A friend taught me last semester that you’re much less likely to get robbed if you look people directly in the eyes because you could identify their eye color in the event that you were mugged. Though the cat-calling here is creepy, funny and awkward, it’s even funnier when men hit on you through gestures. My favorites being when a man swept the ground a few feet in front of me with their hands or applaud you from cars.
 
The maté culture has its own set of unspoked etiquette. Maté is the bitter and highly-caffeinated tea they drink here out of gourds and metal straws. Argentines drink maté like it’s their job if only they had good work ethic. There’s always the owner/ keeper of the maté who it gets passed to each time the gourd is drained and they are in charge of refilling it with hot water. It’s uncustomary to thank the owner for the refilled gourd because it causes a break in the conversation. The maté gets passed around in groups, usually in a circular fashion. It’s discourteous to hold onto the maté for too long or to skip people in the group. All of this happens in an unspoken dance of passing and sipping, without causing a break in the conversation, study session, etc.
 
Mealtimes have subtle but definite differences in body language. When I moved into my new homestay, Mavi, my madre, was appalled when I came to dinner the first night barefoot. When I told my friends about this, my Chilean friend didn’t skip a beat before telling me how uncustomary it is to dine barefoot. At mealtimes, Argentines will usually have a bread or cracker to scoop whatever they’re eating. Pasta, salad, mashed potatoes, it doesn’t make a difference, they seem to like having a carb vessel for their food. Being a celiac, I feel the need to explain myself whenever I don’t want to scoop rice onto a cracker. Mealtimes last hours, in the words of my father, they don’t just eat, they dine. I love the lack of urgency at meals, people aren’t checking they’re phones, they engage in conversation as if they don’t have better things to do. I feel the more time I spend here, the more porteña my actions become. 

The picture is of a maté-to-go. 

Being an orientation leader this week has been such an interesting vantage point, particularly in contrast to where I was six months ago when I first came to Buenos Aires. The idea that spending four months here and having completed Advanced Grammar and Composition makes me an expert in the city is preposterous. It was interesting, however, to see how much I have really acclimated to the city through my knowledge of the basic city life. Things that have become second nature to me – watching for the uneven and broken sidewalks and fact that many ATMs are just out of money sometimes – are still shockingly inconvenient to the new students. This can’t be held against them, my ease is a natural result of living here already.
 
I know it would seem as an orientation leader that I know the city incredibly well, but Buenos Aires is a fickle mistress. The streets are obscured with construction scalloping and hoards of people and for much of the week, my mind was foggy from heat and fatigue. I alternate between feeling like I know everything about the city and incredibly confused and answerless. When I fail to know where something is or how to do something, I feel inadequate to the new students. Example: Q- Where do I exchange traveler’s checks. A- I’ve never used them here. Q- Where do I go to get a Brazilian visa? A- Not sure, I’ve never been to Brazil. I think some people don’t fully understand that I’m a fellow student. On the other hand, it’s been incredibly funny to hear some questions of people who clearly did little to no research about Buenos Aires. Example: (While looking at a map of Buenos Aires) Q- Where’s the ocean? A- On the coast of Argentina. At moments like this, I remember that I once was a confused and tired student sitting where they are, albeit I had looked at a map before I left.
 
Watching the discovery process of the new students makes me so happy to be where I am. It took me about two months in BsAs before I felt fully comfortable and at ease. It is an arduous and oftentimes frustrating process getting to know a new city, but it has to be done. I remind myself constantly that it took time when I moved to New York to learn the best routes, restaurants, etc. and I had been there about ten times before coming to NYU. It’s so funny for me to orient the new students to the city because my process of learning BsAs comes back to me in fond and distinct ways. I look forward to seeing how they take to the city, but more importantly, how I will expand the boundaries of the areas I know in the upcoming semester.

The picture is from a scavenger hunt we do to learn the area where we live. It means "Look for him." I thought it was fitting since we spend so much time searching when we're new to places.

To me, the processes of journey and travel are not synonymous, though they do sometimes intersect. A journey is not always a physical progression. It absolutely can be, however, and a journey can oftentimes emerge during travel or be the impetus for travel. I love the quote “journeys are the midwives of thought.” I think it’s spot on because journeys facilitate thought through bring you out of your comfort zone.
           
I waited to write this post until I was traveling back to Buenos Aires. I’ve been home in Florida for the past seven weeks, feeling incredible static and as if my yearlong journey in Buenos Aires was on a temporary hiatus. My foremost feeling about going back was excitement, until today, the day of my departure, when it turned to nerves.
 
I’ve always loved the saying “fear is ungrounded excitement” and I believe that to be absolutely true. When viewing my situation objectively: I’ve already spent a semester in Buenos Aires, know the area and the professors I’ll be having, etc., I am entering a far more secure situation than last semester. However, I think all the time at home and complacency has caused me to regress as if this is my first semester in BsAs.
 
I love the process of travel, particularly on airplanes, because it allows you to truly relax. On an airplane, you can spend six hours watching mindless television and there’s truly nothing better you could have been doing. I personally fear for the day when airplanes WIFI internet because then I’ll be forced into productivity. It’s a time of suspended animation. Not to be morbid, but if something wretched were to happen in the world during a flight, you would be spared from the reality for a few extra hours.
 
The can relate heavily to Baudelaire’s feelings towards living in the same cramped city his entire life. I’ve read his writings on Paris, how stressful and corrosive it seemed to be for him. I draw similarities to how it is when I spend too much time in New York City, I find myself drained and exhausted from the constant struggle of exertion the city demands. In Buenos Aires, I’ve had the opportunity to strike a balance of stimulation and relaxation within a big city. I hope to further practice this in the upcoming semester and bring this inner calmness back to New York when I return in the fall. The two cultures are so dramatically different however. To me, the processes of journey and travel are not synonymous, though they do sometimes intersect. A journey is not always a physical progression. It absolutely can be, however, and a journey can oftentimes emerge during travel or be the impetus for travel. I love the quote “journeys are the midwives of thought.” I think it’s spot on because journeys facilitate thought through bring you out of your comfort zone.

The photo I've uncluded was taken on the Buquebus back from Uruguay last November. it proves that their's beauty not only in the destinations, but in the in-betweeness of travel as well. 
           

 
I’m hotly anticipating my return to Buenos Aires. As a Global Liberal Studies major, we spend two semesters abroad in the same site. Therefore, my approach and perspective coming into my second semester is completely different than when I first arrived in August with mediocre Spanish and an embarrassingly low knowledge of the city for someone who’d visited before. My family traveled to Buenos Aires when I was fourteen and I fell in love with the city and vowed to return in college for study abroad.
 
Many find it strange to spend two semesters abroad in college, at the same site furthermore, but I very happy with my decision to do so. Even after spending four months there, I feel as if I’ve only skimmed the surface of the rich, mysterious and vibrant city that is Buenos Aires. Like NYC, it’s incredibly easy to stay within the nearby neighborhoods, Recoleta and Palermo. Now I’m familiar with the city and finally have the collectivo (bus system) figured out, I hope to expand my horizons into the more colorful areas such as San Telmo and La Boca. Beyond Buenos Aires, I still have many places I want to travel including Iguazu Falls, Mendoza, Rio de Janeiro and return to Punta del Este and possible Chile.
 
I’m allowed great flexibility with my classes this semester. Since I am now “proficient” by NYU standards through the completion of Advanced Grammar and Composition, I am taking three electives in Spanish. I expect my schedule to change once I attend classes during our shopping week. Since coming home, people are eager to know if I’m fluent. I think that’s a difficult concept to determine. In short, I know all the tenses and have an extensive vocabulary. However, I feel that I can’t genuinely express my emotions in Spanish and that I don’t always say things in the best way they can be articulated. I feel that taking electives in Spanish will help to improve this. Learning whilst abroad isn't all in the classroom. I'm making a firm committment to learn to draw and improve my tango (the picture is one attempt from last semester). 
 
The most resounding difference between Buenos Aires and New York City is how people use their time. In NYC, we’re always rushing around and micromanaging every second. In Buenos Aires, punctuality means nothing. At first, this bothered my type A nature intensely, but I’ve come to embrace the fluidity of the day and the four-hour dinners. Even back in the United States for break, I’ve been much more patient and casual with tardiness and changes in plans. I think a balance can be struck and I’ll perfect it only over time and appreciation of both cultures.