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
Tango en las calles de la Boca
24 July 2012
19 July 2012
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
18 July 2012
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
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
08 July 2012
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
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
07 July 2012
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
...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
04 July 2012
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
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
03 July 2012
George's Galapagos
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
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
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
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