Just a quick interruption in the process of getting caught up for a rant. There are a LOT of things I love about Argentina, and some things I'm not such a huge fan of...
But there's really only one thing that I think I actively dislike about the culture here: pick-up attempts. There's a recent PSA from Wales that sums up the experience pretty well:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lyJIWA2QOPI&feature=player_embedded
While some are flattering, and some are funny, many are just downright creepy or offensive. I'm not entirely sure where the cat-calls come from. I could be the culture, which is conspicuously more macho than the US's. It could be that my clothes mark me out as different. I don't dress any more provocatively than your average Argentine, but I definitely don't dress like an Argentine. My final thought is that my appearance itself makes me stand out as 'exotic.' My pale skin, fine, straight hair, and button nose stand out in a nation of second- and third-generation Spaniards and Italians, where the norm is olive skin, heavy - often curly - hair, and a strong nose. While I don't know what the cause may be, the other girls in the program get the same whistles, but I rarely see Argentine girls treated this way.
For the first month or so, it was more on the flattering side of things - mostly just because it was new. Since then, however, it has quickly turned into a problem. I hate the way it makes me generalize about certain groups - including the nation itself - but I've started conciously avoiding construction sites and bracing myself when I walk past groups of guys in their twenties in street clothes. (I mean, I hate stereotypes in general, and especially those regarding gender, age, and profession. Not to mention my dad's profession and my age... What am I doing now, if not all of the above?) I find myself walking the thirty minutes it takes to get anywhere staring at my feet so I don't have to look anyone in the eye. I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said that I get at least 5 cat-calls, whistles, honks, or pick-up attempts a day. Ouch.
A few examples of the good, the bad, and the ugly:
- It's hard to be mad about 'hermosa,' roughly equivalent to beautiful.
- I opened a shoe box to pull out the pair I'd bought to see that the salesguy had written 'Sos muy linda.' (You're really pretty.) He managed to avoid being creepy by not hitting on me while I was there and not leaving a phone number.
- Katherine and I were walking to class on a warm fall day, wearing dresses to hear a guy exclaim 'Flores de la primavera!' (Spring flowers!)
- Some of the football players at the track where I run will yell out 'Vamos Argentina!' or 'Culo monumento!' a) I'm not Argentine, and b) my butt's roughly as curvy as Kansas.
- I've now been stopped while running to have guys try to pick me up at least 5 times.
- One guy tried to hit on me by saying he could get me into the Natural History Museum. I can get in free with my student visa.
- Another came up to us while we were inside a bar, waiting for the guys to get past the bouncers and said 'No sé que es, pero mi amigo me dijo que debo pedirte un 'blow job.'' (I don't know what it is, but my friend said I should ask you for a blow job.)
Those are just some of the ones that stick out in my mind. 'Hermosa,' 'linda,' 'diosa,' and 'mamacita' are just parts of my every day life here.
To any and everyone who reads this blog, do NOT sexually harrass strangers. Thanks for the rant, the next post will be happier, I promise!
09 June 2010
28 May 2010
Descalzada
Ok, finally getting caught up to more current stuffs: Iguazu. We went as a field trip with the Commission, which means it was the 6 of us, Bettina, our organizer, and Gisela, our professor. It was all for a class we finished a while back about the indigenous populations in Argentina, their rights, and their relationship with the environment. Iguazu is pretty much the perfect place to study this. Puerto Iguazu is the very northern tip of the province of Misiones, in the northeast corner of the country. Because of its location between Paraguay and Brasil, there's a sizable Guarani population. (The Guarani are a native pueblo - what we'd call a tribe back home.) Their influence in Paraguay is large enough that eighty percent of the population is bilingual. Apparently their known for being among the more friendly and welcoming pueblos, as versus the Mapuche in Patagonia.
Anyway, so we're lucky enough to have some very good connections in the area, so we get to attend a talk with a local big-wig, Angela (no idea what her last name is). Because she's Paraguaya, she speaks Guarani, and has a strong belief in the rights of the communities. The UN has published a series of indigenous rights, one of which is the availability of bilingual schools (as versus education solely in the imperialistic language, in this case Spanish). Because there's a lack of teachers, bilingual schools are fairly rare. Angela set about righting this in the Puerto Iguazu area, and about 12 years ago created the first. At first, the people were wary of yet another white person trying to 'help,' but eventually accepted Angela. The day after we met with Angela, we headed out to see the school and visit the community. The kids were putting on their bicentennial ceremony, so we watched a few dances. (May 25 celebrated Argentina's 200th anniversary.)
After the school production, we headed a few minutes away to the village, all crammed in the back of some pick up trucks with a bunch on the kids. Once we got there, we watched some guys just kicking around the football, waiting for lunch. After a while, we started a game ourselves. The women have a set team, but they lent us two of their players to make the numbers even. We failed. 3-0. Oh well. The field used to be grass, but has long since turned into dirt, and because it had rained pretty hard a few days ago, it was a fantastic mud pie. Finally! I could run through the mud barefoot again! (La Plata does not lend itself to going barefoot.) I learned later that I gained a good deal of respect for playing barefoot, the Guarani way. I also garnered a fan club of the younger guys. When I got the ball, they'd start chanting 'Emily, Emily, es la chica para mi.' (Emily's the girl for me.) While I enjoyed the barefoot time, I'm not used to it, and my feet presented me with 4 wonderful quarter-sized blood blisters that made walking around that night and the next day not so fun.
We had a fantastic time, and all got a little jealous of Michelle, who has a job lined up for January, in a similar place in Guatemala. While we greatly enjoyed the huge privilege of visiting the Guarani, it was not completely carefree. We talked with a few of the village voices about the problems their community faces, many of which come from their contact with the nearby white populations.
So I dunno if there are any pics of the girls playing soccer, but here's what I can find:
Anyway, so we're lucky enough to have some very good connections in the area, so we get to attend a talk with a local big-wig, Angela (no idea what her last name is). Because she's Paraguaya, she speaks Guarani, and has a strong belief in the rights of the communities. The UN has published a series of indigenous rights, one of which is the availability of bilingual schools (as versus education solely in the imperialistic language, in this case Spanish). Because there's a lack of teachers, bilingual schools are fairly rare. Angela set about righting this in the Puerto Iguazu area, and about 12 years ago created the first. At first, the people were wary of yet another white person trying to 'help,' but eventually accepted Angela. The day after we met with Angela, we headed out to see the school and visit the community. The kids were putting on their bicentennial ceremony, so we watched a few dances. (May 25 celebrated Argentina's 200th anniversary.)
After the school production, we headed a few minutes away to the village, all crammed in the back of some pick up trucks with a bunch on the kids. Once we got there, we watched some guys just kicking around the football, waiting for lunch. After a while, we started a game ourselves. The women have a set team, but they lent us two of their players to make the numbers even. We failed. 3-0. Oh well. The field used to be grass, but has long since turned into dirt, and because it had rained pretty hard a few days ago, it was a fantastic mud pie. Finally! I could run through the mud barefoot again! (La Plata does not lend itself to going barefoot.) I learned later that I gained a good deal of respect for playing barefoot, the Guarani way. I also garnered a fan club of the younger guys. When I got the ball, they'd start chanting 'Emily, Emily, es la chica para mi.' (Emily's the girl for me.) While I enjoyed the barefoot time, I'm not used to it, and my feet presented me with 4 wonderful quarter-sized blood blisters that made walking around that night and the next day not so fun.
We had a fantastic time, and all got a little jealous of Michelle, who has a job lined up for January, in a similar place in Guatemala. While we greatly enjoyed the huge privilege of visiting the Guarani, it was not completely carefree. We talked with a few of the village voices about the problems their community faces, many of which come from their contact with the nearby white populations.
So I dunno if there are any pics of the girls playing soccer, but here's what I can find:
25 May 2010
Ex-Centros
The Provincial Commission for the Memory is our host institution here, where we take most of our classes, and the organizer of our various trips. It's a human rights organization that manages an archive, an art museum, a youth education program, and an anti-torture committee, all dedicated to cataloging, denouncing, and preventing injustices against humanity. La Plata is the capital of the province of Buenos Aires, and the Commission is a collection of the history of the entire province. There are many such organizations in Argentina, each with its own unique spin on things, but they almost exclusively arose after the right-wing dictatorship of 1976-83. As part of our course in the recent history of Argentina, we've visited several Ex-Centros Clandestinos. These sites were the concentration camps of the dictadura. The tens of thousands of desaparecidos were imprisoned in these locations. Some are neighborhood buildings, some are little more than shacks in the woods.
El Ex-ESMA is the most famous. It's a military compound in Buenos Aires, open today to visitors. Walking through, it looks almost like a college campus - buildings with matching architecture dot a compound of calm paths, green grass, and old trees. Many of these buildings have now been turned into visitor centers, archives, photo galleries, and bathrooms. The headquarters, however, has been maintained as it was. The first and second floor of this building housed offices and bunks for soldiers. (How they could possibly have lived in the same building as the people they tortured, I have no idea.) The basement provided a torture chamber and the attic the squalid 'cells.' The basement was remodeled many times as the ex-Centro became a larger deal, but is now simply a concrete room. At various times it also contained rooms where prisoners were forced to print pro-dictadura propoganda, offices, and cells. The attic is merely a cramped space of angles and metal rafters. Here prisoners were hooded and faced toward the wall, The were forbidden to talk or move. Food was barely enough to survive, and they were granted one 'bathroom' visit a day. There was a separate room for the women who were pregnant - until they gave birth, at which point their child was given to dictadura supporters, and the new mom rejoined the rest of the prisoners. They were tortured weekly, as a matter of habit. Some prisoners lived like this for years. Many died.
Ex-Olympo is another ex-Centro Clandestino in Buenos Aires. Again, conditions were squalid, cramped, and inhumane. This time, prisoners had separate rooms, if you can call them that. Spaces just large enough to hold a bunk bed, with ceilings barely tall enough to lie on the top bunk, into which were crammed four or five prisoners. Again, the detenidos were forced to do all the manual work: cooking, cleaning (of the officers' areas), and construction.
We also visited Tandil, a smaller city inland in the province of Buenos Aires. Here, with students from the Commission's youth education program, we visited two ex-Centros, one barely consisted of two shacks in an overgrown area of an old military base. The other was this once-splendid mansion that used to belonged to some of the European aristocracy that arrived in Argentina and became wealthy landowners. Here again, the building was overgrown, but the decrepit nature was almost harder to see, since this had once been a beautiful home. It reminded me of how the Union troops turned Robert E. Lee's estate into a hospital and cemetery. Only worse, because instead of life, the work of this house was death. The ex-Centros in Tandil were much harder to see than those in Bs As, in part because the history was rawer. There were no professional plaques with facts. The first seemed forgotten in the middle of the woods, and the second stood there next to football fields and tennis courts. And the biggest factors were the guides. In Tandil, we toured these ex-Centros with ex-desaparecido-detenidos. These people had been imprisoned here for years, tortured, and in some cases, raped.
Argentina has a very raw history, but somehow manages to hold on to hope. After seeing these atrocities, we went as a group for coffee and discussion. These people who had survived the horrors of the dictadura laughed and joked with us. They told us stories of their children - how they died, and somehow still managed to smile. That I had such peace.
El Ex-ESMA is the most famous. It's a military compound in Buenos Aires, open today to visitors. Walking through, it looks almost like a college campus - buildings with matching architecture dot a compound of calm paths, green grass, and old trees. Many of these buildings have now been turned into visitor centers, archives, photo galleries, and bathrooms. The headquarters, however, has been maintained as it was. The first and second floor of this building housed offices and bunks for soldiers. (How they could possibly have lived in the same building as the people they tortured, I have no idea.) The basement provided a torture chamber and the attic the squalid 'cells.' The basement was remodeled many times as the ex-Centro became a larger deal, but is now simply a concrete room. At various times it also contained rooms where prisoners were forced to print pro-dictadura propoganda, offices, and cells. The attic is merely a cramped space of angles and metal rafters. Here prisoners were hooded and faced toward the wall, The were forbidden to talk or move. Food was barely enough to survive, and they were granted one 'bathroom' visit a day. There was a separate room for the women who were pregnant - until they gave birth, at which point their child was given to dictadura supporters, and the new mom rejoined the rest of the prisoners. They were tortured weekly, as a matter of habit. Some prisoners lived like this for years. Many died.
Ex-Olympo is another ex-Centro Clandestino in Buenos Aires. Again, conditions were squalid, cramped, and inhumane. This time, prisoners had separate rooms, if you can call them that. Spaces just large enough to hold a bunk bed, with ceilings barely tall enough to lie on the top bunk, into which were crammed four or five prisoners. Again, the detenidos were forced to do all the manual work: cooking, cleaning (of the officers' areas), and construction.
We also visited Tandil, a smaller city inland in the province of Buenos Aires. Here, with students from the Commission's youth education program, we visited two ex-Centros, one barely consisted of two shacks in an overgrown area of an old military base. The other was this once-splendid mansion that used to belonged to some of the European aristocracy that arrived in Argentina and became wealthy landowners. Here again, the building was overgrown, but the decrepit nature was almost harder to see, since this had once been a beautiful home. It reminded me of how the Union troops turned Robert E. Lee's estate into a hospital and cemetery. Only worse, because instead of life, the work of this house was death. The ex-Centros in Tandil were much harder to see than those in Bs As, in part because the history was rawer. There were no professional plaques with facts. The first seemed forgotten in the middle of the woods, and the second stood there next to football fields and tennis courts. And the biggest factors were the guides. In Tandil, we toured these ex-Centros with ex-desaparecido-detenidos. These people had been imprisoned here for years, tortured, and in some cases, raped.
Argentina has a very raw history, but somehow manages to hold on to hope. After seeing these atrocities, we went as a group for coffee and discussion. These people who had survived the horrors of the dictadura laughed and joked with us. They told us stories of their children - how they died, and somehow still managed to smile. That I had such peace.
23 May 2010
Semana santa!
The Andes are gorgeous. Like unbelievably, jaw-droppingly, speechlessly, piss-in-my-pants gorgeous. That being said, there are also a lot of very different stretches of the Andes. The mountain ranges I'm accustomed to will vary slightly depending on latitude, but tend to retain the same defining characteristics. Not so here. In the far south, there's an inhospitable, snow-covered land of extremes. Head north to Bariloche, and you're greeted by evergreen forests, craggy mountaintops, and lakes that give royal blue a run for its money. Around Mendoza, the lack of rainfall makes for other-worldly paisajes. entire stretches of ridges exist without vegetation. Around Salta, in the north, the dry climate continues, but rather than bitter chills, the weather tends toward the dry heat. Still further north, the Andes change into the uber-green setting for Machu Picchu.
Semana santa reminds me of our Thanksgiving break. School and businesses take off from Wednesday until Easter Sunday as the main break of the fall. The difference however, would be that this is when people travel. And I can understand why. Because Argentina is such a long country, the countryside boasts attractions from tropical rain-forests to the jumping point for Antarctica. Not to mention the bus system is reliable, comfortable, and fairly cheap.
After stressing and deciding last minute to go to Bariloche for the long weekend, the four girls of the group bought tickets through a travel agency. The tickets themselves, expensive for the delay, two group tours of the area, 3 nights in a hotel - breakfast and dinner included, and the agency fees ended up costing 930 pesos. Today's exchange rate would make that about U$D 240.
So we took a local bus to Buenos Aires, and stood in the mess of claustrophobia and humanity that was the Omnibus terminal, and finally found the right executive-class double decker. 20 hours of free food and wine, remarkably comfortable seats, and poorly subtitled movies later, we arrived in Bariloche. The trip itself was unbelievable. Hours after hours after hours of the Pampas - dry, flat, tumbleweed-strewn landscapes - led to the agricultural areas which led to the start of mountains. Sunrise was incredible.
As far as 20 and 21-year-olds traveling, we were definitely in the minority staying in a hotel as versus a hostel, but the towels and the free food were worth it. It also meant that we had a chance to relax. We didn't salir while we were there, and as a result left well-rested and re-energized. (Salir technically means 'to leave,' but it's a convenient one-word way to say going out, whether just to drink at a bar, or to dance until 7 am at a club.)
The group excursions were nice, affording beautiful views with little effort, but not really my cup of tea. In the morning, we rode a ski lift up to a lookout to take pictures and in the afternoon headed to Cerro Catedral, the premier ski resort in Bariloche. There wasn't any snow as it was still early fall, but there was the typical ski-paraphernalia and restaurant village.
I took the next day off from the others to hike up Cerro Lopez. And am so glad I did. The views are worth so much more when they're raw and afford a sense of achievement. A few notes on Argentine trails:
- Switchbacks are for sissies. I'm not used to feeling out of shape, but after 45 minutes of 45+ degree slopes, I knew my calves were going to get their revenge.
- Well-marked trails are a luxury.
- Running shoes do not provide enough traction.
- Being afraid of heights makes for some anxious minutes.
The mountain itself reaches 2075 meters, but the top part of that is too high for the evergreen forest that covers the rest, so, there's a rock-scrambling trail marked into the side. After reaching the outpost - a kind of ranger station, hostel, check-in point - I climbed up a couple of hundred meters and realized the height and wind weren't going to let me finish without a panic attack. So I sat myself into a little crag and took out my sketchbook. After about a half-hour, I started to head back down. Slowly. On my ass for a good part of it. Even the wooded part of the trail includes some gravelly slopes that freaked me out a little when I could see where it was I would be falling. In total, the climb and descent (and a little nap in the sun in a clearing) took me 6 or 7 hours. After getting fussed at by a local for hiking alone as a girl, I walked the 10 kilometers back to the bus station. (This mini-lecture was exactly what my brand of feminism hates: someone assuming that because of my sex, I'm incapable of something.)
Back with the girls, we shopped through a few of the artisan fairs, bought a few knit hats, and took some very touristy pictures with St. Bernards named 'Che.' The final night we enjoyed some good wine and food out before headed back to basic life in La Plata.
The question Brad said he used to ask Starbucks customers, "If you were a mountain range, what mountain range would you be?" comes to mind. I've found myself, in mountain form.
(I don't have a good photo of Cerro Lopez or the Refugio, so they came from http://www.welcomeargentina.com/bariloche/imagenes/lopez-59_i.html and http://images.travelpod.com/users/ole.dolven/sor_amerika_-_2.1168982700.p1150292.jpg, respectively.)
Semana santa reminds me of our Thanksgiving break. School and businesses take off from Wednesday until Easter Sunday as the main break of the fall. The difference however, would be that this is when people travel. And I can understand why. Because Argentina is such a long country, the countryside boasts attractions from tropical rain-forests to the jumping point for Antarctica. Not to mention the bus system is reliable, comfortable, and fairly cheap.
After stressing and deciding last minute to go to Bariloche for the long weekend, the four girls of the group bought tickets through a travel agency. The tickets themselves, expensive for the delay, two group tours of the area, 3 nights in a hotel - breakfast and dinner included, and the agency fees ended up costing 930 pesos. Today's exchange rate would make that about U$D 240.
So we took a local bus to Buenos Aires, and stood in the mess of claustrophobia and humanity that was the Omnibus terminal, and finally found the right executive-class double decker. 20 hours of free food and wine, remarkably comfortable seats, and poorly subtitled movies later, we arrived in Bariloche. The trip itself was unbelievable. Hours after hours after hours of the Pampas - dry, flat, tumbleweed-strewn landscapes - led to the agricultural areas which led to the start of mountains. Sunrise was incredible.
As far as 20 and 21-year-olds traveling, we were definitely in the minority staying in a hotel as versus a hostel, but the towels and the free food were worth it. It also meant that we had a chance to relax. We didn't salir while we were there, and as a result left well-rested and re-energized. (Salir technically means 'to leave,' but it's a convenient one-word way to say going out, whether just to drink at a bar, or to dance until 7 am at a club.)
The group excursions were nice, affording beautiful views with little effort, but not really my cup of tea. In the morning, we rode a ski lift up to a lookout to take pictures and in the afternoon headed to Cerro Catedral, the premier ski resort in Bariloche. There wasn't any snow as it was still early fall, but there was the typical ski-paraphernalia and restaurant village.
I took the next day off from the others to hike up Cerro Lopez. And am so glad I did. The views are worth so much more when they're raw and afford a sense of achievement. A few notes on Argentine trails:
- Switchbacks are for sissies. I'm not used to feeling out of shape, but after 45 minutes of 45+ degree slopes, I knew my calves were going to get their revenge.
- Well-marked trails are a luxury.
- Running shoes do not provide enough traction.
- Being afraid of heights makes for some anxious minutes.
The mountain itself reaches 2075 meters, but the top part of that is too high for the evergreen forest that covers the rest, so, there's a rock-scrambling trail marked into the side. After reaching the outpost - a kind of ranger station, hostel, check-in point - I climbed up a couple of hundred meters and realized the height and wind weren't going to let me finish without a panic attack. So I sat myself into a little crag and took out my sketchbook. After about a half-hour, I started to head back down. Slowly. On my ass for a good part of it. Even the wooded part of the trail includes some gravelly slopes that freaked me out a little when I could see where it was I would be falling. In total, the climb and descent (and a little nap in the sun in a clearing) took me 6 or 7 hours. After getting fussed at by a local for hiking alone as a girl, I walked the 10 kilometers back to the bus station. (This mini-lecture was exactly what my brand of feminism hates: someone assuming that because of my sex, I'm incapable of something.)
Back with the girls, we shopped through a few of the artisan fairs, bought a few knit hats, and took some very touristy pictures with St. Bernards named 'Che.' The final night we enjoyed some good wine and food out before headed back to basic life in La Plata.
The question Brad said he used to ask Starbucks customers, "If you were a mountain range, what mountain range would you be?" comes to mind. I've found myself, in mountain form.
(I don't have a good photo of Cerro Lopez or the Refugio, so they came from http://www.welcomeargentina.com/bariloche/imagenes/lopez-59_i.html and http://images.travelpod.com/users/ole.dolven/sor_amerika_-_2.1168982700.p1150292.jpg, respectively.)
16 May 2010
Marzo
Gaaaaahhhhhh! It's been forever since I've updated... I guess I just got caught up in the goings on here, then forgot about my blog... Sorry! So hopefully, this'll be the first of a string of entries to get up to date.
Ok, starting with the rest of March. The 24th of March is the anniversary of the last golpe del estado, so there was a huge celebration in Buenos Aires to commemorate the victims and to basically celebrate as a nation. (Also, can't spell anymore... I keep trying to replace -tion with -ción. We're calling that linguistic purgatory - far from fluent Spanish, and losing our grip on English daily.) When I say the celebrations in Bs As were huge, I mean HUGE. There were at least three marches that lasted for miles, all culminating in the Plaza de Mayo. We went as a group with Bettina, one of our coordinators and a member of Herman@s - an organization of people with siblings that disappeared. She took part in one of the marches and Alex, Katherine, and Phil followed her. Meanwhile, Michelle had brought her nice camera and really wanted some pictures of the goings on. We ended up walking along the sides of the road, but short statures and claustrophobia forced to rethink that idea. Then we say it: a few guys were climbing down a lamppost from the top of a newspaper kiosk. Perfect. I climbed up first and Michelle handed me the camera because she was hesitant of the lamppost, and Kathleen was wearing a skirt. 5 minutes later, however, they were back and threw caution to the wind for the experience. We later decided that nothing could've been worth it more. We watched the parade, waved at activists, snapped pictures, and marveled in the spirit of the day for several hours. A few of the best pictures are above: we took HUNDREDS. All of us gushed about the hopeful spirit that day - a holiday meant to remember a tragedy has managed to do so by honoring the dead and missing, while still celebrating the identity of the country. There's hope for a present and a future within the memory of the past.
After we climbed down from the kiosk, we headed to the Plaza de Mayo. Which turned out to be much more difficult that we figured. We were maybe five blocks away, but trying to get through the crowds took at least 45 minutes. Once we got there, Mich snapped a few pictures with the Casa Rosada in the background, then we headed back to the bus - this time taking the sidestreets.
I don't think I can say anything else fantastically important happened in March. I got my eyebrow pierced while Kathleen got her cartilage re-punctured. We spent the weekends dancing and drinking some wonderful wine, we explored various restaurants, we went to class, we improved on our Spanish, and we hung out with kids studying abroad with very few responsibilities. It was wonderful.
07 March 2010
Fotografias
Finally posting some pictures: The first is a protest by the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. The Madres are a super-powerful group that began as a march during la dictadura of mothers of the desaparecidos. The symbols you see on the ground are representations of the white veils they wore during the early years of the organization. They're painted all over plazas throughout Argentina as a sign of support.The other pictures include the cathedral of La Plata, the street on which I live, the view from Aerolinias Argentinas over the Andes, and the Casa Rosada, the Argentine White House. You can see the balcony from which Evita Peron gave her speeches.
Hope you enjoy!
Emily
Hope you enjoy!
Emily
04 March 2010
La gente
So the people here: beautiful, skinny, friendly, and talkative.
Everyone here is super-willing to help, and becomes enthralled when we say we're Yanquis. (Thankfully they're very patient with our stumbling-though improving-Spanish.) We've had many discussions so far as to how our cultures differ. One way, is that not only are people friendly, but they like to talk. Weekends always seem to consist of going dancing, but before that, we'll sit around for 4 or 5 hours drinking and talking. It doesn't matter if you're known or not. It's assumed that if you're friends with at least one of the people present, you're friends with all. The drinking itself, may last forever, but going too far and getting sick is rare. The point is rather to enjoy the company and use the alcohol to release conversational inhibitions rather than get drunk. Shots are out. People drink almost exclusively beer, wine, and Fernet's and Coke.
One of the first thing we noticed when we got here was how much smaller people are than in the States. I guess I shouldn't be surprised since we're known for being a large country. (A French friend here told me that they think of Yanquis as soda-swilling, donut-chomping, couch-sitting slobs. Flattering, eh?) Oddly enough, the skinniness, at least as far as the women go, is concentrated in the limbs. There are plenty of girls walking around with twiggy arms and legs and little bellies. My hypothesis is that it's due the large amount of walking and mate, and the absence of exercise. Every time I go running, I'm one of the fastest on the track. There have been a handful of guys faster than me, but very few girls running, period. Note: this isn't because I'm super-fast. Depending on the day, and how my body's feeling, I run between an 8 or 9 minute mile. Here, it seems that girls don't run. They walk everywhere, and drink a lot of mate, which is supposed to be a hunger-suppressor.
There also seems to be a good deal of time allotted to appearances. People here dress well, if slightly differently. I don't know exactly how to describe it, but certain things are Argentine, and certain things aren't.
All in all, I love the people and the personalities here. It's just so easy to make friends!
Chau for now,
Emily
Everyone here is super-willing to help, and becomes enthralled when we say we're Yanquis. (Thankfully they're very patient with our stumbling-though improving-Spanish.) We've had many discussions so far as to how our cultures differ. One way, is that not only are people friendly, but they like to talk. Weekends always seem to consist of going dancing, but before that, we'll sit around for 4 or 5 hours drinking and talking. It doesn't matter if you're known or not. It's assumed that if you're friends with at least one of the people present, you're friends with all. The drinking itself, may last forever, but going too far and getting sick is rare. The point is rather to enjoy the company and use the alcohol to release conversational inhibitions rather than get drunk. Shots are out. People drink almost exclusively beer, wine, and Fernet's and Coke.
One of the first thing we noticed when we got here was how much smaller people are than in the States. I guess I shouldn't be surprised since we're known for being a large country. (A French friend here told me that they think of Yanquis as soda-swilling, donut-chomping, couch-sitting slobs. Flattering, eh?) Oddly enough, the skinniness, at least as far as the women go, is concentrated in the limbs. There are plenty of girls walking around with twiggy arms and legs and little bellies. My hypothesis is that it's due the large amount of walking and mate, and the absence of exercise. Every time I go running, I'm one of the fastest on the track. There have been a handful of guys faster than me, but very few girls running, period. Note: this isn't because I'm super-fast. Depending on the day, and how my body's feeling, I run between an 8 or 9 minute mile. Here, it seems that girls don't run. They walk everywhere, and drink a lot of mate, which is supposed to be a hunger-suppressor.
There also seems to be a good deal of time allotted to appearances. People here dress well, if slightly differently. I don't know exactly how to describe it, but certain things are Argentine, and certain things aren't.
All in all, I love the people and the personalities here. It's just so easy to make friends!
Chau for now,
Emily
28 February 2010
Tanto tiempo...
So it's been forever since I've written, even though there's not always much going on. I've been going to class, running, dancing, going out to eat, enjoying the wine, and making local friends. The classes we have right now are fairly simple, since it's just the six of us at the Comision por la Memoria. We have a Spanish class that's meant to introduce us the Argentine brand to the language (vos instead of tu, lots of random French and Italian words, and very personal, informal command of the language) and an Argentine history class that focuses on 1900-present, with a special influence on the 50s-80s.
An Argentine Primer:
When the Spanish colonized Argentina, the disease and warfare knocked out most of the indigenous population. As such, the political problems are not the same as many other South American countries that are pretty much white against brown. Basically, the current problems can be traced back to the 30s and 40s, when the nation was hugely split between the rich and the poor. In 1945, Juan Peron was elected president and served until 1955. While his worker's rights platform helped launch him to success, so too did his charismatic wife. There were calls for Eva to become president, but she died before that could become a reality. In 1955, Peron was overturned by a golpe de estado (literally, a hit or punch of the state, in other words, a coup). In between 1955 and 1976, there were 3 more golpes de estado, switching between various leaders and political strategies. The coups in 1962 and 1966 were meant mainly to overthrow the current government, change the system slightly, and replace with a functioning leader. In 1973, Peron was elected again, but died quickly thereafter, leaving his third wife, Isabel, in power. Isabel did not have the charisma or political savvy that her husband or predecessor had had. By the time she was overthrown in 1976, the country was neither surprised nor upset by the golpe. The difference this time was that there was no plan to reinstate a democratic government. There followed 7 years of military dictatorship known as the dictadura. Among many outrages, from inflation in the 100s to refused medical care, the most outstanding is the 30,000 desaperecidos. People, often intellectuals, doctors, students, artists, writers, and other members of the cultural renaissance would disappear without warning, only to show up as mutilated, unknown bodies thrown out of planes or shot and buried in the middle of the night without ceremony. The term N.N. for these John Does comes from English: No Name.
It's this atrocity that la Comision fights. We have internships while we're here, and the possibilities include working in the political archives of the province, working as an interpreter in a high school human rights program, a committee against torture, and an art museum that notes the connection between culture and government. Chances are, I'll be working in the latter and taking art classes at the university. It'll be a semester entirely out of the Chem major's horizons.
Well that's the news for now, anyway. Observations a pictures to come.
Chau for now,
Emily
An Argentine Primer:
When the Spanish colonized Argentina, the disease and warfare knocked out most of the indigenous population. As such, the political problems are not the same as many other South American countries that are pretty much white against brown. Basically, the current problems can be traced back to the 30s and 40s, when the nation was hugely split between the rich and the poor. In 1945, Juan Peron was elected president and served until 1955. While his worker's rights platform helped launch him to success, so too did his charismatic wife. There were calls for Eva to become president, but she died before that could become a reality. In 1955, Peron was overturned by a golpe de estado (literally, a hit or punch of the state, in other words, a coup). In between 1955 and 1976, there were 3 more golpes de estado, switching between various leaders and political strategies. The coups in 1962 and 1966 were meant mainly to overthrow the current government, change the system slightly, and replace with a functioning leader. In 1973, Peron was elected again, but died quickly thereafter, leaving his third wife, Isabel, in power. Isabel did not have the charisma or political savvy that her husband or predecessor had had. By the time she was overthrown in 1976, the country was neither surprised nor upset by the golpe. The difference this time was that there was no plan to reinstate a democratic government. There followed 7 years of military dictatorship known as the dictadura. Among many outrages, from inflation in the 100s to refused medical care, the most outstanding is the 30,000 desaperecidos. People, often intellectuals, doctors, students, artists, writers, and other members of the cultural renaissance would disappear without warning, only to show up as mutilated, unknown bodies thrown out of planes or shot and buried in the middle of the night without ceremony. The term N.N. for these John Does comes from English: No Name.
It's this atrocity that la Comision fights. We have internships while we're here, and the possibilities include working in the political archives of the province, working as an interpreter in a high school human rights program, a committee against torture, and an art museum that notes the connection between culture and government. Chances are, I'll be working in the latter and taking art classes at the university. It'll be a semester entirely out of the Chem major's horizons.
Well that's the news for now, anyway. Observations a pictures to come.
Chau for now,
Emily
14 February 2010
iLlegamos!
Let's see... the past few days have been a bit of a whirlwind with traveling and so on. We (Kathleen, Alex, and I) left Richmond airport Wednesday night and flew to Atlanta. We had just enough time to get to the international gate before they called people to start boarding. (Who knew the Atlanta airport had a subway to take you from gate to gate? Well, Alex did, since he seems to wiki everything in sight.) We boarded the plane, and of course, where should I be, but in the middle of the middle, the only row that's not by a window or an aisle. Fun. This flight was 10 hours from Atlanta to Santiago via boredom, cramped seats, and awkward neighbors. The poor guy I was sitting next to was the epitome of whipped by his wife. He kept offering to help, but she just fussed at him. On the other side was a small, morose woman who I can only guess was Brazilian from the fact that I couldn't understand a word she said. After a fitful night's sleep - scratch that, maybe three hours of sleep - we got to Santiago. Three hours of walking around the tourist shops and the duty-free stuff, we got on the plane to Buenos Aires. Aerolinias Argentinas has a reputation for stunning flight attendants and free-flowing wine. It's well deserved. I didn't have any of the wine, since I wanted to make a good impression on the people we'd be studying with for the next 5 months, but the attendants were indeed gorgeous. Also, the view of the Andes from the air is worth every penny. I've never seen a land more ruggedly beautiful and inhospitable. We got to Buenos Aires and had to got through customs and immigration (which proved to be easy enough, if long). A couple of guys drove us from there to La Plata, where we went directly to the hostel. Frankville is humble, but only costs the equivalent of $12 a night. After a nap, we went out to dinner at around 9:30. Way late to us, and way early to everyone around us. We wandered around aimlessly until we found the restaurant district, which is a booming place. Argentina has plenty of economic troubles, but you wouldn't guess it from the way people eat out. We ate at a place called Vitaminas, where my enormous plate of raviolis (I've never had better) and a glass of wine cost me 20 pesos. That's maybe 6 bucks. (100 US dollars = 385 Argentine pesos.) When we headed back to the hostel, we met up with Phil and played Kings until we all knew each other very well. We chatted for a while with some of the others, mostly Argentines, staying in the hostel and headed to bed. By this time, it was 4 in the morning, which it turns out is completely normal.
The next day we met up with Diego to go over our program, went out to lunch, and Kathleen and I went shopping for more warm-weather clothes. We went out again that night with 5 guys and 1 girl from the hostel for pizza. What characters!
Yaco y Jesus are both 21 and from Patagonia, and have just moved to La Plata to try and get their band off the ground. Apparently Patagonia is very content with the status quo, conservative, and one of the worst places try and break out of the mold. They're moving into a house not far from where Alex, Kathryn, and I are living, so we should be seeing a good deal of them.
Melina, at 18 is the youngest of the group. She's beautiful, flirty, and smokes like a chimney. But then again, they all do.
El Mexicano is loud and chatty. It's hard to catch names, and I don't know his or the other two's. This guy's from D.F. (Mexico City, like Washington is abbreviated to letters) and likes to compare cultures. We had a fairly long discussion of what makes the west coast and east coast different, and what the south really means. I don't know if it's typical of Mexicans are versus South Americans, but this guy spoke at least three times as much.
El lider is quieter, but what he does say is very astute. He seemed to be the natural leader of the group, deciding where to eat, and that we were going to walk to La Plaza Moreno afterwards. He's got a eyebrow piercing, which seems to be pretty common.
The last guy, I'll call him El Bajo can't be more than 5'2". He says he's 24, but he looks 15. He didn't say all that much at dinner, but he smiled and laughed easily.
I'll write more about Claudia's house and our observations later, but it's almost lunch time now. (Breakfast at 12, lunch at 2, and dinner at 10 - my stomach's confused.)
Abrazos para todos y besos para Mateo,
Emily
The next day we met up with Diego to go over our program, went out to lunch, and Kathleen and I went shopping for more warm-weather clothes. We went out again that night with 5 guys and 1 girl from the hostel for pizza. What characters!
Yaco y Jesus are both 21 and from Patagonia, and have just moved to La Plata to try and get their band off the ground. Apparently Patagonia is very content with the status quo, conservative, and one of the worst places try and break out of the mold. They're moving into a house not far from where Alex, Kathryn, and I are living, so we should be seeing a good deal of them.
Melina, at 18 is the youngest of the group. She's beautiful, flirty, and smokes like a chimney. But then again, they all do.
El Mexicano is loud and chatty. It's hard to catch names, and I don't know his or the other two's. This guy's from D.F. (Mexico City, like Washington is abbreviated to letters) and likes to compare cultures. We had a fairly long discussion of what makes the west coast and east coast different, and what the south really means. I don't know if it's typical of Mexicans are versus South Americans, but this guy spoke at least three times as much.
El lider is quieter, but what he does say is very astute. He seemed to be the natural leader of the group, deciding where to eat, and that we were going to walk to La Plaza Moreno afterwards. He's got a eyebrow piercing, which seems to be pretty common.
The last guy, I'll call him El Bajo can't be more than 5'2". He says he's 24, but he looks 15. He didn't say all that much at dinner, but he smiled and laughed easily.
I'll write more about Claudia's house and our observations later, but it's almost lunch time now. (Breakfast at 12, lunch at 2, and dinner at 10 - my stomach's confused.)
Abrazos para todos y besos para Mateo,
Emily
09 February 2010
La nieve
So a year ago, this much snow would've been fantastic. Now, not so much. In December we got that once-a-decade kind of snow that blankets everything in two feet of stillness. But wait, that's not a once-a-decade snow, since the same thing happens in February! While this second snow wasn't quite 2 feet, it was still a good 14 inches. This second snow proved to be more of a bother for several reasons. It was a fairly wet snow, which means it's good for packing and snowmen, and also downing power lines. We were out of power for three days. I live out in the country, and our water comes from a well, so when there's no power, there's also no running water. No fun when you're trying to pack for a 6 month trip and can't wash clothes. The power finally came on last night in time for me to frantically start the packing. There was also a third storm in the brewing that would dump 5-7 inches on Cville, and 10-20 on DC. This when Dulles was just recovering from the last snow. No flights are expected to be able to leave tomorrow. Guess when I was supposed to fly out? As my parents and I tried to find another flight to Buenos Aires before the 13th, we also had to deal with a phone line that periodically went out, which means no DSL, and shoddy cell reception. Fun all the way around. We finally managed to find a flight for tomorrow that wasn't $3000, which is a miracle enough of itself. I'll be flying from Richmond tomorrow at 5 with Alex and Kathleen. Shew.
Anyway, the next time I write, I'll finally be abroad!
Les amo, y les echaré de menos!
Emily
Matt, I haven't heard from you since then, but I hope your flight from LA was uneventful. Either that or a spectacular story.
Anyway, the next time I write, I'll finally be abroad!
Les amo, y les echaré de menos!
Emily
Matt, I haven't heard from you since then, but I hope your flight from LA was uneventful. Either that or a spectacular story.
04 February 2010
Porque La Plata?
Several people have asked me a) why I'm going abroad, b) why La Plata, and c) how I could possibly fit that in as a Chemistry-Hispanic Studies double major.
a) I'm going abroad for many reasons, not the least of which was watching (and being insanely jealous of) my brother's fantastic experience in London. Also, why not? When's the next time that I'll have the opportunity to travel as extensively as I can as a student? When's the next time my parents will pay for my airfare overseas? Another financial plus to my trip is that I'm lucky enough to be studying somewhere with minimal tuition. It works out that a semester in La Plata is slightly cheaper than a semester at W&M, even as an in-state student.
b) My reasons for going to Argentina fall into the categories of why it's practical, and why it's exciting. Practically speaking, if I study abroad through William and Mary I can guarantee that credits will transfer and count towards my major. I can also easily accomplish my practicum, which is loosely equivalent to a mandatory honors thesis. As it turns out, W&M has Spanish programs in Cadiz or Seville, Spain; Morelia, Mexico; or La Plata, Argentina. Of these, I feel Spain is slightly cliche, and Mexico is the easy route. Argentina is the road less traveled. Besides, It'll be much easier to visit or even move to Spain or Mexico on my own than it would be to go to La Plata. The program in La Plata has another bonus - an internship. Not only will I be taking classes at La Universidad de La Plata, but also interning with La Comision Provincial por la Memoria. La Comision is a human rights organization interested in promoting democracy and studying the past political turmoil.
And for the excitement. Argentina is generally considered the Europe of South America. Want proof? Polo was declared the national sport. 86% of the population consider themselves of European descent. Argentines speak Spanish with an Italian accent. It's a fashion-conscious nation that likes to gab at coffeehouses or over wine from Mendoza. The diet consists of lots of beef and no spiciness. (Interestingly, the word for beef, carne, is the same as the word for meat in general, and saying I'm vegetarian only means I don't eat the former.) La Plata is the 5th largest city in Argentina, roughly the same size as Atlanta, and only a short train ride from Buenos Aires.
c) As for the final question, I took the Chem AP test, and scored well enough that I don't have to take Gen Chem 1 or 2, the latter of which is the typical course for 2nd semester sophomores. The other APs I took in high school allow me the luxury of enough credits to graduate on time, barring disaster. (knock on wood...)
6 days until I fly out!
Abrazos por todos y besos por Matt,
Emily
a) I'm going abroad for many reasons, not the least of which was watching (and being insanely jealous of) my brother's fantastic experience in London. Also, why not? When's the next time that I'll have the opportunity to travel as extensively as I can as a student? When's the next time my parents will pay for my airfare overseas? Another financial plus to my trip is that I'm lucky enough to be studying somewhere with minimal tuition. It works out that a semester in La Plata is slightly cheaper than a semester at W&M, even as an in-state student.
b) My reasons for going to Argentina fall into the categories of why it's practical, and why it's exciting. Practically speaking, if I study abroad through William and Mary I can guarantee that credits will transfer and count towards my major. I can also easily accomplish my practicum, which is loosely equivalent to a mandatory honors thesis. As it turns out, W&M has Spanish programs in Cadiz or Seville, Spain; Morelia, Mexico; or La Plata, Argentina. Of these, I feel Spain is slightly cliche, and Mexico is the easy route. Argentina is the road less traveled. Besides, It'll be much easier to visit or even move to Spain or Mexico on my own than it would be to go to La Plata. The program in La Plata has another bonus - an internship. Not only will I be taking classes at La Universidad de La Plata, but also interning with La Comision Provincial por la Memoria. La Comision is a human rights organization interested in promoting democracy and studying the past political turmoil.
And for the excitement. Argentina is generally considered the Europe of South America. Want proof? Polo was declared the national sport. 86% of the population consider themselves of European descent. Argentines speak Spanish with an Italian accent. It's a fashion-conscious nation that likes to gab at coffeehouses or over wine from Mendoza. The diet consists of lots of beef and no spiciness. (Interestingly, the word for beef, carne, is the same as the word for meat in general, and saying I'm vegetarian only means I don't eat the former.) La Plata is the 5th largest city in Argentina, roughly the same size as Atlanta, and only a short train ride from Buenos Aires.
c) As for the final question, I took the Chem AP test, and scored well enough that I don't have to take Gen Chem 1 or 2, the latter of which is the typical course for 2nd semester sophomores. The other APs I took in high school allow me the luxury of enough credits to graduate on time, barring disaster. (knock on wood...)
6 days until I fly out!
Abrazos por todos y besos por Matt,
Emily
21 January 2010
Para presentarme
This blog is intended to allow me to remain connected to friends and family at home and in other countries. If you don't know me and randomly happened upon this page, welcome and bienvenidos a mi vida! I'm about to head overseas for the first time to study abroad in the fifth-largest city in Argentina, La Plata. Literally translated, the city is called 'The Silver,' which makes me curious about the precious metal market there. Argentina itself comes from an ancient Greek adjective meaning silvery. (According to Wikipedia, my best friend come research time.) But that will be discovered in due time.
To begin this blog, I feel like I should introduce myself. My name is Emily Stephens, and I'm a Chemistry and Hispanic Studies double major at the College of William and Mary. (Incidentally, we don't have a Spanish major, and the 'College' is actually a state university. But semantics, schemantics.) I split my time between crew, frisbee, and Delta Gamma. (Fact: I'll be staying in the same home for the coming 6 months that my big-big-big, Megan, lived in last year.) My personal time is spent running, reading, and employing whatever creative impulse I feel at the moment. If you couldn't guess from the title, I'm a vegetarian (and vegan from time to time). My friends know me as a bit of a health nut, from the running to the eating. If I had the money for it, I would love to be a foodie, but at the moment, my money goes elsewhere. The greatest weakness in my diet hinges on caffeine. I drink a lot of coffee. And Diet Coke depending on my mood. But mostly coffee. If it's good stuff, I like it black, but I often add soymilk to counteract the bitterness. When I do spend money, some of it goes to coffeeshops. I don't generally get specialty drinks, even though they taste decent enough. I like coffee enough that I have no desire to disguise it's taste with intense sweetness. The rest of my money goes to retail. I like clothes. A lot. I like designing them, attempting to make them (mostly failing), and wearing them. I'm not always dressed to the nines, but there is a special bounce in my step when I feel well-attired.
So that was a lot about me. I appreciate the ability to indulge my ego. More about Argentina, Spanish, gauchos, the tango, cattle, wine, Evita, and Che to come!
20 days!
Abrazos para todos y besos para Matt,
yo
To begin this blog, I feel like I should introduce myself. My name is Emily Stephens, and I'm a Chemistry and Hispanic Studies double major at the College of William and Mary. (Incidentally, we don't have a Spanish major, and the 'College' is actually a state university. But semantics, schemantics.) I split my time between crew, frisbee, and Delta Gamma. (Fact: I'll be staying in the same home for the coming 6 months that my big-big-big, Megan, lived in last year.) My personal time is spent running, reading, and employing whatever creative impulse I feel at the moment. If you couldn't guess from the title, I'm a vegetarian (and vegan from time to time). My friends know me as a bit of a health nut, from the running to the eating. If I had the money for it, I would love to be a foodie, but at the moment, my money goes elsewhere. The greatest weakness in my diet hinges on caffeine. I drink a lot of coffee. And Diet Coke depending on my mood. But mostly coffee. If it's good stuff, I like it black, but I often add soymilk to counteract the bitterness. When I do spend money, some of it goes to coffeeshops. I don't generally get specialty drinks, even though they taste decent enough. I like coffee enough that I have no desire to disguise it's taste with intense sweetness. The rest of my money goes to retail. I like clothes. A lot. I like designing them, attempting to make them (mostly failing), and wearing them. I'm not always dressed to the nines, but there is a special bounce in my step when I feel well-attired.
So that was a lot about me. I appreciate the ability to indulge my ego. More about Argentina, Spanish, gauchos, the tango, cattle, wine, Evita, and Che to come!
20 days!
Abrazos para todos y besos para Matt,
yo
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