Mendoza and San Rafael: A time for Reflection

Another theme of the trip has been my frustration with the people on this program , many of whom don't seem to have a brain, all of which seem to like to travel in big groups which I've quickly learned that I dislike. I particularly encountered this while I was in Mar Del Plata, which now seems like a million years ago. Here is the typical experience trying to travel around in a group; hey guys let's go get something to eat - okay great thinking where should we go? Well apparently this area has very good seafood why don't we go to some seafood place. Yea sounds great - everyone agrees. First problem: someone is in a rush because they have do something so therefore the group should conform to this individual necessity. No, we made a decision, we're going to stick to it. Out of frustration some unappointed person says ya know what F it I'm really hungry let's just go to this random place and eat a shit sandwich. This way this other random person gets what they want and I sort of get what I want and everyone's sort of not really happy. Finally the group awkwardly enters the restaurant, looking so conspicuously foreign that it is embarrassing. The waiter probably rips us off, but it's all good we're in a group. Great.

Having had this experience something told me that it was time to make a radical change and so I went with my gut. If I was going to have a good time I had to be more active and go for it myself. It was from this logic that I made the decision that I would travel alone to Mendoza.
A series of fatal events took place leading up to this which would shape the remainder of my time here. At the Universidad de Buenos AIres Facultad de Filosofia y Letras, I thought I had settled my class schedule finally with a class on Latin American Revolutions. One night, waiting in the fotocopiadora (photo copy room), I realized that I would be waiting forever, so I made the decision to go have a little drink and meet some of the natives rather than just wait for photo copies. So I gathered up my courage, went to this little hole in the wall bar near the University and ordered a liter of beer and some empanadas. I struck up a conversation with some of the people in the place who turned out to be really cool and patient with my Spanish. One of the guys there coincidentally happened to be from Mendoza and also a plumber (my dad is a plumber)and shaped my trip by telling me I had to go to San Rafael. I had an odd sense that these sequence of events were just kind of laying themselves down in front of me and I was steering on a predestined path. I was becoming a subscriber to the very hackneyed and cliche idea that everything happens for a reason.

"All this life is but a play
Be thou the joyful player"

I continued to talk and drink with this random group of guys and had really lost track of time and of how much I was drinking. But, it was all part of a play whose conclusion would reveal itself in a short while in grand fashion. So I dragged myself back to the fotocopiadora, just as it was about to close, got the stuff I needed and then began the journey back home on the colectivo.

Afraid that taking a picture of my host mother would release some kind of evilness into the world and possibly enchant my camera, I can only provide you with a rendering of her approximate appearance. Imagine opening the door and being welcomed home by this...




Terrifying, right? In all seriousness, I apparently had spooked my host mom(as you all know I am a very scary and intimidating person), when I came in slightly intoxicated. She was conveniently standing right by the door, chatting on the phone, when I came in. In typical fashion the lady completely overreacted and decided to use this moment as a pretext to lay down the law. Thinking that she could make an example out of this situation, she attempted to resolve this perceived problem by sending in reinforcements. The next morning I had an unexpected and unwelcomed visit from the father into my room. He basically busted into my room and tried to physically intimidate me, a tactic which he often used on his own children. I however was not his child, and rather than feel intimidated, I lost trust, realizing that a breach had occurred here in an attempt to get me in line. After this incident I just felt really awkward being around the parents.

As I prepared to go Mendoza, I was at first was thinking that maybe I was wrong and that I should try to fix this situation. However, as you'll see reader, I had a moment of clarity in San Rafael, which quickly reminded me that this was exactly what the family wanted me to think.

But first, my trip to Mendoza.
So i get on the bus in a sort of bad mood - I had really made the decision to come to Mendoza on the spur of the moment. My original intention was to go to Cordoba, but I decided I was in the mood to go out into nature, have some sweet berry wine, and just kind of chill out. So I got on the bus or Micro as they call them and was riding in style. I won a bottle of wine on the bus by playing bingo - great start to the trip. This is an Andesmar tradition apparently, and I was pretty amped, this was my lucky trip. The trip was 14 hours of bus, but really wasn't that bad. I got out of the bus that next morning greeted by a much chillier climate, and a very relaxed environment. It was a very necessary break from the constant turmoil in the city, I said some time to relax and enjoy the views.
Eager to do something on my first day, I sought out a travel agency and got put on a wine tour that afternoon. It was cool, but I kind of felt out of place with a bunch of like 40 year old couples and retired old ladies who looked at me, with the question on their minds what the hell is this 21 year old guy from New Jersey doing here.


I decided that the next day I would be heading out for a short trip to San Rafael the second biggest city in the province of Mendoza. From what the mystical plumber man had told me it was extremely worth it to come here because of the awesome scenery. So I went for it, and wasn't let down...



San Rafael was really great. Aside from the town which was a super tourist trap reminiscent of the town of Niagra Falls. However, the surrounding environment and its views were awesome. I went on a tour and our group had a strange chemistry which you don't normally have with a bunch of complete strangers. This great lady who sort of knew English took an interest in me and we began talking. It's strange how a certain of group of people will get on well and open up to each other while another group will remain stiff. Often this is the deciding factor in whether a class is good or not, whether things loosen up and people start to kind of reach out to one another. It makes it much more pleasant to pass time to if you have some level of familiarity or rapport, what they call buena onda here. People who can open up a group like this are pretty rare and are appreciated.

It was with this group that I had a tour of the area and especially Los Reyunos. This was supposed to be my last day so I was very happy that this was an awesome day and the view was very emotional - it put a lot of things in perspective for me.

It was during this that we had the option to do some activities, one was "hacer bungie" and the other was some boat thing. The lady of probably about 60 years old next to me was the lone volunteer for the bungee thing and everyone on the thing convinced me to do it, by talking about "la juventud" and I submitted against my better judgment. I was thinking it was one of the things where you jump off of a cliff like 1000 feet straight down and was like, oh shit, what am I getting myself into. It turned out to be pretty lame, you just kind of soared across the water to another rocky area. When I came back people were impressed by my stoicism and we all began chatting over some coffee and mate. When one woman asked me a question about my host family and I had a break through moment. She simply asked "te tratan bien?" (do they treat you well?) and I thought to myself, no not really. What am I doing stuck in this bad situation. I'm leaving. And so I did, when I came back within one day I would change out of my living situation.

I was extremely satisfied with my day in San Rafael, and wanted to see more, there was a problem however, because my ticket was scheduled to leave for the next morning from Mendoza. I decided that even if I couldn't change my ticket I was happy and had a good day. However, I wanted more. I came to learn that if I could change my ticket to leave from San Rafael on a later day than I could have another full day in San Rafael. And so begins my hatred and frustration with Andesmar. Trying to change my ticket with them was an impossible task. I had purchased the ticket online and for some reason the people at the bus station said that they couldn't do anything for this reason. I persisted to no avail, tried calling about 100 different customer service numbers, nothing worked. I scheduled another excursion for the next morning figuring that I would eat about 100 dollars if need be to stay for a little longer. But as it turned out, the tour guide must have been been feeling especially generous because they helped me change the ticket and everything was good. It was a real pain in the ass though leading up to this and really needless aggravation. So this day I would be seeing Canon el Atuel y Valle Grande - as recommended by the lady I had met the day before. It was also really great, but our group didn't have the same dynamic unfortunately.

On the way back to Buenos Aires, I had to settle for a Semi-Cama bus back, aka, cheaper and without all the bells and whistles of the seat I had on my trip there, when I had a full bed. I wouldn't be winning any more bottles of wine unfortunately. I found myself sitting next to a Bolivian woman and saw this as a grand opportunity to work on my Spanish and make a new friend. She was a great lady and had it very tough off as I imagine most Bolivians who come to Argentina do. She had been in Mendoza for a completely different reason from mine, because there was work and fruit to be picked. She was heading to Buenos Aires with no idea of whether there would be any work or anywhere to stay. Unfortunately, I'm sure this wasn't a unique position but it was sad and I felt the frivolity of what I was doing in comparison to this woman who was struggling to get by.

We came from different worlds, and yet were able to connect in some minor way. When we exchanged information at the end of the trip I didn't ever expect to hear from her again as usually is the case when you exchange information on a trip. However, wouldn't you know it, she sent me a text message about a week after our shared trip. Hola Christian, Espero que seas bien... etc. I decided for a period to introduce myself as Christian to everyone to avoid the impossibility for Spanish speakers of pronouncing "Zack". I responded to the text reciprocating her good feelings, but realized in the back of my mind that I could never have a normal friendship with this woman without the radical difference in our respective situations coloring any interaction in the outside world. In other words, the class divide between us became very apparent and there was something in the back of my mind saying - "well that's impossible". Just as I don't hang out with the yuppies or trust fund babies at my college, I wouldn't hang out with this poor woman. Just as the trust fund kids can somehow pick up my scent as a middle class kid, and therefore will never accept me, I picked up this woman's scent and feel bad to this moment that I let this jade my perspective on the situation. It was an unwritten societal demand which I was subconsciously feeling. Let's just say that I had decided to hang out with this lady and out of the goodness of my heart decided to be charitable - maybe she wasn't even looking for charity and I was just making a crazy assumption. The ghost of class would still exist and this reality could never be broken. It is like someone doing a ton of charity work because they have the time and are sufficiently well off. Many times these people, although doing a very nice service, can never interact with the people they are trying to help, and their service while noble, often remains at arms length, not fully trusted or accepted. Outside of the confines of a forced social situation (the bus, charity) in other words I had the cynical feeling that I was an economic opportunity to this nice woman who was trying to make a living.

Here are some photos of Valle Grande, it was really great...

May 14, 2011

Mendoza

Big Shark in the Big City

So it's been over a week in Buenos Aires and I really feel like I have done very little. Or at least this is the feedback I'm getting from those who I've conversed with on the topic. Part of the reason for this lack of insight into cultural landmarks / tourist must sees, etc is because I have been tied up by the b.s. orientation through my program IFSA Butler, which virtually consumes every day and the time I would be conceivably going out exploring the city. Additionally, much of my time has been spent trying to adapt to the way of life here and get into a routine of life in this very alien environment.

For any reader who may be interested in studying abroad or going to Buenos Aires take note of my following observations. The city is gigantic. It is super confusing and congested. Public transportation is pretty widely accessible and cheap, but extremely overcrowded.

People talk in a distinct dialect which diverges a lot from the type of Spanish I was taught. For example, the use of vos instead of tu. The pronunciation of calle as cajje, ayer = ajjer, the use of che and boluto especially among young folk as slang.
Prices are inflated especially for consumer goods that weren't produced in Argentina such as electronics or toiletries. Prices for clothing and entertainment are pretty comparable and on the cheap side considering it is a big city. Food is cheap especially if you get out of the most ritzy parts of the city. The Argentine peso is tacked onto the dollar and so many of the prices are not so much different then they would be in the US. Although the exchange rate is 4 pesos to 1 dollar, for a nice shirt it might cost 200 pesos or 50 dollars, which is pretty comparable to the would be price in the US.
Empanadas are a pretty great food (think gourmet hot pocket)along with the beef in general. Vegetables and fruits while widely available and extremely fresh are not eaten by many and don't constitute a significant portion of the Argentine diet. The abundance of liters of Quilmes, Brahma, or Isenbeck (all Argentine beers) too is an added bonus especially as a way to break the heat. Beer by the liter is a great way to enjoy it and is very cheap.

People have been a mixed bag. Many younger women are very cold, distant, and put on airs. This is true for some men too, but it seems especially true of younger women. Then there are people who are extremely kind and helpful. I've been lost many times and have been rescued a couple times by very kind people. Apparently, petty theft is pretty common; a few of the people on my program have suffered from this, luckily I haven't.

Also people culturally are by US standards very imprecise and not at all in tune with "the customer is right" mentality. Take for instance the preferred method of giving directions. If I ask someone where to find something on the street, they will give me a a point in the general proximity of where I'm supposed to go and say "alla". This method would seem pretty vague and open to interpretation, but it is the only way that you will get directions. I even asked a Chinese person in the Barrio China (Chinatown) how to find something and was shocked that they employed the exact same method; a very animated point in the general direction with arm curvature and all.

I really was not fully prepared for just how different life is in Argentina and have grown to appreciate how much the habits which we all fall into are deeply encoded and not easily broken. So the theme for the last 10 days or so has been trial and error. Getting lost, asking a local for help, them not understanding what I'm saying, talking to my host grandma and having no idea what she says and other bits of fun like that. If there was a theme song to my time it would be the Clash song "Lost in the Supermarket"; in fact this is the song that plays through my mind as I try to locate myself and my destination.

Getting to know my host family has been difficult, especially the first few days. I have to say that I quickly grew to dislike my host mother Alejandra or Maria because of her rough, arrogant disposition. I'm starting to come around to her though and her disagreeable temperament. Although at first I thought I would get along well with the brothers in the family Tomas and Matias, this neither has gone according to plan. Tomas is 9 and can be a bugger. At times he can be cool too though. Matias on the other hand is never in the house probably because he doesn't want to be around the family. Further, he has really made no effort to show me around or hang out with me or anything. The father Ramone, hell of a guy, a great American if you will. His job is to keep Maria and Tomas in line which is a very necessary task. I've also recently found out that he was the former director of River Plate Soccer Club for like 10 years. This would partially explain why the family is so ridiculously into River. It would also explain why they got super pissed when I wore my Boca shirt around the house. For those who don't know, Boca and River are cross town rivals in Buenos Aires, the former considered the club of the working class and the latter known as the "Millionarios" because of their connection with the upper classes of Buenos Aires. I had the opportunity to see a River game against Velez at Estadio Monumental. It was pretty awesome, the fans are ridiculously passionate. Due to the "lindo blooper" (beautiful blooper) of the goalie, River gave away an early gift to Velez. Unfortunately, River ending up losing 2-1, and my host family, half jokingly, narrowed down my presence at the match as an causal explanation, as I was "mala suerte" (bad luck).

So a large part of my experience so far has been getting acquainted with the "colectivos", which is how they refer to intercity buses in Buenos Aires. For a little over a peso you can get a ride in these hot, overcrowded, stinking, crazily driven buses which follow routes designed by a four year old. Although the subte (subway) is not very close to me, I've found that it is much more convenient then the colectivos and much faster. On the buses especially, it is very easy to get all lost in the supermarket. When this happens you no longer shop happily; in fact one time I took a colectivo directly into one of the most dangerous areas of Buenos Aires at night called Constitucion. Awesome.

The typical experience on a colectivo can be related in a tale of two fat kids. As I get on the bus and the driver asks where I'm going or whatever I notice a great fat kid on the bus (or so I think). Just as I'm about to take a coveted seat on the bus, this would be great fat kid shows his true colors and slips in to get the seat ahead of me. As I wrestle my way to the back of the bus among the many standing passengers, I find a nice place to stand squeezed in among about 20 other people. Finally I get a seat, and I notice another fat kid on the colectivo, getting ready to go to school with his power rangers backpack. Now this fat kid is great because of how out to lunch he is. I knew right away by looking at him that he wasn't the type to steal a seat and was an overall cool guy.

The duality of the previous tale in many ways typifies my experience in Buenos Aires thus far. It has been extreme - I've met awesome, very helpful people. Take for instance Jorge, the owner of Los Amigos, a little empanada/pizza place about two blocks from where I live. Great guy, always tries to help me out and asks if I need to know where anything is. And I've met awful people, take for instance my host mom. This woman makes the biggest deal out of nothing. One night the people from the program called the house and she has this grave look on her face. "Are you going to class?" "Yes of course" I answered. Basically she ending up making a big deal of nothing: very annoying. I've had days where I've wanted to throw a chair through a window or an open paint can at something out of pure rage after getting lost all day and to top it all off stepping in dog crap. This is probably my biggest complaint about the city i.e. the prevalence of dog waste and the fact that people are that lazy that they don't even pick it up. And I've had very positive days too where I've done a lot of cool stuff, that's one thing there is no shortage of stuff to do. There a ton of clubs, bars, restaurants, shows to see, movie theaters, soccer matches packed in the city easily within access.

La Despedida

Within the halls of the 4th floor of Cooper Levenson law offices, it fully dawned on me that in one week's time, I would be leaving the country for the first time in my life for about six months. Up until this point, I was home for about two months from college, having finished the first semester of my junior year at Haverford College, about to spend an extended period in Argentina to study and master the spanish language. I had been preparing for this trip ever since I had gotten home but it never fully registered just how big a step I was actually taking. My plane was leaving in a few days, I wasn't packed, and now I was feeling the heat.

I was working full time (or close to full time) at Cooper Levenson trying to save for this trip never fully understanding the implications. My time at home in New Jersey passed slowly, similar to the winter days which persisted for my entire break. There was a fair amount of snow, especially compared to other years; my brother Jake and I took advantage of this opportunity. There was an acute need for snow shoveling among the elderly community in Margate... especially during the two foot blizzard that struck in late December. We made some nice cash this way and always had satisfied customers after our jobs.

 Snow = White Gold

It was a time of transition for me having come back from college moving back in with my brother Max. Periods of transition are frustrating to me. Typical of most periods of transition, I always feel that I am much less productive and get frustrated having to rework my schedule and everything. I don't believe that I ever fully moved in to my room, and was mainly just eating, working, watching Netflix movies in spanish during the break. This transition was very routine. My brother Max and I had our share of disagreements over the sharing of space, and we seem to be outgrowing our shared room of 15 years.


First shout out of this blog goes to my friends and coworkers at Cooper Levenson; it was a pleasure working with you all and I truly feel like a part of the family. As a file clerk, I fought through my fair share of paper cuts, bouts of stapeler's elbow, and periods of bleary eyes from staring at endless excel spread sheets and prolonged periods of data entry. It was all worth it though, and I came out better because of all these injuries sustained in the field. I will be sure to try and come and visit this summer and see you before I go back to school.

Tae's former room updated by Keana

Next but no less importantly, a shout out and thank you for the very nice send off from my amigos at Haverford College. The soiree and dinner at La Villa di Mancini were great and I was very pleased to have been present at both of them. It was agreed after the dinner at Dean Mancini's house that Vince Mancini is not only a wrangler but also a world class zinger. Apparently, these skills are very necessary in the legal profession (especially at Christmas parties). To Tae: you will be amazed to see what Keanu has done with
your former room in the apartment. Keanu thanks for letting me crash in my former apartment. Segal, Fernie, and Dominique, enjoy the rest of Senior years and best of luck - hope to see you guys in the summer. To Essay, Gracie, Kate, and Tania - cheers... seeya next year.

By now it was getting time to say goodbye to my sweet New Jersey and Haverford, and say hello to a totally new and different city: Buenos Aires. I wanted to live in a city as a change of pace from the sometimes dreary existence at Haverford. It would also be an opportunity to travel throughout Argentina and South America as well. As time ran out I got ready to say final farewells to my family and friends. It's been emotional. To my family - much love as always, Jake, Max, Mom and Dad gonna miss you guys.
 

This is becoming too serious. A brief aside to lighten the mood and explain the adjacent photograph. "The Origin of Charlie" - Charlie is a wooden horse with a pole attached. He used to neigh and make a galloping sound when you pushed either of his ears. He was purchased by my brother Max during a field trip in which he visited Churchill Downs (where the Kentucky Derby is held). On the airplane trip back, Max decided it was a good idea to bring Charlie through security and on the flight with him back home. Apparently this was against some regulation and the airport people wouldn't let Charlie on the plane. Despite my brothers best efforts, Charlie had to be checked and be put under the plane for an extra $25. When asked whether this extra payment was worth it, my brother without blinking an eye, just nodded at me very slowly in accession.

Max and "Charlie"

I am very excited to make the best of my trip and let you the reader know what's up. My hope for the future of this blog is to make it user friendly, and not so overloaded with intimate personal details. This way, I hope it can serve as a resource for anyone interested in traveling or studying abroad in Argentina. I realize the hypocrisy of this mission statement since with the above I am already shamelessly breaking this rule, but I feel that this should be the goal for any blog. I hope you, reader, enjoy the blog, and would welcome any questions or feedback that you may have.

Cheers,

Zack