There are just come things I should not be allowed to celebrate... Carnaval, for example.

I'll try to be brief about my Carnaval weekend...  As I mentioned in the Uruguay post, Carnaval is the week long (plus) version of Mardi Gras.  Well, our Carnaval activities got rained out in Uruguay, so a group of us went hunting for some celebrating and fun.  As it happens, there is this tiny, sort of dilapidated town, Gualeguaychu, that is fairly popular for  Carnaval.  This could be because, there, the celebration lasts several weeks.

Anyway, we arrived to Gualeguaychu around noon with over twelve hours before the true celebration would pick up.  So, we decided to wait in line to pay for seats and entrance fees (yes, oddly, two separate things) for, I don't know, about an hour or two?  It was lovely... Especially because the day was ridiculously hot.  It was definitely interesting when part of the group left for a half hour or so and returned with a few bottles of beer and soda and snacks for the wait.  We turned the line into a much more enjoyable wait as we chatted and sipped and chowed.

Afterwards, we were ready for some lunch, so we headed towards the local grocery store.  However, we were distracted a certain, magical looking playground and decided we had to play for a little while.  (Oh yes, we're exceedingly mature!)  I jumped on a swing while others made their way to the seesaws and the giant slide.  As one after another tried out the slide, it was decided that everyone had to take a ride down...  Henry, Kara and I got bored waiting for our turn, so we wandered over to a giant tree off to the side of the action.  

Henry had made it to the topmost branches, I a few feet below his feet and Kara just behind me when we heard a terrible screeching and thump and lots of laughing and carrying on back in the direction of the slide.  Henry, with his view about the tree branches had seen most everything, but Kara and I had no idea what had occurred.  Nicole had experienced and "epic fail/slide fail/big smash/terrible slide accident" when she'd tried to go head-first down the slide.  She had more injury done to her pride than her actual body, but the screeching had been her skin grating against the hot metal as she tried to slow herself down.  There were some slide burns and she had dirt smeared in various locations...  What made for an amusing video looked pretty painful overall.  She was a very good sport and allowed us to tease her as we brushed dirt off her.  Poor thing.  But what a survivor!  (Really, you should see the video--so great!  Love you, Nicole!)

So after the delightful disaster on the playground, we thought it best to continue our journey and avoid future freak slide accidents.  We made our way to the grocery store and bought an ungodly amount of delicious food before settling down in a small park across the street.  Picnics are an art form for the Multisa family, and we made merry with our bounty until we had entered into food comatose.  There was a sweet little dog wandering around who, though she was female, was dubbed "Gollum" and given leftover nibbles in order to coerce her into playing with us.  Afterwards, we all took a nap, each of us resting our head on the belly or legs of another person.  We were a sight to see, but it was a fantastic nap session and prepared us well for the adventures to follow.  

After our nap we wandered a little more through the city in search of a beach to relax on and party a little before the evening's celebration.  We split into two groups, and long story short, my group discovered the ridiculous mayhem on the beach.  We enjoyed a pitcher of sangrias and the company of some creepy Argentineans who were fascinated by Caroline and I with our fabulous "rubio" hair and inclination to enjoy ourselves.  It was awkward and silly and sandy, but we had fun making friends and drinking a little sangria.

After the beach excitement, we walked back to the main drag of the city and played in traffic for a while.  (Not really, but it was ridiculous trying to navigate through the horrendous amount of cars and taxis that had streamed into town while we'd been out playing all day.  We finally made our way to the stadium around 11 pm to watch several hours of the same parade put to the same music.  There was some wild dancing and silliness, but after a while, I was too tired to continue (the celebration lasted until around 4 or 5 am, when our bus was supposed to leave).  I found a cozy little spot to curl up on the frozen concreted seating to sleep while everyone else watched the remainder of the parade.  I'm such a party animal.  From what I hear, Carnaval parades are beautiful and filled with exciting colors and dancers and half-dressed female performers.  Perhaps if I had not slept for the better part of 3 or so hours, I would have been able to tell you more.  The ride home was long and uneventful, and I also was able to sleep soundly in the bus...  The End.

Let's see if I remember...

I know, I know.  I'm a terrible blogger.  I promise it's not intentional...  I'm just trying to keep busy down here.  However, I'm going to try and totally catch up with my blogs from Argentina, so I can start talking about Peru!  Anyway, I wanted to discuss some of the smaller activities we did in Argentina before I move on to any huge topics.

BOTANICAL GARDENS-One afternoon, Nicole, Kara and I ventured to the Botanical garden with my host-cousin, Luis and his friend, Marcelo.  There's really not a whole lot to say about the garden because it was fairly small and nondescript.  However, it was a really nice day, and we enjoyed passing some time among the greenery.

The most interesting thing about the Botanical garden is that it is home to dozens, if not hundreds, of homeless cats.  As I've mentioned before, Argentina has stray dogs everywhere you turn, but I hadn't seen a cat until the garden (outside of Recoleta cemetery).  They're on every statue, beneath every tree, relaxing near every fountain...  Literally, everywhere.  So, of course, I tried to make friends with as many as possible.  The other humorous thing about the garden was the amount of couple in various stages of entanglement.  Oh yes, we saw some pretty hilarious (and extremely awkward) sights.  There were a few areas we didn't dare go near due to the suspicious levels of copulation.  It was worth a good laugh, but I was glad to be done with the couples by the end of the afternoon.

Next we went to another park in Palermo.  I wasn't feeling well that day, so we decided to take a little rest in the sunshine and have a good chat.  After the girls left to head home, the boys and I wandered down to Florida Ave where I'd been looking at a painting.  It was nice to hang out with the two of them and learn about their experiences in Argentina as Brazilians.  I explained the concept of "chillin'" to Marcelo, which might have been the highlight of the trip downtown.  Overall, it was a nice low key kind of day.

FLORIDA AVE- Florida Ave is known as one of the best shopping areas in Buenos Aires because it has the nicest shops and a huge amount of restaurants and the most street vendors I ever saw outside of a feria.  I went one afternoon with a group of friends, and as we wandered around, I couldn't help but be totally stunned by the amount of crafts and items made by the Argentines who frequent Florida Ave.  Some are scam artists or are re-selling stolen articles, but there are many who make and sell things to earn their money.

There were tons of artists, including a man who was unable to use his hands, so he instead painted by gripping a paintbrush between his toes.  I bought a painting from a man whose rotund figures faintly reminded me of Botero.  I loved the way the street swarmed and snaked along.  It felt like everything was constantly moving, and when you stop to waver over a cheap pair of sandals or wander an eye over a sketch of the streets of La Boca, you suddenly become part of the decoration, only there to observe the passersby.  Florida Avenue is a bustling, fascinating place.

TANGO LESSONS- I don't have any rhythm.  I thought it would be good to tell you this before I tell you the story about our tango lessons and the awkward man in the orange shirt.  I have very little dance ability, so tango is not my activity of choice.  But, God, did I try valiantly.

A few of us got lost on the way to our tango class...  And by lost, I mean we walked right past the building and didn't even realize it for about 20 minutes.  Oops.  So, we make it inside, and tango lessons are going on in a great flurry of groups and teachers and circles and tables and chairs and confused ISA students everywhere.  All set to a lovely tango beat.  Our group is predominantly female, so those of us who were without male accompaniment had to dance with other single girls, alone or with the occasional Argentine solo man.  I was one of these lucky ones.

Unfortunately, my partner was not so excited to have me as a dance partner.  While he was delighted to have someone to sweat on and stare at, he found himself continually questioning his choice of a female.  I don't think he realized that, though I understand the basic tango steps, I lack the abilities of a professional tango dancer.  He asked me a few times, in his annoyed and arrogant tone, what I was doing, and I, embarrassed and exasperated, eventually told him I needed a break and walked away.  He undoubtedly found someone more suitable, and I found my friend Corey.  I decided that passing the remainder of the event laughing and enjoying myself was much better than feeling uncomfortable and inadequate.  Thank goodness, there are others in the world who match my uncanny ability to dance like an ostrich on roller skates.

PLAZA DE MAYO MARCH- Plaza de Mayo is known for being the host site for those who march to remember the "desaparecidos" or those who went missing during the Dirty War in Argentina.  The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, wearing white scarves about their hair, march every Thursday to ask restitution for their friends and children and family members, and there is always a crowd watching and taking photos.  I went down one afternoon and heard them speak about never forgetting the horrible crimes that we committed against innocent Argentines.

During the Dirty War, thousands (the number ranges, but some estimate up to 30,000 victims) of protesters, "liberals," and revolutionaries were either kidnapped, tortured, executed or a number of other terrible things.  There were pregnant women who were kidnapped and tortured.  When they gave birth, their children were handed over to the wealthy military families that were friends or associates of the right-winged military government.  Only a few hundred of these children were ever found or returned to their families, and undoubtedly, few were ever aware of their background.

Thursdays at the Plaza are painful, but it's amazing how many people are still fighting for justice.  There are, of course, very controversial figures, including Hebe de Bonafini the current head of the organization, who have been labeled as radicals in their struggles for human rights.  Even so, it's a very moving experience to watch these women and listen to their words.

CATEDRAL- The cathedral of San Martin is located just across the street from the Plaza de Mayo.  As the Casa Rosada ("Pink House" and Argentine government building also next to the Plaza) was closed for visitors that day, many of us went into the cathedral.  It's enormous and absolutely gorgeous.  The Spanish/European influence is obvious in the dark would and vaulted ceilings.  There are a number of memorials and tombs (I think they still have bodies inside of them) dedicated to priests, bishops and various clergy members.  There are also a billion side chapels for the various saints and figures of Mary.  It's a pretty incredible place.  I sadly forgot my camera that day, so you should look it up!

NIGHTLIFE- Oh yes, how could I forget.  Argentina loves to party...  literally all night long.  I'm an old woman, so I didn't go out a huge amount, but of course, there was dancing to be done and drinks to try.  The first Sunday after our arrival was SuperBowl Sunday, so we went to bar that had a very American feel to it.  Shoeless Joe's.  Can't get much more American than that, but it was a fun time and probably a comfort to us in our first days.  We met some other U.S. visitors, yelled at some TVs and enjoyed a cold something together.

Probably the most well-visited club was Club Museo (Museum Club).  It was this enormous establishment, where you paid fifty pesos for entrance and two "Speeds" (energy drink+way too much vodka) to be be crammed with hundreds of sweaty, lusty portenos.  It was an experience.  One night, a group of us (all girls except Corey, who became our savior) went out to Museo to dance the night away.  We lost count of how many creepy men tried to steal us away from our circle to dance, or tried to get a little too close, or awkwardly petted our hair (oh yes) as we walked by them.  It was quite the adventure.  Eventually, I became tired of the hot and stink (around 4 am, I believe), and left with a friend.  Not long after, the girls and Corey were dancing in a little circle, and Corey got in a near fight with these Argentineans who refused to back off and leave the girls alone.  Glad I missed out on that one.

A ridiculous weekly Argentine ritual (and by Argentine, I mean it occurred in the streets of Argentina and was by no means an Argentine invention) was the Buenos Aires pub crawl.  You may find this hard to believe, but it was put into motion by some frat boys from the states looking to make a few extra bucks.  It seems to be fairly successful among tourists and Argentineans alike, and there's always a crowd in the Palermo park where they meet Thursday and sometimes Friday nights.

The evening begins with cheap beer, wine and pizza, which is followed by a romp through a handful of local bars with a shot or drink on the house for all in the company.  The night ends at a hip/hop club in which you can be delightfully squished against people in every direction who are trying their hardest to copulate in the middle of the dance floor.  It was, needless to say, quite an adventure and although it was an interesting experience, I was fully satisfied at not repeating the evening.  Oh the things we Americans bring to other countries.  Lovely.  Haha

There were other bars and clubs that we went out and spent our evenings in, but I enjoyed myself the most at a pool hall/bar with Lindsey and Henry.  Sometimes it was nice to just chill and talk about our lives over cue balls and a cuba libre (rum and coke) as opposed to fighting against a crowd for a little bit of breathing room.  There was also a club in Iguazu that was a great deal of fun because it wasn't too packed and there was plenty of room for us to enjoy ourselves and dance the night away with friends.

PERSICCO- In Buenos Aires, when you don't have internet available in your house, you still have options.  Millions o them, in fact.  Just about every cafe and most restaurants have Wi-Fi available, so it's easy to find a comfy location to relax and type away.  I was one of the lucky ones without internet, so I spent many an evening with my internet-less friend, Nicole in an ice cream place called Persicco.  Not only was the ice cream delicious and the workers sweet, but the internet was solid and there was always an open seat on the couches on the second floor.  The plug-ins were also a help when nights turned long over assignments, skype chats and, of course, blog writing.

It was easily my favorite ice cream place from flavors like flan dulce de leche (flan flavored with "caramel" swirled through) to melon (cantaloupe... seriously tasted like fresh melon).  Oh my goodness, do I miss it.  It was so nice to have a place to go and relax and the end of the day, and I'm going to miss the ice cream and great people!

SAN TELMO-  I know I mentioned the ferias before, but I wanted to touch back on San Telmo and some later visits there.  I cannot emphasize just how much there was to see in the several blocks that housed hundreds of artisans, venders, antiques, artists and the inevitable tourists.  I do know that the open air allowed for the most ridiculous heat from the sun that was best quenched by fresh-squeezed juice from the carts lining the streets and apple water from a little cafe within one of the massive antique outlets.  The street food was excellent even when you didn't have enough room for a jam and cheese or capresse empanada that was bigger than your face.

It was one of my favorite places to visit in Buenos Aires because it housed the best views for people watching.  The crafts and wares were interesting and cheap, and I bought a number of gifts and items in San Telmo.  Argentina opens its streets for shopping in place of small rooms within impersonal buildings.  I liked the opportunity to walk amongst rows of scarves in every hue and hundreds of the same type of nylon-string bracelets and tiny magnets, statues and paintings of tango dancers at every turn.  It was a marvelous place to be on a Sunday afternoon despite the beads of sweat that crept ever so stealthily to the small of your back.  Most times, you barely noticed anything besides the everything around you.  I'm not quick to forget my steps there.

MUSEO DE EVITA- Two weeks before we departed Buenos Aires, a group of us went to the Eva Peron or "Evita" museum.  She is a fascinating human being, and apart from being the lovely young wife of former President Juan Domingo Peron, she was a major philanthropist and Eleanor Roosevelt type figure for Argentina.  She made enormous efforts to improve the welfare for poor, orphaned children and was responsible for creating better care for the elderly who were no longer able to work.

That being said, there is always controversy behind such a figure.  Lucy, for example, was a little surprised that I'd been interested in visiting the museum and made a comment about how some considered Evita and peronism to be reckless and wasteful of government funds...  To each his/her own, I suppose.  I still felt moved by Evita's efforts, but it would probably be good to do some more research (unbiased, of course... the museum is owned and run by an organization that Evita put together and funded) before I try to talk with anymore Argentineans about the Perons.

BARRIO CHINO- Oh delightful, delightful.  I didn't spend a lot of time in the "barrio chino" or Chinatown of Buenos Aires, but I did stop in a few times for the cuisine.  It's not a very large area, probably only spread over ten blocks or so, but it's an interesting place to wander through.  Just about every building has Chinese lanterns, and there are dozens of shops with fake plastic samurai swords and scarves decorated with Chinese characters.  The food was fabulous and a nice reminder of home and some of my favorite restaurants...  It was also a nice break from Argentinean food, which was often a little bland for my taste.

LA BOMBA- There is a very cool outdoor percussion display that happens on Mondays (schedule was a bit scattered, but it was always Monday at 8 pm when it was going on) call La Bomba del Tiempo, "The Time Bomb."   It changes from week to week, and there are usually special guests, lots of drinking and (weird) America tourists.  It takes place in Once, one of the shadier parts of BsAs, and the line extends for several blocks.

The first, and sadly only, time I went to La Bomba, they ran out of tickets...  This was when my friend Rachelle was visiting me, and we hadn't realized that it wasn't really a "sit and enjoy" kind of concert.  So, I had my purse with me, and she had her enormous camera bag...  It was not very smart.  We left the subway station and walked several creepy, poorly lit streets while creepy men stared at us as we walked by them.  By the time we finally arrived to the line, we were ridiculously on edge...  So we found my friends and felt a little better.  That is, until, we realized we were the only two in the group without a ticket...  and had no way to get in the concert area.

So, we found a place up near the front of the line in hopes of sneaking in or getting to some of the last few tickets.  Some very friendly, very cute Argentines took us under their wings and allowed us to join them in line.  (I think giving them the last of Rachelle's beer probably helped.  Oh what guys won't do for a sip of alcohol and cute girls.)  The next thing we knew, the crowd was getting angry and forceful, and we were being squashed into each other and everyone around us.  We started to fear for our safety when the entire crowd would burst into a furious smashing and grinding into one another amidst the yells of the security guards.  Seriously, we almost cut out of there...  Luckily, we made it inside before we were suffocated and proceeded to the ticket stand and on to the concert grounds.

The percussion group was huge, and they'd invited a trombone (I think but cannot remember at this point) player for the evening.  It was so much fun to see everyone dancing along (with the exception of the athletic shorts clad American guys) to the various beats and songs.  We had to wear Rachelle's backpack like a giant pregnant belly, which won us some interesting looks, but we had such a good time.  There were some priceless moments (such as creepy guys checking out Rachelle, and Rachelle creeping right back at cute guys), and when we finally found my friends amidst the throngs, we danced with them.  The night ended sweaty and exhilarating...  It was very cool event, to say the least.

Uruguay... mi pais, mi hogar. : )

There is a general sentiment that our weekend in Uruguay was the favorite weekend adventure of all of my friends (at least, before our adventures in Iguazu).  Uruguay, as described by Lonely Planet, is the squished grape between Brazil and Argentina, but to my friends and I, it was so much more.  ISA planned a trip by enormous boat (first class!) to Colonia, which is a small town beside the river delta.  This town is small and quiet, but has unbelievable color and plant life.  

During the afternoon, we wandered through the town, eating and taking in the sights.  My favorite part of this was relaxing on the beach.  I got everyone to hunt for mermaid's tears (glass smoothed by the sand and water flow), and it was a sight to see us all bent over hunting for little chunks of green, brown, white and the occasional blue or purple enveloped by sand.  There was a rock that looked out over the water, and while I stood on it, I met a very sweet, wrinkly and white-haired man.  His named was Alberto, if I remember correctly, and he lived partly in Buenos Aires and partly in Colonia.  He was lovely and seemed to much prefer the calm streets and friendly people in Uruguay to the busy life of BsAs.  In total, Colonia was an interesting place through which to meander, but our time in Montevideo, Uruguay's capital, was much more memorable than in Colonia.  We left the ISA group in Colonia and hopped on a bus to Montevideo.

We had hoped to experience Carnival in Montevideo because it is rumored to be one of the finer celebrations outside of Brazil, which traditionally hosts the craziest Carnival parties.  Unfortunately, this was also the weekend that a torrential downpour ensued through all of Saturday and Sunday before finally ceasing Monday morning.  Hence, the Carnival festivities were cancelled (they take place in an outdoor amphitheater).  

Nonetheless, we had an exceptional time.

We arrived late Saturday night, and I, exhausted from the three-hour bus ride, slept through that night's activities while the rest of the group of twelve or partied and danced at a nearby club.  I have become famous for the things I can sleep through, but that will be a later topic.  Sunday morning will always be one of my favorite memories from this trip because it was so relaxed but full of infinite enjoyment.  We began the morning with a ridiculous romp outside in search of food and activities for the weekend.  It just so happened that we had no idea where the nearest supermarket was, so we spent the better part of twenty minutes running through the pouring rain.  By the time we reached the nearest market (a tiny, unfriendly place) we were all human puddles.  This probably explains why the storeowner was less than pleased with us, but we found what we needed (including some *ahem* beverages) to warm us up and keep us energized for the weekend and continued on our soggy way.

When we arrived back at the hostel, we immediately sought out the kitchen and the nearest blender… with no lid.  Luckily, our daiquiri/smoothie session ensued without any spills, and we were able to enjoy delicious drinks.  While my comrades concocted the beverages, I had gone in search of playing cards.  Along with one incomplete deck (Really?  Who loses the Ace of Spades?), I stumbled across some wayward French guys who were playing guitar and piano and singing American songs.  I, being the music enthusiast that I am, of course became friends with them after I helped them remember the chords to Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here.”  They of course, were more than happy to befriend the cute American girls and our companions, and the afternoon passed filled with singing, guitar playing, translating and very little card playing.  The guitarist kept trying to find music that we recognized and enjoyed, and lucky for him, we knew every song.  He was especially excited about serenading the cute American chica, my friend Kara, who was sitting next to him.  What’s not to love about the French?

 

We found out later that Kara is especially popular among all of Uruguay, not just the French passersby.  Late the same afternoon, we went exploring through the nearby streets in search of some action and an ATM.  It’s about 26 Uruguayan pesos to the American dollar, so paying 120 pesos for lunch is extremely decent.  We continued to be shocked, however, through most of the weekend at the prices.  I bought a painting for about 1,000 pesos Monday morning and had to do some quick math in the street before I felt comfortable with my purchase.  (Don’t worry, Mom.  It’s beautiful.)  After we finally encountered an ATM, we proceeded to the plaza nearby and through the streets.  The rain prevented us from doing too much, so after finding an even larger supermarket with items for Sunday dinner, we returned to the hostel.

 

During this same adventure, my friend Kara and I wandered into a bookstore while everyone else continued to the hostel.  Here, we had Uruguay Fabulous Memory #2.  We chatted for over an hour with the bookstore owner, Rauil, and even returned the next day with friends.  It was an amazing experience for me to be able to have a conversation completely in Spanish about literature and its importance in my life.  He asked Kara and I about love and humanity and hopes and dreams and a number of things that I could spend all day typing about.  He was an especially remarkable human being.

 

Sunday evening was the third great memory of the trip.  Again, I spent some time resting in my bed due to a stomachache…  However, with a dozen people to cook and organize dinner, it was easy to slip away for a break.  Dinner was a beautiful mix of asado, grilled veggies, salad, juice, mashed potatoes and bread.  It was like having Thanksgiving dinner but with the Multisa Family.  (Multi-country, ISA students…  cute, I know.  You’ll never guess who helped come up with it.)  We invited Bernie from Arizona and Humberto from Brazil to join our masses and our numbers were pleasantly raised to fourteen.  I don’t remember a meal so full of love and merriment in a long time, and it was wonderful to share the night together.  I was honored to give the toast as Mother Multisa and just as happy to join in the dishwashing post-meal.  Bernie joined me in the kitchen, so I had the opportunity to hear about his travels in South America.  He’s taking time from his job as an architect in Arizona to see S.A. for about six months.  Good luck, Bernie!

 

We went dancing after dinner till all hours of the night.  It seems that South Americans prefer to dance (and grope American girls) until they collapse from exhaustion, but I eventually had to call it a night around 5 am.  Being that checkout was at 10 am, it probably would have been better to have returned at a more American hour, but when in Uruguay… 

 

Monday, Monday, Monday…  How I loathe thee.  Usually, my good friend Garfield the Cat (Jim Davis, anyone?) would agree that Mondays are terrible because they bring the beginning of a new week of work and school and the end of a weekend of fun.  Well, this Monday began with sun opening my eyelids to greet the day and the noise of people in the street below my hostel window.  The storms and rain and grey had given way to cotton ball cloud and blue sky.  Since there were no Carnival celebrations to be had that day, we took another stroll through the streets and spent the rest of the day on the beach.  We met two friendly guys in the Uruguayan Air Force and played an energy-filled futbol americano game…  using a dead eel for one of the end zones.  He was happy to be of service, no worries.  I went for a swim in the ocean but stepped on something frightfully slippery and alive, so I retired to the sand and sun for the remaining hour or so.

After our adventures on the beach, we all went our separate ways.  Four of us, Alex, Ashley, Kara and myself, decided to wander along the beach collecting chunks of sea agate and more mermaid's tears before a dinner in one of the beach cafes.  Our meal was delightful and filled with story-telling and bonding.  By the time we meet up with the rest of the group to leave, I had no desire to leave my beloved Uruguay, but we took goodbye photos and made our way to the bus station.  Oh Uruguay, you will be missed.

Y hay el dia que yo caye de un caballo… And there was that one day that I fell off a horse. (Don’t worry, it wasn’t moving.)

ISA plans these great excursions for us (such as Tigre, when all the students returned looking like roasted chicken), and one Saturday, we went to a farm in the country.  “El Dia del Campo” was an interesting day, to say the least, but it was filled with delicious food to enjoy and several enjoyable activities.  The most amusing part might have been the elderly guests who shared the day with us (the farm has senior specials on the weekends) and their antics throughout the afternoon.

 

After a breakfast of coffee, bread, jam and dulce de leche (this wonderful caramel creation made by boiling milk and sugar for hours), we were introduced the head cowboy and his lovely mare.  He explained to us the proper way to approach the horses and mount and dismount as well as how to direct them while riding.  This was something I thought I’d always understood fairly well, but I may need a little more practice.  As I was climbing onto my trusty steed, my saddle slid to the side of his belly and I plopped to the ground.  My pride was perhaps a little bruised but otherwise functional until some random man started yelling at me from the sidelines about my inability to operate a simple beast of burden.  Thank you kindly for your litany of nothing helpful, sir.

 

I proved to be much more successful after a saddle tightening and a second attempt at climbing aboard.  Lucky for me, the other students were much more kind to me.  This might be because there were several other misadventures on their parts, including a friend of mine getting whacked in the head by a tree branch when his horse walked him into it. 

 

Besides these precious moments, we survived long enough to observe the games put on by the workers.  There was a very odd competition where two selected persons had to race to put on an outfit.  The outfit consisted of a wraparound skirt, vest, wig… and plastic buttox and breast ensemble.  I have photos.  The other competition involved two people carrying cups of flour on their heads and racing in a circle.  In both cases, the loser had a water balloon dumped over his or her head or fake snow sprayed on them.

 

Lunch was an enormous and delicious asado (barbeque) complete with salad bar, juice, soda, water and more bread.  (These people love their carbs.)  We all filled plate after plate with veggies and meat and were surprised when we were presented with crepes filled with dulce de leche for dessert.  Very rich, very delicious.

 

I must have enjoyed the asado a little too much because in the pool a little later, a crazy Russian woman asked me if I was pregnant.  (No, I just happen to have a little “more to love” around the edges and ate too much at lunch, but thank you, Ma’am)  I now understand the Cold War a little better…  She was a very interesting person.  Later, we discovered a little frog hiding in the shade of my bag, and when we told her about it, she tried to smoosh the poor thing.  She thought we said “araña” instead of “rana”  (spider, frog).

 

After our swim and playing with the frog, we climbed back on the bus and headed home.  We were all in desperate need of a bath and some exercise after the horseback riding and asado, but I’m pretty sure most of us went straight to bed.

 

 

What level is this anyway?

Sorry I haven’t written in a while…  There was a near disaster that involved a leaky water bottle, my iPod, computer and ALL of my cables.  Don’t worry, I may actually carry a little of the Irish luck associated with my heritage.

I left off with my adventures in Pinamar, but I just realized I never wrote anything about school here.  Let me tell you, it’s been such an adventure.  We began our Argentinean school system experience with an exam to determine what level we’re in—a process which, in total, took several hours.  Finally, I was placed in Intermediate 2 (the third level of four aka 300-level Spanish), and after much debate and e-mailing with my department head from home, found that I would be given credit for this period of my study abroad. 

The class was an intensive month of Spanish.  It was mostly review, but a much-needed refresher course with the added bonus of intense language practice.  I’m not totally fluent as of yet, but my Spanish continues to grow day by day.  Pia, my teacher, was pretty tough on my class.  She felt absolutely no remorse in telling the slower students that they needed to work harder or those of us (*ahem*) who weren’t correctly pronouncing certain vowel sounds (if you ask me, “a” and “o” are very similar sounds).  Despite her frankness, it was obvious that she expected only the best from her students, and I think, for the most part, we had great success.

Ours was the “chica clase” with fifteen students that were all females, so you can imagine the kind of atmosphere my class contained, especially when you have one class for a five hour duration.  By the second or third day, a clique had developed of the “cool” girls—you know, the snotty, uninterested whiney type.  They felt the need to share their party stories and hangover complaints during class time.  Riveting stuff, I assure you.  The other ten or so women in the class were very sweet and mostly focused, so it was easy to ignore the more frustrating attitudes in the class.

The last day of class we said our goodbyes and a handful of us accompanied Pia to the copy center to make copies of our final grades.  Pia hugged and kissed us goodbye and we all went our separate ways.  I really enjoyed the more intimate atmosphere of that class, and I’m hopeful to have a similar situation in my new class beginning tomorrow morning (only six students!). 

Si tuviera dinero, iria a la playa todos los dias...

Before I begin the description of my adventures on the beach at Pinamar, I want to take a moment to celebrate Haiku Thursday.  (Kait, this is just for you.)

I sit, fan myself

With a scrap of Yeats' best work

And question the world.

Amazing, I know...  Only kidding.  Actually, at the time I was awaiting the arrival of my friends to the heladeria (ice cream cafe) where we were planning on having ice cream and using the WiFi.  A large, obviously poverty-stricken family was walking by, and one of the children, a little boy, approached me to ask me for "monedas" or coins.  I heeded the advice that I have heard nonstop since arriving--don't give your money  away to the people of the street... especially, don't give away coins.  He was clearly exasperated with me and asked twice more, and it took everything I could to persist in saying that I had no coins to give.  

The reality is that I am a fairly well-to-do American girl who has learned to fear poverty and pinch pennies.  As I sat there watching the family make their way slowly down the street away from me, I reveled in my self-disgust and frustration.  It's a rather unfortunate handicap to be ignorant of the pains of those who have nothing.  I wish that I could rediscover my compassion or at least find a way to help these people.  In my computer sleeve, I discovered a W. B. Yeats' poem I wrote an essay on, entitled "Coole Park and Ballylee, 1931," and spend some moments soothing my soul as I digested his phrases and diction.  At least I can find peace in my literature.

So...  My second weekend here, I took a trip to the beach side town of Pinamar.  It's not a particularly large or interesting town, but it is most certainly the place to go for a day of sunbathing.  We were thinking we would be smart and avoid having to pay for a hostel by leaving at 12:30 Friday night and returning at 2:00 am Saturday night.  The bus trip is around five or five and a half hours...  Needless to say, I spent most of Sunday recovering and re-hydrating.

But to get to the details of the excursion...  We arrived and watched the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean (see photos).  As we wandered the beach, we were accompanied by a pack of stray dogs that were desperate to come home with us.  Unfortunately, they didn't want to leave us alone and hung around while we waited for the restaurant to open, but eventually lost interest and took to chasing the cars passing by in the busy Saturday morning streets.  We didn't see much of them later, but I don't think anyone was particularly unhappy to see them go.

After a three hour breakfast of coffee, medilunas (croissants with a honey/sweet glaze) and delightful conversation, we returned to the beach for a nap in the sun.  I went for a stroll with my friend Ashley (the same in the photo with the dogs), and we talked about the lives and people we left behind.  It was interesting to know that someone else shared the emotions and experiences that had tumbled around inside my stomach the first few days here.  It's funny that I hadn't realized that I wasn't alone in this little adventure.

For lunch, we found this tiny cafe and ate some of the best empanadas I've had since being here... I really need a recipe.  Afterwards, we followed our delicious meal with unbelievable ice cream...  I had kiwi and apple, can you believe that?  So delicious!  We filled the rest of the afternoon with more swimming and sun.  Although I put SPF fifty on my entire body the second time, I still managed to get a burn two days that later left a few tiny blisters on my back.  It was really not attractive, but I did survive.

We ended up wandering the streets that evening and discovering this Beatles cover band on the balcony of one of the bars.  They shared the stage with a CCR cover band, and the two were absolutely fantastic.  Alex, who is infamous for his friendliness, introduced himself to Paul and John and made plans for us to return to their later show.  It was amazing, but I spent a great deal of it falling asleep until the Beatles paid our cover charge, so we could sit in the bar where the view was much better.  I also made everyone try Fernet (the most foul alcohol) which is a famous Argentinean liquor made from herbs and tastes like you're drinking straight oregano and rosemary...  Such a fun night.

We had to leave our friends before the show ended, but we promised to make it to their show in Buenos Aires in March...  I'm looking forward to another Spanish accented Beatles concert.  The road home was long and I slept till three in the afternoon the next day, but I had such a good time.  It was a great time for bonding and frolicking with new friends.