Are you from Venezuela or Argentina?

Neither. 

Where are you from?

Guess.

Germany?

No. 

England?

No. 

Canada?

No. 

uhhh....hmmm. the US?

Yep!

Oh.

When you are on a continent that thinks your country sucks, I guess it's alright to not appear to be such a yanqui. 

Especially when I ask what the stereotype of an American is:

Fat.

Ok then. Continuing the process of breaking down stereotypes one international citizen at a time...

Some photos!

Hey! Here are some things I've been up to in the last month. Just a little taste...

This is Plaza de Mayo. It's sort of the focal point of the city. This is during a protest on the anniversary of the Military Coup in 1976. We had the day off for this holiday--to commemorate those who had died/disappeared/were kidnapped during that era. 

Posters during the protest. "Without housing, work

, health, and education, we continue disappearing." This is a reference to those 30,000 "political dissidents" who disappeared in the 70s during the military dictatorship. 

Here is Dad, Ines, and I watching some tango singing and guitar playing. 

This is La Peña de Colorado. They provide guitars and everyone gets rowdy playing folkloric music and performing Gaucho dances. 

This is at a small bar in the neighborhood. Tango music without the showy dancing. good call. 

Venezuela is good for two things: beaches and rum. 

"what you guys don't like Chavez?" 

Ines' fine cooking. Mmmmm. 

Some friends on a Friday night. Or Saturday morning. The weekend schedule here is absolutely absurd. Nobody even goes out until midnight or 1am or 2am....

Here is Esteban with one of the bazillion stray cats that are living the life of luxury in the botanical gardents!

We went to the races! I lost 2 pesos. 
 

This is an extremely relevant picture: it's the used Yerba being thrown away, I'm drinking SO much mate out here. mmmmmmm

Here is Ines and the new kitten, Benito!

¡Que Lindo!

 

This is at a performance by La Bomba del Tiempo, an improvisational drum troupe. Probably the most fun thing I've done so far!

This is the rooftop of the hostel that I stayed at before the program started. It was absolutely phenomenal. 

Hazards, yo.

I'm sheltered. No denying it. With virtually my entire life spent in Boulder...most of what I know about the world I have read, and that doesn't really mean very much. 

So, the freaky things that happen in BA probably aren't all that freaky for people in the rest of the world. Only for sheltered Boulder kids. 

Example. 

The subte at rush hour makes me want to die. I don't like having other people ALL up in my grill like that, and then Javi showed me a video of the subway rush hour in Caracas, Venezuela. 

People LITERALLY could have died trying to get on and off that train, I swear. There were probably twice as many people on the sidewalk waiting to enter than could physically fit on the entire train. The people trying to get out were TRAMPLED by those trying to get in.  I felt silly for getting so perturbed by the BA subte. Oh boohoo somebody is elbowing me. 

Also. 

Traffic here? I would never, ever, ever ride a bike here. (Much less drive..but that's because I don't drive haha). If I had come straight from Boulder and not seen Roman or Neapolitan traffic first, I might be scared to cross the street. Not a lot of attention is paid to lane lines, light changes, pedestrian walks, etc. But, it's NOTHING compared to Italian cities, so it makes me realize that in other parts of the world, it's probably a bazillion times worse. I remember Chris telling me about riding his bike around Rabat, Morocco and at the time I didn't really appreciate what that might look like, but now having spent some time in big cities, I'm glad I didn't know or I would have been worried sick! I bet compared to some of these "developing" parts of the world, Buenos Aires might as well be suburbia. 

And.

We have to unlock the front door to get out of the house. Not only to get in, but to get out. I didn't realize how much of a fire hazard this was until Dad pointed it out. If I am at a friend's house, and he leaves the keys somewhere in the apartment, and the kitchen catches on fire, and I can't find them, I physically won't be able to get out. We have to keep our eyes on those keys. 

And. 

I am convinced that the reason I keep getting sick is because of the pollution. It could be due to the kitten eating cockroaches and then licking my face, but I am pretty certain its the air. Apparently ever visitor from Boulder has independently delivered this same hypothesis to Javi and he thinks we're all lunatics, but I think we just know air quality! Anyway, it's getting to me, and I am really looking forward to some trips out of the city. Argentina has SO much to offer, and I need to jump on it. Pronto. 

Oh and also.

A couple people have been mugged so far. Some in a threatening, late night kind of a way, and some just getting pick-pocketed on buses. I've been lucky/careful. People don't really mess with me because I'm bigger (I haven't met many men with a lot of height on me) and angry looking when I walk around. We try to be unappealing women so gross men don't have any interest. I've also learned that if you are somewhat cavalier with your purse, people will think you don't have anything. If you clutch it, obviously you have something of value. In Italy, I had my Mom's travel wallet hanging across my body under all my clothes. Here, I would feel ridiculous doing that. People get mugged in all cities, but I don't feel a constant threat here. One drunk American film student I met was running around the streets with a big, expensive camera, taking artsy pictures of everything and actually being pretty reckless (running into traffic to get pictures of lights, climbing on top of parked delivery trucks, wearing minimal clothing). John and Javi looked at her in disbelief. "If this was Caracas," Javi told me, "You wouldn't have that camera out for one second before somebody came up to you and said, 'Give me that.' And you'd have to." Nothing happened to that girl. Except maybe a headache in the morning..

But.

I did see the most violent thing I've ever witnessed in my entire life outside my door a couple weeks ago. It appeared to be a young gang and a one sole victim. I've seen that kind of stuff in the movies, but never, ever at such a close proximity. I was sitting in a taxi, yards away. The driver wouldn't let me out until the commotion had settled, thank god. I won't go into details, but it was Gruesome (notice the capital G). I think the Taxi driver seemed to think it was racial. That the victim was Peruvian or indigenous or something. Now I refuse to walk alone at night, even down Corrientes, a busy, well-lit, family friendly avenue. Our new Spanish roommate looked at me like I was crazy when I told her I was going to the movie theater via subway instead of just walking. Ines reminded her that I'm only 19--a baby, really. 

Hmm. Well, maybe I'm a scaredy-cat, but I would prefer not to earn street cred by witnessing any more gang violence. Just not a priority for this trip. 

I shared this story with Americans and they were stunned. I shared it with Latin Americans and they practically patted me on the head. Their expressions half-heartedly said, "mmm, sorry you had to see that." Some responses were stories of incidents MUCH worse witnessed on the streets of other South American cities, and I just thought to myself, "the most threatened I've ever felt in Boulder is when a fox crossed the street in front of me." 

Horrible things happen in the world, and BA has its share of ugliness. But, it's so far from the worst of what's going on out there...But, I just don't really have a lot perspective. 

Some days I think, I'm am going to die in this city!! Seriously, I will!! But, I am a little Boulder bubble baby also...with much to learn about this big world.  

Suerte,

c

acentos, acentos, acentos....

With all the music in my childhood, I always thought I'd developed a pretty decent ear. I thought I was an auditory learner, and in fact, I was convinced I had to be told something out loud to remember it. 

The more and more my ear fails me here the less I believe this. In fact, I now think my ear isactually  pretty mediocre. After being told regularly that I have the worst accent out of a group of gringos (whom I thought sounded absolutely horrendous), I am starting to think maybe I thought a little too highly of my abilities. 

But. It's okay. 

I was really disappointed at first about how weirdly my Spanish is coming along, but when I thought about why I was disappointed, I wondered what is so bad about having an accent? I am actually enamored with my friends at home who speak English with an accent. I was always kind of jealous that they stood out so obviously as people a little bit different, because I think being different is cool. 

Except, apparently, when I am the one who is different. Before my trip, I scoured fashion blogs trying to figure out what Porteños wear. After meeting hordes of Argentine students at a Nuggets/Spurs game, Chris told me I don't look that different from them and I was ecstatic that I might be able to pass for one. I chill with Javi's friends and they ask me if I'm from Argentina or Venezuela (prior to hearing me speak of course), and I beam. But why do I care about these things? Is it really so important to relinquish the traits that make me seem American?

When I walk down the street, of course I don't want to look like I have a "clueless American tourist" stamp on my forehead... for safety reasons. But I wonder, is it less about safety and more about vanity? Am I actually just trying to fit in for the sake of fitting in? Or am I trying to fit in because if I can achieve and Argentine identity it means I'm more capable of true immersion? And what's the deal with immersion anyway? Is it even possible to ever really be immersed in a culture if the culture is cosmopolitan? Imagine a Japanese native with beginner english saying, I want to be immersed in New York City culture in order to understand being American. What does that even mean? Even if that was possible, maintaining what makes us foreign will always get in the way of one hundred percent cultural understanding: childhood experience, sense of humor, daily life's trials and tribulations. 

So, can foreigners actually be immersed??

We can be present in a culture, but I don't think we can become it. There will forever be a barrier. 

We will always, always, always have our roots.

But, we shouldn't want to detach them and go become a new tree somewhere else. That's not sustainable, your roots are who you are and if you bust your ass trying to get rid of them, you are just hurting yourself.  

It especially doesn't make sense for study abroad students to create new cultural identities because we are here to understand, not become. We don't have the time or the need to transform who we are. We just need to become capable of conveying of ideas to and from the culture we study. 

So if I have an accent with elements of Argentine, North American, Mexican, and Russian (don't ask..) with a sprinkle of Venezuelan cuss words, it's okay. I hear Mexican, Argentine, and Venezuelan Spanish the most often. I AM North American,  and as for Russian, well, that's something I can't explain, so we'll just laugh about that one.  

What's not okay is the fact that I don't make any sense when I speak to people. And instead of focusing so much on faking an accent that sounds authentic, I should probably actually deal with content of what I'm saying, and the accent will come later. (or not at all, ain't nothin wrong with the fact that I'm American). It doesn't matter if I can ask for a phone card without an accent. What consequence is there if the employee at the kiosk thinks I'm local? What matters is that I can communicate in sophisticated contexts so I can understand the complexities of culture and language not available to your average tourist. 

Easier said than done?

Besos,

c

"Latin Americans F*** up Countries."

I got to thinking last night in the Irish-themed novelty pub, as John (the venezuelan film student) explained to me the various offenses committed by a number of countries around the world. The more I understood his qualms, the more I thought that the US might actually be a decent remedy for his troubles. He said he had visited Orlando, a small town in Massachusetts, and NYC, and well, didn't really like the US either. It dawned on me how little of the country's culture he had actually seen, even with that amount of visits. 

We began to compare world regions and cultures from the small lenses from which we'd both seem them, and I got some chuckle-worthy insight into Latin Americans' perceptions of their brothers up north.

It should be remembered that the greatest exposure a lot of the world has to America is through our media--Hollywood movies and Pop music, primarily. And since reality TV is, you know, real people, turns out Venezuelans think most American girls act like the girls they see on MTV's The Hills. Evidently, even Venezuelan girls have put on the, like, valley speech, or whatever.

I was about to put John in his place about the difference between what you'll see on TV and what Americans are really like, and it dawned on me...half the girls at my school could be characters on the Hills. And actually probably want to be! 

That got me wondering how accurate a portrayal of the US Hollywood actually provides.

I saw the movie Watchmen here in Buenos Aires. That movie has a lot of US cultural history in it, as it takes place in the 60s and 70s. As the history progresses, musical styles change and culture references are dispersed throughout the movie. One line that stood out to me was after one of the superheros was created, the scientist says on the black and white TV screen: "There is a God, and he's American."

Reading those words as spanish subtitles on the huge screen made me blush. To many of us, that would be a joke. We are not as patriotic (nationalistic) as a country as we've been in the past, so the line felt sort of cheesy and nostalgic. And while I bet many Americans probably wouldn't even get that as irony, I doubt a single Argentino in the theater did. They probably rolled their eyes...yanquis. While most Americans aren't going to make a statement like that in earnest, there are definitely self-righteous Americans who WOULD say something like that...

So if the Hills accurately represents my demographic in the US, am I simply an outlier trying to deny American culture?

John continued to talk to me about how annoying it seems like most American girls are. Oddly, he'd met three girls, including me, from Boulder and they were the only Americans whose company he enjoyed. (such an oasis, this Boulder...). I wanted to refute this stereotype, and as the calculated words were about to come from my mouth, about 3 or 4 female American tourists sat down at the other end of the table and started yammering away like absolute idiots. They were really obnoxious. John made the motion of a backhand in their direction and I laughed. So much for my retort.  

I was starting to feel a little defeated with the boo-America talk, when all of a sudden John says, "I heard the population of Latinos in the US is increasing a lot. Maybe only a 10 years and there will be a Latino president."

I nodded with a smile, there is a huge increase in the Latino population--hooray for American diversity!!

Which is when he drops this bomb:

"That's too bad, Latin Americans f*** up countries." 

I almost spit out my bar peanuts. 

"Excuse me??" 

"It's our culture," He explained, "Latinos ruined Miami. They don't understand that hanging laundry from balconies is ugly. No Latinos understand that nobody wants to see their underwear." He motioned to two Argentine men peeing behind a tree right next to the bar in the upscale neighborhood we were in. "See? look at that. That will be your country." 

John doesn't realize we already have a lot of irresponsible men pissing all over our country. I doubt some latin spices are going to do any more damage. But, it was interesting to hear that culture-hating isn't limited to south-north. There's plenty of self-deprecating citizens of the world as well. 

Maybe universal intolerance will be the new playing field. We can all be hated equally? Even by our own brethren?

I don't know...

I have no conclusion. I just hope all the F***ed-up Latin American countries get it together so we don't have to talk about it like that anymore....

I got my new shoes on!

Yesterday, I finally got the "i'm going to college in Argentina" vibe when I walked out of the apartment towards the B-line subte. I was going to the Universidad de Buenos Aires (UBA), the large public university in the city. So far the classes I have visited were at la Facultad Latinoamerica de Ciencias Sociales (FLACSO), which is the graduate school that our study abroad program is partnering with. All of the students in my FLACSO classes are Americans on my program. I also checked out a few at the Universidad Católica de Argentina (UCA), which is a Daddy's money kind of a private school. The school's restroom signs have stick figures in the shape of crucifixes and you aren't allowed to wear rubber flip flops. May not really sound like my style but all the students there were cute and amicable, and the fashion I saw was pretty sweet. However, all the classes I took ONLY had foreigners in them because it was through an international program. As cool as it is meeting other Americans in Argentina, I really want to see a legit college classroom here. 

So yesterday, I was trying out something different. 

I was so stoked getting onto the Subte in order to go to UBA. Finally, my first day of school jitters! Part of my excitement was due to the fact that I wasn't actually supposed to be taking classes there. Because I had only passed into a low level of spanish, they didn't recommend I direct enroll with locals--I probably can't handle it. But, if I came all the way to South America to study with South Americans, I'm going to study with South Americans!!! So, I enrolled anyway. 

As I walked down the street, I was going over the various ways I could start conversation with locals when I got to class. I was interrupted by a blonde girl with a North American accent ask me in spanish if I was going to the Mejias building. I responded affirmatively and she asked me what study abroad program I was on. Shoot, I thought. Called out already? We began to chat and realized we were going to the same class. I began to wonder how many extranjeros (foreigners) would be joining us. 

Then, I saw it. What appeared to be outdated protest signs with peeling paint covered the side of a huge gray building. I peered into a window and saw students bustling about, relaxed, but with purpose. This was no UCA. I had gotten used to the marble-esque staircase, freshly painted walls, and river port back drop of the private school. I was now facing political protest graffiti from floor to ceiling, broken desks, dim lights, and young Argentine activists that regularly spoke like they were talking into a megaphone. 

Welcome to public school, I thought.

I was in love. 

My class was called Transition, Crisis, and Reform: The New Scenarios in Latin America. It was a fairly small class, but after a couple minutes of chatting with my new friend from Indiana, a crew of three other FLACSO kids entered the classroom. They were my friends, but I was surprised to see them. I thought this was supposed to be authentic Buenos Aires. It wasn't until the end of the class when the TA asked how many foreign kids were there and I realized almost 2/3 of the class weren't from Argentina. I almost choked. 

But as my friends and I headed to the photocopy store to get our readings after class, I was overwhelmed by the hordes of (Argentine) students crowding the halls, the papers being flung around, the chorus of spanish slang words, and the art of it all. I decided having a couple English speaking friends as support in a tough class is no tragedy, and just being in that building gives me exposure. 

So, I got over myself. Look forward to next week, Prof. 

Quiz Results: You are 18% Shameless Tourist!

I am so much more invigorated by good company in a modest kitchen in the Barrio then I am by collecting snapshots of myself in front of world-famous attractions. 

Today, Javi and I sat in the kitchen for nearly SEVEN hours drinking mate and chatting in spanish (hey-o) about many things, including that mysterious topic of tourism that always seems to be hovering over me in this country. 

Dad had an absolutely incredible visit to BA with a very minimal tourist agenda. He saw Recoleta Cemetery, wandered Puerto Madero, and listened to some Tango, but it was by no means because of a strict adherence to a guidebook's itinerary suggestions. Dad's trip was amazing because he was interested in becoming more intimate with something specific: daily life, food styles, some music, basic spanish. Things that are not out of reach with some local connections and SO much more rewarding in the end. 

Will I be devastated if I come all the way to Argentina and don't see Patagonia? Mendoza? Punto del Este? Igazu Falls? No, no I won't. I guarantee I would have an amazing time in those places, but what moves me more than being able to say, "Hell yeah I went to Patagonia! Yeah I skied! Yeah it was awesome!" is actually feeling like I made an authentic connection with the culture. 

And the path to that is...ding ding ding! The people!! 

I like interesting people more than beautiful places.

Hablamos.