a side note

I caught the second half of "Idiocracy" last night on TV, starring Luke Wilson, and I have to say it was hilarious but also frightening! 500 years into the future and civilization had been reduced to low-brow smut, a society run by meatheads with IQs lower than a pencil's.

I recommend this movie.

Polo, Spanish class, other things

So what have I been up to. . . . It is polo season in Argentina and on Sunday I was invited by my Argentine family to see my first polo match. It was a hot sunny day but we only attended one match that was in the late afternoon, so we managed to not get completely fried. I guess the best polo players in the world are from Argentina and the sport is a pretty big deal here. It was fun to watch, rather exciting to see the horses almost run-hopping along. At one point, a horse fell and did a few somersaults while the polo player was still in his saddle. The crowd shouted and shuddered. An ambulance came out to revive the man, but within minutes, he was back on his feet and in the saddle, ready to keep playing (who knows how he was feeling the next day).

After the match, dolled up spectators lingered around the concession area - a concession area like I've never seen before. Lots of booths/bars sponsored by Mercedes (there were a few of the brand's cars parked on the lawn) and other high-end goods producers. It was all in all quite a glamorous scene.

The history of polo (quite interesting, actually):

http://www.argentinapolo.com/polohistory.html

I also started Spanish class this week and my first impression: boring!!!! I'd forgotten what old school class can feel like, it's like an insult to one's intelligence - I wish they had Montessori Spanish classes for adults! And the fact that there are only two other people in my class also keeps the energy buzz at nil. But I'll keep going back, it's only four doors down from my apartment, an extension program through the University of Buenos Aires. Class is everyday for three hours - but I can tell this time will get shaved off quite a bit because everyone is late, even on breaks (at least from what I can gather from the first two days). The professor is nice and extremely patient. When I speak, I feel like I have a mouth full of marbles.

Yesterday there was a student from Kenya, in our class temporarily for he was really supposed to be in Level 2. He told me and the other student, a recent graduate from Maine, that times were tough when he left Kenya, with all the killing going on, and since he's been in Argentina his grandmother, who raised him, has died as well as his girlfriend. But he says he wants to be out having fun, learning Spanish, dancing tango, rather than be in bed sad. Geez!

Today we had a new student from Norway, a fisherman in his mid-20s. He knows no Spanish, like me, and was quite flustered when the teacher spoke to him. It'll be fine. I think we'll all learn quite a bit, even if I totally disagree with the method in which it's taught! It's interesting for me, after all of the teaching I've done and school that I have behind me, to be this sort of student again - it reminds me of elementary school, talking about what profession people are in our workbook, how old are they, learning the alphabet...I guess it's a bit humbling. Maybe it's been a long time since I've tried to learn a new skill.

Some brain gymnastics never hurt anyone. The other day, the college grad asked me if I brought any good books with me (after telling her I'd just finished a MA in literature), and I said no and that I haven't read anything in a while. She then pulled out a book she had picked up, one I hadn't heard of, and explained it's not that great, that she feels like it's making her dumb. Perhaps my blank stare caused her to put the book away and our conversation ended. When I graduated college I was the same way about books, I wanted to get going on all the classics I hadn't read yet, books are so amazing, I'm an English major, I need to be well-read, etc. So I spent a lot of time reading some really great books, classics, that I could talk about and sound 'smart.' (And I LOVE books, don't get me wrong, and feel incredibly blessed that I've been able to read as many books as I have and have had extraordinarily stimulating conversations talking about them - books build civilizations, so read!) But I don't look to books anymore to make me 'smarter.' I'd rather follow my interests and if that leads me to a great classic, then wonderful, but that book's value might not be any higher than a low-brow book that gave me a great experience or awakened certain insights in me. (I guess I'm going against the idea that certain books are elitist and that those who read them are elite.) Bottom line, however, you've never read enough, and I realized in this moment with the recent college grad, that I wanted to be reading and wasn't.

My interests currently lie in getting to know Argentina, so I decided it's about time to read some of her authors. I'm bypassing Jose Luis Borges for now, even if he is the most celebrated author (I fear I may find him a bit boring) and opting for Julio Cortazar, or at least the one book of his I found at the English bookstore, his short stories. I also recently learned about another author, Roberto Arlt, an Argentine that wrote about the seedy side of life, broke literary rules, was really rather edgy and ahead of his time. I had to order his book 'Mad Toy' online for it's impossible to get any of his work here in English from what I've found.

I'm also continuing to let go of my organic produce fanaticism, I have no choice, it's just not possible here...it's amazing how ingrained that is in me, to buy organic, but I have to shut it off for now, and enjoy inferior-tasting conventional, chock-full of pesticides. Today I was purchasing some nuts and tofu at a nearby health-food store (the standard size for these health-shops are pretty small, about the size of a large closet, just to give a visual) and a sweaty (it's approaching 90*F) Englishman dressed in business attire came in asking the young man at the counter for diet pills to lose weight. He explained how the diet here is making him gain weight, it is horrible. He said he saw an ad for something on TV that's supposed to make you lose weight (if you pay attention to any of the adverts on TV you become inundated with weight-loss hoodoo). He was a little bit manic. But I could totally relate to that one-too-many-empanadas-and-steak feeling that leaves you feeling bloated and disgusting. The man had grocery bags of fruit and vegetables with him. He said he was going to check the name he had written down and come back to see if they had the tablets he saw on TV. After he dashed out, I asked the clerk if many foreigners come in saying the same thing, asking for help. He said, oh, yes, all the time. I asked if he had any tips regarding the Argentinian diet. He said he doesn't eat it, he's a vegetarian.

Pillow Fight

Today I went to see a massive pillow fight in the park. People were laughing, yelling, chasing, charging, singing, chanting. I was approached by some participating young men who asked me where I was from. No, not Venezuela, Minnesota (I get this more often than you'd think). Los Estados Unidos. Then one of them told me not to say that too loud or I'd get attacked by enthusiastic pillow swingers. The other asked me if I'd like to borrow his pillow to fight his friend. I declined.

Pillow Bits

Buenos Aires does not have a recycling program. People called cartoneros have picked up the slack. I was quite impressed with this guy's heavy load.

culture shock...zzzzzzz

I went to the gym today and was approached by an Argentine woman walking into the elevator. She asked me if I was American. I said yes. She said she can spot them a mile away. I asked, how? She said she just can.

We stepped into the elevator and continued our conversation.

She said she's been living in the US for years now (Florida, but in BA for one month) and because her son goes to school there she has to go back, but wants to stay in Argentina, she loves it, it is her country, her home. In America, she said, all that people care about is money, there is no time to enjoy life. Here, she said, you don't see people eating on the street.

We stepped off the elevator. I was pretty much just nodding and saying, hmm, hmmpf, oh.

In America, she said, there's a Starbucks on every corner. Here, you order a coffee and you get mineral water and a little cookie (yes, this is something that I love, so elegant). She said there is no style in America. There is so much style in Argentina and the people are beautiful (here she took off her sunglasses and revealed extremely puffy eyes lined with heavy dark makeup) and so friendly. NY has style, but people are cold, no one talks to you. Here, she said, people take the time to have a conversation.

And then at this point, she was approached by an extremely muscley man wearing a tight tank top. They exchanged greetings and we said goodbye. I didn't quite know what to say, I sorted of mumbled, have a good trip. I had been a target for this woman's American cultural dumping ground.

These past few days, as I've been detoxing from my travels, I've been thinking, a bit obsessively, about how much healthier it is at home, or how much easier one can have a healthy lifestyle (I just can't seem to give up my qualms about eating non-organic produce and my extreme exposure to air pollution); today I was dreaming about having an organic farm in Vermont . . . so then why the heck am I in Argentina? Well, as I believe that you attract what you need at the moment, here I received a rather hostile reflection of perhaps my own thoughts. As this woman went on and on with her rants, I just kept thinking how wonderful America is, it's the greatest place on earth! And that's because it's home. And perhaps that's what she was telling me. Argentina is not my home, but I'm here for now, so enjoy it!
And I am enjoying it, don't get me wrong! But culture shock is real, and I have been experiencing it (even though I thought I'd be immune by now after living abroad before).

I came across some useful info on culture shock here:
http://edweb.sdsu.edu/people/cGuanipa/cultshok.htm

Symptoms:
Sadness, loneliness, melancholy
Preoccupation with health
Aches, pains, and allergies
Insomnia, desire to sleep too much or too little
Changes in temperament, depression, feeling vulnerable, feeling powerless
Anger, irritability, resentment, unwillingness to interact with others
Identifying with the old culture or idealizing the old country
Loss of identity
Trying too hard to absorb everything in the new culture or country
Unable to solve simple problems
Lack of confidence
Feelings of inadequacy or insecurity
Developing stereotypes about the new culture
Developing obsessions such as over-cleanliness
Longing for family
Feelings of being lost, overlooked, exploited or abused

It's a funny thing what happens when you take yourself out of your comfort zone. But I suppose that was my point all along, as I've found that getting too comfortable can become quite uncomfortable, no matter how much I might long for my comforts at this moment.

P.S. a great sound to run to: 'Pump It' by the Black-Eyed Peas

Salta and beyond

I just spent the last ten days in the Salta province, located in the NW corner of Argentina, bordering Bolivia to the north and Chile to the west. I spent a few days in the city and the rest of the time exploring the rural mountainside. The city of Salta itself is very pretty and relaxed, but I was really there waiting to get a trekking trip worked out with a guide. I was not about to go into the mountains alone, knowing that hiking in this part of Argentina is quite different than Ireland in regards to sign markings, roads, towns, people - the usual stuff that keeps you from being completely cut-off from civilization. But I made the most of my time there and tried to limit my cnn viewing (the elections!).

The main things to do in Salta are: see the Spanish colonial cathedrals, go to the high-altitude moutain museum and see the frozen child that was found in the mountain (one of many that had been sacrificed), go up in a gondola to the top of a small mountain that overlooks the town, and best of all, sit at a cafe surrounding the main square, 9 Julio, and people-watch (although the constant begging and/or solicitations can be a bit of a nuisance). I'm most likely giving a lukewarm description of the endless activities that abound in this town, but I wanted to be in the mountains and let nature restore me while I was away from Buenos Aires.

So after my circuit around town, I signed up for a bus tour, as I was still waiting for a guide to get a group and trip together. Normally I hate these kinds of bus tours (and I didn't realize how long 14 hours was going to feel, especially after my 24-hour bus ride a couple of days before), but there was so much to see and I didn't really know how else I was going to see it without going from one town to another on the regular bus, day-by-day, not sure if where I end up will even be all that great, etc. Anyway, with this tour it was a love-hate relationship. Spectacular scenery, but then we were told by our guide, Estella, when it was a "kodak moment" and we could have 10 minutes to walk around at her selected stopping point. Of course I appreciate that she has done this trip hundreds of times and knows the layout of the land, but then where is the surprise and discovery?

We stopped for lunch in a place that felt like the middle of nowhere (probably because it was); a few adobe houses, some farm animals, a church, and a restaurant for tourists. We had delicious llama stew and empandas, malbec to drink, and a sweet corn porridge for desert. We were a group of ten that consisted of Dutch, Spanish, Cuban, Argentinian, and American. The election results were just out, so we naturally toasted to Obama.

Back on the bus, I sat, looking out the window at the views, the bumpy roads and my tailbone killing me, pain leftover from an accident when, as a nine-year-old, I fell from the pipes in my parents' basement, practicing for a future game of paranas against my sisters. I had some other worthwhile flashbacks to Japan as well: my stay at the Buddhist Zen monastery with my sister, where I was sitting in half-lotus, my legs falling asleep and turning purple, and the Zen-master saying to the group that if you feel pain, you should ask yourself why do you feel this pain? So there I was on the bus and asked myself, why do I feel this pain? And tried to detach and have a Zen moment. It didn't really work and I developed a pounding headache from the high altitude instead (around 3700 meters).

Estella passed out coca leaves for people that were feeling unwell and instructed us to put them in our mouths like chewing tobacco, first placing them on top of each other, then rolling them into a tube. I'm not sure if I felt anything, but it was fun to try it. I guess it's illegal to take coca leaves over the border for many kilos can produce a gram or two of cocaine. I was talking to someone that was on a bus and there was a coca leaf raid where the police officers found bags and bags of the stuff under the bus driver's seat. But while in Salta, you can buy the leaves anywhere, and the locals mix it with some sort of sodium bicarbonate to get a buzz.

Perhaps the coca leaves were the most interesting part of the tour. The scenery was awesome, like I said, and I took pictures until my battery ran out, but it really just felt like one step up from looking at photographs in a book - no time to absorb what I was seeing, to experience it in depth. It was just skimming the surface. This is why I prefer walking long distances.

There were two Dutch girls on the tour, cousins traveling together, and toward the end of the tour, one told me that her mother had just passed away less than a year ago so her dad decided to walk the Camino to Santiago, starting in Holland. It took him 3.5 months. Then she mentioned a back story from the movie Steel Magnolias, that on the set Julia Roberts was complaining about how hot she was in the southern heat and Shirley MacClaine, another fellow Camino-walker, told her to just be happy to even be alive and be where she was at that moment, to realize how lucky she is to even be able to experience being too warm. This stuck with the Dutch girl and it stuck with me as something I'd like to remind myself of when I start complaining. After all of that I felt rather silly that here I was, in one of the most beautiful parts of the world, complaining (even if not aloud, I was clearly uncomfortable), and this girl was most likely grieving and suffering the loss of her mother, not wanting to take a moment for granted.
Well, that was the tour. Another day passed and finally the excursion was set to go....

Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome

This was the souvenir shop at Salinas Grandes. The artisans wore sunglasses and scarves over their faces to protect them from the elements. You could buy salt sculptures fashioned as cacti here. (Note the motorcycles in the background.)