Frequently Asked Preguntas

How’s your Spanish?

Conversant and constantly getting better. As crazy as it sounds, I am not often in situations where I am forced to speak only Spanish. Both of my roommates speak English, I teach English, and all of my local friends speak English (though some of them try to only speak to me in Spanish). Anyone in Argentina who has had a decent education is conversational in English and seizes any opportunity to practice, which is great for them, but bad for my Spanish.

El Alamo, the bar where I work, is my saving grace in this regard. About 80% of the clientele are locals and many of my co-workers don’t speak any English at all. Having conversation and forming friendships in another language is both exciting and frustrating. Exciting because you can’t help but think to yourself, “Wow, I don’t suck at this. I’m actually relating to this person in a language that isn’t my own.” Frustrating because there are times when I want to elaborate on a point or make a witty joke and as I open my mouth to do so, I realize my Spanish isn’t advanced enough yet. I often wonder how much stronger some of my relationships would be if I could speak fluently with everyone I wanted.

Luckily, it’s impossible to live in a Spanish-speaking country without learning something new every day. I have Spanish conversations with cab drivers, my doormen, and the old man who works at the mom-and-pop store across the street.



What are you doing for work?

I teach English about 5-6 hours a week. My students are all adults who work at either HP, 20th Century Fox, or the Mormon church. I enjoy teaching adults because it’s more laid back. They are all choosing to take classes and therefore are specific about what they want to learn, which is helpful. It’s also nice because they are all flexible with their schedules and mine. They understand when I go out of town for a few days and have no problem making up classes another time.

I work at Alamo 3-4 days a week, as well. Right now I’ve been working Saturday and Sunday afternoons for the American football season. Though I don’t get to practice my Spanish on these days, it’s a nice change because I actually get tipped and get paid to watch all the football games. I will never stop appreciating rich Americans who have no regard for the peso because the exchange rate is so highly in their favor. “Why, thank you for this 50 peso tip, sir. You just funded my drinking habits for the next few nights.”

Meredith and I also started volunteering with an organization called L.I.F.E. Once a week we take a van to the outskirts of the city to the “villas,” which are the poorest neighborhoods in Buenos Aires. We spend a few hours there working on math and English with the kids. It takes up an entire afternoon, but it reminds us how lucky we are to have the standard of living that we do.


Have you met any Argentine men?

Yes and no. I've met plenty of new guys, but I haven't met anyone that puts me at any risk of coming home with a South American boyfriend.

I initially thought my problem was that, despite the evidence one would find in my dating past, I’ve always fancied myself a girl who prefers fair features... and light hair and/or eyes are rare commodities down here. That theory was nullified when I assessed how many devastatingly beautiful dark-featured men I’d met.

That’s when I realized that it’s not that I can’t find a beautiful Argi man, it’s that I’m not looking for one. Romance just isn’t a priority right now. I left romance behind when I came here. My goal is to have the time of my life and meet as many new people as possible. My Argentine girlfriends, on the other hand, are all on the prowl on my behalf. Their thought process is that if they can make me fall in love with a local I’ll never leave. That’s a dilemma I’ll address if it ever comes to it.



What are your upcoming travel plans?

I am taking a solo trip to Cuzco, Peru in mid-November to do a 4-day Inca Trail hike and see the ancient Machu Picchu ruins. Though I absolutely love traveling with Meredith, I am excited to take this trip alone. I’ve always been one to revel in my alone time and I don’t get much of that here. After Peru…

Mid-December: Meredith and I will be backpacking Patagonia, the south of Chile and Argentina, for two weeks.

January: Mendoza = WINE COUNTRY! And hopefully we’ll get a chance to see a little bit of the the north of Chile.

Late-February/early-March: BRAZIL! We’re going to be there for Carnival and hope to travel around for another week or so after the Mardi Gras of South America.



When are you planning on coming home?

You mean if the stars don’t align and all of my girlfriends’ efforts fail to find me someone to fall in love with? Well, if we must be realistic about this… somewhere around the middle-to-end of April. I didn’t want to go home until later than that, but my brother will be graduating from UF the first week in May and then he is off on his own adventure to Europe and then China (naturally, he had to one-up me; I learn Spanish, so he picks up Chinese… show off). I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him for who knows how long, so I pushed my return date up to April.

And who knows? Maybe I’ll jump back on a south-bound plane right after he leaves.

It's all relative

After Samm and Jake left I was talking to a friend from home and she asked me if them going back to the States made me miss home more. Before I could respond she said, “Wait… are you homesick?”

When I talk to friends and family in the States, I often get questions about the progress of my Spanish, what I’m doing about work, if I have any romantic interests, and future travel plans (answers to these questions being posted by the end of the week), but up to this point no one had directly asked me if I was “homesick.”

My answer: homesickness is relative. I miss the U.S. more when I feel like I’m missing out on something. And when these moments come – the first Gator game day in Gainesville, the day my best friend of 20 years got engaged – the desire to be in that particular place or with that particular person can be overwhelming. The important thing to remember, though, is that I am clumping all of the people, places and things that I miss together and directing all those feelings at one person.

Today is my sister’s 20^th birthday and I’m missing it. And it sucks. I’ve Skype called her twice already and wrote on her Facebook wall, but nothing can make up for the fact that I’m not physically there with her. But then I realize that I haven’t been with my sister on her birthday since she turned 14. Granted, now that I view her as one of my best friends instead of a 14-year-old who I can’t relate to, I actually want to celebrate her birthday with her. But we lived in the same city last year and she went out with her sorority friends, while I went to visit my then-boyfriend in another city. The reason I’m having such a hard time with this today is because I also miss the rest of my family, my friends, Gainesville, and drinking light beer…I’m just pinning it all on Megan.

At this point, though, I’m going to have the same problem when I come home. I’ve established a new life here, one that I love and dread the thought of ever leaving. I’ve accepted that being here means I’m going to miss some things that happen at home… because being here also means I’m experiencing things, meeting people, and seeing places that I could never at home. I guess you could say I’m stuck between home and an awesome place.

So to answer my friend’s question, yes, watching Samm and Jake return to the land of the free did make me reminisce on all the things I look forward to returning one day too. Don't feel too bad for me though. Meredith and I went out for some Argentine Malbec and steak to make ourselves feel better.

...And feliz cumple, Meg.

The dog-whispering Americans explore Cordoba

There were two reasons we decided to take a weekend trip to Cordoba. The first was… why not? We could always use a few days out of the city and as long as we chose to go somewhere relatively close it wouldn’t put much of a dent in anyone’s bank account.

The second, and probably more pressing, reason was that Samm and Jake were getting ready to go back to the States in a matter of days. We decided to take one last “family vacation” together before they left. Living, eating, working, sleeping and celebrating together just weren’t enough. We needed to spend some real quality time together.

There were five players on this adventure: Meredith, Samm, Jake, Megan and myself. Jake is Samm’s boyfriend, though he is more appropriately described as our fifth roommate and close friend. During a conversation in the beginning of our friendship Jake said to me, “I have never done anything to intentionally hurt anyone in my life.” I’ve heard people say that sort of thing before, but Jake’s one of the only people I really believe. That’s just the kind of person he is: genuine and kind.

We met Megan through Samm, who knew her from home. Megan is, for lack of a better word, versatile. She’s a planner, a hostess, a fashionista (though she’d probably disagree), a comedian, and a motivator. When it was discovered that her sister’s name is Kelly and my sister’s name is Megan, we formed an immediate friendship. Maybe I’m searching for it, but I see a lot of my sister in my new friend. They’re both organized, crazy smart and have a laugh that infects the entire room.

Putting everything off until the last possible minute, we packed, researched the bus schedule, and booked the hostel a few hours before we were planning to leave. After a twelve-hour bus ride, we arrived just in time to catch the last few hours of sunlight. Our first mission was to find food, warmth and beer. We found a little restaurant down the street from our hostel, where we spent the evening playing cards and eating.

Family dinner! Jake, me, Megan, Meredith and Samm.

The next morning we woke up, caffeinated and prepared to wander around the city. Megan had mapped out a general route that would take us around the city to see all the tourist sites. We were meandering down the sidewalk when we stumbled upon a theme park. A lone cotton candy vendor stood in the cold underneath the arched “Superpark” sign. The park catered to a much younger crowd, but the bumper cars sold us. We bought some tickets and spent the next hour on a roller coaster that looked like a dragon, a nausea-inducing spinning ride, and a haunted house that was more creepy than it was scary. We looked at the more age appropriate swinging ride, fittingly named The Terminator, and decided that, though dangerous and a little reckless, we had to go on it. The soundtrack of the 5-minute upside-down thrill ride went something like this:

Samm: GOD DID NOT INTEND FOR THIS TO HAPPEN! SWEET JESUS, SAVE ME!
Meredith: Why did they let me bring my purse on this ride?!
Megan: (holding up her camera snapping pictures) SMILE!
Kelly and Jake: Hysterically laughing.

We used our last tickets on the bumper cars.Where we all learned a lesson in the viciousness of children and how Argentines learn to drive.

With our adrenaline still pumping, we left Superpark feeling grateful that we had stumbled into such a unique start to our day, though Samm was still feeling more grateful that she made it off The Terminator alive.







Stray dogs are everywhere in Argentina. Samm, an avid dog-lover, stops and gives nearly every stray she passes some love and attention. The dogs in Cordoba must not have been accustomed to this because they would get up from their spot in the sun and follow us after we’d started walking away. So as the five of us walked the streets, admiring the architecture and cobblestone streets, there was a pack of dogs trotting behind us.

One American walking around in Argentina sticks out like a sore thumb. There is just something about the way we dress, walk, stand and - obviously - talk that screams "foreigner!" After living here for several months, we've all learned a few tricks to help us blend in a little more. Be that as it may, it's nearly impossible to look at all like a native when you're expats traveling in groups. Five Americans with a little herd of dogs following them around? Yeah. We turned more than a few heads.

Unfortunately a traumatizing pigeon-related experience forced us to ditch the dogs. We were all happily trotting along when our favorite dog, Terminator (named after our new favorite ride), decided to go all "I'm a hungry, stray dog" on us and turn an ill-fated, already deceased pigeon into his lunch. Granted, it's the circle of life... we just didn't want to watch it. Horrified, girls screaming, we broke into a run down the street. Here's an image for you: four Americans screaming, laughing and sprinting down the cobblestone streets of Cordoba; some sort of yellow lab mut with a pigeon in his mouth attempting to follow; and Megan, laughing with legs crossed to prevent her from wetting herself, pointing at Terminator and screaming, "No! Bad Terminator! DROP IT!" Ridiculous and disturbing, yet absolutely hilarious.

Terminator

The traumatizing lunch.

We spent the rest of the day walking around nearly the entire city. Once the sun started going down and it started getting colder, we headed back to our hostel. It was a night we could have spent in Buenos Aires: we spent the night holed up hanging out with each other, joking around with each other and drinking the local brewskies. There is just something special about making new memories in new places with the best kind of friends.

View of the city from a park.

Museo Superior de Bella Artes (Fine Arts Museum)

Cordoba's main Cathedral.

Manzana Jesuitica, the Jesuit Block, consisting of the National University, the Domestic Chapel, and National College.

A memorial in the Manzana Jesuitica to commemorate some of the 30,000 people abducted during Argentina's "Dirty Wars," a period in which the government kidnapped and tortured anyone who was thought to be against their beliefs.

The Domestic Chapel and plaza in the Manzana Jesuitica.

Cordoba Supreme Court.

Cathedral by night.

The next day we took a bus to a villa outside of the city to visit Che’s childhood home. The house was small and had been turned into a museum commemorating Che’s life. The walls were lined with pictures of Che, his family and Fidel. The famous motorcycle from his South American journey stood in one of the rooms. We each got a booklet in English that explained all the pictures and artifacts. It was really interesting being in the home of someone who has had such an impact on an entire continent’s political views.

The motorcycle on which Che drove across South America.

"...be able to feel in the deepest part of yourselves, any injustice committed to anyone in any part of the world. This is the most beautiful quality in a revolutionary." -Ernesto 'Che' Guevara in a letter to his children. October 1966

Alta Gracia, one of Che's childhood homes, just outside Cordoba

I wouldn’t call our weekend in Cordoba exciting or adventurous. The city is pretty basic and didn’t have much to do or see, but the weekend was a massive success nonetheless. The whole point of going was to spend non-stop quality time without work, computers or anything else getting in the way. We spent the bus ride home passing around a couple bottles of wine, reliving some our favorite Argentina memories, and planning the last few nights we would have with Samm and Jake in Buenos Aires.

Montevideo apartment, Part 2

Meredith and I had been researching the option of moving into a new place for a few weeks before we left for Salta. We loved a lot of things about the apartment we'd been living in: the neighborhood, the fact that it wasn't a studio, the low rent and utilities, and the "cozy factor." However, the lack of hot water, closing doors, reliable Internet and functioning stove became crucial problems after a couple of months. After complaining to our friends Samm and Denise about the difficulty of finding affordable housing (in the best neighborhood, in an inflation-ridden capital, in one of the most economically stable country on the continent) they presented what seemed like a long-overlooked solution. We should move in with them.

Samm and I work together at El Alamo (the bar) and Denise is a girl from Ecuador she'd randomly met down here. Coincidentally, they also happen to live in the building right next door to the one we were currently living in. If we ever wanted consistent Internet, heat (it is winter here), or good company we would walk next door and spend a few hours at their place. Not only would the rent would be cheaper for all of us, but Samm was leaving in a little over a month and this saved Denise from having to either move or look for new roommates.

So a few days after we returned from Salta, Meredith and I re-packed our suitcases, gathered the few knickknacks we'd acquired and moved in with the girls next door. The apartment is bigger, nicer and cheaper than the one we'd been living in. How could it possibly be nicer and cheaper, you ask? Well, Samm, Meredith and I pay virtually nothing to share one bedroom...with one king-size bed.

Initially I wasn’t too thrilled on having to share a bed with two people instead of just Meredith. Granted, the new bed is wider than I am tall, but the size of the bed was irrelevant to me. Three people in a bed is way different than just two and I’m not the strongest sleeper when it comes to invasion of personal space during sleeping hours. However, within a few nights going to bed was like getting ready for a slumber party on steroids. The sharing-a-bed feature became one of my favorite perks of our new place. Plus, it’s going to be one of those “when I moved to Argentina and was more concerned with traveling than living glamorously” stories one day… starting today.

Salta, Argentina

In the first week of June, Meredith, myself, and three of our friends took a 5-day vacation to Salta, the province in the north of Argentina. It was one of the most beautiful places I've ever been in my life. The landscape is anything but boring; there are mountain ranges of various colors, deserts, beautiful cities and itty-bitty towns. Coming from Florida I am not accustomed to seeing mountain ranges and cacti on the regular, so it was a nice change of scenery - both from Florida and Buenos Aires.

The bus to Salta from Buenos Aires is 22 hours. Meredith and I met up with our friend Samm around 4 in the afternoon to head to the bus station, fully equipped with several bottles of wine and the most comfortable clothes we have. The 5 o'clock bus was sold out, but we got tickets for one a few hours later. What to do in a bus station with three hours to kill? Find the bar and play some cards. As buses are a huge method of transportation here, long rides aren't nearly as miserable as they could be. The chairs are similar to La-Z-Boys, you get several not-dog-food-quality meals, and if you don't have an iPod or any other form of entertainment (such as two half-drunk girlfriends to tell ghost stories with) they usually show a few movies.

We arrived in Salta the next afternoon and met up with our friends Damien and Ashley, who'd gotten there the day before us. Damien had rented a car so we could travel to other cities in the province - best idea ever. There's just so much to see in the province that the car was crucial. It was INCREDIBLE.

We only spent about 15 minutes in the city of Salta before heading north because we wanted to get to Purmamarca before sundown. The drive was about 2 hours and quite the eye-opening experience. There were times when we were driving in the middle of nowhere and there would be a shanty little house sitting at the base of a mountain. Nothing, nothing, nothing - BOOM - house. We found ourselves repeatedly asking, "People LIVE here? HOW?" No electricity, no heat in the freezing northern weather, no running water. There wasn't even a store for at least an hour's drive... and there certainly wasn't a Ford Focus sitting in the driveway.

Passing through Jujuy, one of the bigger cities in Salta.

Because we took the scenic route to Purmamarca, we arrived later than we'd expected, so after some llama empanadas for dinner (yeah, llama), we called it an early night. The next morning, we had a quick breakfast and headed out in search of the famous 7-colored mountain. After wandering around a mountain range, examining some cacti up close, and getting excessively winded from a relatively short hike (it was the altitude, I swear), we found the 7-colored mountain. We took some epic pictures and appreciated the sights for a while before heading back to the car to drive to the salt flats - which are about an hour outside of Purmamarca.

Purmamarca.

All of us at the Purmamarca market. You can see part of the 7-colored mountain behind us.

The 7-colored mountain.

The salt flats are unlike anything I've ever seen before. The ground looks like ice and sounds like packed snow when you walk on it. For as far as you can see everything is blindingly white. The day was cool, clear and absolutely gorgeous. A perfect day for a dance party and some picture-taking in the saltiest place on Earth. We were all surprised to find that the ground was painful to the touch. I don't know why I was stupidly imagining the flats to be made up of granulated salt, but that is definitely not the case. After a few cartwheels my hands were about to start bleeding. Painful. Gorgeous, but painful.

From the salt flats, we drove a few more hours to a city called Humahuaca. We explored the city for a little less than an hour before the sun went down. Another llama-filled meal and back to the hostel to get some rest, knowing we had to get up early the next day. Damien had heard of a little town called Iruya that was supposed to be a "once in a lifetime place" to visit. You can only get to it by bus from Humahuaca. The 2.5-hour bus ride takes you out of the city, off of the highway, through the mountains, through rivers (not over them - through), and along cliffs. Eventually the road ends (literally) and you find yourself in a little town on the side of a mountain. The entire city is made of cobblestone and due to the high altitudes and steep roads is like one giant cardio workout. We watched a local futbol game, explored the area for a few hours, befriended some little girls on a playground and had some coffee before catching the bus back to Humahuaca.

Elementary school geography throw-back: the Tropic of Capricorn! Had to pull over and take a picture with it on our way to Humahuaca.

Humahuaca.
The dirt road on the way to Iruya.

Iruya.

After getting back to Humahuaca, we began our four-hour journey back to Salta. Though there was a lot of traveling - be it by car, bus or foot - involved in this trip, I never grew weary of moving from place to place. We got to experience so much more as a group than we ever would have in pairs, or even a group of three. Ashley figured out the hostel and rental car situation, including making CDs for the drives; Damien knew how to drive stick, had a surprisingly reliable internal navigational system, and did a lot of research on what to do/where to go before we left; Meredith, ever the photographer, made sure we all got great pictures and - more importantly for me - was there to experience it all with me as my constant South American travel partner; and Samm, well, you'd have to know Samm to understand how important the comedic relief she provides is. Everything was perfect, with one exception..

I am apparently allergic to both high altitudes and salt. My Mom always told me that my body "can't process salt," but I never actually believed her when she told me I would blow up like the Michelin Man if over-salt-ified. She wasn't even exaggerating. I woke up every morning and my eyes were virtually swollen shut, my cheeks were puffier than usual, and my hands were so swollen it hurt to make a fist. So keep that in mind while you're looking at the pictures - I'm not fat and I'm not chronically wearing sunglasses just to make a fashion statement (though I do love sunglasses as a fashion statement) - I'm just having an allergic reaction to the region.

Allergies aside, though, we are all so lucky to have been places that few people ever get the opportunity to visit...and we did it together.

Colonia, Uruguay

As May came to an end and my three-month anniversary with Buenos Aires came closer, I had to leave the country for a day to renew my tourist visa. Meredith and I woke up earlier than I have in months, caught the first ferry of the day, and suffered through a rocky, hour-long ride from Buenos Aires to Colonia. Despite warnings from several people that Colonia was a small town with nothing to do we decided to spend the afternoon there. We could have easily gotten our passports stamped and immediately returned to Buenos Aires, but we figured if we'd paid the fare to get there we might as well get to know the city. And thank God we did because I absolutely fell in love it.

(Sidenote: the number one thing I've learned about traveling thus far - get all the advice you can from other travelers, but never take anything as an absolute truth. Though they are fellow travelers, everyone experiences every place in a different way.)

The morning had been cold and overcast, causing the ferry ride to be rocky and nauseating. Therefore, our first mission was to find somewhere to eat and grab something to settle our stomachs. What was supposed to be a quick bite turned into an hour-and-a-half meal. Though my lifestyle certainly isn't strenuous in Buenos Aires, it was still nice to relax over a lunch outside of the city, knowing I didn't have one thing to do for the rest of the day besides explore a new place.

As we are two Floridians, accustomed to being driving distance from some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, it took us about 2 seconds to decide that the first thing we wanted to see was the coast. There is a river in Buenos Aires and beautiful places to go enjoy the water, but there isn't a coast and there isn't a lot of green. We started walking down the tree-lined, cobblestone streets in the direction of the nearest shore. At the end of the road we found green fields, palm trees, and the water. Though we weren't on a beach and the water wasn't crystal blue, I still felt closer to home there than in any other place since I arrived here.

We spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the city's center. We found that Colonia is a small, antique city filled with ruins, museums and gift shops. It can be explored in full in less than a few hours. This definitely isn't the place for someone looking for a party or an excitement-filled afternoon. However, there is a peaceful nature about it that seems to spread throughout the entire city. Everyone was friendly, calm, and slow moving. We heard "hola" more often than we heard the honking of a car horn. People smiled more and stared less. It was a nice change from the big-city feel of Buenos Aires.

After a total of 6 hours in Uruguay, we were on our way back to Buenos Aires. Our passports were stamped, so we had another 90 days to live legally in Argentina, but I have a feeling I'd like to escape to Colonia - or another small, beach town similar to it - sooner than that.

This street still has the original pavement and houses from the first colonial period.

Ruinas del Convento de San Francisco y Faro. The ruins are of a convent that was built in 1694 and burned down in 1704. The lighthouse was completed in 1857.

Cultural Center

What I miss

Quite a few people have expressed curiosity about what I miss the most from the States. My standard answer is my family and friends…obviously. However, there are some things that I miss that are not so expected, yet not surprising enough to be classified as unexpected. Here’s a short list:

- Peanut Butter! I didn't realize how often I consumed peanut butter until it became unavailable to me.

- Driving.

- Making American dollars.

- Light beer… and Yeungling.

- One-stop shopping. I would kill for a Target.

- My beautiful, big, comfortable, wonderful bed.

- LaSpada’s Subs.

- Ft. Lauderdale Beach.

- Quarterdeck (the bar where I worked before I left) and my former coworkers.

- Using my cell phone without worrying about running out of credit.

- Getting text messages from my sister throughout the day that make me laugh out loud. It’s just not the same getting her jokes, observations, and comments via Facebook.

- Watching “Two and a Half Men” with my parents while drinking wine and eating a dinner I didn’t have to pay for or prepare.

- Turkey.

- Fresh fish.

- Stores that sell books in English.

- Watching “The Office” on a T.V. instead of a laptop.

- Being “in the loop” about U.S. news. I didn’t know about the oil spill until almost a week after it happened. God only knows how much celebrity gossip I’ve missed out on.

- Blending in. I don’t know if it’s the way I look or the way I dress, but people take one look at me and know I’m an ex-pat.

- Understanding what people are saying to me.