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

Packing

I often feel like my life is an endless stream of last minute to-do lists, but never has that feeling been more potent than the final week leading up to my departure. I have been working full time, Nannying, taking online Spanish classes and readying myself to go abroad. Thankfully I have had my wonderful mother helping me along, running little errands,  and thinking of those important all too important things mothers always seem to think of. Every time I mentally check off one of my to-do boxes, something seems to replace it. I have prescriptions and paperwork, a passport, vaccines, credit cards, living accomodations, a Kindle and I even chopped off a good portion of my hair which leads me to my final and most daunting task...    

Packing my life into one suitcase. There's a big box that needs to be checked. This grandiose undertaking has led me to the conclusion that I suffer from self diagnosed bipolar packing disorder. One minute I'm packing ever item I own, and the next I'm taking it all out, scolding myself for being superfluous. I wish it was easy. There must be a balance, but I can not seem to find it. I will be taking two bags: one carry-on and one checked bag. The whole of four months packed in two bags. Thankfully I now have a Kindle, an early birthday present from my parents, though I think they purchased it out of the very real fear that I would pack only books and end up simply reading naked in Argentina. Now that we are able to remove that card from the worry table, my attention focuses on the seasons. Three seasons: summer, fall, and winter; the three seasons I will experience. My less than decisive nature proves a fault. Here I sit. Staring at a clean basket of laundry willing myself to move. Put something in, take something out. Anything really.  If I pack too much I am vain; too little and I am unprepared. There is little that worries me about my journey; why I am giving extra thought to this? Many have done this before me. It is just stuff after all. I'm diving in, wish me luck.

Hil
(photo credit)

Expectations #4

#4.Steak

I'm a vegetarian. A carrot crunching tofu munching vegetarian. I'm looking forward to beef. Awkward right? Beef is a innate part of life in Argentina, or so I've read. The cultural significance and obsessiveness this nation is said to have with carne is what fascinates me, and I want to experience it. I signed up to live with a meatless host family, and Linette and I will, I'm sure spend more than one lunch wolfing down cheese empanadas, but I just can't pass up an oportunity to understand something so close to the hearts of the portenos. Anthony Bourdain anyone? You must know who he is, and if you don't STOP and Google him right now! I quite admire this gent for the abandoned manner in which he travels. He drinks absenth, he eats goat liver and he's just gernally a badass. Food is a significant part of any culture, lifestyle and location. So wether I eat the beef or not, I am still looking forward to it.

for picture click here

Cheers,

H.