The Wheels on the Bus Go Round-and-Round: Mi vida cotidiana acá en Buenos Aires

(The Art of Travel, post 5, Quotidian life)

Despite today marking the end of only my second week of school (and it wasn’t even a full one, due to having off for Carnaval), I can still say there is a sort of rhythm to my days here, albeit they are not quite down to an exact schedule yet. Mondays and Wednesdays are my busy days with my hardest and longest classes, so my normal school day is as follows: get up and finish some work at home while having a quick breakfast (usually just yogurt or toast), take el colectivo to school (I finally have my bus route down), get to school and use the computer lab to print things, check email, etc. Sometimes things don’t always go as planned, however. For example, this morning I had to walk to school because I couldn’t afford the bus. And by couldn’t afford, I mean I had plenty of cash on me, but no monedas (coins), which is the only form of money the bus accepts. Buenos Aires has a severe coin shortage which is incredibly frustrating and acts as an unnecessary stress in my day-to-day life. Then continues a long day of classes with a quick lunch of snacks / something to go in between, and finally home, usually pretty late, where an amazing home cooked meal awaits me before I go to bed. My Tuesdays and Thursdays make up for those hectic days, however, as my only class occurs at 5:15 PM. This gives me the whole day to relax at home for a bit and do any errands (a trip to la lavendería, grocery shopping, etc) and then explore the city.

I haven’t yet used this time as well as I could. I’m finally starting to know my neighborhood and the area around school pretty well and already have a favorite heladería (ice cream shop) and café, but there’s so much more in between and beyond my two main locales. So generally that’s more what my weekends are for.

My roomie / friends and I make it a point to go to at least two new places every weekend, be they parks, cafés, museums or bars, located in either the city, a different province, or (soon enough) a different country. I’m eager to see so much of South America, but I feel I have to get to know my own city first.

And in this city is la vida porteña, something I’m still very far from assimilating into (partially because of my duties here as a student). I love drinking maté and eating dinner later, now. I’ve had some nights of going out to eat and staying for hours. I officially know how to do a beginner’s tango (for my blog here, I plan on doing a post about that experience: it was beautiful and unique). But I still don’t know many locals and thus cannot more legitimately participate in those activities. I hope to meet some soon, and add spending time with them and learning about porteño life from the inside into my daily routine.

(I took the picture above in el Jardín Botánico de Buenos Aires, which is only three blocks from my homestay. It’s insanely beautiful and very large with several exotic plants, and, more importantly, several stray cats! It’s even nicknamed the ‘cat garden’. This is a picture of a porteña women I encountered one day, who went around with a bag of cat food feeding all the strays. This little black kitten, who my friend and I named Carlito, befriended us that day; he was one lucky kitty to be given food and water by such a generous lady.)

Estación Once: Being in Buenos Aires, the site of today's world headlines

Today began another normal day, after a long and awesome weekend (which I will potentially post more about later), of what I suppose I ought to consider my normal routine now: wake up, finish some work, get ready, gather my things, and head for my bus stop. Ride the often overcrowded colectivo, get off at Anchorena, arrive at NYU's Academic Center. Print things I need for class, check emails, etc.

Except this morning, while in the computer lab (in my time here I never plan on taking my laptop with me, unless absolutely necessary) and I check my emails getting an alert via NYU with subject title, "Alert: Train Crash Feb. 22 - Buenos Aires, Argentina," so I read on:

Warning Alert -- Transportation 

Major train crash at Once Station in central Buenos Aires, Argentina, injures hundreds of people 0830 Feb. 22. Expect major rail disruptions.

This alert affects Buenos Aires
This alert began 22 Feb 2012 13:23 GMT and is scheduled to expire 22 Feb 2012 23:59 GMT.

 - Incident: Train crash
 - Location: Once Station, Buenos Aires
 - Time/Date: 0830 Feb. 22
 - Killed (Injured): 0+ (300+)
--------------------------------------------------------
This was at 10:30 this morning, when the number count of those who had passed away was still nonexistent, and the injury count was surely a quick guesstimate. As I sat with my mouth slightly agape while reading this, another girl asked a friend in the same vicinity if she had heard about the train crash. I butted in saying I had just read about it. It didn't seem like it really happened. I was in my 100% secure safe zone from the city that NYU has provided us. Estación Once (pronounced [ohn-say], as in the word for eleven in Spanish) is about 25 blocks from the Academic Center (located in Once, a southern barrio of Buenos Aires that we are viciously and repeatedly advised not to go near at night) and is a very large train station primarily for commuter trains to and from the suburbs of the city.

Wednesday's are my long days, where I have class from 11:15 AM to 8:30 PM with only two hours to spare in between. So I pretty much remained within American student realms and amongst our porteño professors. Surprisingly enough, it only came up in one of my classes today, Intro to Latin American Studies, where as structure for the course we begin each class talking about current events in Central and Southern America. There was an attempt to draw lines from Argentine transportation systems to poor infrastructure to lots of other things ultimately to be blamed from colonization, I'm not quite sure, it was vague and far-fetched if you ask me. And then directly afterwards my professor said he really did recommend the trains though, because they're nice and safe. Or at least, most of the time, I guess.

My thoughts are with those who are waiting at home right now for their husbands, wives, mother, father, daughter, son, sister and brother to come home, and having to accept that they won't.

   

A screen shot of BBC World News homepage. So strange to think I'm somehow in the midst of it all... (despite still being very far away). A friend of mine currently studying abroad in Florence asked via Facebook to make sure we were all right. She's in Italy. In Europe. And the news is there. And she knows people currently in Buenos Aires, in Argentina, in South America: me, my friends. Crazy, flat world, international community.

A side note that may not pertain to many readers, but some still: life can be really, really strange when I find myself in a city that made the above world headlines, and then moments later you find out someone you went to high school with had their life taken away MUCH TOO YOUNG, and it instantly brings you back home. So beyond my thoughts and prayers going out to the families of those who passed in today's train accident, they also go out to the Ehr family: Alex Ehr was in my grade, and I honestly did not know him that well. This summer, the majority of the Brookfield East High School community found out that he had been recently diagnosed with cancer, meaning that there must have been rapid progression until his passing today. Almost everyone in my grade who I am friends with on Facebook has been posting about him today (which is how I found out, which may seem strange to those not of the Millennial generation) which lead me to do the same, particularly because of this sentiment: it is strange to be connected with death in these various, international ways.

I wish everyone well, and thank you for those who checked up on me. Today has been a solemn day, that's for damn sure.

For Charlie

First, a tribute to my beloved pet bunny rabbit: Charles Gregory Kilkenny (a.k.a. Charlie the bunny) passed away Friday morning, a week ago today. I didn’t find out until Sunday. It’s so hard that I didn’t get to say goodbye. I just seriously hope and pray that he was not in pain as he went. And surely it was his time; he was 13 years old, which is pretty damn long for a rabbit. But that’s just a number. When I was writing about him and thinking about him, I realized we had him as a pet since I was in the second grade. That makes 13 years a whole different number, because from second grade to my sophomore year in COLLEGE is an incredibly long time. He was a part of so much of my life, so much of my childhood, youth and adolescence, and now even adult being. That puts 13 years into a whole different perspective.

And even when I was away before he passed, I missed him. Now I miss him even more. Animals and pets have always meant so much to me, and Charlie was truly an icon of the Kilkenny family amongst all us kids and our friends and our family friends and neighbors and anybody who knew us, really. I miss you and I love you, Charlie. Rest in peace.

So beyond suddenly missing home and mourning the loss of a dear friend since Sunday, yesterday completed the first full week of classes. And today commences a five day weekend; I have Monday and Tuesday off as holidays for Carnival, the holiday / festivals that occur before Lent, a.k.a. the European and South American version of a more extensive Mardi Gras (with perhaps exception to the celebrations in New Orleans; students who attend Tulane University get the entire week off!). Rio is world renown for being the ultimate Carnival party place, but for some reason Brasil doesn’t fascinate me, not now, at least. Some students here at NYU have planned out of the country travels for this weekend, but I’m still in a state of not knowing Buenos Aires as well as I could, so why would I leave this beautiful city that will also have whimsical parades and street partying galore? I’m pretty excited to experience it. I will let you know of my adventures.

One of my favourite experiences thus far has been my visit to the Feria de San Pedro Telmo, it’s formal name, or as everyone simply knows it to be, the Sunday artisan market that occurs in the barrio of San Telmo (and an incredibly beautiful and unique barrio it is). It is seemingly endless. It runs from 10 am – 4 pm every Sunday, but even that is not enough time to walk the length of it and see everything there is to see. I purchased my first souvenir there, a lovely necklace made of dyed bone (I decided not to ask where the bone came from). I will make a new post of just pictures I have thus far soon.

I have made it a habit to record my dinner each night in lengthy description, a food log per se, so I can rant to all my food-freak friends about the glorious homemade meals I’ve been having here. Mi mamá Marina has cooked Susannah and I some of the best meals I’ve ever experienced (because yes, each and every one of them is an experience) and that sure as hell is saying something considering the (other) best chef on planet Earth is none other than my mother, Cindy Kilkenny. I am one lucky lady! I must at least say that fruit here is sweeter than anywhere I’ve ever tasted and the vegetables are sweet, too. Imagine eating an onion that tastes like candy… and having it in all your meatloaves and salads and on top of cooked squash and in cheese filled empanadas, oh the joy.

I’ve only had one meal out so far (according to our housing agreements, we get dinner every night except Saturdays) and am due for another tomorrow night (I’m thinking: STEAK, since it hasn’t formally happened yet. In Argentina! What am I thinking!). Perhaps I will theme posts later on and talk about the food here in more detail once I’ve been more exposed to what is customary and what is the best in Buenos Aires (because I sure as hell plan to find it). But to reiterate what I’ve said so far, everything here is fresh and sweet and I’m so pleased to be experiencing all the benefits of a South American summer. I am so happy and fortunate to be here. The air here really is good, they’re not lying about that part.

Hearing is Believing: I'm in a Spanish speaking country, but where has all my Spanish gone?

(The Art of Travel, post 4, Communicating
required reading: The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton)
  
Before even looking at this week’s prompt, I found myself noticing something about the Spanish here in Buenos Aires: to me, it truly seems like a foreign tongue. This city is notorious for having a Castellano accent that is particular to only their region of Argentina. But what has seemed incredibly odd to me is the physical transfer of the sound waves of what I hear in cafés and on the streets into my ear… it is not my native language. And I have been exposed to Spanish before, but always in a classroom setting. Finally placing myself in an area where it completely and totally surrounds me has made it sound so unfamiliar despite my knowledge of the language. Moving past this strange realization of finding myself in exotica has been difficult.

 
In the classroom, I am a confident Spanish student, always eager to learn new grammatical concepts and more vocabulary. Interacting with the locals here, however, I revert to complete shyness and instantly freeze up despite my years of education in the language. I can think in my head in excellent form exactly what I want to say, but more than often it does not come out the way it should. Simple quips I’ve got down, for example, “How much does this cost?” or “can we have the bill, please?”, etc. But having formal conversation makes me blatantly American; usually the instant someone tries to talk to me I have to respond with, “¿como?” (“what?”) and they say either, “oh, am I talking too fast for you?” or the classic, “so, where are you from?” It can be frustrating at times, because my general pattern is I finally understand them a couple of seconds after my initial response of confusion, but at that point it’s too late. I took the picture above in San Telmo (a beautiful barrio here) where on Sundays there is a giant artisan market, called the Feria de San Pedro Telmo. The abovementioned example of a normal conversation for me occurred a lot there, with my attempted haggling skills. I’m here to improve my Spanish, and I know it’s going to take time, but the hope I have for myself is seriously waning. But supposedly patience is a virtue…
 
I’ve been here for almost two full weeks now, and I hope that being in a Spanish class again as well as exploring the city more will help me accept Spanish as not so foreign. The trouble with second languages is, when they are new, it’s hard to be able to listen and understand what is being said in that tongue. It is natural to try and translate it in one’s head to a native language and go from there. This is the biggest challenge for me, and I can’t wait to get to the point where I hear it and understand it just as it is.
 
So in this exotica, I find myself fascinated with certain aspects of the culture and daily life, but the language is nothing new, yet it seems entirely new. As de Botton mentioned in regards to his trip to Amsterdam, “exoticism is located in particular areas” (67). And language should not be one of them for me, yet communicating inevitably is.

Endless marches down Santa Fe: Walking from home to school and a need for knowledge beyond that…

(The Art of Travel, post 3, Wayfinding)

Walking along the streets of Buenos Aires has similar vibes to walking around New York. The avenues seem straight and streets stem off them in a normal fashion, akin to the simple and easy-to-manage grid of NYC. But these ground floor views are a form of trickery: the bird’s eye view of a map is when one finally realizes this city isn’t a grid at all. So when you think you’re walking straight on Avenida Santa Fe, soon enough you’ll slightly change cardinal directions without feeling any change within your step. Looking at a map I know this, but being the speck traveling the route I am completely unaware.

Thus far the process of wayfinding has been incredibly slow and always frustrating. Today marks the one-week anniversary of my arrival here in Argentina. I have yet to take the colectivo (bus system) or subte (subway) alone; I’ve always been accompanied by a friend or porteño (local Argentine) who knows their way. Today was the first day of classes, and I have the walk from my homestay to the Academic Center down. It’s incredibly easy, but takes about 30 minutes, therefore I see myself converting to the colectivo as my means of transport once I have more confidence in how the system works (which I hope is soon!). Beyond these two sole locations that I truly know, all other travels must be planned; there is an Argentine version of HopStop that hs been of use, along with the detailed colectivo guidebook NYU gave us, called Guia “T” (which has a setup similar to Battleship when finding a route, which is pretty fun).

In my seven days here, however (and holy cow, does it feel infinitely longer than that) using my own two feet has been my preferred form of navigation. Even walking (no matter how long or short of a trip it is) can be stressful, because if you’re not on a major avenue, there are no street signs (and even when there are, they’re often cracked in half and thus illegible), and due to the pseudo-grid format, there is no way of pointing out major landmarks, because they cannot be easily seen like the Empire State Building, looking down Fifth Avenue.

I’ve never been that great with having any sort of sense of cardinal direction, and I feel I need it now more than ever. I hope that once familiarity with my surroundings increases, using more public transportation and finally discovering an inner-compass will follow. I’ve been lucky to not be totally and completely lost yet, but I don’t doubt future attempts at taking the buses and going to new places will lead to this – I just hope I’m ready!

Finally in Argentina: The difference in images versus reality

(The Art of Travel, post 2, Going Places
required reading: The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton)

Before departing for Buenos Aires, NYU kept us updated with a blog and sent additional information about expectations for our time there, as with any abroad site. This induced unnecessary stress and sentiments of anxiety and fear in this process of secure and over-preparation. And in these moments I would have to sit down and breathe and picture myself staying in a wonderful home (my homestay mother emailed me pictures of my room before getting there) with a nice family and a pet cat (un gato whose name is Cato, pictured below hanging out in our beautiful courtyard).  This “profusion of images” (13) didn’t throw me off, however, because I did not necessarily experience a “selection [of] the imagination,” but rather a comfort in knowing I have a bed to sleep on in more than tolerable accommodations. And that comfort came from seeing myself there, versus forgetting myself amongst these images (19).

In the reading, I found myself often on the other side of de Botton; where he believes this ‘selection’ derived from images of the place we plan to visit mixed with anticipation is “easier to experience… than in reality” (14), I find the reality the far more exhilarating part of traveling, and although it is not necessarily ‘easier’ than daydreams of foreign lands, it is more genuine in emotional impact.

And honestly this may be true for me because I didn’t have many expectations in regards to mental images besides that, really. I have never before visited South America, and could only draw so much from photographs of the different landmarks of Buenos Aires, taking note that it is obviously a large city with rich culture and history that I was more than eager to soon absorb. Perhaps my only true expectation was that I would board a plane and eventually arrive and live in Argentina. “… it seems we may best be able to inhabit a place when we are not faced with the additional challenge of having to be there” (23). But isn’t that half, if not all, of the point? The anticipation of packing and making sure my documents were ready and being incredibly nervous about using my (very poor, I am now discovering) Spanish comes from physical and mental preparation of being there, and of being ready to face those challenges that lie ahead, challenges que vale la pena (are worth the risk/pain), challenges that make the stay somewhere an adventure and great stories to tell upon one’s return. Anticipation before travel is inevitable, may it be stressful or full of sweet reveries of paradise, or a little bit of both, but actually being there is, I believe, the more powerful element of travel, having it be the instigator of it all. It certainly is not the easier part, but the more difficult part to follow will not be selected or simplified (15), but rather will have every hole and gap, good and bad, filled with all the pictures not found in the tourist’s brochure. And thus far I’m finding the photo album, per se, of my stay here better than any anticipatory images one may stumble upon before the journey begins.

"Nueva entrada" - new entry (for a new life)

All the websites here are in Spanish (por supuesto) and it took me quite some time to read over and decide how to write a new post (this is also because I am unfamiliar with the set up of blogspot, which I hope to learn in due time). However, the word nuevo stuck out, and entrada means entry, thus here is my new entry (mi nueva entrada)!

I'm going to keep it short, because I am about to acostarme - go to sleep. Orientation week has been early mornings and long days and pure exhaustion in this heat.

I arrived safely at Ezeiza (an international airport here) on time and with all of my luggage. Despite not being able to sleep at all on the plane for my overnight flight with travel time accumulatively of over 17 hours, I was excited to be in Buenos Aires, and had the weight and stress of traveling lifted off my shoulders.

My homestay family is absolutely wonderful. The mother, mi Mamá Marina, is a beautiful and kind woman originally from Uruguay who has a son and a daughter (both older than me) that speak perfect English (oh, how I would be so pleased to speak perfect Spanish at age 21... espero...). Their house is just as lovely. There is the main house, and then a large courtyard that belongs to just them with a beautiful stone grill of glory that I know my brothers would most likely salivate over (particularly Michael). My guess is this is for asados - Argentine BBQs. Across the way of the courtyard is a separate room also belonging to them; this is where my wonderful friend, and now roommate, Susannah and I live. Can you just imagine that? Our own room that includes a gorgeous counter top as a 'breakfast bar' of sorts, a mini fridge, a dining table for eating and studying, two beds, a window seat, a fireplace, a piano, lots of storage space, gorgeous windows looking out into the courtyard, and, of course (AND MOST IMPORTANTLY) air conditioning. This place is a holy hell, that's how damn hot it is (beautifully so).

So beyond having pure luxury as my accommodations (I am still overwhelmed with how lucky I am and how kind the family is, and I don't doubt that this will stay true 'til the end), life is crazy here. Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina, is a huge city. It is very much like New York in this way, and today (MY FIRST FULL DAY HERE, WAIT, I JUST REALIZED THIS. I FEEL LIKE IT'S BEEN A WEEK IN JUST TODAY -- no joke) I realized that if I didn't have the training of big city life from NYC, I would be in a whole different state of mind. The amount of people walking around and traffic everywhere is nothing new. A part of this realization made me believe that because of this, I am able to observe other things, such as more culture specific things, since I am not walking around cross-eyed tourist crazy by how busy everything is. This I appreciate.

I can hardly remember what some of my observations were from today, because like I said (or more appropriately, freaked out about), it's only been one full day, and it all seems like a daze. We did get a bus tour on this first day of orientation throughout parts of more northern, eastern and slightly southern Buenos Aires. Los barrios - the neighborhoods, are all very unique in their own way, which is akin to New York City. I found myself making lots of comparisons with BsAs and NYC - walking down Santa Fe Av. felt like 3rd Ave, East of Union Square; every corner had people handing out flyers about their local business and the deals that were going on at the time; there are places to eat EVERYWHERE, as well as insane shopping, where Florida Street is akin to 5th Avenue in all its glamour. Then I tried to talk myself out of this. Buenos Aires is not a city to be compared to. Yes, it has certain structures and patterns like any other large city, but that's just the way of any metropolitan area. Buenos Aires is so full of rich history that the country is incredibly proud of, and my goodness is it absolutely gorgeous here. Some pictures will be coming soon, te prometo (I promise)!!!

That's it for now. I'm off to sleepy sleeps. And I guess this seems like a lot of text, but boy, I haven't even told you the beginning of anything it seems. Today (as I will reiterate) was such a long day, an adventure in itself, the doorway, the port, la puerta to other adventures yet to come.

Buenas noches a todos!