...To The End of the Earth

Away

2008-12-19T01:06:00.007-02:00

Yesterday I bought a pair of zip- off pants.

But I don't care because I am going to hike in Patagonia.

The picture is of Torres del Paine, where I am going to hike.

Hasta el año nuevo.

un beso,

Alana

Thievery Nation

2008-12-10T19:08:00.012-02:00

I've been thinking a lot about thieves. When we first arrived in Buenos Aires, everyone warned us of the petty theft that is becoming more and more prevalent with the increasing economic pressure on the people, especially in the city. I too, am SHOCKED when travelers dressed in Obama t-shirts, baseball caps, and Chacos with huge backpacks complain of having their expensive cameras stolen while surreptitiously snapping some pics in La Boca, one of the poorer areas of Buenos Aires. Though, I do have to admit that the thieving community is becoming smarter. Con men have made an art out of getting money off of seemingly rich persons. I've heard stories of backpackers helping old women cross the street only to find out the grannies have waddled away with their fanny packs.

It's not just the thieves I worry about. I wonder about the good people too. One day on the Subte (I was late as usual) I saw a sketchy man. The term "sketchy" is difficult to define. If you want to use it to define a person you would probably be describing something like: wild eyes, bad smell, antsy attitude and a Bob Marley t-shirt. We could probably just shorten all that to "coked- out" but "sketchy" is so much more fun and vague. Anyway, this "sketchy" guy walked up behind a businessman as if to whisper in his ear. He was so close to the other guy that I figured they must know each other. Then, in an extremely obvious maneuver the sketchy guy "accidentally" bumped into the businessman and almost clumsily took the wallet from his back pocket. Immediately the businessman turned around and frantically began to search for his wallet. Clearly his butt was not numb and still in good, working order. Then he turned to the guy and asked him if he had seen his wallet. This is my first point. The guy surely knew he had been robbed by the man standing behind him. But he could not force himself to be rude. What if it HAD been a mistake? What if he had dropped it and it wasn't Mr. Sketchy's fault? Here is the conversation that went on in my head:

"Do something! It's your duty! You SAW what happened."
"Wait, dile. No, como se dice? Jabon?
No.. thats soap.
Ladron!
Theif! That's the word.
El te robo
- he robbed you! No, that doesn't sound right.
El toco tus pantalones.
He touched your pants? Now who's sketchy?
El tomo el billete de tu culo
He took the wallet out of your butt? You don't have to say it in Spanish, just tell him!!

While my Spanish and English were fighting both men got off the Subte, one sketchy dude looking smug and the other polite businessman looking confused and upset.

"It was him!! He took your wallet! El Sketchy es un ladron! Detenerlo!"
I was shouting as the doors closed. I had missed my chance. One sketch went on to live with some poor guy's wallet and I was too busy fighting my inner monologue.

I spent the rest of the day feeling pretty down. I, the advocate of volunteerism and community building; I, the idealist and promoter of good karma had failed a basic civic duty.

The only thing that made me feel better was the mannequin with breast implants (and lip and cheek and tons of makeup) that we saw in Uruguay. Ha. That businessman was probably only going to use the money to buy his girlfriend a nice set of double D's. And some new lips. What with the Argentine girls these days you cant have a girlfriend that doesn't stand out.

Steal from the rich and give to the sketch, I always say.

Not so nice

2008-11-10T23:06:00.006-02:00

The election was a big hit here.
"Are you voting for la negra? (meaning, 'the black one')"What do you call him in the U.S.?"
"Who?"
"La oscura," literally, 'the darky.'
"Um, Obama. We call him Barack Obama."

I've actually had quite a few conversations like this. The Argentines are really interested in the fact that Obama is black. All the newspaper headlines read like this: "United States with a Black President?"
Though... In December 2007 when Christina Kirchner (Presidenta Argentina) was elected as the first female president, the first wife to succeed her husband in office, leading over 22% in votes than her rival, and even after the U.S. accused her of consorting with Chavez's regime and accepting money for her campaign (not saying who's right, just saying) U.S. Newspapers ran: "Argentina with a female president?" I guess we're even now.

I felt the excitement of election day down here as well. Expat girls were walking around with Obama's face plastered to their breast in Buenos Aires too. Though, I missed most of the excitement. After watching a serious movie about cholera called The Painted Veil, and after reading tons on how everyone traveling to South America should get vaccines for yellow Fever and malaria and be on the look out for dengue fever (none of which I have done) I am now convinced that I am a walking target for vectored (and non vectored too) diseases. This was exacerbated by the fact that for the past three nights, a vengeful mosquito has been chasing me down. It hides until I fall asleep and then BAM! It bites the shit out of me. I literally have welts up and down my arms and legs from this mosquito. Clearly, no one else in my house is affected. While my roommates are happily sleeping naked, sprawled across their beds in blissful summertime sleep, I am sweating underneath three blankets with only my ears protruding (which were also bit the next morning). Hence the next two visits to the hospital. It was the cholera carrying malaria- ridden mosquito.

Just kidding. Cholera isn't even spread by mosquitoes. Anyway, turns out I just have bad allergies from a really pretty tree that sprouts bright purple flowers. For some reason they planted the tree ten to each block. I literally can't escape it.

But I noticed something else during my Cholera/Malaria/Dengue trip to the hospital. The people in Argentina are very chivalrous. When the bus arrives the high school boy will let me get on before him just because I got to the stop first. The men will hold the elevator and open the door. They also take the first sips of Mate, so that I dont have to bear the bitter cigarette, green bean taste first. However, distinct moments have led me to believe that chivalrous does not equal nice. For example: the man downstairs that abused my knowledge (really, lack of) Spanish and gave me a spoiled slice of cheese, AND charged me more for it. Or, the old man with a cane on the Subte (subway) that pushed me back onto the platform because he thought the car was too full (though, the Subte is a whole other story). But I'm not being sexist here. It's also the middle aged woman at the hospital emergency room who, after I told her I couldn't breathe and felt dizzy, spent a total of five minutes staring at me (while I wheezed) over her half moon glasses and then finally told me I could not enter the hospital and I would have to come back at 6am the next morning and maybe someone might attend to me. IF and only if it was pulmonary day which she wasn't sure if it was (what does THAT mean?). After being sent back and forth between two different hospitals I came to the conclusion that it is because I am from the United States. When I get back home I'm going to vie for immigrant rights like no other.

NEXT...

2008-10-20T23:20:00.005-02:00

So its been a week since I last posted.
I'm more of- I feel bored I guess I'll do something kinda/semi entertaining such as post on my blog- sort of person. Rather than- "Ah, I have to tell everyone what just happened to me at the corner market asap or ill explode- kind of person. (haha sorry Olivia).

Ok so last weekend was Columbus Day, or Día de La Raza (Day of the Races), but don't worry. Apparently there is an understanding that the day has more to do with the impact of foreigners meeting with the indigenous rather than the European discovery of the "new world." However, most indigenous still find this offensive. Wonder why.

So, in celebration of the long weekend (and an extra day off on Monday which didn't effect me as I don't have a job), we traveled to Rosario. Rosario is a city about four hours outside of Buenos Aires. And we decided to take a bus. THAT might have been more fun had I remembered my Dramamine. Anyway, Rosario is the third largest city in Argentina and supposedly not only was it Columbus day, it was also the anniversary of Che's death (he was born in Rosario). There was a concert at a monument. And a pretty beach. And it was fun to wander around. Oh yeah, we went to the largest club in South America, Madame. It was supposedly 8 floors of dancing. Though we only experienced 3. And Britney Spears frequented all of them. So it was a fun weekend.

On the bus ride over, I was seated next to the dweebiest Argentine man ever. He was excited to be sitting next to SOMEone (first sign of dweeb. trust me, I should know). Furthermore, he was wearing highwater khaki's (second sign of dweebism. Trust me, I wore them). Anyway, he and I talked about Rosario for awhile and why it was hotter there than in Buenos Aires and why everyone traveled there over long fin de's (weekends) and it was pretty much the most mundane conversation I've ever had. BUT it was in Spanish. Still proud.

New Section
What's in, in Argentina: Mullets, Rat Tails's (Oh yes, you thought those horrendous extra lengthy braided hairs were gone forever, but no. Welcome to Argentina. I just want to take a pair of scissors to their heads), walking slowly (Anxious people and New Yorkers beware), Depeche Mode (yeah, still cool. Not joking. I downloaded more of their songs because I lost my mix tape), and blaming Americans. Not that I believe America deserves to be right on any subject- but, Julie told me her bosses told her that American's speak loudly in the streets on purpose just to let everyone know they are American. I would just like to take this moment to say: This is not my fault. Americans are loud? Oh yeah? Well, everyone in Argentina WHISPERS. I cant help shouting ¿¡QUE?! when, someone mumbles the price or time to me in Spanish. Sorry, Castellano.

New song: Miley Cyrus. Fly on the Wall

Stupid American Movies

2008-10-09T00:08:00.011-03:00

Living without any sort of income can be an adventure. Thankfully, there is plenty of downtime. Whenever I am not busy pulling out my hair in frustration or having panic attacks after looking at my bank account, I like to watch television. Turns out TV, in any culture, is a great way to check out of your own thoughts and delve into the wonderful world of romance, deception, action and boobs. With this in mind I have been hoping to become shamelessly addicted to an Argentinian telanovela (soap opera) if only to better my Spanish. But it seems I have been thwarted by American culture yet again. Save for plus or minus five channels most shows are in English with Spanish subtitles. "No es otra tonta película Americana," or "Not Another Stupid American Movie," is a direct translation for the popular film "Not Another Teen Movie." I'm not so sure "Stupid American" is an accurate translation for "Teen," but I think they've got the right idea.
Side note: How, you may ask, can I watch TV when there are beautiful sights to see such as the one shown above? Answer: Eh. It was fabricated beauty anyway. This picture was taken at the Japanese Gardens where the Argentines have tried their best to artfully recreate Buddhism and Zen within one city block. At least the koi were fun to watch.

On the upside, I've also had plenty of time to cook for myself. Well, lets be honest, I've just had a lot of time to eat. Thankfully here in Argentina they have adopted the European tradition of making and eating delicious pastries. Also, thankfully, we have managed to find friends who share the same passion. Every get together, rendezvous, or pre- gaming activity has included facturas (pastries). In fact, I was recently invited to join Rosh Hashanah celebrations with Julie, Amanda, Susanna, and Josh. I learned a lot about Jewish tradition and what the holiday was about. There was also a lot of food. I like Judaism. Apparently, the next holiday is Yom Kippur which means a day of fasting. I don't know if I will participate in Yom Kippur.
In Hendersonville, NC there was one Jew. She was known as THE Jew. But, after living for two years with some very good Jew friends I have learned a lot about the religion. So now I would like to share with everyone a great song I learned and express my feelings for Judaism. Careful, its catchy.

Singing:

"Wherever you go, there's always someone Jewish.
You're never alone cause God made you a Jew.
So when you're not home and you're somewhere kind of "newish"—
The odds are, don't look far, 'cause they're Jewish too."

"Amsterdam, Disneyland, Tel Aviv—Oh, they're miles apart.
But when we light the candles on Sabbath eve
We share in the prayer in each one of our hearts."

"Some Jews live in tents and some live in pagodas
And some Jews pay rent 'cause the city's not free.
Some Jews live on farms in the hills of Minnesota,
And some Jews wear no shoes and sleep by the sea."

"Some Jews wear hats, and some Jews wear sombreros,
And some wear k'fiahs to keep out the sun.
Some Jews live on rice, and some live on potatoes,
Or waffles, falafel, or hamburger buns."

Thank you Judaism. You kick Baptist butt.

Parked

2008-10-06T13:01:00.021-03:00

It's amazing how different I feel when in a city. I never realize that I'm not actually breathing until I spot a tree or two. In New York, this is usually replicated by sniffing my sisters cats who invariably just finished wrestling a potted plant. Here in Buenos Aires, I can just go to the park. After waiting an hour for the 15 collectivo (bus) to show I finally cut my losses and started walking. Another hour later I reached Plaza Italia, an extremely busy roundabout and home to the Buenos Aires Zoo and Botanical gardens. Lazily, I wove my way through the crowd of kids and ponies (what?) and continued past Plaza Italia on my mission to find Evan, who I am perpetually trying to chase down. It was difficult to spot Evan, who was playing hackey sack in a bright yellow t-shirt surrounded by a few, mildly interested Argentines. The park was pretty and big, and the springtime sun shone on young boys doing handstands and dog walkers hastily throwing sticks for big breed dogs. It was a good day.

Rather than sitting at home and searching for a job, something I know to be futile, I have been wandering the city and attempting to pretend I can actually afford any purchases. The other day Evan took Julie and I to a photography museum. It turned out to be less of a photo exhibit and more of a funky jewelry store. It was also yet another opportunity for the store clerk to accost me. Even back home in small town, friendly North Carolina I would turn from sweet, southern girl to raging lunatic whenever a sales clerk approached. Its not that I mind the people themselves. No, in fact, I respect them. It's not easy to have people throw clothes in your face and demand you run around in circles for them. But I myself enjoy browsing at a quick pace, scanning all clothing and deeming it either inappropriate, hideous, or tacky. I usually dwell longer on "tacky" and it was during one of these moments that the sales woman swooped in, snatching the item from me and shoving it closer to my nose. "Mira," she said. "This is so elegant and incredibly popular también. All of your friends will want one." I looked at her hoping the fire behind my eyes would drive her away. I quickly stepped to the side, but she too, was fast on her feet. "Oh that one is splendid. The artist is so unique. Let me just show you...."

Julie, Evan and I scampered away from the photography/jewelry museum and made our way down to Av. Florida, a well known area for shopping. After stopping (only momentarily) to peruse another museum in which large bugs performing fellatio were the featured exhibit, we quickly moseyed our way down the Avenue. The street reminded me of Sevilla's town center, a mixture of couture and cheap junk tiendas in a walking mall. It was somewhere between the leather boots and purple stirrup pants that I realized I was back in the same predicament. Julie was behind me taking pictures of a jam band in the middle of the street and Evan was miles ahead, strolling along at a speed horse pace barely taking notice of the small children he trampled. What was I to do? Stop, and enjoy everything and snapshot each moment? Or, speed ahead and take in everything, seeing the world as fast as I could, eagerly awaiting the next block? Behind me Julie was down on her knees trying to get better lighting and up ahead Evan was leaving the city limits. Stuck in the middle with no way out, I turned into the store and paused: my eye had just caught sight of something very purple.

Welcome to the South (ern Hemisphere)

2008-10-03T13:06:00.009-03:00

Well I did it. I said I would do it, so I did it.
I figured that moving to Argentina would inspire contemplation over life after college. But on the plane ride over, rather than pondering over my new degree and lack of direction I focused my attention instead on a brightly dressed Asian couple a few seats over. Her hair was orange, his was black and cut in a long "stylish" mullet. Something I didn't realize I'd be seeing everyday for the next six months. They were also wearing masks, you know, the SARS masks. I spent at least an hour and a half wondering if the masks were for them or me.

When my traveling companions and I finally arrived in Buenos Aires it was dark, cold, and dirty. In this new world dogs roam freely, covering parks and balconies and streets where owners act oblivious to the nasty deeds their dogs do in the middle of the sidewalk. This new world is also full of mullets (as mentioned above) and purple stirrup pants- quite nifty to look at as I haven't actually seen any since 1993. In the three weeks that we've been here we have learned the following about Buenos Aires:

#1. The Air is not actually Good. Ever since we arrived I've had a nasty cough which led to an in house hostel visit by a doctor and two subsequent visits to the hospital where I was prescribed Claritin. Which I take every day anyway. More bothersome is the amount of people that stop me on the street to warn me of the dangers of smoking.

#2. Men are sucky. The other night we walked 6 blocks during which we received 8 "holla's," 4 whistles, 2 "ay chicas," and one guy that jumped on a pole and made a very rude gesture. Actually that part felt like home.

#3. Do NOT under any circumstances give away your change. Monedas (change) are extremely hard to come by due to the Change Mafia. Thats right. The mafia. We learned about the change mafia through our friend Josh who smartly warned us never to give away our monedas even if we would like to tip the nice girl that served us 8 coffees. The problem, as far as I can assess, is that each bus line (and there are TONS) is privately owned. It costs at least (as far as I can assess) $.90 pesos to ride the bus. Therefore, everyone must use change to ride the bus- the best transportation in the city. The bus lines will then give the monedas to the banks, but at an inflated price causing the change shortage. So now, even though I have the money, I cant get change for that hanging wall art of Bob Marley that I've been wanting.

#4 There is no such thing as driving in Buenos Aires. Its more commonly known as 'the most thrilling, exhilirating, life- threatening moment you've ever experienced.' We daren't cross the road while the little running man is blinking. The lights turn yellow BEFORE they turn green, meaning a lot of people blow the light. Every day is a scene out of The Fast and the Furious, but less neon. I spent one afternoon reminiscing over past vacations in NYC after a taxi driver almost took off my foot.

Though the streets are covered in trash and I spend most of the day hacking up a lung in city bathrooms, I have to admire the other side: the sunlight on plant covered balconies, Argentines sitting around drinking Mate together, couples strolling in the parks kissing and staring into each others eyes, and of course the best part of Buenos Aires: WiFi in every cafe.