My life is a Fun Bus

So apparently I'm not very good and keeping up with a blog.  I apologize.  My lack of writing recently has had nothing to do with a diminished interest or increased laziness, there simply hasn't been much to share.  I've just been settling into my life here: walking around, finding friends, working at the bar, looking for more teaching work, etc.

Everything is beginning coming together.  I'm now familiar with my neighborhood and, actually, a better part of the city.  I have quite a few friends, all of whom travel in different circles.  Recently I've been spending a good amount of my time with the people who work at the bar with me.  They are mostly from the States and have been here for several months.  I can't believe how much traveling they've all done.  I find myself feeling extremely jealous whenever they talk about Rio or Patagonia or Mendoza, but I know that it's only a matter of time before I'm traveling all over the place too.

Hopefully my first trip is going to be April 21-26 to Ushuaia.  It's the southernmost point of South America and is often referred to as "el fin del mundo" or "the end of the world."  The details are still being worked out, but the hope is that we'll spend a few days there and do a few excursions involving glaciers and penguins.  Meredith, one of my closest friends, is moving here to live with me on April 19th, so that would be quite the welcoming trip for her.  In May I want to go to Mendoza to do a wine tour.  I could go on and on about all the trips I want to take, but those two are the first ones on my agenda.  And I obviously need to make sure I am keeping a watchful eye on my back account.

Last night a few of my friends from the bar invited me to go to La Bomba, which is a Brazilian drum show.  It was incredible; unlike anything I've ever seen before.  It was held in this giant pavilion-like room that was packed with people.  We got there, bought some beer, and got a spot close to the stage.  People were dancing like the music was literally moving through them.  My friend CJ put it best: "I'm a believer in the theory that music can take hold of your body, but I think some people just take it to the extreme."  After he said this I followed his gaze to a dirty-looking girl in pants similar to those Aladdin wears in the Disney cartoon.  (These pants are surprisingly popular here.  I am not a fan.)  I can only compare the way she was dancing to something you would imagine finding in Africa.  She was stomping her feet to the beat of the drums and shaking her dreadlock-covered head to no apparent rhythm at all, all the while moving in circles.

The two people I went with had been several times before, which was good because I would have been incredibly overwhelmed walking into that as a novice all alone.  My friend Erin knew about this bus, appropriately called "The Fun Bus," that would pick us up for free outside of the venue and take us to another party with the same musicians.  The drummers were actually on the bus with us.  The guy who was playing the big bass drum was standing right next to me and handed me the stick thing for me to play it.  I'm a drummer now, apparently.  I'd also like to say that I was pretty damn good at it too. 

Today my friend Ashley and I went to do some "tourist-y" stuff because, sadly, we haven't done much around here.  The Casa Rosada (President's mansion) is closed during the week so we went to the Cementario de la Recoleta.  This is where all royalty and military heroes are buried.  It was pretty cool.  I mean, it's a massive above-ground cemetery so it was... creepy, but cool.  For your viewing pleasure...

Eva Peron's (Evita) grave.

This is the grave directly across from Evita's grave; i.e. the worst possible location in the whole Cementario.  All day people have their backs to this grave while taking pictures of Evita's grave.  I decided to take a picture of it because everyone deserves a little attention sometimes, even if they are dead.

A one-armed hero's grave.  I'm only assuming he was one-armed because his statue is missing an arm.  Being presumptuous. 

CREEPY.

Permiso

People are willing to endure some pretty unbearable conditions for free beer.  They are willing to wait in crowds, packed in like sardines, holding out empty cups as close to the bar as possible in the hopes that the bartender will choose theirs to be filled next.  They will push, shove, elbow, step on and glare at all of the people pressed up against them.  All of this just to drink their 6-ounce cup of cold brew in heat so intense that is almost palpable. 

I know all of this for a fact because I was one of those people.  Many bars in Gainesville offered girls free beer every Wednesday night.  Sweating, shoving, and holding out my little cup, I was a free-beer junkie.  By the end of my four-and-a-half year college career, I had even figured out little tricks to expedite the process; i.e. learning the bartender’s name, pretending you’re just trying to get to a friend or through to the bathroom, hold up money instead of a cup.  I like to think of myself as an expert in the art of getting free beer.

El Alamo, the bar I work at, has free beer for girls from 4 p.m. to midnight.  As a server to the few tables we have, it’s my job to navigate through the mass of beer fiends to get to the bar for food/drinks for my tables and then fight my way back through the crowd.  The key phrase is permiso.  It basically means “excuse me,” “sorry,” and “get out of my way” in one word.  I said it well over 500 times last night.  No exaggeration.

People here don’t really tip.  The other server I was working with last night told me that she just asks for it: “Una propina, por favor?”  She says that most girls don’t have the nerve to do that, so they only make about $20 pesos a night.  She usually leaves with over $100.  I’ll get the nerve.

Even though I don’t make much money in tips and was constantly trying to navigate through a mob of sweaty drunk people, I was in relatively high spirits for most of the night.  Granted, it’s difficult to be in a bad mood when every two steps someone is telling you that you are the most beautiful creature on the planet.  I’m not naïve; I know Argentine’s are infamous for their incessant flirting.  But, hey, I don’t care who you are, there is nothing terrible about being told how gorgeous you are.  One guy would actually ended up get down on one knee and propose to me a couple times.  Don’t worry, though, there are several huge security guards in case anybody tries anything creepy. 

I would say 90% of the customers are locals, but communicating isn’t that difficult.  I was actually really proud of myself for making it through the night without many problems.  The combination of flattery and being proud of myself kept me in a great mood all night despite the unfavorable circumstances.  Both of these things will eventually lose their glamour, but hopefully by then I will have mastered the art of asking for tips.  “Una propina, por favor?”

Free beer? Yes, please.

After a lazy Friday evening, I woke up early on Saturday determined to do something interesting.  I called my friend from UF and she told me that they were going downtown to do some sightseeing.  I met up with them a few hours later and we all over the area looking for an area that sells chorizo y pan, which is a special sausage-type meat on bread.  Puerto Madero has a bunch of vendors that sell it along the river, so that’s where we were walking.  Obviously, since I’m in Argentina, land o’ meat, lunch was incredible.

I didn’t do much sightseeing with the girls as I had promised James I would go to a beer tasting he was having.  James is the cousin of a friend of a friend.  (I became really good at networking before I left – haha.)  He picked me up from the airport and has been really helpful in my transition here.  He also happens to brew his own beer.  So I got in the Subte (subway) and made my way across town to this little art studio where he teaches classes in the Art of Brewing.  The beer was actually really good.  Not that I was expecting it to be bad, but you never know with those “creative” beers.  It’s a stout, but it isn’t heavy at all and has an interesting taste to it.  It was a nice late-afternoon event.  I mean, you can’t really go wrong drinking free beer made by a friend in an art gallery.

After the event, I was on my way home and stopped in a bar to get something to eat.  I didn’t have any food prepared at home and was too tired (and tipsy) to be experimenting with my gas stove.  The bar, Casa Bar, is one of a few “American” places in the area.  It’s actually a few blocks over from the place that I’m working now.  I watched the last half of two March Madness games while enjoying some carne empanadas and Quilmes draft beer.  Bliss.

I did a quick change when I got back to my place and went over to a friend's house for a little gathering.  We hung out there until early morning and then headed out.  Our first stop was a wedding reception.  I’m not sure if Tutti knew the bride or just someone at the reception, but the rest of us crashed the party with him all the same.  We weren’t there a full minute before Paz, the amazing dancer from last weekend, pulled me onto the dance floor.  Oh yeah, I danced again.  With confidence.   Thanks to the dangerous combination of alcohol and peer pressure, I have transformed into an awkward dancing machine.  

From there we went to the same club we went to last weekend.  We ran into another friend of ours there, Paula, and spent a couple hours dancing there.  One of the guys we were with kept trying to get me to Tango with him, which really just involved him spinning me around in a bunch of different directions.  I think I’m going to put the Tango lessons off for a little while.  Baby steps.

Sunday was the perfect day for a hangover: dark, raining and full of movie marathons.  Not much is open on Sundays and not much is open when it rains, so nothing is open on a rainy Sunday.  Therefore, I couldn’t have left my apartment even if I had wanted to.

Yesterday was my first day of  work.  It was Monday, so I only had a few tables, but it was a good day to learn.  Even though the place is considered an “American” place, all of my tables were locals.  The language barrier definitely makes communicating more difficult, but not impossible.  One of the huge things I’ve learned so far is that traveling to a different country and learning a different language is all about ego suspension.  You can’t be afraid to ask for help, make a fool of yourself, and take each embarrassing moment for what it is – a learning experience.

I like the job so far, even if it is going to be a huge challenge.  The money isn’t bad, my coworkers are really nice, and since eating out is like a four-hour affair here, it’s not as stressful as in the States.  Plus, I get a free shift meal AND an hour of free draft beer after my shift.  Have I mentioned I really like the work ethic here?

I’m working tonight and since tomorrow is a holiday it should be crazy.  No one is really sure what holiday it is; everyone just keeps saying “Argentine’s love holidays.”  I’m just hoping I survive tonight without making a complete fool of myself.  

Apartment pictures

My building.  Yes, that is a cafe/bakery next door.

The terrifying elevator death trap.

My kitchen has a gas stove and no dish washer.  It's been a learning experience.

Hello, adorable living room

Big balcony

Looking into the living room from the balcony.

Itty bitty bathroom.

Sleeping quarters.

Apartment, check. Job, check.

Life here finally seems permanent. I have an apartment! I moved in on Wednesday, so I’ve had a couple days to settle in. It’s big enough that when my friend Meredith comes to live with me in April, we will both be able to live here comfortably. But it’s small enough that it’s affordable, comfortable, and has a certain warmth. Pachu is the one who actually found the place, as he knows the owner and it’s right across the street from his own apartment. Tutti and Pachu helped me search for apartments for days before I decided this was the best one; they couldn't have agreed with me more.

It's an relatively old building for the neighborhood and so, of course, the elevator freaks me out. You have to open a door and slide open a little gate thing in order to get into it. and you can see the wall through the gate as the elevator moves. If I thought the hotel elevator was scary, this one is terrifying. Obviously, my very first time in it without the landlord or Pachu it got stuck. I was with two other girls from my floor and we were all freaking out. They started speaking Spanish really fast and we all just kept saying "no, no es posible." After a few minutes, we opened and closed the gate and it started moving again. It helped me get over my fear a little bit. I just try not to think about the fact that I'm in an elevator when I'm in there. It helps a little. Anything beats 11 flights of stairs.

Since my move-in day was also St. Patrick’s Day, I had two things to celebrate that night. One of my sorority sisters is studying here for the semester and we haven’t had a chance to meet up yet, so we had a couple drinks. The first bar we went to was full of Americans doing a bar crawl, and they invited us to join them. I had fun, but I couldn’t help notice how different it is hanging out with Americans and my Argentine friends. Contrary to my time in Spain, I think I enjoy hanging out with my Argentine friends more. Maturity, is that you?

Thursday I spent the day sending my application out to about 20 different schools and individuals who had put out ads looking for an English teacher. I heard back from one. Awesome. I started freaking out a little bit because I like to have a plan, even if it isn’t as airtight as my mother would. I got it off my mind by going out to dinner with some of the girls I went dancing with last weekend. The conversation was in both languages, though Spanish was definitely more prominent. When they would start talking really fast, I would find my mind wandering. It’s difficult to focus on the conversation in front of you when you’re not sure what exactly is going on. We ended up having a great time, though. There are some things that the language barrier just can’t affect.

Today I refocused on my job search. I went to the U.S. Embassy to find out if they had any jobs available or could help me in any way. Pachu told me to take the bus because it’s cheaper. I tried to walk because the bus system frightens me a bit. Less than halfway there, I gave up and took a cab the rest of the way, promising myself that I would figure out the bus system on the way back.

Really disastrous afternoon short: embassy told me to come back in an hour, realized I forgot my passport, got on the wrong bus, was yelled at by the bus driver, exited the bus a deep shade of red, got on the right bus, exited the bus 4 blocks early and had to walk 7-8 blocks to my apartment, got my passport and a quick lunch, went back to Embassy via taxi, and was told I need to be a “temporary resident” to get any job they could offer me. I decided to try a couple of the American bars around my neighborhood and see if they were looking for work. I talked to the owner of the first bar and he offered me some work for the next couple weeks. After that one of the waitresses is leaving and I can have the position. I got a job!

Granted, I came down here to teach. I worked hard for my certification and that’s what I want to do. But that work is slow to show up, so I’m going to take the next best thing for right now. Any income is a good income. Plus, teaching schedules tend to be pretty flexible, so I’ll be able to do both and make lots of dinero! Woooooo!

All in all, life is fantastic. Still miss home a lot sometimes, but I’m taking it one day at a time. I actually got misty-eyed at the embassy today because I couldn't stop thinking about how I was technically on U.S. soil. As my dad would say, I'm "such a marshmellow." I’m hoping one day I’ll wake up and everything will feel familiar and normal. We’ll just have to see. Besos!

PICTURES!

Rio is BEAUTIFUL!  This was taken from my seat in the airport.

A cathedral sandwiched between two businesses on Avenida Santa Fe (one of the major roads).

Inside of the cathedral.  This is a really small church, and not one that attracts a lot of sightseers.

Sidewalk next to a park.

Park/plaza in the downtown area.

The only picture of me thus far.  I'm sitting in a park by myself, taking a picture of myself.  Let's talk about how cool I felt in this moment.

Teatro Colon, one of the most famous and beautiful theaters in the world.  It's being renovated -apparently it wasn't beautiful enough - and will reopen May 25.

Pretty buildings from a park.  There are lots of parks.

Statue.

Beautiful building with a McDonald's on the ground floor.  Globalization <3

The Argentine version of the Washington Monument.  It's called the Obelisco.  I have no idea the significance of it, but the engraving on one side says that the plaza where it stands is the first place the Argentina flag was raised...or something like that.

Funny story.  On my second day in the city I was just walking around aimlessly when I came across a big group of people.  I asked a lady what was going on and she told me that a famous singer was coming, Chayanne.  There were women of every age there to see this guy.  In some lady's frenzy to get closer to the front, she actually ended up pushing me all way up to the gate.  I was squished next to an old lady in a Chayanne t-shirt who kept talking to me, even though I thought it was pretty obvious that I had no idea what she was saying.  After about 15 minutes of this, a news reporter comes over and starts interviewing her!  From what I gathered, they were joking about being a fan of Chayanne at her age.  Whenever she would laugh she would grab onto my arm, like we were old friends.  All I kept thinking was, "Dear God, do not let this reporter ask me a question about Chayanne on television."  Luckily he didn't, but I was definitely on T.V. here.  Too bad no one I know saw it.  Could've been my big break.

I was riding the elevator to my room in the first hotel and noticed a little paper that said there was a gym located on the 14th floor.  I had been staying at this place for several days, and had no idea there was a gym.  I decided that I just wanted to take a look at it so I got off on my floor and took the stairs up to the 14th floor, which consisted of a small landing with four doors.  Three of the doors had numbers on them, clearly rooms, but the one to my right was blank.  When I opened it, it led me to the roof.  Well actually, it led me to another small landing outside with a little stairway to the roof.  When I got up there, I couldn't believe the view; 360 degrees of Buenos Aires.  This is just one of about ten pictures I took up there. 

Another one from the roof.

My hostel - Trip Hostel Recoleta.  The whole place was in this Spanish theme.  I would recommend the place to anyone.

El Cemetario de la Recoleta.  This is were Eva Peron is buried, along with other important people.  It's surrounded by a huge brick wall and you have to pay to get in.  This is the view from the top floor of my hostel.  Sweeeet!

Sorry for dancing.

No, the title to this post is not a joke.  They made me dance.  In public.  For hours.  Those of you who have actually seen me (or my sister Megan, who is equally bad if not more embarrassing) on a dance floor understand the seriousness of this situation.   Whenever my body starts moving in any semblance of dancing my thumbs and shoulders take on a life of their own.  My dancing been compared to the seizure-like movements of Elaine from "Seinfeld" on more than one occasion.  I have accepted it as a part of my personality.  In fact my sister and I have come to enjoy dancing in public simply for the humor of it.  But there is no humor in dancing here.  It's a serious business.  And these people seriously thought I could dance - for serious.  Even after I told them that dancing wasn't one of my strengths - that, honestly, I have no rhythm - they insisted I was being ridiculous and dragged me onto the dance floor.  Needless to say, it was an interesting night.  Allow me to start from the beginning.

 

After I moved into my new hotel on Saturday, my Argentine friend Tutti invited me to do something with him and his friends that night.  He said he'd pick me up in a few hours; it was already 8:45 p.m.  Unlike the U.S., people here don't even start thinking about going out until the wee hours of the morning.  Therefore, they don't start socially drinking until around 10 or 11 p.m.  And when I say "socially drinking" I mean it.  It almost seems as if they just want something to do while enjoying each other's company.  Of course, people still get drunk and party here, but the people my age are more mature about their alcohol intake than in the States.

 

About ten people ended up coming to Tutti’s place.  I met everyone as they came in and was surprised at how laid back everybody was. There was no ceremony, for lack of a better word, of introducing me or anyone else in the room.  They would kiss me on the cheek as they made their way around the room, say hello and their name, and move on.  Strangely, it made me feel more comfortable.  Looking back I realize I could have perceived it that they didn’t care whether I was there or not; just another person from the States visiting for a little while.  But at the time I just felt relieved that I wasn’t getting a bunch of questions and being forced to embarrass myself with my terrible Spanish in front of all these strangers.

 

I sat there, sipping my beer, listening to them talk to each other for a long time.  I was surprised to find that I could understand some of what they were saying, or at least figure out the gist of the conversation.  Occasionally one of the girls would explain in English the details about what they were talking about, or ask me a question about myself.  After we ate the most delicious, life-changing beef empanadas that have ever crossed the threshold of my mouth, the girls asked me more about myself – and insisted I answer in Spanish.  After about ten minutes of blushing and stumbling all over my words, we ended up getting into an actual conversation.  I realized that I have a more solid foundation for Spanish than I thought.  If I keep practicing speaking, and study a couple of concepts, I should improve pretty quickly.

 

Some other girls from the States showed up around 2, but they weren’t very friendly.  The girls from Argentina asked me if I wanted to go talk to the American girls in English.  I explained that if I had wanted to speak with people from the U.S. I would have stayed in the States.  They all started laughing at this and moved their chairs around so I was sitting in the middle of all of them.  They had been welcoming all evening, but after that comment they treated me as if I had been their friend for years.

 

We left for the club around 3 a.m.  I went to follow the boys to the bar, while the girls headed toward the dance floor, but one of the girls grabbed my arm and dragged me with her.  I kept telling her I couldn’t dance, but she shook her head and said everyone can dance.  Of course, then she started moving as if there wasn’t a bone in her body.  The other girls were pretty good, too.  As I stood there, awkwardly moving from side to side, I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation and how much funnier it would be if my sister were there.  Megan would have just busted out some ridiculous move and been proud of her inept movements.  So, that’s pretty much what I did.  I just started moving to what I assumed was the beat, and the girls told me I was doing great.  Maybe they were being sincere; it’s more likely they were being kind.  It took some concentration to make sure my thumbs didn't stick out and my shoulders weren't bobbing all over the place.  After a time I noticed the girls imitating some of my more ridiculous moves, turning them into a real dancing.  My first thought was that I hope they don't think this is how everyone from the States dances.  If so, I just gave an entire nation a bad reputation.  But my second, the one that brought a smile to my face, was that Megan would be so proud.

 

"Dimelo"

Yesterday was the most difficult day I have had so far, but I also believe it was a turning point.  I had to rush to find a new place to live in a matter of a few hours.  I eventually found a hostel that I could afford, and after walking all the way back to my hotel I realized that the this particular hostel was on the 5th floor of a tiny building.  There was no way I could get my suitcase up 5 flights of stairs.  Not only am I not strong enough to do that, but the stairway was too narrow my bag.  So I cancelled the hostel reservation and was convinced, because I am quite possibly the most dramatic person in the world, that I was going to be homeless.  A thought which led to an anxiety attack in my hotel room. 

I calmed myself down, did some searching on the Internet and found a hotel for two nights in the downtown area.  The rate at the hotel was even cheaper than what many of the hostels were asking for.  As I went to book the hotel, my computer died and I couldn't find the Mac-connector-piece-thing for my charger and, therefore, could not charge my computer.  And, therefore, once again believed I was going to be homeless.  Anxiety attack, round 2.

After a shower and some serious praying I found the piece for the charger in the most obscure place; an event that I will always consider a miracle.  With my computer back in action, I booked the hotel until Monday.   After the panic had subsided, I realized the significance of the whole fiasco.  At one point I was so scared and upset that I actually considered coming home.  But even in my clouded mind I knew that this is where I want to be, even if it is hard right now and I have no friends or place to live or job - haha.  Plus, I know that if I gave up and came home because it was easier, I'd never be able to forgive myself.  Hence, a turning point - I made the choice to stay, even when all I wanted was something familiar and comforting.

I noticed recently that I've started to take comfort in the small things.  That many of the television shows are the same (the Spanish subtitles have helped my speaking tremendously), strangers who are kind to me even though I have trouble speaking/understanding our conversation, small yet extravagant cathedrals, and that beer tastes the same in this hemisphere are all things that have helped me adjust to this new life.  Every day I find a new thing that I can find comfort in.  Today it was music.  

I was sitting in a cafe and a song by Enrique Iglesias came on called "Do You Know?"  This song happened to come out over three years ago while I was studying in Spain.  My friends and I loved it, which was fortunate because you could hardly go anywhere without hearing it.  When I came back from Spain, I heard the same song on the radio in English.  I had been missing my friends a lot, so I burned it (along with a few other "Spain songs") to a CD which I listened to religiously for a couple months before the magic of the music wore off.  I don't think I've heard the song in well over a year, in either English or Spanish.  Then today, as I was sitting in another Spanish-speaking country stressing out about finding somewhere to live, Enrique was everywhere.  I was so overwhelmed by the comfort it brought to me that I actually started laughing out loud.

I sat for a moment quietly singing along with the lyrics, thinking about Spain and how far in the past that adventure seems like now.  I decided to take it as a sign that even though right now things are difficult and stressful, this adventure, like the one in Spain, will be successful and something I will miss one day.  It's kinda of a stretch, but again, it's the small things that are helping me through this.

"Dimelo" (the song en espanol):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ex7wAjqb2Ko

estoy aqui!

Hello friends and family,

Just wanted to let everyone know that I made it to Buenos Aires safely. Already it's been quite an experience. Since I couldn't sleep on my first flight, I was exhausted when we landed in Rio at 7 a.m. on Wednesday (5 a.m. Miami time). From the plane, and from what I saw in the airport, Rio is BEAUTIFUL. I could see this old cathedral on a mountain side and the big Jesus statue on the other end the same range. I know that's what it was because the guy sitting next to me on the flight was from there and told me. I fell asleep for a bit in the airport, but was paranoid (me being paranoid; I know it's shocking) that I was going to sleep through my flight so I kept jolting myself awake. Long story short - I made it to Buenos Aires. This English teacher I've been in contact with picked me up and we got stuck in traffic for over an hour, which was only mildly uncomfortable being that we'd just met and we had already covered all small talk subjects via e-mail.

A quick stop at an elementary school, a visit to a two-bedroom apartment housing five, a terrifying taxi ride, and another traffic jam later I made it to the hotel. The hotel is nice and the staff is friendly. There isn't WiFi in my room and the elevators freak me out, but other than that I don't have any complaint. When you ride the elevators, the doors open before you've actually reached your floor so you have to step up to get out. It's creepy. I've started taking the stairs because with my luck, I'll get stuck in there and I don't do small, creepy spaces. Plus nine flights of stairs is good exercise. Mama would be proud.

Due to exhaustion and hunger I had a good cry once I got to the hotel. After a meal, a beer, and some "Law and Order" with Spanish subtitles, I was comatose. I am SO glad I chose to stay in a hotel. My parents apparently know me well enough to have predicted my need to decompress and gather myself in isolation before exploring the city. However, I can't stay here forever and tomorrow I am going to start looking for a hostel.

Today I walked for about...the whole day. I saw a bunch of tourist-y monuments and went to the areas that make the locals groan because they are full of foreigners. I took a bunch of pictures and even though I blended in about as well as Nebraska spring breakers on Ft. Lauderdale beach, you will all be happy to know that I didn't get robbed. GO ME! I was productive too. I got a SIM card and minutes for my phone, explored the area pretty extensively, and had more money exchanged (No, Mom, I haven't spent all my other money yet. But I figured since I'm in an area I know, I might as well..).

Tonight I went out for dinner and drinks with a friend of a friend, Tutti, and one of his girlfriends. They both speak English, but would occasionally switch to Spanish. The Argentine Spanish is SO difficult to understand. I can't put my finger on it, but I think they omit their "S" or something. Anyway, Tutti and I actually stopped in one hostel tonight and it seemed alright to me. It was in a great neighborhood and the rooms were nice, but he said they were ripping me off. So, he's definitely coming with me tomorrow to search for a place to stay. A personal negotiator.

Apparently I'm just as verbose in the southern hemisphere, haha. At least none of you feel like you're missing out on anything. I miss everyone so much. I love you all and I'll see you soon.

al principio

Hola!

First of all, I just want to send a HUGE thank you to my friend Kristina for setting this blog up for me. As I am almost completely technologically incompetent, she offered to set up a blog if I promised to write in it. She held up on her end of the bargain, which brings me here. I am going to do my very best to keep up with it, though I´ve made promises like this before. However, someone recently told me that if you don´t write down as much as you can about your experiences, all of your pictures will fall flat after some time... and no one wants that. So I have a little more faith in myself this time. Hope you enjoy reading it.

Besos,

Kelly