The End

Just like a happy Disney movie, my dream in Argentina has ended.

There are more dreams and new dreams to look for.

Because of these 6 months, I have grown in ways I will not realize until much later, I am sure.

Writing the most unnecessary detail down may in fact prove to be the most critical detail when I read this later on.

For all those that have read, thank you for reading.

May you all find yourself with the opportunity to start your own blog, on your own adventure, wherever you may go.


Best wishes,
Angela

This City of Mine

Buenos Aires doesn't really have a recycling program, so everything you use and need to toss goes to the landfill unless someone fishes it out as their treasure.

I can't stand to throw away as much paper and plastic as I would have been required to with all my notes and water bottles used over the 6 months I lived here. Luckily, I found a series of three recycling receptacles! They are in various spots throughout the city, and every time I spot some (glass, plastic, paper: green, blue, yellow) I always say to myself, "Great! I can bring my stuff here!" The problem is I never wrote down where any of the places were. 

What happened was I went off memory. I knew there were some in Puerto Madero, near 9 de julio and the Recoleta Cemetery, but where exactly I did not know. I told myself, forget it, I'll just go to the one in Recoleta, walk around until I find it. It will be fine. 

Well all chocha and confident in myself, I snagged the 59 to ride until I knew where to get off. The problem is, I second-guessed myself where I should have gotten off and literally got off a mile and a half away from the cemetery. 

I walked up one street like "Yeah! I know where I'm going and I don't need my guia-T (map book of the city)!" Wrong. I ended up on Av. Libertador that is two blocks from my house. I was like... WHAT?!?!

So I turned around, and found myself on Scalabrini Ortiz... which is NOT NEAR RECOLETA if you are walking with two bags of recyclables. Whatever. I kept walking, I knew what direction to go in, but at this point I should have questioned that too. 

I trekked back down to Gral. Las Heras, where the 59 runs, so I wouldn't get lost in side streets and such. Thought I should go up again, (back north towards the river), and found myself again on Libertador near the MALBA art museum, the Plaza de Los Naciones Unidos with a giant metal flower:

Sort of near Recoleta, but if you are reminding yourself how close you thought you were when you originally got off the damn bus, you would say, NOT NEAR RECOLETA.

Luckily for me, near Plaza de Chile there were the three bins for me! So I left my things in each bin with no remorse. With a lightened step, I wanted to see exactly where the cemetery was... and found myself walking for 10-15 more minutes. Laughing at myself for thinking I really knew the city after 6 months, I dragged my tired feet back to Gral. Las Heras to catch the 59 back home: I knew where home was. 

I found myself taking Av. Puerreydon down to Gral. Las Heras: when I came out to the intersection I had no idea that THAT PRECISE street that I've always passed perpendicularly brought me to Av. Libertador. Nor did I ever realize it was Puerreydon. Until yesterday.

Today I go out again.

With my guia-T.

Angela

Pack Up Wrap Up

Well, this is it! It is July 18th, 7:17 PM and I am completed with my work here. I took my philosophy exam this morning which turned into the afternoon with all the nerves in the world.

With a bit of Gringa luck, I finished well in virtually everything, though I'll admit I am still salty about physiology. As the Argentines say here though, ya esta; ya fue. Meaning, it's over; it's done.

I am beginning my packing so I'm not overwhelmed like I was coming here. Luckily I have a finite number of MY THINGS here; unfortunately they have increased steadily from all the shopping. I will make it fit, better than Anastasia and Drizella did.

So, nothing to do now but look ahead to the summer and back on this trip with a smile. Both directions, always and forever.

Angela

MAFALDA

If you have been reading, or haven't and happen to recall Mafalda (pseudonym) from one of my previous entries (the girl with the whacky bright blue make-up, straightened-dyed-blonde hair, and weird dress for the day on the bus that helped me get to my tango lesson? Yeah her) I SAW HER TODAY.

I was walking to church, San Benito, and she crossed the street one way as I crossed the opposite direction. This time she had on stylish white pants (don't know what the protocol for those are in the winter here...), a pink tweet blazer and high heels. Looked sharp, but I knew it was her from the CRAZY BABY BLUE EYE SHADOW SHE STILL WORE.

Seriously, I was dumbfounded. She did tell me she lived in Palermo, but that's huge. To have come across her again was something I never thought I would do.

Millions of people and I found one again... That is all.

Angela

Oh, Don't You Know...

(If you read the title in a British-Colombian Canadian accent, you read my mind and read correctly)

...Don't you know how final exams work?

Because you should.

If you don't, now you will.

I went out last night for a glass of wine with some friends (they are Argentine). I started to tell them about my first final exam that I took that morning: cumulative, human physiology; 3 familiar professors, 1 I did not know, all sitting across the 1 foot long desk, right in front of me ≈ interrogation session 4 vs. 1.

And guess who won?

They did.

Know why?

Because I apparently was ignorant of the fact that this oral exam (which I was aware it was) was more of a presentation of a theme I knew best (had I prepared for that) and a game to not let the professors get a word in edge-wise. This proves I know what I'm talking about, I dominated the subject, and I am prepared to move on.

My misconception/interpretation/perception was that it would be back to back drilling: what's this, what's that, explain this, connect that. And it was. Only because I let them talk. And they drilled me on everything I didn't know. (That's an exaggeration, but they asked me things we had never talked about and only if I memorized page 92423792387983784900399 paragraph 4837389 and graphs 1-83747 and all their numbers, would I be able to answer.) Because I let them talk. I studied. For a week. But I didn't prepare a discourse to defend and I didn't play the game.

I passed, but I feel like I lost. It was an unfair fight, but that's just because I was born and raised in the USA.

My friends explained the tactic to successfully knocking one of these down: study everything, prepare something well, and basically word vomit (but make it coherent). Don't let the professors talk and by God, don't ever be silent. They feed off your silence and pose questions to dig you further into silence. If you don't know something, ask for clarification for the question... aka what precisely are they looking for. In their answer, you might find a key to yours.

My glass of wine was generous; probably the equivalent of one and one-half glasses. To abate my ire, this was necessary.

Study hard, study well; play smart: play the game.

#LatinAmericanEducation #ForeignStudents #WeAreBabies #HELPusOUT #DAMNIT #sorryGPA #GoodbyeHarvard

Angela

Euphoria in Ecuador

To keep things short and sweet, just like my trip, I'll say I had the time of my life in Ecuador.

I was happy but plagued by the departure date.

What it made me learn is not to think about leaving so much, I'll stain the time I have.

Not to smile with the person I love while I'm frolicking all over Ecuador, hopping over to the Galapagos Islands and watching him play fútbol would be utmost depressing to me.

As short as the stay was, I saw Iguana Park in Guayaquil where there were iguanas for days; I swam with sharks, sea turtles, fish, a manta ray, a sting ray, pelicans and sea lions while snorkeling; I jumped off a 40-foot cliff into brackish water at Las Grietas after the expert of the jump showed me; I rode in the back of a taxi truck; I walked through the Charles Darwin Research Station and saw innumerable finches; I saw as the sun set on our last day the famous Blue-Footed Booby; I got sneezed on by a snotty sea lion; I laid down and lost time in Tortuga Bay's white sand; I walked up 444 stairs to the lighthouse in Guayaquil, and back down; and I spent the best week and a half of my year with Joseph Williams.

It pains me to lose that height of elation now, but I'll smile because it happened.

Some pictures...

Angela

George's Galapagos

Joey and I arrived via LAN airlines on the island of Baltra, Galapagos, Ecuador on Sunday, June 24, 2012 at 11:50 AM.

Lonesome George, the icon of the Galapagos and the last of his subspecies Chelonoidis nigra abingdoni, died at 8 AM. 


This was certainly a sad day, but it was beautiful for his memory.

I think he'll always be a part of the islands; the extinction of his subspecies will not be the extinction of his fame.

RIP Lonesome George

Now maybe you are not so lonesome.

Angela

LAN Princess

A short rave on LAN Airlines, owned by the President of Chile:

1. Comfortable seats (when you don't have to pee and are the window seat in a row of three)
2. Spacious (on some models when you're the emergency exit designated life-saver)
3. Safety cords (Joey and I didn't have to use them to save people and determine if exiting the plane would endanger the passengers or not by removing the 35-pound door)
4. Wine (though I drank none)
5. Good movies (The Artist)
6. Special meals (VEGETARIAN so I wouldn't have to deal with airplane chicken)
7. Breakfast (of real eggs and real fruit)
8. Tetris (with a controller)
9. Pretty stewardesses and handsome stewards (PanAm style)
10. Chips Ahoy and chifles (plantain chips) as a snack

10/10 LAN; Treating me like a princess.

Except you took me back to Bs.As. when I wasn't ready.

Angela

Medialuna Tap Out

I have officially done it. I have maxed myself out on medialunas.

This day, Nikki and I replayed our first real excursion in the city: a movie and Café de los Angelitos date on Avenida Rivadavia. We saw the documentary Parapolicia Negro, which was about the AAA, a terrorist group of commissioned persons organized to kill thousands of anti-government Argentines. Needless to say, the craze that we saw in the eyes of some of those interviewed, the fear portrayed, and the information revealed was so striking and it was most definitely an excellent film.

But what this entry is about are the medialunas I fell in love with the first time we went - as a class - to a movie and the café. I had three huge, sweet medialunas (which are basically croissants), and wanted three more.

Yesterday, I ordered three medialunas (smaller than those at Café de los Angelitos, but nevertheless large) at Calcio, which boasts to have the best in Buenos Aires. After, I felt so unwell and was alarmed at my lack of gluttony.

Today, I still was not in the mood for medialunas, but I was obligated to eat at least one because of the sweet memory. After one, I determined that yes, these were the best in Bs.As. (Café de los Angelitos > Calcio), but I also learned my resilience to eat 6 medialunas de manteca (butter) was gone; after one, I tapped out.

This was a sad day.

Angela

Getting Into God

It seems a lot of youth nowadays are describing themselves as atheist or nontheist - at least what I've noticed here.

I'll put the disclaimer out here first: this isn't about who's right and who's wrong.

Here comes Descarte's Third Meditation De Dios Que Existe (God that Exists)
In philosophy today, there was so much dissent over this meditation that irrefutably and academically proves the existence of a God.

Whatever your belief, Descartes says that this is a truth about life. Whatever your belief, you have SOME idea of a God-figure. Whether you believe that figure exists or not is irrelevant: when I say the word "god", some image or idea comes to mind.

That being said, the way Descartes describes the idea of "god" is the most perfect being. And by agreeing that existence is better than nonexistence, we conclude that existence is more perfect. Thus, any perfect being could not be lacking in the smallest characteristic, much less existence. Therefore, God, god, whatever you want, exists.

My point in this entry is not to remind you of Descarte's third meditation, or to teach you about it, but rather the BOLUDEZ that was in the classroom. What really gets me irritated is the inability for people to have an open mind; better said, when people speak before they hear.

I only wish I could have recorded the mess in the classroom: everyone talking, voices raising, dissent, disagreement, refute ALL AT ONCE. GOD EXISTS; NO HE DOESN'T; WHERE'S THE MATERIAL PROOF BLAH BLAH BLAH.

I almost walked out early. If people would just understand that this is philosophy; someone's own personal opinions after days on days on days of reflection then there would be no disorder! Everyone shouting out without listening or probably even without having read the text is outrageous.

I stayed the whole time, and I heard one girl say, "Guys come on, this is philosophy, just take it in. If you don't agree that's fine but this is what's been around for hundreds of years." It's as if God heard my cry. Well, not really my cry, but my immaterial plea to some perfect being in existence somewhere outside the body and I know this information directly; oh look, the immaterial moved the material again.

Unfortunately, that girl was refuted by another.

Then I really lost it.

There's my rant, probably aggravated by the end of the semester exhaustion.. and something else.

Sorry... (but I'm not).

These are MY thoughts.

Angela

Failing Myself

We are getting our grades back for the partial exams (midterms) we took in May now, today I received the last grade: Philosophy. On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 an A+; 9 an A etc etc, I got a 4. You must earn a 4 to "pass" and proceed to the final. If not, you take the recuperatorio, which is basically the midterm redo, and try to pass that to get to the final. If you fail that second time, you have to recourse completely the class. I thought I did better than the equivalent of a C+, but I guess not.

The good thing is that when I went up to the professor at the end of the class to have the corrections clarified and ask a few questions myself, he told me he had no idea the exam was mine - as in my grammar and my writing was not differentiable to any native student: confidence boost. That boost is probably what made me more than anything have the guts to ask him if I actually earned a 4, because one of the three questions I answered was SO WRONG... only because I copied down the question wrong. No explanation needed, it was my fault. So I understand. He said yes, it really was a four - my main reason for asking was that I didn't want my gringa status to push me over to pass if I really didn't (which to me it didn't seem I should have...). I asked him if I should take the redo test, and he said it was up to me to do so, because officially I had passed. Something in me told me I should actually prove myself instead of squeak by, because I can; so I told him I would come in next Monday to retake the test.

I have a 10 minute, no shorter, oral presentation on any theme I want, and I must do it well in order to pass.

He scratched out the 4, and put a "D", for "desaprobado" (not approved). So I failed myself...

with the shining opportunity to prove myself on Monday.

I will choose the question I wrote completely incorrectly on the exam, to show that I do know what I'm talking about and that I can do better than "pass".

Con suerte,
Angela

I Love My

Country.

USA! USA! USA!

Angela

Alazán

My favorite phrase is easily contains the word enojar(se) which means, to become mad. It is used almost daily because of Alazán, our dog. He usually becomes angry when someone makes his bed (aka fixes his blanket) - he has to scratch the blanket, sniff it, and has this whole fit, that usually results in tears streaming from my eyes and him sitting angelically (really) on his newly destendida cama (untended bed). Here is a video of his fit.

This dog is the owner of the house, and we always say he is the best looking dog in the house. While this is right, as he is the only dog in the house, he is the Miss Priss too. Naturally we must feet him and walk him and pet him, for if not, he becomes enojado, at which point he makes us "angry" and then we always break out the phrase that "Estoy enojada con Alazán" or "Alazán está enojado", for one reason or another.

We're not really mad at him, and he isn't really mad at us. Even if he were, Eduardo informed me today that dogs too get get Alzheimer's, and that Alazán probably doesn't remember why he is mad. After all, when he's done messing up his bed and puts on the "holy curtain", he looks as though he has no idea what he just did...

so he sits down and sleeps. Again.

 More or less the Holy Curtain

And I had no idea this guy had enough in him to JUMP up to my bed, but he did! He had a bath on Saturday and this happened on Sunday, so I didn't mind... until he farted. Then he was out. And now he is banned.

Angela

Disruptive Ruckus

Cacerolazo is a word in spanish that means "banging on pots and pans in a sign of political protest" and is also something that is occurring quite frequently these last few days. Thursday night was the first night I noticed it- the protest was particularly pungent in the barrios of Palermo, Belgrano and Barrio Norte: there was a good amount of commotion outside and cars honking incessantly, but I didn't really pay much attention to it. It was mainly muffled by the cement walls of our apartment building; I guess the government has the same kind of filter, just in their heads.

What the people are protesting is the corruption in the government and the fact that they cannot buy United States dollars. It is virtually impossible to obtain US currency in this country. You can get it on the black market - por about 7$ pesos per dollar. Official exchange rate has the conversion at about 4,50$ pesos per dollar, but you can't get it at that. (Basically that conversion only means something when I change my electronic US money to Argentine pesos to go shop.) I couldn't get dollars out of the bank if I tried - even if I am a US citizen. The government so tightly regulates the flow of the dollar now that they require you to declare your purpose if you travel to the states and what I've heard is you have to even declare how much you bring back.

Needless to say, the Miami-vacationing Argentines are upset. Not only because they can't buy dollars for vacation, but because dollars are more steady (if I save 1000u$d and 1000$ pesos, at the end of the year I will have still 1000u$d but only 750$ pesos; a result of the outrageous inflation here that is truly around 25% instead of the 8% claimed by the government), medical operations not covered by social care are charged in dollars.

The peso used to be equal to the dollar, on a fixed scale. Now the peso can float and it's just floating on away. I wonder if they'll ever get to the point like in Germany when they got paid by the trillions daily because of so much inflation - people would wheelbarrow around their earnings because they couldn't handle all the bills. I find myself still guarding my 100$ peso bills with my life, but it's only about 20u$d now... Still I don't want to lose them, but it's NOT 100u$d.

Anyways, I was walking through Colegiales the other night to meet a friend for dinner when I was met with the cacerolazo as I disembarked the bus. I had my camera with me and thought I was so risky for pulling it out to record with disruption, but really I felt extremely safe in the neighborhood. No one threw their pots and pans from their apartment balconies of kitchen windows, so all is well.

On Thursday, there is a manifestation in Plaza de Mayo, right in front of the Pink House - where the president works. It's catching on through Twitter. What is really interesting, is when I was sitting with María at dinner one day and she said something that sums up to this: it's weird to see these manifestations, and it's a bit unsettling because about thirty years ago, the overthrow of a government was started by a protest not unlike this.

Angela

Welcome to the Jungle

Among the days of school and studying - preparation for midterms, to be exact - I decided to go to the jungle. It wasn't deliberate to go the weekend before my week of three partial exams, but that's just the way the cookie crumbled.

Originally I had thought not to go on the excursion to Misiones, Argentina so I would have time to study and prepare well for my partial exams, and then I thought better. If nothing else, I think an answer that "I decided to go see one of the Seven Wonders of the World, a 17th Century Jesuit Mission and a traditional Guaraní village in the Amazon Jungle" is a good enough reason for why I may get a 6 on an exam instead of an 8. Nevertheless, I'm chugging along and studying as hard as I can with what I am doing.

The weekend trip was fabulous. We had awesome weather every day, sunny and about 25 degrees - a nice change from Bs.As. We flew from Aeroparque Jorge Newberry to Iguazú International which looked like we were just going to land on the trees. 

Jorge Newbery

Lovely weather...

This is about 10 seconds before landing, and yes, that is the jungle.

Friday was our first day in Misiones. 

We got some lunch and then headed off out of town to the jungle where there was a little town of Guaraní peoples - the first inhabitants of the area. They showed us their way of life and how they used to catch animals in the jungle. At the end of our tour, the children's chorus sang for us. It was delightful although we felt like intruders with our distinctive First-World scent.

Here are the children singing:

From there we went to las Tres Fronteras where you can see Paraguay and Brazil from Argentina.

Saturday was our day at the Iguazú National Park. Iguazú is Guaraní for "Great Water" and was the waterfall's real name. When the Spanish arrived and "discovered" the Falls, they named them after Santa María, but later the name was changed back to its original Iguazú. 

I've tried to capture the immensity of the Falls and their incredible power... I'll let them speak for themselves.

 La Garganta del Diablo

The mist you see is not steam it's drops of water - we were soaked. 

The most famous drop's [attempted] capture:

Sunday we came upon the Jesuit Mission San Ignacio from the seventeenth century. It was a short and quick stop but a really good visit for the purposes of imagining the times back then.

Following the experience at the San Ignacio Mission, we went for a relaxing day at a tea plantation called La Chacra. There we indulged in an asado, the view, and a tour of a yerba mate processing plant.

 Iron and Aluminum-rich soil.

 yerba mate

 palitos that when added to the yerba mate make it have more of a suave taste

Our day finished here as the sun started to set and we packed up to head back to the apartment jungle.

And so the sun set on the jungle and Misiones and we went back to the good air of Buenos Aires, and a cold shower because our gas is out for 15-20 days.

Angela