Tango en las calles de la Boca

Tango en las calles de la Boca

30 March 2012

Sentenced 8 Years

With no chance of parol. Except if you come to Argentina.

And I'm talking about medical school, which sort of seems like prison - at least the brunt of it all -> UNDERGRAD YEARS. At least in medical school I'll have the hard-fought base of Gen Bio, Gen Chem etc etc etc etc the list goes on and on; I look at it constantly.

This entry was really going to be titled "On Education", but I figured to reel in a good catch... heh heh heh.

All joking aside, here it goes.

Education here is rather different than in the States. And when I say rather, I mean QUITE DEFINITELY different.

At home, I'm a biochem and spanish double major with probably a minor in leadership. Here, I'm an international student studying 5 careers right now (is what it looks like to them), and my end goal of becoming a doctor is not even started. To become a doctor in Argentina, you study medicine in the university (which comes after colegio which is simply high school). You have 6 years and then residency where you learn a specialty. In the US, we know it's 4 years undergrad, 4 years med, 3 years(ish) residency, some go on to specialize: a whopping 12-some years.

It is easy to understand because of my majors in the States (and attending a liberal arts school) there are requirements outside the realm of a Spanish degree or a Biochemistry degree to fulfill in order to become a well-versed student in many aspects of life and the professional world. Here, I am a mixed mutt of careers trying to run with the journalists, the nutritionists, the pharmacists and the psychiatrists. I'm taking one class from the career path to make you a journalist (communications), a nutritionist, a pharmacist, and a psychologist/psychiatrist/therapist (psychology). And tango. So, maybe I'll just become a professional dancer and forget about the rest.

Oh but that's not the case, I just feel a bit lost when Argentine's ask me what career I'm studying. Well... I'm kind of being roundabout, but IT HAS TO HAPPEN THIS WAY.

Essentially what I'm coming to think is that the US education system can seem a bit superfluous to others: why does a communications/journalism major need to understand biology or laboratory procedures, or why does a chemistry major need to understand Karl Jaspers' opinion on existence. Here that doesn't help you get to where you need to be, but what it can do is develop your brain in a dimension that allows you to compete better with people in the same profession as you.

It seems as though the system here is well thought out indeed, a strict course structure to get you the information you need so you can synthesize it, produce and get to where you want to go. Seems efficient, but creating students all the same way doesn't make for much variety in the professional field. Then it seems survival of the fittest would take control: here's a shout out to the liberal arts students - we'll probably have that advantage.

Mind you, in a big city they need a lot of pharmacists, psychologists, architects and journalists to do the job, but then we're looking at the 1, 2, 3 steps to make a big mac from the plastic package (heyyy Leadership 103; Hi Dr. Fournier). Not only does our diversity make us different, but it makes us stick better and form better connections, relationships and teams. If everyone were the same, we'd all just slide around each other never really touching; or be suspended in some colloidal suspension where we hang out and work together but always at the same level.

With diversity comes cohesion, and I think it's something we can all stop and appreciate. It takes more effort to stretch yourselves to the parts of life that you're not comfortable with, but when that effort is there, the end product is so much better.

We are one. And if we are not one, we are nothing. Because we can not be, and not be at the same time.

^^This is how I'm enjoying my long-projected career as a medical student - by taking philosophy and loving it.

8 or 6, doesn't really matter (except to my thirsting bank account and the ravenous government)
What matters is what you put in, and what you try to get out.

The theme resounds: it is not better or worse. It is simply different.


Angela

24 March 2012

Tae-Kwon Tango

For college credit, I'm taking Tango classes.

Alright, there is a catch. The class is held on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but only on Thursdays do we get to practice the steps. Tuesday is a theory and history portion so it makes the class "valid" for something other than just learning how to dance.

As much as I would prefer to have only the practice portion, the history is quite interesting.

We learn about the lingo here, "lunfardo", which has roots in Italian, Caló, Portuguese, and French. Castellano (the Spanish language as is known here) has this lunfardo aspect coming from different languages, but also an aspect that makes it a bit trickier to learn: they sometimes cut the word in half, and invert the word. It's called "hablar al revés", or "speaking backwards".

For example: pagar = (pa + gar)^-1 -> GARPAR 
(r is added at the end to make it a verb in the indicative form)
               tango = (tan + go)^-1 -> GOTAN
               café = (ca + fé)^-1 -> FÉCA
               calle = (ca + lle)^-1 -> LLECA

Now when we're talking with locals, we can try to learn the words that are used a lot of the time - typical lunfardo, but we'll probably always get caught up in their back-word words. That'll be the day when I can do that...

Tango is known to be a very sensual dance.

Naturally, the class revolves around that theme of sensuality. Pretty much everything is based off of prostitutes, sex, and brothels. There are many words in lunfardo and phrases; types of music and expressions that are metaphors for sexual acts, women, and anatomy. 

The examination of the conception of the dance (to keep the theme going) is definitely interesting, and critical to the proper portrayal of the dance. In other words, it's nice to know what you're getting yourself into. 

However. To dispel the overarching sexual nature of the dance, it's not so powerful. The closeness of the pair and the variations they move to from the eight basic steps can have nothing to do with a relation at all, it's simply where the pair feels comfortable dancing. 

Here are the eight basic steps:

Within those eight steps, there are numerous variations (off step two, off step four --- those are the ones I know as of yet), and that is what gives the dance it's flair. What makes it so unique, is that the male is always the lead, and the woman has to read the man's signs (pressure on her back). The man chooses the tempo, each step does not have to be in the same time, so there is much freedom. 

The title of this blog comes from my Tango side-kick (literally), Toshy. Toshy and I tear up the floor. I mean we're really getting good. (For having 4 classes... .) Last Thursday, we puffed out our chests in jest and joked that we needed everyone to get out of the way. Thus, on the variations - the Ocho Adelante and Ocho Atrás we joked that we would kick out our legs farther than what we have to, to simulate the "removal" of the pairs around us. What happened next was he said, "man, this has got to be called Tae-Kwon Tango!" And immediately the light bulb went off and I responded, "I'm going to use that, for sure." So there it is. 

It takes two to Tae-Kwon Tango. And ONLY two.

Angela

ps. This is a group of musicians we saw in the city of Rosario last weekend - they were singing Tango songs, of which the following is one. (The photograph below is the singer belting CHE BANDONEÓN.)

Until the sun comes up, we Tango on.

Angela




23 March 2012

Childhood Similarities

As I continue these photos on a daily basis, I see myself change. Over the course of nearly two months, I think my appearance is notably different. I'll leave you to decide that on your own if you wish, although in the grand scheme of things it doesn't really matter.

What does matter, though [to me], is something I saw the other day when I was about to cross the street to my apartment after class.

I saw underneath the noon-day sun and blue sky, in the lifting moisture and hanging humidity, and through the noise and drone of street sounds, the innocent and pure shrieks of laughter from two 5-6 year old boys.

They were laughing at a taxi cab. I mean, not really at the cab, but at the phenomenon that I so often enjoyed as a child (unabashedly still do) of reflection distortion. The black cab was a perfect "house of mirrors" for these two children as it was parked on the corner of the street: they delighted in the transformations their forms undertook as they approached and backed away from the car. Stepping aside and closer to each other further distorted their figures and their laughter grew.

I walked along and smiled broadly without hindrance. It's the chord of unreserved happiness that always strikes the inner child, and that sight did just the thing.

Angela

21 March 2012

President(?) Cristina

My girl, Cristina, (like I said in the very beginning and dedicated Beyoncé's Who Runs the World (Girls) blah blah blah) is still my girl, but she is seeming more and more just a girl. Unfortunately the plastic surgery for her isn't working so well anymore, but she's always well done-up. On top of it all, I rather like her hair.

I've been waiting for about a month to hear from her with regards to the Tuesday and Wednesday of Holy Week (the first week of April). We already have a national holiday on Monday, and would only have to go to school Tuesday and Wednesday, which as we all know officially stinks. Argentina has this thing with giving feriados, or national holidays, usually resulting in long weekends for Argentines. The purpose really is to promote tourism within the city; a self-boost if you will.

But now it's too close to Holy Week and I need to make vacation plans, so I'm leaving Cristina in the dust and proceeding to Wine Country.

The reason I say all this, is because Cristina is becoming more of a friend.

Dear LEAD 203,

What do you think about leaders that become friends? Is there a level of respect for expectations that is lost because of familiarity with the superior/inferior? When does talk and hype finally reach the endpoint? If you're among people that love you for your charisma, how can you keep yourself in touch with your goals and what you said you would do to show those that remain strangers to you that you are still thinking about them?

My host family makes it clear to me that Cristina talks and talks and talks (and I see her talk and talk and talk on the tele almost every day somewhere else about something else) and does nothing to uphold her promises.

That's called "False Advertising", and is punishable by law. The law here probably wouldn't do anything, something that is also being made clear to me, but where's the moral law inside each humane human being? Where is the substance behind your words?

I'd like to know.

Angela

20 March 2012

Angy

I hate the nickname Angie. If I ever meet you in un país "angloparlante" (English-speaking country) DO NOT under ANY circumstance call me Angie. I am not an Angie. The only person that has ever called me that is my sister, as such she is the only one that has license to do so. And most of you, are not my sister.

But here is a whole other ball game: one I was not prepared for. At first, I thought I could give them another, more personal nickname because it is a Spanish name, Lela, but I'd rather keep that something more intimate. I like Ange, it's been a part of my life since day one of basketball probably, simply because monosyllabic names are much easier on the court. Despite that fact, I will always introduce myself as Angela. Unfortunately here I have found that people expect me to have a nickname. Ángela is a Spanish name but even so they ask for an apodo and suggest Angy? I negated it at first, but gave up after too many people did the same thing.

I shudder as I succumb to Angy, but in a Spanish-speaking country, it doesn't sound so bad. Ange is too hard of a syllable to end on for them, so Angy works best. Angy not Angie.


Angy

Sounds and the City

From rural little Ohio where the nights can get really quiet, a move to the city was pretty drastic. But, there is something to be said about where I live. I mean, I live in the Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires, C.A.B.A., but I don't live downtown. Additionally, there's no notable skyline of the city. That being said, I don't feel like there is constant traffic whizzing by my window (which is impossible because it opens to a courtyard 3 floors below). Anyways, the one notable thing when I am in my house are all the sirens and alarms that go off: not many police cars (corruption) and no ambulances (probably because their all always occupied with some public transit disaster.) (<< Exaggeration).

These sirens aren't your typical droning car alarms in the states: they are AWESOME. It's like you are in a Mario game, or a broken Nokia cell phone (which never happens, so maybe a Samsung) from 1996. For you music connoisseurs, it's usually phrases of 2 measures in 4/4 that these tunes alternate. There are probably 8 to 10 different melodies that are played, some sirens, some like cliché UFO sounds, some Mario tunes and all sound like they're just being played one after the other when you want to change the ringtone on a 1996 Nokia phone. (Better? I didn't say it was broken this time.) As many different melodies as there are, I have been conditioned to know which comes next and hum along, as if it were a CD I overplayed and know which song should come after John Mayer's Heartbreak Warfare. There was even one car alarm that played the William Tell Overture but an electronic version.
The shrieking garage alarms that warn of a car coming out or turning in all chime in at different frequencies and with the Doppler effect (because I walk soooo fast......... .) is just a delightfully hair-raising sound. Correction: was. Now, it is just something that happens. This morning was different though; the reason I wanted to write on this. It wasn't the cars, or the wheezing buses, or the honking taxis and cat calls from men driving by, horns resounding the "New York minute", squeaking school buses, wailing alarms, screeching brakes or zooming motor cycles that got my attention, it was the crying boy. And it's not because it was just a crying boy, but because he sounded like the crying boy from Dr. Seuss's It's Grinch Night who was taken from the slide by his mom and forgot his toy when the "sour-sweet wind" blew. (If you're familiar, delightful. If not and you want to know, check out minute 2:10. It really is distinct, and needless to say, I chuckled.)

No longer is it the drone of the cars through the puddles, the careening buses, the speeding taxis, the crazy motos, the howling engines of dilapidated cars, the sleekness of the new ones, or the people grumbling, mumbling and talking their lunfardo that is still such a challenge, that shock me, because now on the 20th of March 2012, I affirm more and more that this is life.

Cheers to that.

Angela


16 March 2012

Real Classes

Real Classes, with Real Argentines! (Powerthirst voice)

After the first turbulent day where I was flooded with things (mostly these down there)
and hopefully not much of this
or
or 

... things went really well. 

My first class was Microbiology. It's a class of about 30 students that are following a career of Pharmacy (that is another topic of discussion). We meet once a week for 3 hours and have a lab in that time frame. The professor seems knowledgeable, but I could barely hear her. I was sitting two rows back and I missed some of what she said simply because she spoke so quietly. I was sitting there thinking to myself, TO WHOM ARE YOU SPEAKING!?!? I am certain the people in the back row (two or three rows back) could in no way hear her. But, overall it went well, and I didn't feel lost when we did our first in0class assignment. I sat next to a Chinese-Argentine girl who goes by the name of Naty, and we were partners for the activity. After class, we went up to a shop called Saber that sells guardapolvos, which are lab coats. Feeling like a doctor already. (Way. Too. Soon.)

Here's something I thought was rather amusing: the description of how a virus is transmitted per my professor.
1. Bites infected person
2. Takes blood
3. Bites other person
And there it is.
[Boom.] Transmission.

Later that day I had Tango. I am in love with it. We meet Tuesdays and Thursdays - Tuesdays is the history and theory of the dance and Thursdays is the actual practice. I am fortunate to be on of the few that is officially registered for the class, so I find relief in that.

Wednesday I had Human Physiology and Philosophy, back to back. I am in love with both of them. Philosophy makes me question what I want to do in life; the way I described it to my mom was "it makes me want to major in Philosophy and open a bakery." But then I put on my lab coat and got the chills. Anyways, the class was an incredible exchange of information between students and the professor (I'm not ready to speak that fast yet, unfortunately, because I did have things to say!) I'm finally like a fly on the wall. A rather large fly... And much cleaner. (when it's not raining). 

Human Physiology seems daunting, but I can understand pretty well so it's probably just going to be a difficult class. What I found though, is that every teacher so far is willing to stop and clarify things for me if I need it. It's nice to have that safety, for sure. What he said that rocked my world, was "I would rather you not take notes." (It is more important that we pay attention and we understand how things work instead of asking stupid questions like "was that 'for' or 'by' that you said, teacher?")

Thursday was the day to become a journalist, because my oral and written expression will be directed towards that career. Great. I'll be skipping the Tuesday portion because my advisor didn't inform me of its existence, but if I included it it would be a 7 hour a week class, and I think that is plenty thank you very much. In that class of about thirty, there is one other exchange student, so that will be nice to have someone on the same level as me. 

Tango practice was splendid. I had a blast. Our class is about 40 students right now, 10 of them are not registered, so it will be cut to 30 within the coming days. I learned the basic steps, over again, but with a slight (and better) variation. My movements are becoming smoother and I have to think less. Now all I need are the shoes. Next item of order.

And today. Friday. Oh dear Friday. My five hour physiology LECTURE. 


A divine class 8 AM until 1250 PM of my Robert Downey Jr. - Javier Bardem mix-professor. Heaven. 


It's pretty great. Today, we talked about the Big Bang theory, and how life was created. Taking human phys from the truly macroscopic level...

But we did start talking about how the different systems of the body are related: that's his point. He wants us to understand how everything is connected NOT only knowing how each organ of the body works specifically. Here is Pepe, he is our "being". Imagine this drawing much larger, with different colored chalk and chalk dust everywhere, on a green old-school chalkboard. That's the essence of it. I would have taken a photo of it right then and there, but my Nokia is from the beginnings of the Big Bang, so naturally it can't.


As exhausting as the class was, I learned a good bit and had an excellent opportunity to listen to my professor and get acclimated to his mannerisms and way of speaking. 

All in all, my weeks are going to be exhausting, even if I finish by 1 PM almost every day, except for when there is Tango class. Hopefully that will be plenty of time to read and reread my material, as well as potentially teach myself everything over again in English. 

This will be FUN. 

Angela





LOST

This was week one of class.

I have an 8 AM every day.

It is Friday night. I am tired.

But this is the city, and the city never sleeps, so neither will I :)

Just kidding, I do sleep. I nap quite a bit now actually, but I am tired. Really tired. Monday morning came, and I was rather tired, but whatever. It was the first day of class. I was scheduled for Oral and Written Expression at 8 until 930 and then Philosophy from 1120 to 1250 PM. Not too shabby, to have just two classes on Monday. It sounded good to me. So I got up, showered and pondered what to wear - as is always the case with first days, chose, ate breakfast, and left. It was lovely and sunny out, although the weather forecasted a storm. I had my umbrella. I got to class at 745 AM, nice and early, especially for being in Argentina. I walked in the building and looked around at the charts to find my class, but I couldn't find it. So I asked the concierge where my class was and she helpfully directed me. I went up and sat outside the dark and empty classroom, lost in the sea of students excited for the first day of class, saying hi to each other after the long summer etc etc.

Yeah, I felt like a loner.

8 AM came rolling around, and then the students started filing into their classes. But no one went into mine. So I didn't either. And still as the hallways emptied, no one went into my class. Still at 810 AM, I didn't either. 815 came and went, but no one else did. 820 came, and there were two girls and a professor left in the hall. When they left, so would I. The professor parted, and the girls got up at 830 AM. So did I. I asked them finally if they knew anything about the class that was supposed to be there. Fortunately they had a question about a class so they also needed to go to floor 6 and ask. We went up together and I had my question answered. First and second year classes don't start until tomorrow (Tuesday). I looked at the guy: "What?" He's responds, yeah, first and second years start on Tuesday, on day after. I retort, yeah but the schedule says Monday I have class. He says yes but you start tomorrow. I'm utterly confused at this point, "pardon me, does this mean my Monday classes are on Tuesday?" He looks at me and is probably thinking, wow this girl has no idea what's going on. But he simply says, yeah you go to the next one. I lost it. Finally I was like, "does this mean I have to come to this class tomorrow?" He expires, no no no, you just come on Thursday, like the schedule says.

Pardon my French, but when in the hell did that EVER make sense to ANYONE. Furthermore, why was I not NOTIFIED that this was the case. Are you serious?

In summary, I had no class on Monday.

I went up to the 12th floor then to get my "student portal" fixed: my online registration code. I needed to sign up for Tango online because it is a class for international students, but I couldn't log in. So I went up to get that all situated and did in no time. When I got back downstairs, the rain had come and the storm had started.

I busted out my Totes umbrella, and trekked up to Cabildo to see if I had mail. Getting soaked and buzzing into the ISA office, I was informed that they were technically closed until 10 AM on Mondays. Well WHAT THE HECK. They let me in, but still. I wouldn't have gone in the rain if I didn't have to. Anyways, what came of that was nothing: I had no mail. I left and hit the rain again, probably mixing feces from the sidewalk and leachate from garbage all on my feet in my pretty gladiator sandals. It was raining so hard there was probably 6 inches of water between the curb and the road just rushing down the street. The puddles were huge and unavoidable, so it was juice of juices and I don't even want to know anything more.

So on the way home, I broke a shoe, almost biffed it on my face in the middle of the street (I made some lady laugh though...) and got soaked through and through. At 10 AM, I took another shower, and napped.

I don't really care to wear see-through clothes...

Post-Rain, needless to say. I smiled because it's "First Day of School Picture" Day

So day one of classes was a success; I really liked my teachers and everything!!! .................
.....
.......
......
......

Angela

11 March 2012

Camp David 2

Yeah I'm in Argentina and I'm about to share a little something I learned from backpacking Israelis in Bariloche this past week.

The group of 20-something-year-old guys that were back packing were extremely not-Jewish for being from Israel. I guess that's just a generalization I'll have to deal with.

So we're all sitting in the hostel in Bariloche one afternoon, and this chap from New York comes in (New York drawl and everything... probably 65 years old) and is pretty darn Jewish. He starts talking with these Israelis about Judaism and how they should be religious again and how he can't really believe that they don't believe in the faith that surrounds them much less the fact that they don't believe in God, or see it in the nature that lay before us all. The guys would say, "no I don't see God in nature, I just see nature." To each his own opinion, but they were adamant that they didn't want to be "awakened" like New Yorker said they needed to be.

What this made me think of more than anything, other than my grassroots and all my Jewish friends, was what will this say for the conflict between Israel and Palestine in the coming years when the newer generation - more radical perhaps - take over the posts of government. If this conflict is supercharged by religious differences, and there are Israelis that don't even practice Judaism or believe in God, what will fuel the argument.

This is of course, a supposition with the condition that many Israelis feel the same and they do not just sit and watch politics happen on the television. After all, they did make a point to say Israel was a copycat. And in their own words "we don't have a culture yet - we're just 60 years old."

Something stimulating to consider, especially if you are interested in that history.

Angela

On Politics

In talking with young Argentines my age and older, I have involved myself in many more political conversations than I ever thought. I start talking about the economy and realize how much Argentine's are in touch and active with their politics. Which alarms me, because I have begun to believe this is the way it should be; the younger generations should be talking about politics, about policies and beliefs, challenging platforms and promises, arguing amongst each other about cultures and procedures.

There should be this exchange of information to educate each other on what each side (and there are more than two) of a discussion thinks! I get so charged from these talks that it is motivating me to inform myself more, just as we have a responsibility to do as United States Citizens.

The economy as a serious driving for to many politics is ridden with corruption and dissent on many different levels and there are stories I've heard with a few:

1. Driving drunk. If your police officer seems to beat around the bush with giving you a ticket, most likely they can be bought off.
(THIS WAS NOT A PIECE OF ADVICE: Skirting a DUI doesn't reduce your chance of killing someone. It probably increases it since you'll keep driving.)
2. With the tragedy on La Once a few weeks ago, corruption is seen in the protocol that failed to use the money to perform regular systems checks on the trains and maintain their safety.
3. The Vice President of Argentina used to be the Minister of the Economy prior to his election as Vice President. There is now a scandal with his hand in the business that prints money - that works for the state. What kind of strings is he pulling with is residual power.
4. There is a problem between the governor of the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires and the President of the Nation with regards to the subte system (subterraneo; subway). The state has given the control of the subte to the governor, but not the money nor the police force to patrol the platforms. Since the federal government is not supplying the local government with what they need, Governor Mauricio Macri wants to give back the control of the systems, even if it could be a financial gain for them because as of now it is a financial liability.

No fingers are being pointed at the better nation or better government; we each have our own problems. What is interesting to note in conversations with South Americans, Argentine's and Chilenos mostly, is that we each think our problems are paramount. Where the difference is is in the manifestations that they have compared to us. Students in Chile want the money they pay for their education to go to the professors instead of the middle man? They fight. They sit in. They occupy. Mother's of the Disappeared from the Dirty War want answers and justice? They manifest and protest every Thursday. The subte problem between the president and the governor results in a day of no subtes.

The way people fight for what they want down here is like they fight for their life: sometimes we just sit at home and watch from the TV. I find this somewhat a call to action.

Angela

A Patagonian Peace

I haven't really worked out since December. I'll be honest. I've run once in a while and done Ab Ripper X often, but other than that, I'm ashamed to say I have been pretty much sedentary. Of course, now I walk everywhere so I'm not just on my butt all day, but at the same time, I'm certainly not exerting myself. (That will change now that my class schedule has. For sure.) BUT. My point in say this, is that Gus, Nikki and I decided to go on a "68 km bike ride" the other day.

...

What we were thinking when we decided that, we concluded post-ride, was that we were not thinking at all.

We embarked on El Circuito Chico Bike Ride


around Lake Nahuel Huapi which said it was only 27 km. At the time, before we started down the first hill, we were disappointed that it wasn't what we thought it was going to be: the 68 km. (My butt would cede from my body if I were still disappointed, literally and figuratively). The ride was incredible at first. The closeness of the ragged mountaintops, the thickness of the forests, the clearness of the lakes... it was all breathtaking.








The views changed, perspectives of the mountains and lakes changed as we rolled up and down the roads the wound through the forests and slashed alongside the mountains. But slowly what became more breathtaking were the 45 degree uphill grades that went on for hundreds of meters!!! It was astounding! I had never felt so out of shape (okay maybe during the first Big Ben we did, s/o to my #MCWB ladies if you're reading). But seriously, this is not something for the faint of heart: literally and figuratively. Nevertheless, we rounded the curves and flew down the hills wildly, enjoying every second of the free fall: Fg , overcoming the Fthat allowed our  us to accelerate as we did. (Check me on that, I only just decided today when I was going to take Physics again...)

As the day drew on, we started to drag a bit on the up hills, especially after visiting La Colonia Suiza which added an extra 6 km to our ride (on a DIRT path filled with ROCKS and holes filled with more ROCKS). We started to become sore from the impact of the seat on the ischium and the last 7.5 miles with no lookout point/ point of interest was daunting. But, being cheap travelers, we opted to do the last leg and not leave our bikes at the checkpoint because we'd have to pay 15 pesos each. Sorry, I don't have that kind of money, bum. Just riding like #Lance.


All in all we snapped some amazing photos on the bike tour and it was well worth it, although I have to say that when our New York friend at the hostel invited us to come with him on a bike tour (the next day) I laughed at the idea, as I sat gingerly on the couch.

Walking around Bariloche was fantastic, we captured photos of the surf, especially on the first day when it was extremely windy, and photos of a placid lake. The omnipresence of the Andes became something of a daily sight, and I am happy I captured those things that are so usual, because even now, one day away from my time in Bariloche, I miss the mountains. 



I now listen to cars drive by; this fan in the ceiling whirring as fast as it can; horns honking, alarms going off and probably the buzz of electricity flowing to everything in this city. 

Bariloche is most definitely an oasis from the city, and most definitely a must.

Angela

10 March 2012

It's That Weather...

It's that weather where you know the first day of school is coming! The first day after a long summer break, where the sun turns the sky orange at a noticeably earlier time, where the nights become cool and the mornings are crisp. Yes, the stores change their displays to promote back to school shopping with the latest Fall styles and even winter sweaters with the knit snowflakes, and more than that, I feel it in my skin.

(Please remember it's Summer here, moving to Autumn...)

But this time, I feel it in my skin as if I were a new 6th grader, about to hit middle school. Like a boss, just rearing to go. And how exciting: an 8 AM  EVERY.  SINGLE. DAY!



Here is my schedule.


It should be quite the experience, I definitely feel like a college freshman again: not knowing what to expect, not knowing much about the professors if anything at all, not knowing my way around, and not knowing ANYONE in my classes, except for Tango. Yes, I have resolved that I will be "that international student trying to take classes in a foreign language". Hopefully I don't frequent the struggle bus too often.


I will be uploading photos later tonight from my adventure in Bariloche.

Angela

06 March 2012

Boyfriends in Bariloche

The flight to Buenos Aires, Argentina on February 3rd was long an uncomfortable. I was congested and feverish, had a headache and could not sleep.

The bus ride to Bariloche, Argentina was quite the opposite, although twice as long. The 22 hour micro trip started at 14hr on Saturday, March 10th. We (Nikki, Gus and myself) figured that leaving in the afternoon would fool our minds into thinking the 22 hour ride would be shorter: turns out, it worked. Our thinking was that if we had about 8 to 9 hours of conscious time, and then slept, we'd only have a little more to go in the morning, when it would seem a whole new trip. Our seats reclined quite a bit, there were blankets and pillows too. The dinner served was ten times better than airplane food: I think the chicken was real even though I didn't eat it, and I sipped on some wine as the trip went on and the sun went down. There were movies on movies on movies playing, Salt, The Adults, Mr. Popper's Penguins, and Iron Man. Needless to say, those helped pass the time.

That first bus ride, I had a dream about Salt, as if I were Evelyn Salt... pretty wild.

And the world turned so did the day and everything was okay. We arrived on Sunday, March 4th in Patagonia. A stunning place, to say the very least. But words can't really do it justice anyways. I wrote a note as we wound around the road:

The S Curves hide what's ahead,
but the oasis of gold is sure to be found.
The open expanses show nature in the raw:
naked and untouched by humans.
It's as if my eyes are the first 
to see the hills and the blue water.

The town of Bariloche is quaint, with definite hints of German, Swiss, and Canadian culture. The weather was impeccable, thankfully much warmer than I thought because we actually wanted to be outside, but unfortunately I didn't pack that many shorts, so my trusty jeans because very trusty and worn jeans. 

Imagine a town with stone buildings that are no more than 5 stories high (sporadically) next to a huge blue lake that has a backdrop of the Andes mountains, nestled in a hill. There you have Bariloche. 







Hostels dot the streets and parilla grills tempt you every block, which is far less often than the many chocolate stores that tempt you every 5 feet. On top of that, there are men working for these chocolate stores that are out on the sidewalk offering you samples. Needless to say, in this tourist town, I ate many sweet samples. 

But everyone was very friendly, you didn't feel the daily rush of BsAs or even the cares of BsAs here - no high stress of getting robbed or the sensation that you "shouldn't be in those parts". Granted, they exist in Bariloche, but where we were? No.

Keeping pretty relevant with the friendliness of people, the chamuyo, or gentleman nevertheless was the same as the city. I concede, they were not as gross as in BsAs, but they certainly were as persistent. (More "acceptable" to the US Code of Conduct for Gentlemen) So Nikki and I would be walking down the street and OOP! Chocolate Store. But we didn't stop because of the chocolate, it was because this guy stopped us in our tracks holding out coupons. "Oh ladies where are you from blah blah blah oh the US we like the US blah blah blah very nice very nice..." Typical exchange of conversation, always in Spanish, with the chocolate men.

One day though, Nikki and I, both taken ladies, were "taken" again. After a few days of walking the streets in the Center of town, we had to start thinking about from where we wanted to buy chocolate for our host families. We both, incidentally, purchased chocolate from different stores. But This Wednesday was quite the day for the chocolate men to put on their persuasion faces: game time. So we put on ours. Nikki bought chocolate from this quaint little chocolate shop that sold a variety of wines from all over Argentina, as well as some delicious jams and jellies (of which we each sampled each one, obviously because the chocolate guy made us). And this guy was RELENTLESS. He kept saying to her, "Who are you buying those chocolates for? Your lover? Here in Bariloche?" She's shaking her head contesting, "No, I don't have a lover here, they're for my family. I have a boyfriend in the US" and he's like "oh you know that's a terrible idea blah blah blah you need to get one here, those chocolates are for your lover". This went on for a good 5 minutes solid while I was checking out wine labels and hot sauce. She emerged unscathed and probably 10 times more sure about her connection with her boyfriend. When it comes to these things, I'd say she's prettyyy good at absorbing what they give her and stabbing back with her own opinion. (I mean she's really good at it.)

Here's where she and I differ: She stabs back and I deflect looking for the redirect. Seeing them beaten by their own words is easier for me to do, I think. It's something like picking up the flaws in their argument and making them chew on the bitterness. (A hyperbolic explanation, perhaps, but colorful nonetheless).

So my "boyfriend" in Bariloche is gung-ho about going out. Well, was. He probably doesn't remember me, and that's the beauty of all of this. (That was sarcasm.) These guys all praise you for your beauty and some even sing to you (like the window washer that I was walking past who stopped his work when I was 20 meters away and started belting some love-song in Spanish until I had all but disappeared from view) but then you think of how many girls they actually do that to, and it starts to mean nothing. "When everyone's super, no one is," Syndrome, The Incredibles. Anyways, he works with Del Turista chocolates, and stopped me and Nikki in our tracks. He must have been 35-43 years old, short, tan, dark brown hair but greying, and had signs of wrinkles and asked us if we wanted to try a chocolate. Good one, buddy, like I haven't been getting fat of everyone and their mother's samples of chocolates...Sure! We'll try some. But it wasn't that easy. He asked Nikki what my name was, only my name this time, and then he started talking to me. Are we in 1st grade? (Contrary to common suspicion here that we are 15 years old... what the heck...) So then he's like, "Angela do you want to go out? I can be your boyfriend we can go to dinner tonight blah blah blah how old are you?," I'm like, "listen I don't think so, thanks. I'm twenty and I have a boyfriend already." He's quick to respond, "Twenty is perfect. Can't I be your lover in Bariloche? I mean I want to take you out." (Here's the time to chew your words) "See I don't like lovers, sir, I prefer love, and I already am dating someone. Finally, I will not go out with you." He got the message, but left me with the chance to go out to dinner with him and have a boyfriend in Bariloche if I wanted. Gee, thanks a lot, chocolate man, and all I wanted was the chocolate I've already tried 2 times before.

Now I'm not trying to paint a perverted picture of the Argentine Man, although it is somewhat of a caricature. However, it is important to understand that the things I'm highlighting are the things that I notice are most different about Argentine men in comparison to United States men. They really are sweet people, it's just that part of their culture that has a huge openness and commonness about it is affection. You truly feel welcome here by most people, sometimes not by ranting drunk twenty-year olds, but most people yes. They have an attaching quality, and I admire them for that. Unfortunately, I have to be careful about how I reciprocate that friendliness because it borders flirting to them and flirting means fling. And fling to them means you-know-what. 

We'll stick with these guys, that may or may not be less dangerous:
 (Homeward Bound gang)
 (Peter Pan following our shadows.)

Angela

02 March 2012

Making Progress

This is an update on my To Do List, I feel it is rather a hit of an entry for you... It's probably the Memes. 

All things considered, I think this is average progress. 

(By the way, this took me FOREVER to set up, so you BETTER LIKE IT.)

My tech-savvy process: the scientific method.
Problem: Make a two column comparison table in blog.

Hypothesis 1: Format a make-shift table in blog entry
Procedure:
1. The original list was copied and pasted into a new entry. 
2. The space bar was used and a make-shift table/entry with two columns was made.
3. Arrows indicated the movement from the original to the revamped.
4. Preview Blog was clicked - formatting for what you would see stunk.

Conclusion: Not gonna work.

Hypothesis 2: Paste a PDF file in blog from Word Doc.
Procedure:
1. Table was made in Word Document.
2. Pictures would be copied and pasted: URLs only showed up.
3. Pictures were then saved to DOWNLOADS and "Inserted".
4. New Memes were found. 
5. Table was copied: paste in entry failed.
6. Word Doc was saved as a PDF.

Conclusion: Not gonna work.

Hypothesis 3: Save PDF as JIF in Preview.
Procedure:
1. Table made in Word Doc was opened in Preview.
2. File saved as JIF.
3. File opened in blog entry.

Conclusion: Success. (2 hours later)

Signed: 
Angela

Oh yeah, and #KCCO

A LEAD Argument

Friday, March 2nd, 2012:

My last day of summer school - a 4-week crash course on some intricacies of Spanish grammar, 5 hours a day, 5 days a week. Hallelujah, it's over. (Relax for a little, you deserve it with this lovely gentleman, his secret book, and his wig.)


We had our final examination, a culminating exam consisting of oral and written parts, amounting to 60% of the final grade, and were at the University from 9:15 AM until 4:30 PM. The examination didn't take that long for each person, but with all the waiting time, and a 2.5 hour turn-around on the written portion, it rounded out to just about 7 hours. 

While waiting for the oral portion to begin, I was sitting on the stairs outside the classroom, tweeting, texting, facebooking or emailing on my iTouch. There was a mountain of other students outside the classrooms waiting for their turn for the oral portion, so it was quite noisy. I just so happened to find myself right next to two students who apparently had gotten into a discussion earlier about goal-setting and the purpose of the like. 

Not doing anything in particular, I turned my attention to their argument: one guy, one girl. We'll call them, Guy and Girl (Berenstain Bears-style). 



Girl was irritated with what the "thick-headed" guy said about setting goals to eliminate poverty. To Girl, the guy declared, "if you want to end poverty or have world peace you have a messed up view of the world because it will never happen." 

(There I was typing furiously on my iTouch in the little notes section. As you can see, the autocorrect didn't always get it right.)


Guy then said to Girl, "I've worked with poverty and seen it..." [I think he volunteered in Haiti after the earthquake] and he reasoned that it just was too lofty to have a goal to eliminate it. Girl however said that it is important to have goals that are higher than what you are able to achieve at the time - in ANYTHING. Guy retorted that if you have an unattainable goal, what is it for?* Finally Girl explodes and exclaims, "don't you ever think that you could help one person at a time?! You have to leave something for the successors to pick up with!"

MEANWHILE ON THE STAIR... 
I'm thinking to myself, Visionary Leadership.
A vision, to me, is not the same thing as a goal. A goal can be attained, whether there is much difficulty or not in doing so. The difference between a vision and a goal is that a goal can be an achievement on the way working towards a vision: the overarching goal of an organization. I feel that Girl was talking about a vision, and having the vision pass along workers or an organization, building up the force to have everyone unified in a single motion to achieve perhaps the impossible; the ideal. In this case, ending world poverty. 

*What if an organization didn't have an unattainable goal? What then. Would the world have to acclimate itself to being satisfied with desperation all around - as if we don't already live with the complacency that enough is being done? What if the world were run by Guys (I don't mean males, I mean people like "Guy"). What would happen, and what does this call us to change about our leadership style? 

What is to be said about progress and the satisfaction that comes from reaching another milestone on the journey to realizing the mission of an organization? And does "realizing" the mission mean fulfilling it, period? What about the maintenance of said mission? How can you as a leader keep that culture that attained your goals thrive? What is your role.

#dontgiveupthevision

Angela

Subliminal Messages

Natalie Cole sang, "I was walking along, minding my business, when out of an orange colored sky..." yeah, yeah flashbamalakazam ... but it wasn't love that hit her in the eye, it was the BLATANT SEXUAL MESSAGE that did.

Emblazoned on t-shirts and sweaters are the most overt innuendos - as if the Argentine culture needs to advertise that any more than the couple at the corner of Zabala and Av. Luis María Campos did, thank you very much.

That got me started, and so I noticed quite a few shirts since that 11:30 AM view on Zabala and Av. Luis María Campos and I figured I could share a bit of the fashion here with you, if it interests you. After all, it is BAF (Buenos Aires Fashion Week!).

T-Shirts Spotted

A 30 year old man is "Searching for play tonight"

A 60 year old woman has "Sexy Lips"

A mannequin displays "SEX" in a store window

A 50+ year old woman says she's "DESI(RED)" -> I realize the US has these shirts too.

So I wish that I were humming a tune, drinking in sunshine, when out of that orange colored view, whambamalakazam I could get a look at you (click there for mi Fachero), but I have to hold out for that - sorry, Man searching for play.

I can't say that I'll ever purchase one of these shirts, but I'll definitely remember the openness of Argentine fashion, not to understate their openness of sexuality.

Angela

ps. Natalie, when get one look at him, I'll yell "Timber! WATCH OUT FOR FLYING GLASS!" Because you know the ceiling falls in and the bottom falls out; I'll go into a spin and I'll start to shout, "I've been hit! This is it! This is it!"

Hi Joey.