Two-thirds to go!

Considering yesterday marked the 2-month (of 6) anniversary of my arrival in Argentina, it seems an appropriate time to reflect on my journey thus far. Uh-oh, sounds like the beginning of a long blog entry! I'll try and keep it concise. No promises.

A new development in my study abroad experience (where the majority of the studying takes place outside the formal classroom setting) has been my volunteer work at an orphanage (called "Cor," for "heart") in the town of San Isidro, about an hour train ride/subsequent 15 block walk outside of the capital. The commute is time-consuming, but the train proves an entertaining venue for people-watching, and I rather enjoy the solitary walk that follows. Plus, I get to listen to chirping birds! (San Isidro is much more tranquil than the capital. All wildlife has not yet fled.) I've been going twice a week, for about four hours each time, and have already developed an obsession with the children.

In some respects, I think the orphanage fills the void of acceptance and belonging I feel living so far outside my comfort zone. Daily life is an endless sequence of uphill battles when living in a land of foreign speech and customs. I prevail victorious in many of these battles, like when I successfully find throat lozenges at a drug store, or am served food at a restaurant that actually appears similar to what I believed I had ordered off the menu. But these small victories are not without struggle, and it is often difficult to abandon the mindset that you are in some way an inconvenience to someone, or stand out from the rest of the population, even if you speak perfect Spanish or make efforts to dress and walk in the same fashion as the locals. Nothing ever feels quite natural. It is so refreshing, therefore, to be welcomed into the orphanage each day by a mob of maniacal children twenty-deep and starved for individual love and attention. Their unconditional love is so reassuring, their patience so comforting. They have truly proven my most helpful teachers so far. Most importantly, they cover the units of study my Spanish textbook left out, like playing "house," "doctor" and "pet shop."

The kids have been a true test of patience, but I'll just say I'm getting a lot of quality practice with the "command" verbs. The other day I took a handful of kids to a park a few blocks from the home. One of the "mothers" at the orphanage asked me how many children I could handle on this mini field trip, and I foolishly responded "five or so." Everything was fine until a dead bird on the ground became more interesting than the soccer game we had been playing. It was all I could do to keep the kids from putting their hands in their mouths after they excitedly passed the bird around amongst themselves--they of course didn't pay an ounce of attention to my "Don't touch it!" command, and I'm not exactly sure how my attempt to translate the possibility that the bird might carry an infectious disease came out. Luckily, the oldest boy came up with the ingenious idea to give the bird a proper burial service, and once the dead bird was hidden in the shallow depths of the earth I could sigh a breath of relief. Until of course two of the kids found a particularly dangerous tree to climb, whilst one boy nursed a recently-bloodied knee, and one especially trouble-making and rather overweight girl threatened to march off in the direction of the home because I would not give her a piggy-back ride, while the fifth child was already on my back, her arms hugged around my neck in such a manner that effectively constricted my breathing such that whatever directions I was already trying to give in Spanish became even more jumbled and futile. But when the troops were at last assembled for the journey back home to Cor, and one girl named Augustina looked up at me with those beautiful and imploring big brown eyes and asked if they had all "behaved well" as their mothers had ordered, I of course responded in the affirmative. The "mothers" are very nice women, but I've seen how they maintain order and discipline and I think I would even be a little scared of my fate had I not behaved well at the park.

Anyway, I leave the orphanage each day with cheeks wet from the kisses of the children, and often a collection of love letters. My hair is also usually done up in a different style than when I arrived, and not without significant chunks of hair gone missing (I think the quantity of strands of hair on my head has been cut at least in half since I began working). The kids are absolutely preciosos, charming, adorable, wonderful. It is easy to forget that they have HIV and come from such troubling pasts; one would never know it without having been first told. Although Cor is truly a wonderful place for the children to live, frequented by a constant stream of kind volunteers, etc., I cannot help feeling saddened by the fact that these children do not have real adopted families to call their own. I was told that much of this is unfortunately founded in prejudices against the childrens' disease and backgrounds. I'm a long way away from having children of my own, and hadn't ever really considered the option of adopting, but would not at all be opposed to the idea of someday looking to an orphanage such as this as a possible option.

Cor is home to kids of all ages, from 3-14ish, and I cannot help but admire the patience of the older children as they help the mothers with preparing food and the younger ones with their homework. The pre-teens do not offer me the same unconditional love as the younger kids (I refer mainly to the girls, because the boys are hormonal and awkwardly flirtatious with me and soccer serves as our means of communication when language barriers prove to thick), but I hope to win their love with time. It is definitely more difficult than wooing the love of the pre-teens at Bruin Woods last summer, and that wasn't exactly the easiest task. I tried to break the ice with a girl named Nadia yesterday by commenting on her Quiksilver brand sweatshirt--I tried to tell her that it was a very popular brand in the US, especially among surfers, etc. in California. Part of me wonders if she was thinking, "Yeah, well it's probably from there originally, but came to me second-hand with this brown stain on the sleeve." Perhaps I will bring a magazine or something next time to share with her. I will make sure none of the pages are ripped. (With the little kids, all you have to do is tell them that Arnold Schwarzenegger is your boyfriend or that you are 200 years old and they automatically think you're the coolest person on the planet.)


Bueno, much more to come about the orphanage later. Could fill novels already and it has been barely three weeks.

In other news, went with Tara today to explore the neighborhood of San Telmo, and specifically Plaza San Martin. We took a self-guided tour of the "Museo de Armas" or "Weapons Museum." This held our interest for about 20 minutes. I mean in no way to discount the awesomeness of the museum--it was loaded (hehe) with an incredible amount of guns, knives, cannons, suits of armor, some samurai stuff, etc...but Tara and I both agreed that we just don't have enough knowledge/appreciation for that kind of stuff. I think the museum was designed more for the type with that y chromosome thing: the interior design and ambiance could have used a serious make-over, and the women's bathroom had no place to hang a purse or coat. Also, someone had left the toilet seat up.

The next tour we took was much more suited for us: it was of a really cool mansion built long ago for the rich family of General Paz (founder of a popular newspaper here still in circulation)...it was BEAUTIFUL. Gold plated walls, intricately carved wooden furniture, ornate chandeliers (also called "aranas" or SPIDERS in Spanish, due to their appearance...blegh!), etc. The tour was reminiscent of tours in California of both Hearst Castle and Winchester Mystery House. Apparently they rent out rooms for dances, weddings, etc.--depending on the quantity of people, timespan, etc. it's about 13,000 pesos for a night--aka $4,000 USD? Believe that's about how much it cost to rent out the Library Galeria downtown for Senior Ball? Not a bad option...I might get married there...the problem of course would be shipping family/friends down to South America from the US... A high point of the tour (which was conducted in Spanish by a sweet elderly lady) was the realization that I could understood almost everything being said! Such a world of difference in comparison to the last Spanish guided tour I had taken about a month ago. I had to clarify the translations for "plaster," "dome," and "wood of walnut tree," but other than that I got the main gist of everything being said! (Just don't ask me to give the tour myself...listening comprehension is quite different from speaking ability!)



Ok my eyes are going to burn up if I look at the computer any longer. Looking forward to a full day tomorrow out on an estancia (ranch) a couple hours out of town with the study abroad group!