It's hard to imagine..

...that almost three months ago I was sitting on a deserted beach in northern Chile, next to a stranger who became a friend. It's hard to imagine that in the same way I walk around a southern University town, I was flagging taxi's, subways, and packed buses to go as close or as far as I wanted. It's hard to imagine that an hour and a half drive to go camping seems like a while here when just three months ago, deciding to take a 20+ hour bus ride to an unknown part of an unknown country with an unfamiliar language was commonplace. It's hard for me to imagine that for 4 complete months I lived my life in this manner while everyone lived theirs here, that while they were watching UK basketball I was holding my ears against the roar of South American soccer fans as they advanced in the world cup. That instead of walking across North Campus, I was walking past museums, zoos, and bus stations that could take me wherever I wanted for just a few dollars. That instead of looking out at a student apartment complex, I was standing on a balcony in Palermo within shouting distance of my favorite empenada shop and the laundry ladies. It's hard to imagine that instead of walking past sorority girls and fraternity boys, I was bumping into travelling street magicians, cocky portenos, gauchos, and Armenian women who would think nothing of offering me coffee on a rooftop in the early hours of the morning. That having and drinking a bottle of wine was not proof of fake ID or how messed up you could get, but a conversation starter and a source of pride. It's hard to imagine how much - and how little - has changed, but most of all how I would be different if this unimaginable trip had never happened.

Fireflies in the Garden

Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.

Robert Frost

Another reason to love summer

So, I did some experimenting tonight and had some pretty sweet results...literally. And literally the EASIEST dessert I think I've made.

So, if you have peaches or - as in my case - berries laying around and this looks like something you might like, I say give it a try. Here's the recipe I came up with after some slight modifications to others:

Summer Berry Tart crust:
- 1 1/4 cup all purpose flour
- 1/2 teaspoon salt ( I just thew a couple pinches in)
- 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
- 1 stick of butter

So, basically, you just chop up the butter into small-ish cubes and dump everything into a food processor (I'm sure a blender would work as well)....and pop the whole thing in the freezer while you make the berry mixture/filling

Filling: 1-2 cups of berries, or sliced peaches, or a combo. In my case, I combined a bowl full of raspberries, blackberries, and blueberries with enough flour to coat (about 2 tablespoons) and 1/4 cup sugar. Then, if you have one - zest a lemon, an orange would work well too.

So by now, your pastry stuff is pretty chilly. Take it out of the freezer, and get ready to blend - but be careful not to over mix - should never be blended for more than 15 seconds. Start pulsing, just seconds at a time until it looks like coarse meal - then slowlyyyy add ice COLD water (use 1/8-1/4 cup) until dough just begins to stick together when pinched. Form into a ball, and pop into fridge for 1 hour.

I did this before dinner so all I had to do after was form the dough into a greased tart pan - but pressing it into a cake pan and building up the sides a bit would work if you don't have one - and baked it at 400 degrees F for 25 min. until golden brown and berries are bubbly.

Serve with vanilla ice cream, and you cant go wrong.

Back to the grind

So I thought that coming home and finding a job would be one of the biggest wake up calls - turns out it is nothing compared to the ugly monster of boredom. Tomorrow, I will have been home for a month had I not already fit a week of travel to Mexico in. But the remaining 19-odd days of not working and being home are what I blame for any "reverse culture shock," the disappointment of not still being in South America, and the near "homesickness" to a place I only lived for 4 months. Now, don't get me wrong - I still miss it. But I needed a solution to those bouts of sadness that would arise when I had nothing better to do in my day but reminisce. The last thing I expected to keep me interested was a job.

But it looks like I've found my solution. Maybe it's just beginners optimism, seeing as how it was my first day, new place, different people. But nonetheless, it has some big potential. I am working at a certain bakery which happens to be in the cake and cupcake business. It stays busy, the employees are nice enough, and the customers are happy. There's even a cuban who works there that I was able to chat with a bit. And best of all - it's a bakery. This will be bakery number 3 for me, and I haven't lost my love for food - and sweet food at that - yet.

So, long story short, I'm getting back into things here. It definitely lacks the excitement of a huge city; the ease of public transportation, the laden down dog walkers, non-stop traffic, and eclectic people. But for now it fits the bill. I have a good job, I've still got a bit of summer left to enjoy, and I'm hanging out with my friends and family. I'm saving up for more travel, and soon enough - hopefully within the year - I'll be back on track for some longer-term travel. But I'm starting to understand the importance of consistency, and having a place to come back to no matter where you've been. But I guess the better question I should be asking myself is simply,

What's next?

A little bit of chicken fried

The youngest ones skip the mulling around, wondering who you are and are not related to, and by which side, how many "greats" to add before the apropriate title of aunt, uncle, or otherwise.
None of this matters to the 6-and-unders...by some gravitational pull a small herd forms upon the opening of van doors. And off they go - for the rest of the afternoon they will be a passing blur of screams, laughter, and questions.

But for the adults, the mulling about and apropriate hugs with the apropriate people become a bit more casual as soon as the appetizers and homeade alcohol appear. It would't be a family get together in E Town without Rips most recent concoction - this year its mojito mango and based on the steadily lowering mark on the mason jar, it's a keeper.

As the room fills, the personalities filter through the house. The two 20-something year olds sit in the corner by the piano sipping lemonade reminiscing about travels abroad. Their mixed conversation about spanish accents and ski conditions in the french alps is backdropped by great great aunt Norma's talk of a great neice's success in the latest miss Kentucky pageant. Next year she says, next year she will win. Just a little more work on the talent portion, and she'll be golden. Another cousin sits in the living room, stationary due to a recently - and mysteriously broken foot. The stories range from an enraged public fight, to a simple slip down the stairs but nothing is certain. A little family humor is mandatory when a casted foot is present.

As the evening slips on, burgers, brats, and charred hot dogs lose some heat waiting on the solitary vegitarians veggie burgers. A great aunt with an eye for photography - her work in photo archives and restoration as well as her travels to Tibet and beyond - provides more than the typcal small talk, but it's her jade jewelry that draws the cousins eye.

The has-been-in-progess-for-the-past-year koi pond is as big of a conversation starter and point of envy as is the neighbors new pool (heated by the graceful waterfall flowing from the raised hot tub - how intelligent!)

Conversations regarding UKs football season and the decline of USA's golf future without Tiger blend with the Zac Brown Band playing in the background. Rennie's famous pea salad dwindles. The squash casserole is almost gone too, now completely stripped of its bread crumb topping - the best part. Gani's benadictine is present to - but with the disclaimer that this particular one could never live up to the real thing when she used to make it. And of course the competing baked beans, from the light and spicy to Kim's bacon and brown sugar version.

As the afternoon draws to an end, to go plates are filled with brownies and left over potatoe salad. The loud chorus of crickets and frogs and the blinking of lightning bugs might be alarming if the family was coming from a quieter setting, but go unnoticed for now. Young cousins cry as they drive away from their "new friends" and goodbye hugs between family members that won't meet for another 6 months - till Christmas - are cut a little short by the heat and humidity of the summer night air. The collective group breaks into individual families packed tight in their vans and get ready for the journey home.

And as the country roads melt into the highway and a faded afternoon glow, a certain 20 year old sits in between 3 arguing 6 year olds, humming Chicken Fried, and can't help but think - It sure is good to be home.

Reverse Culture Shock...AKA

- getting uncomfortably close to everyone before remembering here, we don't kiss everyone
- understanding conversations. All of them.
- phones that work, and almost wishing they didn't
- toilet paper that feels like egyptian cotton...no really
- peanut butter.
- driving...and wondering why I missed it so much?
- fast internet. definitely a shock
- people you knew, and still know. Besides the million little things that have changed
- speaking spanglish, and refusing to say "bye"..chau is still acceptable right?
- trying to remember that a yellow traffic light means slow down, not speed up (technically)
- forgetting the world cup is still happening due to the lack of celebration
- adjusting to the reality that full cama, unlimited drinks, movies, and comfy sleep is not an option for cross country travel
- missing a place as if it were home while sitting in your real one...but loving that one equally
- adjusting to real people's sleep schedules
- and eating habits

I believe in a thing called LOVE

...just thumpin' to the rhythm of a heart...

no, but besides the ever-catchy song, something else has been stuck in my head lately. Something just as catchy, but a little bigger in my book. I've been talking lately, more than usual, about the "big topics." You know, gay marriage, abortion, all that. And I have some big opinions on those, but I don't need to write about them. If you want to know, let's chat. Because I'd like to know your opinions on it too.

But besides legalities, I have also been in the situation a few times to explain to strangers exactly what I believe. I feel like this one comes up a lot travelling, and it is equally out of interest as a way to categorize. It's trendy to have certain beliefs in a group travelling, and from my experiences, being a white, middle class, Christian girl from the south is not one of them. In fact, I think it might be the quickest way to be excluded from any sort of spiritual or "open-minded" conversation.

But funny thing with this question is that it is both:

1. my favorite question upon meeting a person
2. my least favorite question when meeting someone

I'll explain the first reason after, but why and when it is my least favorite:

When people want a quick answer. Think about it, when you ask what someone believes, you are asking what they base their personality, pursuit, moral code, their life on. Sure you can give the short answer, but I'm not willing to give it unless you want to know why.

When they aren't willing to listen. I understand being set in your beliefs, in knowing where you stand. But that doesn't mean you can't listen. It's quite the contrary actually - in being set in your beliefs you should be capable of listening even more actively without the fear of being swayed. And if that person does have something big enough, powerful enough to actually sway you even the - maybe listening was the best thing you ever did.

When it's asked to prove a [negative] point. This is the same as generalizing, stereotyping, name-calling.

The reasons for why it is also my favorite question are basically the opposites of the reasons above. But more than anything, it is because it's the fastest, scariest, most honest way to really get to know someone. And because the more you talk it out, the more you start to get it yourself. This one might just be me, but I find talking about my beliefs outside of the safe area of my church helps me solidify and grow in my beliefs just as much. (How boring, and easy, would it be if we believed something our entire life and never had something to compare it to?) The saying "knowledge is power" comes to mind here. It would be pretty ignorant to live for something without knowing what else is out there....because actually choosing to follow a certain path is half the battle. Dedicating your life to something shouldn't come easy; it should take some big thought.

But before getting into too many of my own beliefs (I am just as confused and mistaken as anyone else in this race for something bigger) , I want to share the basis of it all. I am a Christian. That is the path I have chosen. And the book I choose to follow, the Bible, has a lot of cool parts to it. But here's the one I'm focusing on right now: 1 Corinthians 13.

I think it's important to read the whole chapter, because we have heard it broken up into its many powerful pieces, but the pieces not so often quoted make a lot of sense too. But the main points can be very briefly stated as a.) God created love, so therefore he is love b.) we were created in love, so everyone is capable of loving c.) because we were created in the image of love, we are meant to love others in the same way. Or we could break it down even further to God = Love.

So, if you ask what I believe and you're searching for the short answer …that might just be it. Love. Because even if I don't agree with you, believe the same things, get caught up on some technicalities - some wordings, or translations, or just ideas. Even if I am stuck wondering if the book and path I have chosen to model my life on are in fact the ones i want, I am comforted with that thought. Because I can't think of anything better to live for. Because when it all comes down to it, loving my neighbor, my enemies, and myself equally doesn't sound like to bad of a thing to strive for.

I have been embarrassed of myself and of other "Christians" for our representation of what we stand for, of a lifestyle we claim in calling ourselves Christians. I have disagreed with entire church opinions. I have definitely failed at times, and gone entire periods of my life without a thought of God. But for all of these transgressions, for all of the smaller things I have had to think out,
I take comfort in knowing
that according to my book.....

Love rules.

spän-ˈtā-nē-əs

Etymology: Late Latin spontaneus, from Latin sponte of one's free will, voluntarily

1 : proceeding from natural feeling or native tendency without external constraint
2 : arising from a momentary impulse
3 : Asking a random guy in the hallway to go to Chile, and actually being there 2 days later

true story. more to come soon

Do it like the hostel livin'

In these last days, I've been racing. Mentally, I am everywhere - and physically, I feel the need to be. The urgency of leaving makes the possibilities loom overhead, the sights, smells, tastes that I haven't experienced yet and could, but only in these last 10 days.

10 days.

I want to go to Chile. But there is a lot holding me back. I keep telling myself I will come back, and I truly hope I do. Maybe I'll wait, maybe not. I'm learning the practice of last-second travel more and more as I am here.

It's hitting me, albeit slowly, that I am not only leaving the country but the people. I am leaving cranky residencia staff, breakfast with homeade yoghurt, fresh squeesed orange juice, fried eggs with chewy bread and peeled whole kiwi.

I won't be able to complain about empenada's being all there is to eat, just to fall back in love with them the minute I bite into my hot, juicy 80cent dinner. It won't be normal to stand half-way in the road, searching for the right bus then curse that I only have 5 and 10's left in centavos. When I'm late for school, I won't take any more taxi's, or sit in a sweaty packed subte. I won't be able to walk a block in any direction and be able to buy whatever fruit I want, despite the disappointing quality, or stop in a kiosko for any late night snack need you can imagine.

I won't look down when I walk as much, in search of dog poo or misplaced cement blocks. I won't have to concentrate on not smiling or laughing as men whistle, make kissing noises, or whisper things like "que ojos! que hermosa," or "linda."

I won't be confused as much, wondering what people are saying, or what the heck Claro is saying every time they send me another prmotional text. I won't be able to pick up and travel as easily as I can decide to just lay in bed, I will have responsibilites. I wont be able to look out of my balcony to see if the laundromat, empenada or corner places are open. Or to see the over-burdened dog walkers. I will probobly never see so many small fluffy white dogs in one place.

I won't be able to walk to a zoo or a museum, get candied peanuts or a great steak, have the option of a carriage ride right next to a colectivo or taxi. I won't be able to justify every purchase by cutting the price 75%. I won't be able to go to one of endless giant ferrias to buy mate, crafts, or leather. I won't be able to talk about languages, accents, and adventures with people from al corners of the world.

I will miss the people - the travelers, CEAers, fellow states people, argentines, and the residencia crew. I will miss their quirks, their always-too-fast spanish, and our talks. I will miss getting to know people from scratch again - hearing stories, experiences, and opinions. I will miss playing polo, and just hanging out at the barn. Sipping mate to be polite even when the water is burning my mouth. I will miss every person who has helped me along the way : the girl on the bus to Pilar who just happened to know english, the driver, and my stop - the law student on the bus to Bolson who kept talking to me no matter how much I wanted to sleep. I will miss the small world moments like meeting Karen and both knowing Don, or having Julians uncle pick us up at a police station in Bariloche and bring us to his "hostel" which meant living with his mother and him for a night cooking, drinking beer and mate on the side of mountain. I will miss the travels - and all the memories accumulated - north to Iguazu, south to Bariloche and El Bolson, to the beach in Mar de Plata, the vineyards in San Rafael/Mendoza. I will miss my roomie and our crazy sleeping patterns, and her boy drama. Taking pictures with Jack, and walks with Joe.

I will miss so much more that I am sure I will write about later...but the point is that it is starting to set in. I'm gonna miss it. I will miss the freedom to do what I want, when I want. But there is so much to look forward to, and it is those thoughts - of sitting on the couch with my mom, sister, and dog watching grey's anatomy, of night swimming at the Bailey's, hummus at mellow mush, chilling with Fatima and Mack, driving with the windows down and country music turned up. All of these thoughts are meshing - the things I am waiting to miss, and the one's I ahve missed but will have so soon.

So I'm gonna try and slow down this mental, physical race. I'm going to try and enjoy the last 10 days in the same way I enjoyed my night tonight. Just chilling at a hostel, getting to know a few more people while drinking armenian coffee over a trilengual conversation of spanish, english and portugese. Just talking, reflecting, and enjoying the night.

So what are my plans from here? No clue. But for now, I'm gonna let the race slow down, and try to just soak it all up....while I can.

20

So, my birthday was bomb. No other way to say it.
Here are 20 of the reasons why:

20 - playing pool and ping-pong at midnight
19 - finally going to the Japanese Botanical Gardens
18 - feeding giant Koi with little portenos
17 - eating the best sushi I have had here
16 - coming home to a decked out Feliz Cumple room
15 - getting a Muma's cupcake and muffin with candycanes
14 - finding out my roomie is sneakier and craftier than I could have imagined
13 - sweet party hats and an explosive candle
12 - having happy birthday sung in spanish and english...several times
11 - Crobar and perfectly timed facebook-adds
10 - VIP, free entrance for all 20ish of us
9 - repping the Res: Columbia, Venezuela, Argentina, Peru, and USA
8- mini fried empenadas, pumpkin with orange chicked, tomato basil sticks
7- live spanish rock band
6- more than one group bonding over ...limes? :)
5- discovering Jack learned quite a bit from cotillion
4- bonding in the bathroom with Andrea, not losing my phone, money, or coat
3- dancing the night away to reggaetone and running into more friends
2- getting home around 6 in the morning
1- turning 20 in Argentina!!!


Special thanks to Jack for distracting me, and Andrea for making it all happen! :)

Soneto XVII

Pablo Neruda was one of the main reasons I wanted to learn spanish. He was a determining factor in deciding to study in Chile. His homes and birthplace are still motivating my travel plans, and his words keep me entertained and inspired on long nights. This one was my first Neruda poem, and is still my favorite...beautiful in both languages as only the master himself is capable of.


Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.


Soneto XVII

No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,

sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.

6/3/2010

Goodbye Yvette, I know you knew how much you were loved.
You were the glue, and the light of so many peoples lives. You were not a victim of cancer, you were a conqueror of it. What so many would take as a final death sentence, you took almost 10 years ago as if it were a common cold. I remember our talk about the wording, the mind-set of it all. You were, in fact living with cancer. You beat the odds more than once, and never took any credit for it. I wish I could write more eloquently about you, about it, becasue it is the least I could do. But that's just it. I didn't learn how to decorate life with frills from you, I learned how to live. And for as much as you knew, you will never know how much that has meant to me. I am more than thankful for the time we had together, for the long talks, the food, the crafts. For the distance, and the gaps between visits - we did a pretty good job. My biggest regret is that we couldn't have longer. I would have loved to grow up with you. Thank you for teaching me about life, for always believing in me, and for giving me something to aspire to. I love and miss you so much. RIP

Your neice,

Chelsey

Moments

- drinking a Brahmes in a garage-turned-dico Easter night in Bariloche with Joe from England

- Standing under the falls at Iguazu, screaming at the top of lungs only to be drowned out by the sound of the water

- 1st night at Azucar, after the nicest drinks @ Milion...learning to dance Salsa with a girl from Barcelona, an Argentinian cop and his friend "Walter"

- Dancing a traditional kerchief dance with the sweetest old woman at the Bicentenario, hundreds of people making a circle around and being the only "gringa" in a whirlwind of traditional dresses, scarves, and snapping fingers

- Making a tent in Masters for movie watching

- Spending the night in the Bariloche bus station, tent pitched and locked between the main station and the outside by the security guards with the girls and our adopted stray dog....being protected from the homeless men

- Petunias camping in Bariloche when the old man took our passports for the night, then told us to sleep "tranquila"

- Bariloche little girl getting mad we took her bottle saying "es mio puta!"

- Passing out on the beach in Mar de Plata....one of the worse sun-burns of my life

- Watching polo all day at Zarate

- Riding in mendoza, leading, then galloping with the gaucho

- 1st bus ride to pilar...Belen the girl who saved me by knowing my stop then the bus driver who made sure I got there. Meeting Val at a gas station by myself, hoping for the best (and ending up having one of the best experiences of my life @ her farm)

- CEA mendoza night - guitar,harmonica,singing "stand by me"

- playing chicken in the river misiones province only to find out there are poisonous snakes

- "weekend" 5 day trip for semana santa to Bariloche, then to El Bolson 2 hrs south with some of the coolest chicas around...camping in a 2 person tent and freezing, discovering small-world moments with Tato's hostel, seeing the most dreadlocks of my life, steph's 1st horseback riding, El Pueblito's, lots of new friends..., learning to check the dates on ourbus tickets, and sooo much more

- hearing Mauricio beat-box for the 1st time late night outside residencia

A letter

Dear Yvette,

I know we have lived, loved, laughed, and talked enough so that you know how much I love and miss you. I don’t know if you know how much I think about you and how many stories I have saved for you, knowing you are the only person in the world who will listen, and care, long enough to some of them. I went to Iguazu, some of the biggest waterfalls in the world, and I swear my camera was fixed on all the colorful butterflies more than the waterfalls because I knew you would like them, especially the purple one. Was thinking of a butterfly scrapped card set, maybe. I wore my hair in a big braid the other day, thinking of you, but was bummed that I still can’t french braid like you! And of course, every time I see freckles, or purple. But that’s a given. Then there are the German Shepherds – everyone here is in love with dogs. I was in a bookstore today in an old renovated theatre, and was looking in the poetry section at Pablo Neruda. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, but his work is beautiful in both Spanish and English - the translations are incredible. But it didn’t have any illustrations, like Hailstones and Halibut bones. In Patagonia, there was a cute tea shop that I made a mental note to tell you about…the entire ceiling was huge bushels of dried flowers, huge blue, red, purple clouds of them and these wooden fairies everywhere. There is so much I wish I could tell you in person now, and better yet, have you here with me. I feel like our sense of adventure is so much alike, but I need someone more free spirited to tell stories with and make the most of it. Heck, I even think of you when I google Montana and try to justify picking up and living in a cabin in the mountains for the rest of my life – just because I know you’d be there to give me a few more reasons. The ferrias here are like giant crafts markets, and are open every weekend. I was very seriously contemplating the market for your knitted scarves and homemade cards. I hate not being able to visit more, and to visit sooner. But what makes it feel a little better is realizing just how much you are with me wherever I go. I have always looked up to you, and part of the fun of the adventure is in knowing you would be right here cheering it along. I have a feeling you know just how much I adore and respect you but just in case it hasn’t actually been said straight out, here it is: You are the strongest person I have ever met. The bravest woman I know. One of the smartest, most selfless, most loving, and best spirited people I know or think I will ever know. You stand up for what you believe and by holding people to higher standards make them be better people themselves. You are so beautiful inside and out, you glow. You are my hero.
I love you so much,
Chelsey

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.Isaiah 41:10

Well said little book, well said

So I found this very well-said quote in a friends eyewitness travel book, Top 10 Buenos Aires.

Portenos (locals) pay little heed to political correctness. Young and old swear with gay abandon. Despite a ban on smoking in public places, smokers are everywhere. And it is a relentlessly macho society in which women travelers can be subjected to passing comments. However, it is all invariably harmless, and best taken with a large pinch of salt."

Better than milanesa and huevos duros...

As I write this my fingertips are still smeared with the grease from the "patacones" and "bolones de queso" that Andrea (AKA: Ecuadorian candy, ethnic food chef, best roomie ever..) made for us...and boy, were they gooood. These little discs of savory, crunchy, greasy, gold are popular snacks in Ecuador. The first are simply plantain slices fried in oil, smashed down and fried again. Add salt and you've got the more exotic version of home fries. The second were about the same, but instead the plantain is first broiled, then mashed around a core of soft cheese (she used a mozzarella), creating little plantain balls. Then, you guessed it, into the oil. After letting some paper towels absorb the excess oil, and sprinkling them with salt...it's time to munch. They're crispy on the outside, slightly soft in the middle, and just plain satisfying.

And then there was the salad. Yum. She diced and sautéed onions and tomatoes until they were soft and saucy (very professional culinary vocab, I know). Let the mixture cool a bit, while I grated the left over mozzarella. Then we added both to the bowl of lettuce and topped with a splash of lemon juice. Our poorly supplied kitchen lacks forks so we got creative and began using the plantain discs to scoop the saucy salad...I don't think we spoke until we were done eating it all. Not that it took us very long to devour it.

Needless to say, for the little effort we have put into cooking, what effort we have put in has created some amazing results.

Our first time was just 2 weeks ago (we only have access to the kitchen on weekends) when we made steak with a sautéed veggie medley of tomatoes, mushrooms, squash, onions, and garlic. The great success of this meal was the discovery of cheap bags of spices from the little fruit stands that are open late. For less than 50cents we got 3 bags of chimmi-churry, oregano, and a curry. We rubbed the steaks with a concoction of these spices, mustard, and oil...while the veggies and spices with soy sauce cooked down in another pan. While those were going we made a simple salad of these awesome buttery greens and tomato with lemon juice. Ecuadorian candy whipped up a huge batch of creamy guacamole, and we assembled the plates. Needless to say when we walked into the kitchen, we were not the only ones admiring our impromptu dinner.

Maybe I have a future in culinary after all.... but I guess we'll just have to keep testing things to make sure I'm not mistaken!

Pilar...Learning from the Pro

Me learning barrels, and Val showing me how it's done...bridle-less!

87.....days here
31.....days to go

more than half way...que triste :(

200 años

We had been lazy all day. Worthless, actually. As Andrea and I moped around, still in our PJ's and 4pm crept up...I was determined to get out the door. Although my still droopy eyes and tousled hair didn't portray it, I somehow convinced her that we had to get to 9 de Julio. "I hear there's food from every province!" was the convincing line. This is where we are really similar: our stomachs are the only reason we get out of the room on overcast days like this one.

Walking towards the Subte, I still felt a bit groggy. Keeping up with the nocturnal portenos had turned out to be more of a challenge than I thought. But it was the bicentenary, and 9 de Julio - the dedicated "party street" for this long weekend was only a few subway stops away. Things weren’t looking too hot as we failed to wake up on the walk to the station. But with the first rumble, huge WHOOSHHH of an especially on-time subte, and opening doors to open seats (this is a rare occurrence), things were looking up.

Our company was more entertaining than the normal after-office, keep-to-yourself crowd that usually packs the little compartments into warm, stale silence. They were your run of the mill teenage delinquents. Dreads, oversized jeans, and feverishly working on decorating their well-used decks with an oil marker. After a bit of showing off for us, including rolling some trash paper into a "blunt," they decided to chat with us. In english. Andrea took on my Alias, claiming to be from Kentucky to which one responded in a thick accent.."oh, I was born there!." To say the least, they made the ride a bit shorter and were a good change of company.

With a jolt, and another fresh breeze of air, the doors opened and we were there. Walking up the stairs into the early-evening air...being late May already it was obvious the colder months were approaching. 9 de Julio was bustling.

After some wandering, or rather, nearly crowd surfing through the ridiculously packed parade area, we decided to scout out the food I had heard so much about. The change in our attitudes upon the discovery of the food stands was comical. We joined the herds of hungry locals and tourists and began our push-shove crawl past each booth. Scotland, Armenia, Greece...I jumped up and down as I made the translations and realized which country we were approaching. After being denied much variety of food in this country, I was in heaven.

After a good block or two of straining to see what was offered, some hard decision making, and growling stomachs we were awake and had food in hand. We headed to the first break and joined the hoards of escapees on the side of the road, and sat down with our catch. Our menu included a falafel pita sandwich from the jewish stand, an almost neon yellow and very sweet peruvian soft drink called "Chola de Oro," and the most satisfying, piping hot, spicy seafood mixture from the chilean stand called "Chupa de Mariscos." As we devoured the food and people watched - from the head to toe blue and white patriots, to the pot-smoking hippie parents with their kids - all of the corners of argentine culture seemed to walk right by us.

Too full to walk, we waddled down the street in search of dessert. Instead, we ended up at a concert playing famous artists from each of the provinces. The vibe was electric, and it seemed like things were picking up as it got later into the night. We squeezed ourselves into a decent position, front and center, and watched as a particularly energetic group came on. There is something to be said about Latin music and how the people move to it. All of a sudden, the clapping hands, swinging hips, and waving flags turned into a whirling circle of dance. No, not typical concert-in-the-park dance. These people had skill. It began with two elderly women, although their dancing did not reflect their age one bit. They were doing one of the traditional flag dances, holding their pieces of cloth, wrists making rapid figure eights. They kept strict eye contact with little grins, and glided past each other in various patterns always staying in the growing circle that we had become the perimeter of. It caught on quick. Apparently, every argentine over the age of 50 knows this dance because very quickly, others joined in.

Joining in the laughter and clapping, Andrea and I turned to watch the dancing as the momentum built. I was clapping, pushing my camera bag out of the way when all of a sudden, someone grabbed my wrist. The cutest old lady was pulling at me with surprising strength, and the next thing I knew, I was the youngest member of the dance circle. Faces swirled around mine as I tried not to trip everyone in the circle. I joined my new partner in face-to-face finger-snapping, side-passing, hip-swinging celebration. We danced through the song and as quickly as she had grabbed me, she disappeared into the crowd. As the new song began so did the real dancing. The new, faster paced music must have been queue for the men, because out of nowhere, there they came, legs flying. It looked like a mix between scottish highland dancing, square dancing, and salsa, but whatever it was..it was impressive! One man who was especially talented threw his sweater for us to hold as the music got faster and the dancing got better. The energy, culture, and general feel of it all was far better than any free concert I'd been to at home.

After a good amount of time at the concert, and giving our stomachs a rest, we hit the streets again in search of sweets. After sampling some of the creamiest dulce de leche we made an impulse buy of the largest container they had. We ran into our quick-legged friend there too and decided to all work our way back to the main plaza. After stopping for some armenian baklava and chatting with our new friend we decided to call it a night. As we kissed goodbye, we began the push back to the subte with the sounds of machu pichu flute music being performed in the background...but not before grabbing the last snack of the night: candied peanuts.

We got seats on the way back. Our stomachs were more than full. We were awake, although exhausted, and were smiling. I felt like I had just been thrust into the most cultural and unique events I'd experienced yet and couldn't have been happier about it. I closed my eyes, popped a peanut in my mouth, tapped my fingers to the music still playing in my head...and settled in for the ride.

Feliz cumple Argentina :)

Kelly Feinberg.

One of the best professors I have ever had. Her class was at 8am, 4 days a week and I think she is the only reason I passed the attendance. She was always smiling, had something interesting to say or show us, and more than anything - caring. She was young, spoke about her little boy Ori almost every class and wanted more than anything to see us succeed. That was obvious. I have her to thank for a lot, and much more than I think she ever knew.

She passed away last friday to a rare form of cancer. I will miss her dearly, and will always remember her as more than a teacher but a mentor and friend. RIP Kelly, you are loved and missed by many!

Back to reality...

To say the least, I am not ready to leave this place. All the time I hear other Americans talking about how it's been great but they think when the time comes, they will be ready to go home. I unfortunately, have not had that feeling. I woke up today with a sense of urgency, a horrible relaization that it is May 14th and I barely have over a month left here. I am still meeting people, discovering places, and I have this overwhelming sense that it will all be over soon. I am loving every minute of it but I think for my remaining time here I am going to try and do more, see more to really get to know this city. A lot of us have used the term "going back to reality" in reference to home but one of the best parts of being here is realizing this is my reality for now...so I'm going to take advantage of it as much as possible while I can :)

Words fall out of intruding mouths
poking eyes, judging while they sit
in their same lives,
wondering why you might
not want the same
comfy chair,
big desk,
nosy boss.

And when your mind is wavering
While your legs are aching
to stretch out
and your mind contemplates
the possibilities
of new smells, words that
ask the same questions
in a different tongue,

daydreaming
just thinking

you realize your steadfastness
is just as intuding,
pin-pricking,
immobile
as the stubborn thoughts
you claim to rise above.
So you do
what you must do



and run.

Skype-tastic

Despite the often horrible internet here, Skype has been a lifesaver. For anyone who doesn't know, Skype is basically just a free "phone call" from computer to computer...and an extra perc is if both parties have a webcam, you can see the person you're speaking to - as close to being face to face as you can get sitting in another country! Some of my more fun Skype experiences include watching the KY derby, watching the creation of some abstract art, seeing part of an Australian campus, having an original song performed for me to the tune of some mean guitar, and finally getting a clear call to a much missed amiga! Of course just chatting with everyone is always great too. There is some pretty cool technology out there, but Skype is officially my favorite travel accessory yet! Best of all it's free, easy to use and understand...just a quick download away. I actually just downloaded it to my flash so I can open it on any computer (Someone I met travelling shared this with me, thought it was a good idea!) So if you know we need to catch up, look me up and we'll set up a Skype date. :) Until then, Ciao y besos!

PS - for the latest version/download start here: http://www.skype.com/intl/en/home

University of Belgrano: how NOT to run a university

So I know that you are aware school is the least exciting aspect of this adventure (hence the lack of posts on it) but here's a quick blurb on why it is insanely frustrating somethimes - becasue even if you can't do anything about the problem, it still makes you feel better to know there are other people use common sense too.

At UB, we have attendance cards. You swipe it on any floor before your class to show you are there. Not so bad, right?

Wrong. There are a hundred little rules that makes actually attending as difficult as possible. When did simply attending class not count as attendance? Some rules so you have an idea: The day is split into three time blocks, so it its not the class that is recorded, it is the chunk of the day. So if you have 2 classes in one period, you swipe once. But if you have one class right after the other...but it happens to fall into the later time block, you swipe twice. If the class starts at 2pm, you have to swipe it then. Accidentally swipe at 1:59? Nope - you're absent. And then there's my favorite - if class is cancelled by the professor...you dont get to stay home, or avoid the 30+ minute commute. You still have to swipe. And on top of all of this, we have to find it out by ourselves the hard way. No warnings, info...nada.

None of this wouldn't be so bad if attendance wasn't required. But it is. You can only miss 25% which ends up being around 3-4 classes.

I am currently in an e-mail battle with my advisor after being curious and checking my attendance online. I just about screamed when I saw every class was below 40%. Not good. And more than that, NOT true!

I am NOT going to miss this.

Iguazu In Photos...because words cannot explain

Caballos! I'm not...obsessed?

Yeah, so ever sice I stopped riding I haven't had a lot of time to be around horses. Some here and there when I could beg a ride out of friends or make the time but I guess I didn't realize how much I miss it!


Anyways, the point is -- my study abroad experience might be turning into one of the best horse experiences of my life as well.


Horseback riding in Patagonia (El Bolson) - 3 hour ride across a beautiful river, up a mountain, and to a short hike. Cool horse, only walked, but got to pick blackberries on the way up. Stephanies first time on a horse!
Nuestro Caballos - Horse expo in Plaza Italia. Whole post on this one too (begin of pilar trip) Met some amazing people, got to see hundreds of my beloved Criollo's, talked to some gaucho's, and watched a true Argentine rodeo. Learned a lot about the horse culture here.


Pilar - there's a whole post on this. Possibly the best day I have had in Argentina. no joke. Plus, it's opening my mind to the world of western riding, natural horsemanship, and possibly liking Arabians. maybe.


Riding in Mendoza - this is when I realized I might be obsessed. I hung out at the gaucho's place across the street from our cabanas just to hang out. A small little shack of a place, I'm pretty sure this is in a post somewhere too...but it ranked up there with Pilar - he let me lead the ride (INCREDIBLE views, and some of the scarriest terrain I've been on) and took me galloping by ourselves in the sand dunes!


Polo - well, we could call this my second education. I spend more time now at the polo barn than at school. Amy ( another girl from UK, who I happened to have played polo with my only time riding for the schools team!) and I go every tues/thurs and lately...have been throwing in visits other days of the week too. It just feels good to be in a barn! It's a big one too - with jumping, dressage, equitation, and polo. Starting to get to know the horses too, which is always fun. Ihave had one lesson (Post on that soon) but other times I go to take pictures or just hang out and pet some horses. The guys there aren't too bad on the eyes either. ;) We went to a tourney last weekend which was an incredible experience - about 2 hours away at a polo club. We hung out in the owners house and "took tea and dulces" for a bit, made an amazing new friend Domi, and watched polo ALL day. We left at 8 am and got home around 10pm. I'm coming to really respect the sport, and find myself wanting to play more and more - but money is the problem. I've got my second lesson this week, but unless a little money fairy comes down it looks like I'll keep drinking mate by the arena.


It's also resulted in a lot of planning. AKA - to save enough money to eventually ship a criollo horse up to the states. Now here, there is no mistake - I am obsessed with this breed. RReally, truly, obsessed. I just can't believe how beautiful they are every time I see them, their confirmation, their color (mostly grullas and duns), their manners, their soundness...to say the least - I want one.


Anyways, I'm getting pretty into it all this horse business again...to say the least. Enough so to possibly buy a pony when I get home. Just saying :)

Lately, I haven't been able to get over that feeling that everything really does happen for a reason. Now, I have always believed this but for the most part I have not had such obvious examples, things that I have been able to trace a path of decisions, events, choices...I have had these small epiphanies, little feelings, big decisions, tears and joy and lately it has all just felt... right. I still worry, make too many plans, and make mistakes but the biggest thing is I never find myself asking "what if?"

All of the events in our lives add up to the sum, the whole of it. I am a firm believer that happiness is found in action, that it does not just come to us and that it is also a state of mind. I have already adressed this a bit, but more than ever, I am realizing how swiftly our lives can be pushed onto a different track. Despite the countless decisions and happenings that put me on track to live in another country for a semester, the earthquakes in Chile are what I look back at when I wonder how I got to where I am today.

It all plays out like a movie every time I think about it; the first flight from Atlanta and hearing all of the spanish speakers, hugely excited for a country I had researched relentlessly for months. I had my passport in my hand getting on the plane, finger pressed against the new Visa I had picked up in Chicago after months of mail, calls, money, and paperwork. I was shaking of excitement, imaging my new host family, the two dogs, the fresh seafood and small coastal towns I would visit. My head was swarming, but I was not only happy - I was worried. My first time flying internationally, my limited spanish freezing up, disolving as I tried to recall the simplest phrases. Then the issue of time, the weight of what I was about to do coming down, the idea that anything and everything that happened in the next four months wouldn't include me. That my friends and family would continue living their lives, and I would not get to laugh with, go out with, hug, kiss, share with any familiar thing for such a long time. And then the worst relaization: that my being gone was not going to put life on hold, that bad things were still capable of happening. That one of my most loved family members was having a surgery, that I would not be able to visit if I wanted, that illness does not wait for convenient times. All of this and more, swarmed through my body and head as I tried to stay composed getting onto the plane...this is what I remeber.

And then there was the flight - each small event feels so much bigger in my mind, and the smallest details still stick out more than 2 months later. I put my bag above, pulling out the book of Chilean Slang, a spanish translator and my book A Thousand Miles in a Million Years. The plane was huge, and my bag barely fit. Still shaking, I tried forcing it above me, attempting and failing to look like a seasoned traveler. A group of grad students got on, loud and cliquey. A man from barcelona sat behind me. One of the grad students sat next to me, and as we said hello and discussed our reasons for travel we bagan what would end up being a friendship through one of the biggest events in my life. Over the next 8 hours, we talked about everything. He was from somewhere in New England, Jersey I think and I couldn't shake how he looked like a boxer - and so much like an old friend of mine. He was cocky, loud, and sarcastic. We got along great and it took my nerves off of the trip completely, he was a good confidence booster and his comments made me believe I was actually ready. We disagreed on almost everything, but it is shocking how much you can get to know a person if you really talk with them for a few hours. We ate gross airplane food, and talked more - about factory farms, grad school, northern accents, how much I like to talk, God and religion...everything. For as much as this plane ride affected me, I don't remember much of the actual point that we turned around. It was dark and we had had some horrible turbulence, there was lightning and sideways rain and I remember that being my biggest worry. Exhausted, I fell back asleep and was woken up when I bumped my head against the window. Some people were mumbling and I looked at the huge map showing out direction and I tried to adjust my sight when I saw that we were going back over Costa Rica, but in the other direction. I was sure it was broken. I shook him awake and maybe five minutes later the pilot came on and announced "Chile has experience an earthquake and we have lost communications with the Santiago airport, we are flying back to Miami until we know more." It's funny becase I really didnt freak out - I didn't feel much of anything. It's almost like I expected something to happen, that the insane amount of work and research I had put into getting to Chile, how perfect my host family had seemed, how easy my goodbyes were - they all added up to something funny, like there was no way I could make a smooth entry becasue it was all lining up too perfectly. But when I say that a 8.0 earthquake was the last thing in the entire world I expected to disrupt the process, I am serious. I'm pretty sure the most common reaction was laughter. Just short, abrupt laughter. It wasn't possible. The map had to be broken. We weren't actually taking a 12 hour flight back to where we started...

By the time we had landed we had heard news of the damage, that it had hit concepcion and aftershocks were coming. The airport felt like another world coming from the shocked silence of the plane - the hours after the news were monotone. Everywhere, TVs blared the news of the quake, the rising death toll, comparisons to Haiti, images of houses that were pancaked, warning for resulting Tsunamis...

When peple ask if I was angry or upset, if I cried... I try to explain that I didn't cry becasue it wasn't possible to cry. As I stood there with my brand new carry-on and Chilean Student Visa, I was watching images roll across the screen next to people I had just been sitting on a plane with, but the difference is that what I was watching was just a country I had created in my mind. It was their reality, their houses, their families. I met a couple who I had passed several times during the flight, I remember them being so perfect looking sleeping together under the tissue thin airline blanket. We were trying to figure out our ticket situation and had been in line for almost an hour when I began talking with them. They were Chilean, from Santiago, but were studying in Maryland. They were dating and were flying back home to go to her little sisters funeral. I found this out from the boyfriend, as I watched the girl sit against the wall, crying so hard, speaking Spanish so fast I couldn't grasp what was wrong. I assumed it was the funeral, but I was wrong. She came over to us and told her boyfriend that both of their houses had been destroyed, flattened. Her moms had been too and they were trying to contact family to make sure everyone as OK. Thats all she said. And then they hugged - no more tears, just holding eachother and with a deep breath they turned to me ....and asked if they could do anything to help me. I almost collapsed. I felt insulted, disgusted, overjoyed, baffled - that these people could have just found out the most terrible news, and still want to help out an American girl that was just getting ready to study abroad. I still get chills when I think about it. I think that's when I fell in love with the people of Chile despite never having stepped onto its soil.

Anyways, what started as a long trip got even longer - I stood in line and met people with similar stories, and it was not possible to feel bad for myself. I couldn't cry becasue in comparison I ha nothing to cry about. I felt lucky.

The rest of the trip through the airports still sticks in my mind, but I feel like that will fade...it was full of trials, experiences that will prove to help me with future travels, and an amazing amount of helpful people. I remember feeling overwhelmed by the amount of good I had seen in people through the journey back home. So many plans were made, changed, cancelled in such a short amount of time. I was given a choice between studing in Costa Rica or Argentina, the Chilean program was off. I just remember laughing, considering flipping a coin to make the same decision that I had put so much work into the first time. I settled on Costa Rica, I'm not sure why. Maybe becasue it was further away from the earthquake, or that it was the first country my program director had told me. I got on another plane somewhere along the line to go home after finding out my bags had been sent to KY and I wouldn't be able to go to Costa Rica until I had them, but had to get off after mechanic issues proved to be too difficult to fix. I complained, finally broke down, and just wandered around the Atlanta airport. When I was finally on my way to KY, I wasn;t sure if I'd be able to say goodbye again. The fragility of life, the unexpectadness and reminder of how fast things can change had shaken me up a bit. But then there were the more powerful waves of confidence, of knowing that I had to go somewhere after how long I had prepared. When I got off the plane and walked to the baggage claim of Lexington almost exacty 24 hours later and saw my mom in almost the same place I think it hit me. Not in an overwhelming, lay on the floor and cry way (I had already had that in Atlanta) but in a matter-of-fact-get-on-with-your-life-way. I was lucky. I was back home, safe, and was still looking at options for a semester abroad. The people I had met were just beginning a horrible journey of rebuilding and reorganizing their lives as I was hugging my mom.

My bags were still lost - turns out they had never left Atlanta and the mean attendant who had casued my break down was simply "mistaken." But lost bags weren't a problem, it was almost laughable actually. It turns out the series of events I went through leading up to this mistake ended up helping me out. We spent a couple more hours at the counter trying to talk with my program, figure out where in the world I was going, and for me - trying not to pass out. I was exhausted. Leslie, the woman helping me with my program whom I had already spoken with through the past couple months could not stop praising how well I was taking the situation. I wanted to explain to her everything that had happened, tell her why I was still able to laugh and that she could just choose my country for me becasue I had no more brain power left, but I just said thanks and praised her for her life saving calm and organization. So I changed my mind and picked Argentina. Not sure why, just an accumulation of little things, its proximity to Chile, and lack of sleep. I didn't know anything about either place, so the decision was not terribly difficult. Other than that it left the next day - I wasn't sure if I was ready to do it all over agian, and home was looking safer and more comfortable every minute.

Time at home flew. Besides the massive sense of deja vu, I went shopping, visited some worried friends and laughed at the situation becasue that's all we could really do. And I slept - probobaly some of the best sleep in my life. I said hey to my sister and my dog, and another friend came over just in time to see me re-packing my freshly delivered bags.

Then it was back to the airport. I said bye, but it was different this time. Still a big hug, but it was bittersweet. It was easier because we had already done it, but part of me thought it was harder, becasue I couldn't accept this time I'd actually be gone so long. I felt like I would be back the next day, like my Chilean trip had ended up. I wasn't shaking or nervous, and this time I did look like a seasoned traveler. I didn't have any nerves, and had a comfortable flight back to Atlanta. The layover was hard, every TV spoke about the earthquake and the 300+ person death tole, and the Hawiian Tsunami scare. I laughed when I realized my plane to Buenos Aires was leaving from the same gate as my Santiago flight. Go figure. As first class boarded, the backpacker-esqu man next to me leaned in and whispered "must be nice!" I shook my head in agreement, chuckling but really just hoping for a window seat. I began boarding and when the attendant looked at my ticket she signaled for me to seperate from the line and turn left....to first class. I corrected her, and told her I did not pay for it. She shrugged and said "well, that's your seat!" I was PUMPED.

So there is a happy ending, in fact - there is not an ending...I'm still on this rollercoaster of a journey and I couldn't be happier with it. Of course, there is nothing good or happy about the earthquake and I still want to find a way to help out...but the amount of growth that happened in that short window of time is one of the biggest things that has ever happened to me. I was reminded how strong people are, and got reminder after reminder that people as a whole are good. I learned language barriers can be dissolved when you really try and that one little thing can either ruin your day or just cause a ripple. But more than anything, I learned that things always work out.

I got first class becasue of the bag incident and the mean man who casued my break down. I met some amazing people that I have kept in touch with and who I know I will cross paths with again someday. Ilearned that sometimes not knowing is half the fun, and that mourning what could have been only makes you miss out on what is. I ended up in a beautiful city with even more beautiful people who I can now call my friends. I have traveled, tasted awesome food, and learned a bit more Spanish. I have a polo lesson this week, and am going back out to Pilar to visit my barrel racing friend. I am lucky. Blessed. All of the above.

So that's about the whole story of those couple days. People ask me a lot if I am happy here, if I wonder how life would be different if it had not happened. But I can't answer that, becasue I do not know. I am more than happy here and I do not think of what could have been becasue if I do, I will miss out on what is happening here and now. I will make it to Chile eventually, and I can't wait to make memories there - to see the place I know so much about and maybe exercise some of the unused travelbook knowlege I accumulated before those days. But that's for another post. For now, I am going to keep living and loving Argentina while I still have time to and take comfort in the fact that things DO happen for a reason.

That's all for now....Besos!

The little things

Just a list of the quirks and maybe some of the less glamourous things I've picked up so far..

• the idea that napkins should be absorbent is a foreign concept...instead they are little sheets of parchment paper used to decorate the tables
• you get used to water unidentified water dripping from above you..people say it's just watering plants that leak onto your head on the way to school, so I'd like to continue believing that's what it is
• people here are good multi-taskers. They can drink mate, walk to work, AND avoid the unusually common piles of dog poo. I've been lucky but have witnessed my fair share of unfortunate victims
• The reason for the poo: the rediculous amounts of dogs, and even more impressive - the dog walkers who will fill the entire sidewalk with batches of up to 14 dogs. Always with mp3 players in, arms braced, and the most talented: riding bycicles
• Peter's - hot dog store with toppings ranging from jalepeno cream spread to corn salsa, always with potato fries on top...you eat here after 4am
• Loco drivers, that goes for collectivo's, taxis, and personal drivers...and all drive manuals, so automatics here
• Despite my high hopes for south american food, if you are trying to live on a budget their diet consists of empenadas, pasta, and milenesa
• They put hard broiled eggs in, on, and around just about everything
• The sidewalks here are more like obstacle courses with uneven blocks, teeter-totter ones, and best of all - they are camoflouged to look exactly the same so it's always a nice surprise

This could be one of those memories...

So here's the back story: I went to Nuestro Caballos after reading about it in one of our weekly e-mails of what to do in BsAs. It was one of the biggest horse exhibitions in the country and better yet, it was only about 6 blocks from my residencia. The description was brief, saying the place would have about 1,200 head of the finest argentine horses...but not much more. So I grabbed my fellow horsey friend and UK go-er and we headed off to see what it was all about. I had my doubts that the center of this huge city could have any kind of legitimate horse experience and when it came time to pay the 15peso entrance I was setting myself up for a bit of a let-down. Long story short we ended up watching some horse sales, shopping for some polo gear, and looking at the rows upon rows of criollo horses. After watching some of the reigning competition, my friend ended up leaving as she had to get home but I decided to wander outside to the warm-up ring for more photo opportunities. All the gauchos were hanging out with their horses, and polo and pato players were warming up. After being wrapped up in taking their pictures I noticed a peruano horse being exercised for sale and decided to test out my spanish with some of the horse owners. After chatting with several, I was directed to a woman who knew some english. We talked horses for a while and I expressed how I wished there were somewhere close by I could just ride instead of paying for expensive tourist rides that only allowed you to walk. Turns out I was talking to the right lady. My new friend Valerie is a very successful barrel racer in Argentina and her husband is a talented trainer of criollo horses - he "makes" horses as she says. So she loaded me up with plenty of free passes for the next day of competition and I left with her phone number, an invitation to her farm, and the bus number i would have to take with the direction that she would "pick me up at the gas station."

Fast forward to Wednesday, the 21st. I am woken up by a call from an unknown number, and stumbling to the dresser I answer with a raspy "Hola?!" After a short conversation with my new friend, I have all the information I need and am on my way to Plaza Italia with 2 freshly bought empanadas and no idea what to expect.

I wish I could say my language skills and independence have improved enough to make the bus stop a breeze but it's not quite there. After some translation by fellow spanglish speakers and an understanding driver, I had a round-trip ticket to Pilar..about an hour trip each way. I saw my bus, jumped on, and closed my eyes for the ride.

About 40 minutes in, with a panicky feeling in my stomach, I realized I had no idea where to get off. In desperation, I asked the girl next to me "Hablas ingles?!" and to my huge relief she responded with a smile and "yes."

Again, luck and the ever-friendly people of this country were on my side again. She talked to Valerie and happened to know the bus driver and set it up so he would tell me when it was my turn to get off. After that, we chatted about the cultures, her one visit to the states, and I answered her many questions about things like cheerleaders and sororities. When it came time for her stop we went to the front and exchanged numbers to hang out in BsAs later. She thought I was very brave, and I'm sure a bit stupid after realizing I was on a bus, didn't speak the language. and was headed to a strangers house but assured me the people in Pilar were extremely nice and I was going to love being out of the city. She wished me luck, and two stops later I was given my queue and hopped off on the side of a highway next to my destined gas station. Sure enough, Val was there and after a quick hug and hello we headed off. We caught up a bit, talked about her kids and husband, about her horses and accidents, competitions and accomplishments.

A few minutes later we pulled up to a quaint but beautiful estancia-style house in a secluded half-wooded, half-field area. The whole house was decorated in photos of her family’s life with horses, old saddles of varying styles, bits and a a huge mate collection she attributed to her husband Gonzalo. After more talk, and playing with her 3 awesome dogs I was introduced to Linda, her 8 year old chestnut Arabian mare and best friend. She invited me to eat some sandwiches and juice while we talked and my favorite of the dogs, a rescued golden retriever laid his head on my lap while Linda wandered close by.

Soon, it was time to ride. She groomed and tacked up with a smoother looking western saddle that her friend makes (super light weight) and told me to hop on. After some walking and just getting comfortable she taught me the basics of barrels, showing me the hip movements, how to look and stressing that Linda knew what she was doing, and if anything went wrong it would be because of my mistake not hers. So the pressure was on! Soon though I had her cantering a figure 8 around the 2 barrels and was feeling great being back in the saddle. Val’s daughter came out and watched and brought mate that we all drank to give Linda a break. I couldn't stop smiling already - drinking mate with locals I had met on my own, yelling and giving commands in Spanish on top of an incredible horse in a beautiful place outside the noise and rush of the city, meeting more and more friendly people as the day went on.

But then she took it a step further, and I don't think I've stopped smiling since. When I first met her she had mentioned showing her horse without a bridle, but I did not expect her to do the same for me. But sure enough she was leaning forward, taking Linda's entire bridle off and replacing it with about a 4 foot rope for something to hold onto around her neck. I was pumped. We started right off, and the horse was amazing...at one point I was going the fastest I had, staying tight to the barrels and got frustrated when we made a wider turn. Val had to shout to me, "remember, you are riding without a bridle!" We galloped a bit around the pen, testing out turns, and getting more and more comfortable with the speed and the sudden changes in direction before calling it a day. I had been riding for almost 4 hours and could tell I was going to be in pain the next day, but didn't care. I have always wanted to try barrel racing, and I'm not sure if my into to the sport could be topped.

Before leaving I watched some youtube videos of her husband’s horses, drank chocolate milk and eased off the leather paddock boots she had lent me for the day. Her daughters friend came over and we all hung out listening to The Beatles and Maroon5, waiting for her to get ready for work. The whole time I was in a mixed state of shock and bliss. It was the most comfortable I had been yet in BsAs, with the type of people and lifestyle I love most, and I felt completely at ease and in my element. I was proud that I had followed my gut instead of letting the fear of going alone or going with a stranger stop me.

So, saying goodbye to the dogs, and jumping in the back seat with my adopted family of the day, we headed back to town. Her husband and step-son met us there as we dropped the daughter off at work and all made a combined effort to help me catch the right bus back with careful directions which stop to take. With lots of hugs and kisses goodbye, I thanked them, and jumped on my bus home. I hope to see them again and even more so - to continue to take even more opportunities as they come.

It was a seemingly small event, but for me it was a pivotal part of my experience here, and I will never forget the day I took the colectivo to a bus station somewhere in Argentina.

Pshh...This doesn't look too bad

As I clumsily ran off the red sandy rock below, launching myself into the fun but slightly unspectacular zip line, I was feeling pretty confident.

We were in Mendoza, our CEA crew once again exploring a new part of the country and alienating even more argentine hospitality workers. This time especially, the setting was spectacular. It reminded me a lot of Arizona with the desert landscape and varying shades of red and orange mountains. But what really got me was the water - it was an amazing turquoise, and ran the perimeter of where we were staying. We ended up rafting it, but I'll save that for later.

The guides had outfitted us in about 20 minutes with our gear and harnesses, and picked groups by saying "you here, you there." No orientation, boring talks, or signing waivers. Just getting right into it.

So as I zipped across the small canyon, I prepared myself for an amateur morning of baby-adventure. I'm not quite sure where this confidence came from seeing as how I have never repelled before...but even after the upward hike to the top, even after seeing each of my peers drop themselves more nervously each time off the side of the cliff - I was sure it would be a piece of cake.

At almost the same moment the guide grabbed my hip clip and attached me to the various ropes anchored on the mountain, I realized I had no clue what to do. He had given a quick show-and-tell kind of presentation in spanglish, but I was still feeling so confident, I'm not sure I listened closely enough. He tugged me forward, my goofy red helmet slumping a bit with the jerk. I stumbled forward, still OK and coordinated...I even grabbed the right rope and hooked my left hand around my harness like I had seen others do.

That’s when I saw the edge of the cliff. Woops. My already limited spanish went up about two octaves and shook as I asked if he was sure I was doing everything right. I have to say leaning backwards over the rocks and people below did a good blow to my temporary confidence. He ended up keeping me there for a bit, turning his back on me (and my potential fall to the jagged rocks below) to tell the group to look at my good form and technique thus far. Now normally I would like this kind of praise, however small, but I couldn't contain my look of sheer confusion after the statement.

All of a sudden he said, "bye-bye, adios!" and there I was...letting line out, pulling it in, step-step, down the side of the mountain. The only part I clearly remember is turning around to look down and seeing the guide below and a huge bulge in the rocks I was walking down in mid-air.

As my feet touched down in what felt was 30 min later, but was more like 5...I felt pretty good. And intact with a confident smile and incredibly shaky hands I went to join the rest of the group.

Pshhh we said, "that was a piece of cake."

Sometimes it's the little things..

..that make me realize how much I have to learn. On a whim yesterday my new roommate and I decided to grab some ice cream and get our hair cut. Random combination I know, but it was time for some change. We tried out a different (and better) ice cream place than usual and headed to a place she knew of for our hair. It was around 8pm, but they do things later here. After roughly communicating that I wanted my hair cut and I didn't have a lot of money, I jumped into the chair to get it washed an start the process. A guy with bleached faux-hawk hair who looked close to my age was my hairdresser for the evening. Funny thing about guy hair-dressers: they are no less men even when taking care of your hair. Compared to my place back home, where my head is massaged to the point where I am smiling and want to fall asleep..this was more of a sports deep tissue massage. As I strained with a half-grimace and he pulsated his fingers across my scalp I couldn't help but worry a bit about what I'd gotten myself into. Being that my roommate is from Ecuador I ran to her after being released from the sink and had her translate my short version of the cut I wanted: some layers, kinda side bangs, and I guess whatever he thinks looks good. So there I sit, and he starts snipping. It felt like an eternity and as he slid his fingers down a large chunk of hair, stopped short, and CHOP! much earlier than I expected, I swallowed my stomach. I think he could tell I was mentally preparing myself for the baseball hats and scarves that I would need to cover the poof that was being created because he just smiled and did a stair like motion to show it was for layers. It didn’t help much but I smiled, nodded, and told him everything was good. Well, after the cut, it was time to dry. I honestly couldn't tell much difference in the length despite the piles of hair at my feet, so I was feeling a bit more confident. I basically closed my eyes for the next 40 minutes as he pulled and super-heated my head. Listo! he said as he held up a mirror and to my incredible surprise, my hair was looking pretty good! A ton of layers, just like every other girl in this country, mostly straight with some curl at the bottom, and best of all - not too short! I was calm again, happy, and best of all - not broke. It only cost me 55pesos for wash, cut, blow & style...less than $15! So I have now tried some of the best tiramisu ice cream in Palermo, and am sporting a new, and so far OK, local haircut. Next time though, I might try to brush up on my salon vocabulary ;)

The Pressure!

So, if you know me -- a few things probobally pop into your head. Rediculously disorganized, loves food and animals maybe more than the regular bear, and in the best possible way - not totally there sometimes. I daydream alot, I procrastinate, and I make lots of little lists to make myself feel organized in the chaos. I'm a nester, leaving little piles of necesities in obscure places, becasue I will obviously look for my travel size toothbrush and yoga information in the back pocket of my camera case when I need them most.

Call them quirks, oddities, personality, or problems....it doesn't make a difference. But the reason I have decided to go on about this is because life abroad has only intensified these (we'll call them quirks)..quirks. A good example:

I have tried keeping a rough budget here and there...so when 200 pesos went mysteriously missing, I was a little concerned. After a thorough cleaning of the room, I decided to go a bit deeper. The following is a good reason to not read too many travel blogs and "travel tips" before your first big experience - I ended up finding almost all of the 200 pesos (and some centavos) in what were supposed to be inteligent and thief-proof places. AKA: the soles of my shoes, inside a bra, in various interior pockets of clothing, and even a few in my bed. It doesn't help that the money here is tissue thin, and seems to disolve in your pockets. I have no explanation for my logic and am equally amused and embarrassed when I find my money in these places but at least for now, it loos like I will never be comletely penniless in a crunch!

But now for the main point. This blog has intesified these quirks, or perhaps just the stress of them. In saying I am disorganized, I mean I do things differently. If we have ever talked you will know, I am a story teller. I will use snapshots, experiences, stories I have heard -- anything to convey the point. It's just how I communicate. But what this also means, is there has to be a story worth telling. I have not written in a while becasue of the stress of it, the pressure to record each thing as it happens, chronologically - so I will not forget. And then there are the things I have to have something to say about, because how could I not? Like seeing some of the most impressive waterfalls in the world, or "backpacking patagonia"...well, I've decided that's just not how my mind works, at least not for now - I think I'm going to try writing about the things that impress ME the most. And who knows, maybe it will be the next cool exotic place or it might be about the funny old man at the kiosko.

My point is this: The quirks, oddities, and problems with myself, with the people here and the food, the country....is their personality. The more I have traveled around here, I am getting that the cool part is not the relocation, it is seeing the repetition. That people everywhere are good, and that everyone and everything, despite their quirks seems to be looking for the same thing. I love getting to experience the things I have, but I also don't want to lose sight of how much I enjoy and learn from simply being around differnt people in a different place.

Just some thoughts. But in keeping with the chronological a bit here are a few things I've done recently that might get some elaboration soon:

• Misiones (Jesuit ruins), Iguazu National Park, and visiting the Guarani Indians...excursion with CEA and a really amazing weeking in a different part of the country
• Bariloche and El Bolson: My favorite places in Argentina so far - amazing Andes mountains, hippie/ski city...best hostel in El Bolson with very cool people...known for their homeade chocolate, beer, and one of the most visited areas in Patagonia

It's been more than a month now, and I'm still enjoying the ride. Up's and downs, slower days and ones I will never forget. Can't wait to see what the rest of this trip will bring!