Its Monday, 6:30 Im sitting in Cafe Teatro listening to Regina Spektor and drinking actual good coffee. I have a full journal, a spinning head, and a happy feeling. We got back from Buenos Aires on Friday and it was the most incredible two weeks. I went back to Pergamino to visit with my old host family.. the catalyst of so many things that have happened in my life thus far. Those two days solidified so many values, so many memories, so many feelings. Some things never change. Some do, but relationships... the true ones we make when we can openly share our lives only grow. It was amazing to be back.
I also figured out my independent study project for the month of May. Off to Buenos Aires, to study the Universidad Popular de Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. We met with a 92 year old woman who has been protesting the disappearance and murder of her son for 30 years. Little women in white headscarves who have created a bonafide social movement. These agents of change who have shaped and accomplished so much in the face of a dictator. Who endured and endured even as their founders were abducted and killed by their very own government, by their very own people. Women who rally for the human rights of all. Who still, after 30 years go every Thursday to march in the center of Buenos Aires. Determined not to fade away... Beautiful women.
Tomorrow, actually in 12 hours I leave for Temuco, to live and learn about the indigenous Mapuche community in the South of Chile. This time tomorrow who knows what I will be doing, seeing, speaking! Ill be back in a week surely with many things to write to you all about.
I got letters from you wonderful people today. Thank you for giving me something (more than something) to miss. And miss you I do. But oh when we meet, when we meet again...
Thank you for your airmail!
Monday, April 23, 2007
An update
Its Monday, 6:30 Im sitting in Cafe Teatro listening to Regina Spektor and drinking actual good coffee. I have a full journal, a spinning head, and a happy feeling. We got back from Buenos Aires on Friday and it was the most incredible two weeks. I went back to Pergamino to visit with my old host family.. the catalyst of so many things that have happened in my life thus far. Those two days solidified so many values, so many memories, so many feelings. Some things never change. Some do, but relationships... the true ones we make when we can openly share our lives only grow. It was amazing to be back.
I also figured out my independent study project for the month of May. Off to Buenos Aires, to study the Universidad Popular de Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. We met with a 92 year old woman who has been protesting the disappearance and murder of her son for 30 years. Little women in white headscarves who have created a bonafide social movement. These agents of change who have shaped and accomplished so much in the face of a dictator. Who endured and endured even as their founders were abducted and killed by their very own government, by their very own people. Women who rally for the human rights of all. Who still, after 30 years go every Thursday to march in the center of Buenos Aires. Determined not to fade away... Beautiful women.
Tomorrow, actually in 12 hours I leave for Temuco, to live and learn about the indigenous Mapuche community in the South of Chile. This time tomorrow who knows what I will be doing, seeing, speaking! Ill be back in a week surely with many things to write to you all about.
I got letters from you wonderful people today. Thank you for giving me something (more than something) to miss. And miss you I do. But oh when we meet, when we meet again...
Thank you for your airmail!
I also figured out my independent study project for the month of May. Off to Buenos Aires, to study the Universidad Popular de Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. We met with a 92 year old woman who has been protesting the disappearance and murder of her son for 30 years. Little women in white headscarves who have created a bonafide social movement. These agents of change who have shaped and accomplished so much in the face of a dictator. Who endured and endured even as their founders were abducted and killed by their very own government, by their very own people. Women who rally for the human rights of all. Who still, after 30 years go every Thursday to march in the center of Buenos Aires. Determined not to fade away... Beautiful women.
Tomorrow, actually in 12 hours I leave for Temuco, to live and learn about the indigenous Mapuche community in the South of Chile. This time tomorrow who knows what I will be doing, seeing, speaking! Ill be back in a week surely with many things to write to you all about.
I got letters from you wonderful people today. Thank you for giving me something (more than something) to miss. And miss you I do. But oh when we meet, when we meet again...
Thank you for your airmail!
Oh, Argentina
Flying from Miami to Chile, the woman sitting next to me told me that everytime she sees the mountains out the window she cries. She cries because she knows shes coming home, to her patria. I missed it in February because we landed before the sun came up. Going to Argentina and looking out the window, I finally understood what she meant.
The collections of Marta Centaro, my host mom in Buenos Aires Argentina. Includes hundreds of cans from around the world, paintings, photos, little wooden owls and books with titles like "Medicinal Plants of Argentina" and "The explosion of Uruguan poetry". Amazing. Eclectic. Alive.
Marta is an artist, a philosopher, a beautiful women, even though she often pretends shes not. Also, the most expressive woman Ive ever met, besides my mom... the kind of woman you always want on your Charades team.
Drinking mate with Marta and Debra. Planning our trip, our dream to Machu Picchu.
Caminito, La Boca. Bright colors... tango in the street... good pasta. Tourist trap but I love it. Reveal in your inner tourist.
Chico Chico. The spitting image of Gus, only Chico Chico is worse. He bites. Marta brings out the hair dryer when he wont listen and then he turns into the nicest cat youve ever met.
Our Easter celebration in the hotel. Full of toliet paper, good music, good friends, and togas.
Tango. in the streets.
San Telmo. Buy anything you can think of... from finger puppets, to rugs, to old sunglasses from the 70s to Peron calendars.
I still havent written an entry of the day of the ESPINA. Story to come.
Buenos Aires. Radio taxis. Always an experience.
Monday, April 9, 2007
BUENOS AIRES
Its been four years since I´ve been back to Argentina. For two days its been a flood of old memories, good feelings, and familiar places. It started at the airport. Funny how airports are really just portals that give us a little time for reflection, who we are when we arrive and who we are when we leave. I can remember those airport moments when I was 15... getting there and not having any idea who to talk to, what to do, or what the heck I was doing in Argentina. Then after two months, leaving Buenos Aires armed with tissues, knick nacks for my friends, little presents I had been given, and my journal filled with what I had done and thought with these new people in this new place.
And there I was again. The same me in the same airport standing at the same baggage claim. But with a different suitcase this time, with a different group around me... with my new friends and with a much better grasp of the Spanish language. Yet if experience has told me anything, in two weeks when I leave Buenos Aires, through that same aiport portal I will not have the same feelings, thoughts, and memories. If being in a foreign country does anything for you at all... it gives you the opportunity to reinvent yourself.
We had one night in the hotel in the center of the city. In the morning the families came to claim their student. The first woman who entered the room was a beautiful woman with gray hair, a long coat, and she enthuiasticaly hugged and kissed each of us. She busted in that room and paved the way for the other families to come in. There was somethign about her that you couldnt help but like. And wouldnt you know, I ended up going home with her!
She is a 63 year old Argentinean woman with a funky apartment, a relaxed style, two cats, a love for NYC and Starbucks, and a political edge about her. She is fun, enthusiastic and very much alive. One of those people you like immediately... when they tell you within an hour of meeting you that its okay if you want to sleep in the nude if thats what youre most comfortable with (haha, i assured her I wear pajamas)...
I only wish her first impression of me could have been the same... but unfortunately all the Argentinean meat, asado, food, pasta, pizza, dulce de leche and everything else I had scarfed down in the last day had got the better of me. We went to the park with her cousin and Debra to walk her big German Shepard, Minnie when my stomach decided to deceive me. Within hours of knowing this student, I was throwing up in a park in the middle of Argentineans picniking and walking their dogs in the middle of Buenos Aires while being eaten alive by mosquitos.
Awesome.
So my first day was a little rough as I continued getting sick and my fever continued to rise. Nothing like this to make someone completely nervous on their first day of being host mom. Marta told me stories of her sicknesses, shes great for telling stories... and ended up using a trick that a aborignal man from the Amazon had used on her when she was sick in the selva. Lemon. Squeeze a lemon and drink it to rid your body of anything that would be making you feel sick. It worked.
And there I was again. The same me in the same airport standing at the same baggage claim. But with a different suitcase this time, with a different group around me... with my new friends and with a much better grasp of the Spanish language. Yet if experience has told me anything, in two weeks when I leave Buenos Aires, through that same aiport portal I will not have the same feelings, thoughts, and memories. If being in a foreign country does anything for you at all... it gives you the opportunity to reinvent yourself.
We had one night in the hotel in the center of the city. In the morning the families came to claim their student. The first woman who entered the room was a beautiful woman with gray hair, a long coat, and she enthuiasticaly hugged and kissed each of us. She busted in that room and paved the way for the other families to come in. There was somethign about her that you couldnt help but like. And wouldnt you know, I ended up going home with her!
She is a 63 year old Argentinean woman with a funky apartment, a relaxed style, two cats, a love for NYC and Starbucks, and a political edge about her. She is fun, enthusiastic and very much alive. One of those people you like immediately... when they tell you within an hour of meeting you that its okay if you want to sleep in the nude if thats what youre most comfortable with (haha, i assured her I wear pajamas)...
I only wish her first impression of me could have been the same... but unfortunately all the Argentinean meat, asado, food, pasta, pizza, dulce de leche and everything else I had scarfed down in the last day had got the better of me. We went to the park with her cousin and Debra to walk her big German Shepard, Minnie when my stomach decided to deceive me. Within hours of knowing this student, I was throwing up in a park in the middle of Argentineans picniking and walking their dogs in the middle of Buenos Aires while being eaten alive by mosquitos.
Awesome.
So my first day was a little rough as I continued getting sick and my fever continued to rise. Nothing like this to make someone completely nervous on their first day of being host mom. Marta told me stories of her sicknesses, shes great for telling stories... and ended up using a trick that a aborignal man from the Amazon had used on her when she was sick in the selva. Lemon. Squeeze a lemon and drink it to rid your body of anything that would be making you feel sick. It worked.
Monday, April 2, 2007
A timeline of sorts
Excerpts from my Journal, because I am utterly disorganized.
February 21
And it only hits me now that this feeling-this separation from those who truly love us, know us, appreciate us (that which is familiar) is what makes this an experience. If you have nothing to leave, nothing to wait for you… you can never come full circle. Isnt it true that journeys always have to start somewhere. And maybe it is this beginning which is just as important. I don’t think I could ever take the first step of any of these journeys without always having my beginning: home and family.
February 22
If landscape is to be used as inspiration, then Chile is the place to be. The warmth and the excitement of the 11 other students and directors of the program reaches out to grab you. Everywhere, people want to know who you are and what your story is and will be.
Advice from seat A next to my seat B on the plane: “You might run into an asshole now and then, but assholes are everywhere. There are more nice people in Chile” My first advice from the first Chilean I met. Who would have thought- her favorite state is Pennsylvania!
February 25
I’ve been concentrating so much on the land, I cant lose track of the people I’ve gotten to know it with. And there is so much value in the people in the program… the fun, the adventure, the types of conversations we have so easily slid into. Eating together, going out the first night to the bar, sharing stories on the beach, (whats your favorite scar, thanks GRAB), stretching/yogaing during class breaks. Finding a Common Ground! Yesterday walking back from the seafood restaurant we all felt warm and fuzzy, and for awhile no one could stop laughing. Yes, the pisco sours are strong and tasty here, and they flow until the wee hours. But this night… I felt like we were evincible, this band of people with such hopes and dreams and ambition, giddy with anticipation of what was to come.
There is something to be said for a group of people speaking in the same broken language, in a dimly lit bar in a crowded beach town talking about their favorite pages in the Lonely Planet guide.
March 8
I wish I could see all the things that have been lost in translation. If I could be lost in translation I would never leave… because I get the feeling it would be the funniest place to be. My inspiration for this thought is an email a friend received from a Chilean student we met last night. He wrote in English:
“Hi Lauren. I’m Mauricio, we met yesterday. I was the one with the bag in my pelvis…”
I can only assume he is referring to his black leather fanny pack.
March 18
As it turns out I am utterly, unbelievably disorganized. My thoughts have already passed to become memories and they are all over the place. At least I have managed to save some by pasting them to these pages.
February 21
And it only hits me now that this feeling-this separation from those who truly love us, know us, appreciate us (that which is familiar) is what makes this an experience. If you have nothing to leave, nothing to wait for you… you can never come full circle. Isnt it true that journeys always have to start somewhere. And maybe it is this beginning which is just as important. I don’t think I could ever take the first step of any of these journeys without always having my beginning: home and family.
February 22
If landscape is to be used as inspiration, then Chile is the place to be. The warmth and the excitement of the 11 other students and directors of the program reaches out to grab you. Everywhere, people want to know who you are and what your story is and will be.
Advice from seat A next to my seat B on the plane: “You might run into an asshole now and then, but assholes are everywhere. There are more nice people in Chile” My first advice from the first Chilean I met. Who would have thought- her favorite state is Pennsylvania!
February 25
I’ve been concentrating so much on the land, I cant lose track of the people I’ve gotten to know it with. And there is so much value in the people in the program… the fun, the adventure, the types of conversations we have so easily slid into. Eating together, going out the first night to the bar, sharing stories on the beach, (whats your favorite scar, thanks GRAB), stretching/yogaing during class breaks. Finding a Common Ground! Yesterday walking back from the seafood restaurant we all felt warm and fuzzy, and for awhile no one could stop laughing. Yes, the pisco sours are strong and tasty here, and they flow until the wee hours. But this night… I felt like we were evincible, this band of people with such hopes and dreams and ambition, giddy with anticipation of what was to come.
There is something to be said for a group of people speaking in the same broken language, in a dimly lit bar in a crowded beach town talking about their favorite pages in the Lonely Planet guide.
March 8
I wish I could see all the things that have been lost in translation. If I could be lost in translation I would never leave… because I get the feeling it would be the funniest place to be. My inspiration for this thought is an email a friend received from a Chilean student we met last night. He wrote in English:
“Hi Lauren. I’m Mauricio, we met yesterday. I was the one with the bag in my pelvis…”
I can only assume he is referring to his black leather fanny pack.
March 18
As it turns out I am utterly, unbelievably disorganized. My thoughts have already passed to become memories and they are all over the place. At least I have managed to save some by pasting them to these pages.
what do you do when you wake up?
Beep beep beep. Turn off your alarm clock, its 7:00. Stay in bed for 5-7 more minutes. Then realize that you are sleeping on the hardest pillow in the world. Sit up, yawn.. find your towel which is hanging on the door. Drop off your things in the bathroom which is only a few feet away. Smile at your Abuela in the room across from yours, who is lying in bed, running her fingers over the rosary. For a second; marvel at the fact that she always wakes up at 6:30- and she has for every day of her life. The nuns used to tell her that if she didn’t get up when her eyes first opened the demons were going to bring her down to “you know where”. You’re not sure if she can see you in the dim light but she always knows what time you wake up (and what time you come home!).
Walk to the kitchen and notice how the sun has just gotten up too, out the big windows looking into the backyard. Turn the valve on the calefont, and light the box so that you can have hot water for your shower. Shower, put on your clothes, pack your books in your obscenely large backpack and then realize you better hurry. Grab the lunch that has been packed the day before by your host mom. Snatch the margarine from the refrigerator and butter the rolls that are freshly bought each day and in the drawer next to the “refri”. Run back to your room because you forgot your keys… decide you want one of those apples (the biggest juiciest reddest apple you’ve ever seen) and then slip out the front door.
You can’t help but smell the flowers of the big purple branches that hang over the front door. Walk to the front gate, put your key in and give it 3 full turns to the right. Out the gate is Santiago life. Cars on roads and people on sidewalks. Turn your key now 3 full times to the left. Head towards the metro. The metro is another story in and of itself.
Walk to the kitchen and notice how the sun has just gotten up too, out the big windows looking into the backyard. Turn the valve on the calefont, and light the box so that you can have hot water for your shower. Shower, put on your clothes, pack your books in your obscenely large backpack and then realize you better hurry. Grab the lunch that has been packed the day before by your host mom. Snatch the margarine from the refrigerator and butter the rolls that are freshly bought each day and in the drawer next to the “refri”. Run back to your room because you forgot your keys… decide you want one of those apples (the biggest juiciest reddest apple you’ve ever seen) and then slip out the front door.
You can’t help but smell the flowers of the big purple branches that hang over the front door. Walk to the front gate, put your key in and give it 3 full turns to the right. Out the gate is Santiago life. Cars on roads and people on sidewalks. Turn your key now 3 full times to the left. Head towards the metro. The metro is another story in and of itself.
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