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
¡Bienvenido a mi vida!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
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."
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!
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!
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
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 :)
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 :)
Sunday, May 23, 2010
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!
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!
Friday, May 14, 2010
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 :)
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
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.
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
Monday, May 10, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
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 :)
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!
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!
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