Mate Time Episode 1

Today we are packing our bags and heading out of the city once more. This time we will be going to Barioloche in Patagonia. That means a week without a computer. Which seems pretty relieving to me (Though I might already be going through Twitter withdrawals. Cold turkey is hard for any addiction.) So I will leave you with the first episode of the much anticipated (by whom I'm not sure) video blog collaboration of my friend, house mate, and travel companion Linette. Mate Time. A short show where we drink Mate and discuss something about city life. Mate (Mah-Tay) is a traditional drink of Argentina, Uruguay and other regions of South America, and we love it. So without further ado: Mate Time: Episode 1. Transportation. Enjoy, Lindos.

Get Away, in Urugay

Okay, playing on words is not my strong point. I get it. But this past weekend, I needed to get away, so Linette, Monae, Tiffany and I hopped on a Buquebus (a very large, airplane like ferry) and sailed across the river/ocean (there's an ongoing debate) to Colonia de Sacramento, Uruguay. Colonia is an old Portuguese settlement on the Río de la Plata. It is characterized by the historic buildings and cobblestone streets throughout the town. Our group stayed in Hostel Oriental, A beautiful turn of the century house situated in the heart of old town, with vaulted ceilings, original wood floors, a tiled patio and plenty of space. We were greeted by the owners, a wonderful couple that gave us a tour, settled us in and helped us plan our day. For those of you thinking about traveling through Colonia, hostels are an easy, inexpensive way to travel and the friendly easy going staff at Hostel Oriental is my recommendation.

We spent our long weekend meandering the streets in the town, admiring the buildings, the colors, the markets, and the way people stopped at a crosswalk. Smaller towns, even touristy towns have the advantage of having people that have not become hardened by the city. We met many friendly (and helpful) individuals. People seemed eager to tell us where things were, what we needed to see, and where to exchange money. I wasn't expecting much from the small town in Uruguay but it had a beach town feel. There were tourists, but it wasn't noticeable, I have a feeling very little could ruin the atmosphere of this town. We were content to cook dinner, try Tannat (the local wine) and watch the famous Colonia sunset.

Enjoy the Video, Gorditos! Te amo.

Besos Siempre,
Hil

Hunger Games

It came. It went. It rocked. The phonomena that is the Hunger Games hit Buenos Aires last Thursday. "Buy your tickets early," everyone told us. Make sure you get a seat. Well kids, let me tell you, when we showed up to buy our tickets at the Belgrano Theatre the only thing that was packed was the McDonalds next door. So at 4:30 pm, Linette, Bry, Tif and I sat down with nine 14 year old school girls, one old couple and three teenage boys (slouched in the corner) to watch Los Juegos del Hambre. Two and a half hours later, I walked out of that theatre feeling like quite the badass. It was a phenominal movie, well filmed and loyal to the book. The intreguing plotline carrys the book through youthful writing, but the movie carried itself. Disecting the movie afterwards was almost as enjoyable as the film itself. It made me reminice of those days contemplating upcoming Harry Potter films. It's amazing what can create a community. The influence one thing can have on entire demographics of people. And It makes me wonder, can a community trap us?

Today in my gender history class (which contrary to popular belief is not Feminism 101) we discussed colonial Latin America and the role the Catholic church played in both dictating women's roles in society and allowing them to trancend set standards. Communities were built around femininity, saints, families, wealth, and race. Women of these factions created communities based on their acceptence of a book of a different kind. While it may seem a far cry from Harry Potter fandom, The Twilight idioma, or the recent Hunger Games craze, the modern day following of popular secular crazes, creates within its comunity an understanding, much like that of the Colonial Catholic church. It was, at the time, the duty of the church to 'protect the virtue' of it's women and this was done through enclosure. Women were kept from all parts of social connection save those deemed acceptable by the Church. Within those gatherings, women were safe, free of sinful opportunities and for all intensive purposes, free.

While today this seems outrageous and archaic, we are again centering ourselves around safety. Hollywood spoonfeeds us more than enough fictional calories to keep us satisfied. And we happily and willingly continue to sit at our highchair playing 'here comes the airplane.' Books are a magical thing. I have had an intimate relationship with them for most of my life, and it has been through this that I have come to understand the fascinating danger with continual complacence. The longer we sit in the high chair, the harder it will be to walk, and though wonderful as temporary companions, books don't make very helpful crutches.

Thus ends my time on the soapbox. I'm too clumsy to stay up here long anyway. How about some pictures?

Gearing Up with some posters. 

Even the spanish adds are awesome.

The gang: Tif, Me Bry, Netty

I'm not sure Bry was as excited as the rest of us...

Besos as always, 

Hil

Rosy Rosario

Last weekend we took a trip to Rosario. A city a few hours outside of Buenos Aires. It was the birthplace of Ernesto 'Che' Guevara. It is also home to the National Flag Monument, and many other fantastic sights. It was a classy city that had much more of a neighborhood feel. The european style archatechture, lavish churches and well kept parks made for a beautiful weekend. Any questions about Rosario? Send me a comment. The song in the video is "Crystals" by Kill Paradise. Check them out here. Also Remember that my dear friend Linette is on this journey with me. These videos are our joint efforts. Follow her blog here. She's funnier that I am anyway. If you want to see the video bigger (it's better that way anyway) click on the YouTube icon in the lower right hand corner of the video. Entonces, enjoy the video, Chicos.  

Besos and Butterflies, 

Hil

A Little about Love

"When you're young, your whole life is about the pursuit of fun. Then, you grow up and learn to be cautious. You could break a bone or a heart. You look before you leap and sometimes you don't leap at all because there's not always someone there to catch you. And in life, there's no safety net. When did it stop being fun and start being scary?"                                             -Carrie Bradshaw. Sex in the City

Thirteen million people. So many opportunities for interactions, that have not come. But I have to wonder, is the population of a city directly related to the openness of a heart? Can a city make you cold? My daily walk to school is uniform at best. Amidst avoiding the dog poop and dodging crazy taxi drivers, one would hope for courtesy on the street, on the bus,  in the train. That fails to be the case. Aside from the occasional cat call, or honking of a horn, my interactions with the stranger population of the city are limited to elbowing my way onto the busy train in the Colegiales station in the evening, and avoiding eye contact with could-be purse snatchers. Though it is discouraging to think all the people of Buenos Aires have limited themselves  to staring through the passers by, the interactions they have with one another, when a familiar face appears, are almost theatrical. They laugh, they kiss, they banter, regardless of their surroundings. The middle of the sidewalk? The street? A Store Aisle? No problem. They will banter for hours, right where they stand, caring little about the traffic they may stop, or the bus they will miss. The couples here are even more fierce. They snog, they grope they embrace they cuddle. It is like a constant, real-life 'in a relationship' status, they way they cling to one another. It is territorial interaction with the public, and it is not, as one might assume, hindered by age.  As unsettling as it is watching someone old enough to be my grandfather make out with his wife in the subway, it's almost relieving to know that while I may not be the recipient of anonymous gestures of kindness, the vitality and the heart, in whatever form it may come, is very much alive here in Buenos Aires. Love is here, but in obscure places. Expectations will not find it for you. The father taking his daughter for a trike ride, the couple sleeping on the grass in the park, a big voiced man with his arms around the chair of a friend at a café. The people here still live with their hearts as much as ever. It is one of the reasons I fell in love with the Latin America, and it relieves me to know I was not misguided. Maybe the city is big, and in some way it hardens people to those they don't know, but for them it does not seem to limit the connections they have with one another. Their webs are just woven a little bit tighter. For me, it's always been about the people, here, I just have to accept the fact that sometimes that understanding the nature of people is going to be more of an observer sport.

It has been two years today since my web of connections brought me to a wonderful man named Kyle, and after three weeks of watching people I will never know enjoy the city with the company of those they love, I feel it is only fair to allow myself a moment to reflect on all the joy and blessings brought on by having him in my life. Though I would love to spend our anniversary strolling hand in hand down the streets of Buenos Aires like the porteños, I will settle for letting him know that he is loved, appreciated and missed. 

In many ways Carrie was right, learning to be cautious is a part of growing up, but it's allowing yourself to understand when opening the door to someone, while still scary will be truly worth it. I'm lucky enough to have opened the door at the right time, and found a best friend in Kyle. As for Buenos Aires, people open their doors every day, though maybe just a crack. I think this time it is my turn to pay attention, be cautious, and step through the right doors that will build those wonderful connections, I so desire. 

Happy Anniversary, Kyle.

and as always, Besos, 

Hil

Photo Credit here

The Tiger

This is a video Linette and I made about our visit to El Tigre, a small town right outside of Buenos Aires. It sits at the mouth of the Rio de la Plata, so technically it was an ocean and a river, though neither of us wanted to be incorrect in our argument. It was a nice way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Follow Linette here at fewhonestpeople.wordpress.com. Enjoy Chicos!

It was a museum of some kind. We were too seasick to care

Linette keeping her breakfast down...barely

It's a resort out here, I'll tell ya. 

The open market. Lots of dead cow products. 

Supermarket boats. Dockside delivery, anyone?

Cold Coca and the beach.

Well, Kind of a beach.

More of a depository really 

Rowing clubhouse. Super swanky.

Docked boats in the channel. 

The Beautiful Truth

The beautiful truth about a city is, you can never truly own it. You could wander it's streets for days or years and still not fully posses it. The storefronts, the fruit vendors, the train station, the architecture. All these things are becoming familiar to me, a part of my understanding, my knowledge.  It has always been a habit of mine to take ownership of places I visit. They mean something to me, I own a part of them. It's human nature to want to posses something, in order to control the effect it has on you. To capture the existence of it in a tangible, acceptable way. You can protect it's memory, preserve it's meaning. No one argues with memories you tell yourself. But this city is not mine. It will never be mine, just as it will not ever fully belong to the driver of the train, the seller at the fruit stand, or my seventy three year old host mother. The truth is, this city owns us. Part of us. Part of out lives, our knowledge, our vitality. These things will stay. Only the city knows the true route of the cab driver, or where the garbage packers go at night, where the ferrel dogs play, and where the shortcuts lead. We, all of us, have forfeited our knowledge, sparse as it may be, as a toll, allowing our true entry into the streets of Buenos Aires. As I live here, the city grows. I can feel it bending itself around me. My memories of this city are a gift, but I must remember them fully in truth if I am to best identify with this place. The truth? The truth is the storefronts have bars on them at night, the fruit sometimes has fruit flies, the train is rarely on time, and the european architectural structures are often separated by dull apartment buildings. This is where I live. Where people drink coffee at eleven at night, and hold their backpacks in front of their bodies, where nobody will smile at you but everyone kisses, where wine is often cheaper than water, and busses wait for no one. This is the Buenos Aires I am experiencing every day. The truth of the city refuses to be deterred by my imagination, and neither will I let it. I do not own this city.


Hil

Video Blog. Week 1

As fascinating as my life has been in one week, somehow I still don't feel justified making a whole video about any one thing, nevertheless, a promise is a promise. Anna, I discussed food and coffee for you, I'm saving wine until I go to Mendoza. As requested by Geoff and Cori, my face is included too. Thank you all for being patient with me while I figure out how to be less awkward and make these more entertaining. I miss you all. Besos, Hil

Medialunes y café solo after class today

Had to go to a health food store to find these babies. 

Just one of the many types of sugars the locals ingest. It's like pound cake but sweeter!

About Nine Thousand Words

It's been over a week here in my new home and I'm adjusting to life in the city. I feel realization begining to knead it's way into my head, reminding me that I'm here for the long haul. With the countless orientations over, (I have now been reminded by every adult figure in my life to 'be careful', and 'people steal things'. I get it!) I am now ready to step confidently into the city. I have much to say but school begins tomorrow. In celebration, Nelly took Linette and I out for Helado (ice cream) tonight. Wish me luck. I leave you with a couple thousand words worth of pictures. Buenos Noches, Chicos.

The view of Buenos Aires from my window

Café con crema: espresso with creme, an Argentine morning staple

St. Michael's Cathedral 

Protestors carrying a long Argentine flag through the center of the city.

Propaganda photos of the President displayed in front of La Casa Rosada

Old mausolea in the city

La casa Rosada, complete with protests spray painted on the fence.

Tugboat fruit vendors in El Tigre

Motorcycle graveyard outside El Tigre marketplace

Final Destination

I have arrived. After three planes, a bus, a taxi and 36 hours en route I have arrived.  I expected to have immediate, broad first impressions of the city for which I have so eagerly anticipated, but nothing has come. I have already seen much of it in two days yet I cannot pass judgement. No glimpse, however long it may be seems enough to accurately encompass this city. I can't help but notice the little details, the unexpected irony, and the unimportant differences. These, I know are impressions that will fade quickly, leaving room for lasting memories, so I am trying to mentally capture the magic of this new city. The warm sensation I get when I walk by the Parque de Sur on the way to the train station, the quizzical looks at my curly red hair, the concentration of the biker as he dodges life threatening traffic, the anticipation of the porteños. It's all so interesting. I could sit at a cafe and drink café solo and ponder each of these things for hours, if only I had the time. I suppose that's the draw of a new city. I am a foreigner here and as such, I am meant to appreciate the architecture, the monuments, the famous restaurants. There is time for that. But as I stood in front of La Casa Rosada (the presidential house), I couldn't stop turning around and looking at the signs of the silent protesters, the graffiti lining the fence demanding political movements, or lack thereof, the man in the blue suit and white ascot walking through the humid 88 degree weather, trying desperately to enjoy his Sunday afternoon despite the flocks of tourists. These are the things I remember. The details I care about. Even now, as I sit on beside my 15th floor window, open to the sounds of the train that comes less frequently as the night grows older, I am struck by the features of this city. Tomorrow I take my placement exam. It's a funny way of figuring out where you belong in the University. I feel like everyday here will be a test to figure out where I belong in this city that is to be my home for some time. I want to embrace it, withough judgement, though I cannot yet tell if Buenos Aires has open arms to me. Nevertheless I am enjoying myself and I look forward to tomorrow. Buenos Noches.

Hil