Anoche (last night) I consumed something similar to a Spanish tortilla but different. It was made of eggs, and had an omelette-like consistency, but instead of vegetables or meat, it had pasta inside! Interesante. I have eaten many wonderful duraznos (peaches). I love peaches. But only really good ones. You know? Apples are generally tasty, but peaches have to be at the perfect ripeness and softness and sweetness, and then they are amazing. While breakfast and lunch are often mere snacks, dinner here is a big deal. Mi mamá and I sometimes spend an hour and a half talking and eating. It is a lovely time to talk over our days, discuss culture differences, and to hear all sorts of amusing stories about her friends and family accompanied by dramatic hand gestures the whole time. It’s an awesome feeling when she tells a story and I actually understand all of what’s going on, and then realize that we have something else in common. I sometimes struggle to get my exact point across when we are discussing complex issues, but she is very patient. When I finally convey my message in the way that I would like, I see a light of understanding cross her face, and she always has more stories to tell in relation to what I said. We usually leave the apartment at different times in the morning, and sometimes she leaves me sweet notes, telling me what options there are for my breakfast. I wrote a note to mi mamá when I was going to bed and she wasn’t home, and mi hermana (sister) Ana Lucía told me that it was written very well, but it is awkward to sign “amor” (love) at the end of a letter. It doesn’t translate the same here as it does when we say “love” before signing our name. She suggested using “chau” (bye!) or “besos” (kisses). That’s helpful to know.
I made some friends who seem really cool. It’s funny because in the program, there are 150 people and sometimes the different groups get out of orientation at different times, so I usually just walk around Recoleta (the barrio where we have orientation) with whoever gets out at the same time as I do. Often times, it’s different people every day. This is fun, but it is difficult to form lasting friendships since I don't see the same group repeatedly. I am becoming closer with a few people that are very laid-back and accepting. During our hour and a half break today, we walked to the obelisk and saw a demonstration. I don’t know exactly why these people were on strike, but they were parading around “el centro” with posters that said “Nestor vive” and also things about Perón. Nestor is the deceased husband of the current president of Argentina, Cristina Fernández de Kirchner. Protests are very common here since Buenos Aires is a very politically-oriented city. Sometimes professors at the universities go on strike and classes are canceled! We walked around and enjoyed the beautiful weather, and I felt genuinely happy to be alive.
In orientation today we talked about the political spectrum here and which political views the different social classes generally have. It is very confusing because the Spanish word “conservador” means “liberal” in English, and the Spanish word “radical” means “center” in English. This is backwards for North-Americans and hurts my head to discuss. In the “castellano” section of my orientation, we are improving our Spanish and learning the proper way to speak like an Argentine. There are different verb forms and a different accent, like I mentioned in my second post (i.e. “cah-shay”). There are only 5 distinct vowels in Spanish, while we have many forms of different vowels. I have learned before and was told again today that there is a critical period for learning languages and being able to speak a different one from your native tongue without an accent. After this critical period (I’m not sure exactly what age), you will always have an accent in other languages (even if it’s not too noticeable) no matter how long you study it. Because Spanish only has 5 vowels, my instructor told me that he will never be able to distinguish between the vowel sounds in the English words “ran” and “run.” He knows that there is a difference, but since he didn’t learn English until later in life, his brain does not register these sounds as distinct from one another. It is the same for some subtle phonetic differences in Spanish words that I will never be able to detect.
Nicknames here are very common and while some might sound mean or rude to norteamericanos, they are meant affectionately here. For example, “gordo” means fat, and people might call their friends “gordito” or “gordita” in a caring way, sometimes even if they are not fat. There is less hyper-political correctness here, and it is not at all offensive to call someone “negro” or “negrita”, while in the United States, this might create tension. I admire this attitude in a way, because while I understand the intention of political correctness, I think it is sometimes so overblown that one is drawing more attention to people’s differences rather than making them feel more included or comfortable. I guess it’s a difficult issue to resolve and maybe it’s impossible to make everyone happy.
One of my new friends and another girl got robbed a few days ago on the bus. They didn’t even notice it happening, but someone cut their purses with a knife and stole their wallets. I don’t understand how the people here are so good at this! My first thought would be: how could you not notice that someone was cutting open your purse? But apparently it’s a mischievous art form. Knowing that this is happening to people that I know and it’s not just a myth to scare us into being safe, I am starting to count my blessings every time I come home and discover that all of my possessions are still in my bag.
The elevators in my apartment building are not automatic, which is a different experience for me. I never understood how people could fall down an elevator shaft like they show in TV shows (like in Boy Meets World when Cory is having nightmares about pushing all of his friends down one), but now I understand. It’s a bit scary, realizing that you can open the gate when the elevator is not on your floor and fall right down into the depths of doom. I hope they have a trampoline at the bottom, just in case!
On the public buses, conversations are rare, even between friends. Everyone always appears to be tired from waking up early to haul themselves off to work, or worn out from the day's trials. It appears that everyone is distant from each other mentally even though we are all so physically close together. However, when we pass a Catholic church, it is amazing to see most of the people on the buss cross their hearts at the same time and look toward the sky. The majority of the population in Argentina is Catholic, and it is interesting to see this gesture that brings people together, even when they are not talking or interacting. It helps me see the unity in this country. Everyone is traveling to different places, but we are all riding the same bus.
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