vicente

There are numerous doormen in my building. They rotate shifts, each working their specific time of the day and week. Vicente is the weekend doorman; he works from Saturday morning through Sunday evening. He´s bald, freakishly tan, has a very wrinkly face and a few missing teeth, and his eyes are always extremely mischievious. He smokes a lot, always wears the same blue sweater and practices Buddhism. And he loves to talk... especially to young American women. If I enter or leave the building while Vicente´s at his post, I know I´m in for at least five minutes of chit-chat. This is usually pretty great, since it´s just another Spanish lesson for me, and it´s pretty rare that I´m in a hurry to get anywhere. Vicente´s favorite conversational topics are my liking of Argentina, my ¨beautiful eyes,¨ and whether or not I´ve taken an Argentine lover.

The first topic is great. I can go on forever about what I like and don´t like about Argentina, where I´ve been, where I´m planning to travel to, my opinions about certain things. All fairly safe subjects.

The second topic was possibly charming and/or slightly flattering the first time around. Now it´s just getting ridiculous. Especially because I know that my sister inherited the truly great eyes of the family, all big and green and speckled with long lashes... mine are small and quite unsure of which color they´d like to be. Nice try, Vicente, but you can´t fool me.

The third topic has provided much amusement for me. Vicente and I have had an ongoing argument over whether or not I can truly enjoy Argentina and experience it to its fullest without having an Argentine man to show me ¨how to really enjoy life.¨ My stand is that I have a man, I love him very much, I´m quite content with him, and in three short months he will be here to enjoy Argentine life with me. Vicente´s position is that there are no men in the world that compare to Argentine men, that I have no idea what I´m missing, and that I need to be less faithful, because I have my entire life to do that, and I´m too young to start now. It was all fun and games, arguing about my faithfulness and whether or not Argentine men are really that great, until this past weekend when he crossed the line and, in all sincerity, called me egotistical. That really got my Argentine goat, I tell you. Who is he to call me egotistical? Just for being faithful?? That doesn´t seem very logical.

Or very Buddhist, for that matter.

piss ´n´ vinegar

One day last week I found myself fuming mad, cursing out loud at Argentina. I literally told it to ¨F-off¨ and gave it the finger. Really Lia? Was that necessary? The worst part was, it was over nothing. Or rather, it was over a bunch of little things that by themselves were nothing, and added up didn´t really amount to much either... at least not enough to curse and wave middle fingers at.

Piles of dog poop in the streets. The banks only giving me $100 peso bills, without businesses willing to accept these bills. Breathing black exhaust from dirty buses. Garbage lining the gutters. Men leering at me, making kissy noises, whistling, giving me the thrice-over with their up-to-no-good eyes. The lack of green places to run. Window shoppers and groups of people with linked arms clogging the sidewalks. Mysterious, dirty water falling on my head from above. So much noise, so many angry horns being beeped for no good reason. Cigarette smoke blown in my face.

Sometimes it´s just too much. It all closes in on me at once, drives me crazy. I try to suppress the irritation, the anger, the tiny fits of rage, but they bubble up. And then the aforementioned happens.

Since my arrival, these days have surfaced on a fairly regular basis. I step out the door and some annoyance aggravates me, and throughout the day all I can see are the negative things about the city. By mid-afternoon all that´s pulsing through my veins is a bunch of piss and vinegar. It´s ugly. And it makes me feel very disappointed in myself.

When did I become such a negative person? Is my life here really that horrible? Where does all of this bad energy come from? Why do I let it get to me? Why don´t I focus on the good?

Good question... why don´t I?

I´ve decided that months three, four and five will be filled with more tolerance and less irritation. More deep breathing (when not around said buses and cigarettes) and less flipping of the bird. I will be better about letting things roll off my back. I will say, ¨Hey, it´s Argentina. It´s all part of the experience.¨ (Because, in reality, it is.) I will not waste any more time not appreciating the good... and there´s a lot of the good.

It is sunny here almost six days a week. Spring has arrived. There are fresh flower stands on nearly every corner. Anything I might need is within a five-minute walk of my apartment. There are endless restaurants to try, little shops to explore. The exchange rate is almost 4 pesos to the dollar. I have met some incredible people here. I love my yoga studio. On the weekends, every park and plaza in the city is full of families and friends simply enjoying each others´ company. The street food is delicious. The regular food is incredible. Beer, ice cream and laundry can all be delivered right to your door. The street fairs are fabulous. I can walk everywhere. Each neighborhood is so different; it´s like a bunch of little cities all strung together. I work four days a week, from 2-4pm. I have to set my alarm to wake up before noon. Dinner is cooked for me every night... and it´s really good. It is Argentine tradition to spend hours sitting outside at cafes, lingering over coffee and beer in the late afternoon sunshine. I´m learning so much Spanish. And, I´m living in Argentina.

Argentina.

Now that´s something to smile about.

m.j.

This week, the (ten-year-old) children in the English class I´m teaching were asked to put themselves into groups and make posters about their favorite band or musician. The posters were to include an introduction about the musical group, a physical description of its members, a section about the hobbies of the band/artist, an explanation of why the children liked their music, and a drawing of the musician(s). Bands chosen included The Killers, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana, Madonna and Michael Jackson.

The group who chose to write about Michael Jackson had no written information about him - everything they put on their poster came from what they remembered from magazine articles and tributes on television after his death. The following is the content of their poster:

Michael was born in San Diego, California on 1952. He was one of the members of ¨Jackson 5.¨ He has 5 brothers and sisters. He was sexually abused by his father. Later, he started abusing other children because of his tragic life. He became very famous working as a soloist.

He was very thin (51 kg.) and short. He was black, but then he turned into white. Michael Jackson was very crazy, he slept with a monkey and children. He danced very well. He invented moonwalk.

Michael used to play with children in his Neverland, take care of his kids, behave like a little child, operate himself and have Morphine.

We love Michael Jackson because he was very generous, good singer, good dancer, crazy. We think, also that Michael´s children weren´t his because they should be black, but they are blond and white.

It´s a little unnerving to experience the reach and influence of American pop culture.

two months

It took me two months to really settle in; to begin to form a life here. Two months to feel comfortable, at home; to not feel so sad and lonely; to start forgetting to cross off each day that passes. Two months to start acting like my goofy self in front of my homestay family. Two months to make real, live, Argentinian friends who invite me out for brunches and parties and nights on the town. Two months to know my way around; to get all of the touristy things out of the way and just start living. Two months to start really liking Buenos Aires. Two months to learn to take things for what they are, the good and the bad; to really begin to appreciate all I´m experiencing here; to slow down and enjoy the little pleasures of my life in Argentina.

It feels good to have arrived.

miss lia, miss lia!

I started teaching English this week... only two months after my arrival. And after four days, I´ve decided that I don´t think it´s a good fit. I´ll give it another week and see how it goes, but I think I´m looking at another curve ball from South America... and probably another change of plans. The teaching job isn´t horrible, it´s actually quite entertaining... I just don´t feel like I´ll learn very much, and won´t get enough out of the experience to warrant it twelve weeks of my precious time here. We´ll see.

I asked for a placement where I would be teaching adults, and I ended up at a primary school in a classroom full of ten-year-olds... which would´ve had potential, except for the fact that they´re crazy. The class is complete madness. And I´m not so much teaching as observing. Observing the madness that is twenty ten-year-olds hopped up on sugar after lunchtime with a very lax teacher who doesn´t really implement any rules.

After four days of this said ¨teaching,¨ these are the images that are swimming in my mind... well, more like whirling in a cloud of madness in my frazzled mind...

Graffitied desks in disarray. Six-to-fifteen students talking at any point during the class... particularly while the teacher is talking. Orange soda and potato chips ¨sneaked¨ under desks. Children drawing moustaches and tattoos on each others´ upper lips and arms. Ties used as nooses. Michael Jackson drawn on the chalkboard. A floor littered with scraps of paper. Pages torn out of notebooks. Windows being opened in the middle of class and kids scrambling out onto the balcony. Students throwing themselves into the doorway as they enter the classroom, then pretending to have bloody noses. And the questions, oh the questions...

¨Miss Lia, Miss Lia!, what is your favorite Madonna song?!¨ Material Girl. ¨Miss Lia, why did you come to Buenos Aires?!¨ To learn Spanish. ¨You don´t speak Spanish?¨ No. (I was told to lie about this.) ¨Miss Lia, what country are you from in the United States?¨ Minnesota. ¨Miss Lia! Are you married?!¨ No. ¨Miss Lia! Do you have a boyfriend?!¨ Yes. ¨Miss Lia! Where does he live?¨ Minnesota. ¨What is his name?¨ Andy. ¨What does he do?¨ He´s a businessman.¨Does he like Madonna?¨ No.

¨Children! Enough about the boyfriend! Ask her something else.¨

¨Miss Lia! Do you like Michael Jackson?¨ Yes. ¨He died 54 days ago!¨ Yes, he did. ¨Miss Lia, do you have a car?¨ Yes. ¨What kind?¨ A Honda. (This received a thumbs down.) ¨Miss Lia, how do you call your surname?¨ Middlebrook. ¨Miss Lia, how old are you?¨ 24. ¨You look 15!¨ Well good. ¨Miss Lia, do you know New York?¨ Yes. ¨Do you know all of the United States?¨ No. ¨Do you like The Beatles?¨ Yes. ¨What is your favorite Madonna again?¨ Material Girl.

And, the blue ribbon goes to an adorable little boy who, full of sass, smirked at me and said, ¨Miss Lia, my name is Gonzalo, but you can call me Bond. James Bond.¨

back in the saddle

I can´t believe two weeks have passed since my last post... I suppose that´s a good sign though, that my life has been busy and full and my brain and hands have been occupied. Hmm, where should I begin... I suppose with the little tale of When The Girls Came To Visit.

We had a great time. How could we not have? Three college roommates who hadn´t seen each other in almost a year, traipsing around Argentina. A definite formula for good times.

We acted silly, which was my favorite part. Just to have people to act silly with, and not think for a second that my silliness was out of line. We took photos leaning against monuments from far away, looking like giants; we took photos jumping high in the air from a brick wall, only blue sky behind us; we took photos doing dance moves in the air, next to palm trees, in front of the Andes. We ran through the dark streets of Buenos Aires in our pajamas at 1am hoping to reach the ice cream store before it closed. We bought five kinds of beer and ordered pizza into our hotel room and drank flights of Quilmes while watching bad American television. We told inside jokes and laughed about old memories and talked in funny voices.

We walked all over Buenos Aires, seeing the different neighborhoods, with me as the tour guide. And I discovered that me as a tour guide means the tour is mostly made up of restaurants. (Shocking.) Man, did we eat. Empanadas, calzones, pizza. Cookies, ice cream, dulce de leche, churros. Tea, coffee, milkshakes, wine. Steak, milanesa, fried potatoes. Soups, salads, sandwiches, tortes. Cakes and chips and vegetables and stews. It was fantastic.

We saw a tango show, splurging on the expensive one. The venue was amazing, a beautiful old theatre with heavy red velvet curtains framing the stage. We ate a three course meal and drank wine while over twenty dancers took turns moving across the stage... sultry, sexy, spinning, twirling, legs high in the air, eyes locked, high heels pivoting, hair slicked back, a live band playing notes that held the dancers up like puppets.

We took an overnight bus to and from Mendoza, a thirteen hour drive inland, towards the mountains. We spent three days there, soaking up warmth and sunshine and the quietness outside of BsAs. We explored the city´s park, sitting quietly by a pond, drinking milkshakes and feeling our skin warm and our ears stop buzzing. We spent a day at a spa, tucked into a valley in the mountains, the wind whipping over the rock-lined pools, rattling the windows as we ate a buffet lunch sitting in our plush, white robes. And we spent a day doing a bike-and-wine tour... seven hours on rickety bikes, sans helmets, on narrow roads with trucks whizzing past. Six wineries, an olive farm and a chocolate factory. Glasses of Malbec, tours of rooms filled with the scent of wine fermenting in oak barrels from France, grapevines and olive trees fading into views of the Andes.

We got too little sleep and drank too much wine, but we filled those nine days with good, good memories.


For photos of our time in BsAs, click here and here.

And for photos of our adventures in Mendoza, click here.

lucky me

Speaking of loneliness and wishing I had friends to explore the city with... two of my college roommates, Nancy and Janine, arrive tomorrow. And I couldn´t be more thrilled. They´ll be here for nine days, during which we´ll run all over the city; have long dinners; see a tango show; laugh and catch up; travel to the Mendoza wine region to bike to vineyards in the Argentine countryside; and, weather permitting, sit outside in afternoon sunshine, lingering over our lunch, just like all those lucky people I´ve watched all these weeks. It´s perfect timing, and just what I need. It will be so good to be around best friends. You probably won´t be hearing much from me for the next ten days or so, but I´ll be sure to give a full report upon their departure (ugh, to even utter those words...). I am so lucky to have friends who are willing to travel so far to see me. (Selfishly, that´s how I see it. Argentina? What´s that? Clearly you only came to see my smiling face...)

loneliness

Moving to a new city in a foreign country without knowing anyone is harder than I thought it would be. I have good days and bad days, good weeks and bad weeks. I feel lonely a lot. Sometimes it´s the kind of loneliness that makes me appreciate how un-lonely my life at home is; sometimes it´s the kind of loneliness that makes me feel really sorry for myself, curled into a ball on my bed; sometimes it´s the kind of loneliness that sits quietly behind other emotions, a dim ache that is mostly forgotten.

I´ve been trying to decide how much I like Buenos Aires, and have been feeling like I don´t appreciate it as much as I should, as much as I had hoped I would. But after some thought I realized that I really like the city, and love all it has to offer, but am simply disappointed that I don´t have a network of friends to go out and enjoy it with. Don´t get me wrong, it´s not as if I´ve been sitting home alone every night - I´ve been going out with various groups, people I´ve met, friends I´ve made. But most English-speakers that I´ve met are only here for a short time, and making Argentine friends takes a lot of time and energy. The language barrier, as hard as I´m working to break it down, doesn´t make it any easier.

So I end up spending a lot of time alone, exploring the city. Watching as friends and families and couples eat leisurely lunches in Sunday afternoon sunshine, smiling and laughing, feeding their dogs ice cream cones under tables, cooing at babies in strollers, telling stories, sitting in a silence that can only exist in the company of those who know you well. And as I wander, I´m torn - watching all these happy people spend time with those they love makes me feel so full and so empty at the same time. I´m filled with happiness, knowing that I too have that waiting for me back home. But it also makes me feel a little hollow, having it be so far away.

I find my mind wandering into the territory of the What Ifs. Would it be different if I was here with a friend? Andy? My family? Would I feel differently if I was younger? Older? If I was here for a shorter amount of time? A longer amount? Silly questions, since I´m here, now, at this age and at this time in my life, for this amount of time. But still. What if?

I also recognize that the Andy Factor makes the biggest contribution to my loneliness, which I expected and tried to prepare myself for. But I´ve discovered that the feeling of loss that accompanies being away from your best friend, the person you love most, the one you´re used to seeing every day, isn´t something you can ever fully understand until you feel it in your bones. It hurts more than you think it might.

Most days I can focus on all the positives - the self-growth, the exploration, the Spanish skills, the time away to think, the clarity that comes with being removed from routine - and the strength I get from knowing this experience is making me stronger chases the loneliness away. Those are the Good Days. But then there are the days when I feel stripped down and raw with emotion and all that is left is the reality that I miss home, more than I ever have before. Those days are the Bad Days.

But the Bad Days pass, as do the Good Days. I smile and laugh and cry. I feel lost and energized and sure and unsure. I move through the oh-so-hards and the oh-so-greats and life happens all around me. I take in as much as I can, and I try to make the most of my time here. I recognize that I´m fortunate to have a life worth missing, and that I´m also fortunate to be here. I know that I will look back on all of this as such an important time in my life, even if that knowledge can be clouded by loneliness at times.

It´s all part of being human, of being me, of learning and living and loving. I consider myself lucky to have reasons to feel so deeply, because it is in those deep crevices of sadness and those sunny peaks of happiness that I know I am truly alive.