Battles

I had hoped to begin this blog entry with something along the lines of, “How wonderfully refreshing the early evening siesta!” Alas, I did not fall asleep this particular early evening with the same ease as has become characteristic of my before-dinner naps. Perhaps it is because I am on the verge of getting sick—a running nose and constant need to clear myself of the gallons of water I drank today could have kept me from fully relaxing and falling into a dream state. Or perhaps more light than usual from the setting sun found its way between the cracks of the wooden shutters covering my bedroom window—although I doubt the sun light is deserving of such blame, considering the pale blinking of the light on the bottom right-hand side of my computer, usually unnoticeable, taunted me this evening into an awakened state from a completely darkened corner of the room. I think rather I had trouble falling asleep because my thoughts are a jumbled mess and, despite my almost-daily handwritten journal entries, I have not found an opportunity to really sit by myself and collect my thoughts about my trials and tribulations navigating a foreign culture thus far. Or perhaps it was because I normally read before going to sleep (always does the trick), but this time decided to read a book written in Spanish before sleeping (Turns out my newly purchased “Choose Your Own Adventure #32: Problems on Planet Earth” appropriate for kids aged 8-12 was NOT as easy/relaxing of a bedtime read as anticipated!). Regardless, I think it is time for a little self-reflection re-evaluation of goals, now that I am nearing the two-week mark of my journey in Argentina.

Beginning with the beginning. While on the ten-hour flight from Washington, D.C. to Buenos Aires, the realization that I was at last departing for a journey I have been anticipating since mid-high school finally began to set in. Although I had enough Sudoku puzzles and great literary works to keep me busy for a ten month flight, I did not feel the urge to entertain myself with such mediums while in the airport terminal or sitting on the plane, opting instead to entertain myself by gleaning whatever pieces of conversation and culture possible from the people around me who represented the culture in which I would soon after find myself immersed. The beautiful single mother with her two adorable, curly-haired children—the five-year-old big brother running circles around his younger sister who had seemingly just learned the miracle of traveling without hands on the ground. The man in the Madanero jersey—what would be a mere glimpse into what constitutes a major passion of this futbol-crazed nation. The two young teenage boys adorned with shaggy hair and headbands, with guitars sported across their laps, fingering the chords to what I like to assume was some popular Argentine song. The middle-aged man who sat next to me on the plane, sharing with me far more information about Argetine dialect, excursions to experience, etc., than what my brain was ready to digest. (Regrettably, and despite my desire to commence a conversation with the man in Spanish, English was the main player in our dialogue. The potential for embarrassment in regards to incorrect grammar usage is a more powerful force outside the safety-zone of an intermediate Spanish classroom than I had realized.) I was giddy the entire flight, and although enjoying the journey, was eager to arrive at my destination. I knew I would need sleep on this red-eye flight if I wanted any hope at all of having a pleasant day after landing, but as seems to be the common theme, the sleep I so badly needed at that point just wasn’t happening. Suddenly, I had not practiced enough Spanish, or read enough tour books, or saved enough money prior to departure. Panic mode.

Battles.

They say it is a wise idea to read up about whatever country you are going to visit prior to leaving, which I did. But they also tell you not to go in with expectations. I somehow managed to convince myself that I had indeed not formed any expectations, positive or negative, about Argentina. Was I a fool to believe picturesque tour books would not influence my pre-departure thoughts? I hope not to come across as negative or ungrateful in my writing about my experiences thus far in BsAs, but I’m allowed to express some disappointments, right?

1.) The city is way more hustle-bustle than I had imagined. Buses and taxis scream by below my bedroom window into the wee hours of the night. The pollution in the city seems to border on the unhealthy level of that in Los Angeles—I see the all-too-familiar delineation between brown and blue sky from the 11th floor of the University of Belgrano each day as I eat lunch. Everyone smokes, and my lungs scream for fresh air every time I find myself in the wake of a fuming cigarette, unable to escape its trail of smoke lest I bump into the street vendor on my left, or get hit by the oncoming car to my right, whose driver seems not to realize that pedestrians have families and futures.

2.) I have not had as much free time as I thought I would. I imagined studying abroad would be somewhat of a relaxing break from the go-go-go-go-faster pace of UCLA, but I have not found time to do the amounts of reading, writing, drawing I had hoped for. Much alike how when at school I cannot find the time for certain pleasures because the time they consume could be time spent studying, I have not found time for similar pleasures here because each takes precious time away from what could have been spent studying Spanish.

3.) I have not integrated myself into the local Argentine social circle to the extent I hoped (and still hope) to. I told myself I would not spend all my time with international students, but that has proven the case thus far. I try to justify it with “Oh, well we’re all speaking Spanish with one another” but in reality our Spanish all sucks and we probably just reiterate each other’s mistakes without the presence of a more knowledgeable person to correct us. I tell myself that I will make a more concerted effort to make “Argentine friends” when my Spanish becomes better, but I’m not so sure I will stick to this when in reality I will undoubtedly always feel inadequate because there will always be “room to improve.” I have hope for the future though. Paz (“Pachi”), Maria’s daughter who is about my age and lives in the apartment as well, although she is rarely here, has alluded to inviting me out places with her in the future. She is super busy as a full-time student with a full-time job and full-time boyfriend, but one night when she and her friend were chatting in the kitchen I came back from a night out with friends and received what I think was an invitation for accompanying them to bars, clubs, etc. once their final exams are done. Also, I think that working in the orphanage (which should begin in about 2 weeks), will offer me further cultural integration without the comfort and convenience of English-speaking friends on either hip.

4.) Speaking of English-speaking friends on either hip, I have not allowed enough “me-time.” I must remember that I made selfish goals for this trip, and it is okay to be selfish with how I spend my time. I am proud of myself for resisting the urge to go out clubbing every night during the first week, and have managed to not concern myself too much with the goings-on of other people. I had a mini-abyss the other night when I went out with two girlfriends to a bar in Recoleta that I didn’t know was popular among kids from the US. I mean, ESPN was illegally streaming from the TVs behind the bar, and there was a beer pong tournament going on upstairs. While I managed to plaster a smile onto my face while talking small-talk in English to some guy I couldn’t have cared less about, in reality I felt severe disappointment over feeling like I was back at Maloney’s or a frat party in Westwood. Not what I had signed up for! But then I became a little scared—I think I was utterly bored because I had different expectations for the night, but if this is the scene that is typical in the US, am I ever going to want to return? I am absolutely loving the challenge of overcoming the language barrier here…Spanish small-talk is OK because I am being challenged and learning, but will English small-talk forever more bore me? The night improved when we changed locations and met some (attractive) Argentine guys at another bar. Drank and talked with them into the wee hours of the night and hailed a taxi back home around 4am (considered an early time to end the night here). I have since vowed to myself not to return to the bar scene for a while, and definitely not the American bar scene, however tempting the second-floor nightly beer pong tournaments might become. We experienced the bars/clubs for a bit—cool, whatever. It’s expected. But I have decided (as have a handful of other friends, thankfully) to immerse myself more in the art and music scene while here. The same rules apply as in LA. Bars=Boring. I am truly happiest when around music and dance, I think. After my mini-epiphany, researched some music shows online (Website: “What’s up Buenos Aires?” similar to www.happenings.ucla.edu) and went to an AWESOME show last night with 3 friends in Palermo. Was a quintet called “Puente Celestial.” 5 guys—a guitarist, bass guitarist, pianist/accordianist (sp?), awesome percussionist (featured drums: dead palm tree drum and empty hamster cage?), and a clarinetist/flautist—all of whom could sing AND WHISTLE. Very cool venue as well—a hidden hole-in-the-wall type place…darkened, lit with candles-- seated about 100—some on couches and floor cushions, others around small tables. Drank vino tinto and had pancakes w/ dulce de leche for dessert. Que increible esta noche. The girls I went with all had the same thoughts as me.

Time for bed. Enough reflection for a night. Besides, I think I will sleep better if I just put away the children’s adventure books before sleeping.