(anything but) studying abroad again.

The (wonderful yet fleeting) year that Becky and I lived together we had several recurring conversations, including but not limited to: anything and everything about our TV shows, where we were going to go Friday night for dinner (because neither of us was ever decisive in the slightest), and, most recurrent, incessant nostalgia about our experiences studying abroad.

Becky’s and my semesters abroad, in London and Buenos Aires respectively, were always regarded as the zenith of our (barely quarter-lived) lives. Sure, our experiences were culturally distinct in just about every aspect — language, food, general appearance of the attractive locals — but the quality of life was the same. Equally fantastic, yet ephemeral.

Your responsibilities were minimal as there was no job to be had and classes mattered, but, as anyone who’s been in college knows, classes “mattered.” (Cramming to write and/or study a few times a semester and voilà — college graduate!) Because of this peculiar situation, you were in this limbo area of freedom. You were free to do whatever you wanted in a foreign mega-metropolis, where you could literally do anything your young American heart wanted. (That ‘anything’ being limited to mostly meet people, drink, dance, travel, and repeat.)

Yet at the same time you were safe and secure in your study-abroad bubble. Money was available via grants, savings, or the Bank of Mom & Dad. You had a set beginning and end, easing both your mother’s worries and quickly extinguishing any ‘I miss the US’ moments. And more than anything, for both of us, we just felt this inexplicable and intangible happiness with everything that we did abroad. I think it’s something similar to what movies like Under the Tuscan Sun (which I haven’t even seen) try to capture on screen even though it seems utterly ridiculous and corny. But it happens. Or at least it can happen. To Me, Becky, and Diane Lane at least.

Something we didn’t realize at the time, however, was that the experience was unrepeatable. Never again would we be able to relive our time abroad and its weird perfect environment. It’s like when Peter and Susan can never go back to Narnia. Unfair!

Anyway, my rambling trip down memory lane has a point: I’ve somehow managed to travel through the wardrobe again. By that I mean my month here in Spain has felt like a curious case of study abroad 2.0, which delights me to no end. The parallels between Spanish and Argentine culture (and overlap of language, of course) help a lot. But more than that, I’m loving the fact that I’m getting to experience the country through a point of view different than that of someone merely on vacation. Living with X’s family feels like my new host family.

And, best of all, I’ve manage to rediscover the feeling described above. Everything just makes me happy.

i miss bs.as. like a fat kid misses empanadas.

Sorry, this won’t be fun for any of you (except Jeanine and Murphy), but I found this and it made me extremely nostaglic for Buenos Aires. I can’t believe I’ve been back for over 16 months.

You know you are a porteño when…

• You can, at all times, find a heladería within 3 blocks.
• In your barrio, there are more people on the streets at 3 AM than 3 PM.
• ¿Qué sé yo?
• Nothing is good anymore, it’s “bárbaro.”
• You have accepted the fact that you cannot successfully walk across 9 de Julio before the lights turn red, because everyone KNOWS it’s the widest avenue in the WORLD.
• You instinctively cross yourself every time you pass a church, even when riding on the bus.
• Your Guía T is old and falling apart, but you still won’t leave home without it.
• You actually know the historical figures the streets are named after.
• You consider both superpanchos and choripan to be hearty meals.
• You complain about everything while in Buenos Aires, but as soon as you leave, you begin to miss it.
• Upon getting into a taxi, instead of stating your destination, you give a series of turns and street names, entering into a battle of wits over who knows the grid best.
• You generally communicate better in gestures than actually conversing.
• Nothing is cool anymore, it’s re canchero.
• You have forgotten your name and now only answer to a string of epithets, such as che, boludo, flaco, pibe, etc.
• You know where to see the movies for 2 mangos, but still go to Village Recoleta because it’s “top.”
• You know that a Disco is not a place to dance or a genre of music, but a place to buy food.
• You find yourself eating ñoquis on the 29th of each month, and not really knowing why.
• At any time of the day, a café con leche and 2 medialunas can be considered a square meal. (See below.)

• You can’t imagine drinking coffee without briskly following it with a shot glass of mineral water. (See above.)
• You stay out till 6 AM at a bolinche but are still fresh as a daisy for your class at 9.
• You mix ketchup and mayo, slather the beastly concoction on everything, and have the audacity to call it “salsa golf.”
• You begin to wonder how Washington D.C. got off copying the obelisco, why London stole Buenos Aires’ phone booths and letter boxes, and why Milan’s La Scala opera house had to steal the blueprints for Teatro Colón.
• You get used to the fact that though you live in a port city, you rarely, if ever, see the waterfront.
• You don’t find it at all confusing that there are streets called Peña, Rodríguez Peña, Luis Saenz Peña and Roque Saenz Peña, all in fairly close proximity. Nor that there are an Yrigoyen and Irigoyen that intersect, despite their different spellings.
• You can get everything delivered to your departamento… from munchies to mariachis.
• You know all the parts of a cow and you’re not a butcher or a veterinarian.
• You have ever considered growing out a euro mullet.
• You refer to everything outside the capital as the “interior” of the country.
• No weekend feels complete without a trip to the feria.
• You are a self-made expert on EVERYTHING.
• Your favorite thing to do is fiaca, the special action of not doing anything.
• You drink your mate amargo, but eat dulce de leche on everything.
• You realize that when there is a superclasico, everything halts for el fútbol.
• Your swear words include colorful descriptions of the birthing process and the private parts of a parrot.
• Everything is a quilombo.

don’t cry for me, argentina.

I’m back! After a long day of traveling, I have arrived back in (not-so) beautiful (because it’s frigid) Madison. Bittersweet, for sure. It helps that Christmas is just days away, but as soon as the holidays pass I think it’s going to dawn on me that I’m here for good now. So I’m gonna try keeping focused on the positives — seeing family and friends, primarily.

But on a more cynical note — I know I had a slight air of pretentiousness before I left, but this whole expatriate lifestyle I have been living sure has upped the ante. It took me about 15 minutes to have my first “God, I hate America” moment. My flight from Chicago to Green Bay was delayed about an hour and my-oh-my are Americans whiny bitches. I just wanted to scream, “Stop your incessant squawking!” We live in such a self-righteous society of babies whose middles names are all apparently “Entitled.” Not everything in life runs smoothly, so go with the flow people. Stop raising your blood pressure for no reason.

So, there’s that. I’ve heard the reverse culture shock is actually worse and I’m already believing it. I apologize in advance, but expect more bitching to come.

Also, speaking of raised blood pressure, the second I looked around the Chicago O’Hare terminal I realized that it really is true that over half of Americans are overweight. You just don’t really see that until you’ve lived elsewhere. I wasn’t going to say anything because I realize how snobbish that sounds, and again I apologize, but I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself when it was announced that the reason our flight was delayed was because the plane was over its weight limit. Have another cheeseburger, America.

So yeah, I’ve been in the country for less than a day and I’m already kind of in a fight with it. Plus, I’m off to my graduation ceremony in about 14 hours. Watch out world, here comes Bryan, the alum — and he’s taking no prisoners.

music: And I Am Telling You That I’m Not Going – Jennifer Hudson

vegetable does not have four syllables.

My host mom is up for some really important position within FAO (the UN’s Food & Agriculture Organization). Well, turns out English really is taking over the world and part of the interview she is going to have this Thursday is in my native tongue, so I’ve been tutoring her. She knows the basics, and can read it proficiently, but the problem is she never speaks it.

It’s been quite the learning process for both of us. First off, I hurts my head trying to explain English. I feel like every other question is answered with, “Well, it depends…” Plus it doesn’t help that I’m pretty clueless as to the subject material, food security as it relates to the public sector not exactly being one of my fortes. Instead of the basic, “I would like a hamburger, please,” I get to stumble through the Spanish word for inequitable and learn such valuable, pretty much untranslatable words such as cunicultura (rabbit raising).

More than anything, I find it highly ironic that I spent the first month of my time with her trying to deduce what exactly she does for a living, when now in my final weeks I know not only what her current job entails but her entire work history.

music: Le Disko (Remix) – Shiny Toy Guns

repent, the end is nigh.

Two weeks from today I will be back stateside and a college graduate. I’m starting to experience the same anxiety I did two weeks before coming here, and I don’t like it. Last time it was more uncertainty that was excitement-based. This time around it’s uncertainty that is sad and freaked-out-based.

And to make things worse, I have a final tomorrow morning. That is oral. (I still don’t understand the concept.) And I’m not doing a good job studying for it. I figure it is either going to be extremely easy or extremely hard, regardless of how much I study. If I don’t know it now, I’m not going to be able to reproduce it orally tomorrow no matter how much I try.

On the bright side I’m two-thirds done with with 15 page term paper. Also, I’m leaving tomorrow night to head to Mendoza (Argentine wine country) and will return Thursday morning. That should be just in time for me to freak out even more about how I only have one week left and about a million things to do before my departure. Including, the other third of that paper.

music: Wash Away (Reprise) – Joe Purdy

welcome home tour.

As you already know, I’m coming home soon. Not surprisingly, my arrival is going to be quite the ordeal. The biggest wrench thrown into the mix is the fact that the fam is going to Dayton for Christmas since Brad, my older brother, lives there now. As he isn’t able to come home, we’re bringing Christmas to him. Sweet sentiment? Yes. Convenient? Hell no. It’s 3 states away. And boring states at that.

Well what with my graduation ceremony, the Welcome Home/Elf-theme party in Madison and my 3rd annual New Year’s Eve in St. Paul with Amy, I figured I should start planning out when and where I was going to be. What started out as a brief break from writing my term paper quickly spiraled into the following tentative schedule. (Can you tell how much I don’t want to be doing schoolwork?)

The 5 months I’ve spent not driving (or for that matter, riding in) a car will most definitely be made up for in no time.

The optional routes are dependent upon if/when the Chicago gals are going to be there. But please feel free to let me know when and where you will be and if this plan is feasible. (That means you Madison people, as I clearly have nowhere to stay. Someone’s couch, or better yet bed, will be needed.)

Advisory: All dates and locations are subject to change.

music: Faster Kill Pussycat – Paul Oakenfold (f. Brittany Murphy)

giving thanks.

Much to be grateful for. First and foremost, the computer is back in working condition. Hard drive failure, so I lost most everything (I knew I should have brought my external hard drive down here); but luckily the iPod saved the music and my Google web album assisted in the recovery of almost 200 of my Argentina pics. All in all, could have been a lot worse. Now during these final weeks I can focus on finishing up my paper and doing that whole job/internship search thing.

Also quite thankful for the country of Uruguay. Can’t say I ever thought I would visit the tiny South American nation, but my Thanksgiving holiday this past weekend was quite fantastic.

And I have the tan to prove it. Gracias, Punta del Este. Screw pilgrims and Indians, I’ll take the beach any day.

music: Love Me Or Hate Me – Lady Sovereign

sad face.

Emergency warning! Just letting you all know that on Tuesday my computer decided to give me the blue error screen of death for no reason. I don´t know what happened, nor I am happy about it, but nonetheless I am computer-less for the time being. (I´m on my familý´s computer right now, and yes I just accidently put an accent over the y and don´t know how to fix it; damn you international keyboards!) Anyway, I don´t know when my next update will be, especially considering I only have a month left!

Sans computer, that 15 page term paper I have due in a couple weeks just got a hell of a lot more interesting. (On the bright side, I have 2 classes down, only 2 to go.)

music: Goodbye My Lover – James Blunt

eureka!

Today has been a day of epiphanies. First, once I exited UCA this morning, I realized that I have just one actual class left to attend, Thursday. (Unfortunately that does not include tests/final papers.)

Second, I’ve spent so much time these past weeks telling myself, “Just get through these finals. Then you can enjoy the time you have left in Argentina!” Well then it suddenly dawned on me that once I “get through” said finals, I won’t have any more finals to get through again. Ever.

Third, that it’s actually kind of a shame this is my last semester. On one hand, because I’ve become really good at writing papers/taking tests in Spanish. But more importantly, every subsequent paper/test in any other subject would be so much easier. What!? I get to write this 15 page film-studies term paper in English?! Why don’t you actually challenge me, silly professor? But alas, no such conversation will transpire.

(On a sidenote, although scholastically that theory is a bust, it is actually going to be quite applicable in every day life. The other day I was randomly thinking about how I’m going to have to go to the eye doctor and dentist as soon as I get back. Like everyday things here, I began to start imagining the upcoming conversations in Spanish. Then I realized — umm hello — they’re American. I am going to feel like such a winner at life when everything suddenly becomes a cakewalk!)

And now a fourth epiphany: I am so screwed for my final on Wednesday (a.k.a. t-minus 33 hours). Sorry, I seem to have confused epiphany with common knowledge. But at least I’m surprisingly up-beat.

music: See The World – Gomez

weight and see.

Let’s see, I eat whatever I want. That includes ice cream about every other day and a steady stream of beef, empanadas, pizza, coffee and more beef. And I don’t just eat whatever I want, but a hefty amount of it as well. At dinner, I have seconds every night. Oh, and I don’t go to the gym.

So then there’s this scale in our kitchen. I’ve gotten pretty good at pretending it doesn’t exist. Just a figment of my imagination, really. Plus, you know, it’s metric — so clearly it is of no use to me. I wouldn’t be able to decipher its jibber-jabber reading anyway!

However, curiosity got the best of me today. And needless to say, when I decided to step onto the scale of judgment just for shits and giggles I was not expecting a pleasant outcome.

And I’ll be damned. While in Argentina for the semester, I’ve somehow managed to lose 5 pounds. Or 2.27 kilograms, if you want to get all metric. (Sidenote: the conversion is the greatest ego boost ever. I weigh in the double digits? Yes, please.)

I celebrated by eating a big, yummy and overly-cheesy milanesa a la napolitana for lunch, followed by a quart of banana split ice cream later in the afternoon.

music: Wind It Up – Gwen Stefani