Here´s to Angelica

Because I love her. The best part of finals has probably been getting up close and personal with my friend and fortress, Geli. Angelica is a question asker of great propensity, a muscle of determination, and a legend of humor. Actually, I get the sense that most of her jokes, spoken in Spanish underbreath, are completely over my head. The jokes I get, I like.

I think about Angelica alot. It was mostly her sweetness and humble attitude that drew my attention to her, her impressive kindness and endless curiosity. She is generous with respect and listens selflessly. She sits at the front of class and I started the year here by her side, listening to whatever inventive information Rodrigo delivered.

But Angelica is not passive. I think that everything she has, she uses. She grabs information for fun and power and seems to challenge all ideas. And still, she does not seem to need to defeat others. Rather, she seems to live to see growth.

Angelica´s a natural leader. She doesn´t try to really, but just knows what´s going on and people can see that.

She´s adorable.
She´s got a sharp wit.
She´s inviting, welcoming.
She celebrates easily
She remembers things

I like the way she cringes at the mockery of mistakes, or at least her lack of interest in the subject. I like the way she gets excited to see lively music and the way she can make fun of everything without malice. Just reality. She doesn´t seem defensive, doesn´t seem self important, and doesn´t seem self depreciating either, maybe for lack of time or appetite. Not concerned with perfection for importance´ sake but rather for understanding. She just moves forward. Somehow, I imagine her as a younger and mas mexicana version of the Sue I know and love. She seems to possess the same balance and power, humor and humanity. More interested, I think, in doing, laughing and co-ing than pretty much anything else. When she talks about herself, she is comfortable but not absorbed in the subject.

She radiates, but I don´t think she cares.

Good luck to her in all of her undertakings! I´ll be glad to maintain a lifelong friendship if at all possible.

Life!

Life. Productivity. Success.

I just exist these days. After the earthquake, I can just be thankful. So when my plans fall through, when it feels like days pass without great accomplishment or success, I go back to the basics. I remember that I have shelter, food, and a heartbeat. I have a great network of heartbeats and caring beings, actually, so I am stronger than just one living body.

Today, I am trying to find housing. This is a challenge since I´m less than effective lately. In fact, half of the things I raise to my lips to eat fall back down. I lose things and have trouble focusing. But with time and patience, I will settle into a routine and normalcy.

Somehow, I was completely duped with my previous arrangement which I find discouraging. I momentarily lost focus for resenting the people involved for a time. As it turns out, I have better things to do than hang onto anger. The only thing to do is move forward. I hope that I pick up a home, patience, an attention span, and perspective in my attempt to do so. Where is my sense of humor? I´m waiting for it´s return.

Terremoto

My experience with earthquakes so far has been somewhat different for me. My moodswings may have something to do with my very shaken sleep, the absence of my boyfriend, unnerving aftershocks, a lack of jokes, and the devastation of this country. I want to punch the next aftershock that comes through. In truth, being active is the best way to air out my grouchiness, but I can´t just continue moving forever.

Eh, oops

I don´t completely agree with the things I said yesterday. I´m embarrassed even to have thought that things were so orderly and simple. Can I make up for it by saying that my heart is with the people of this country as they try to recover their lives?

Concepción is in dire need.

Bikin on Loverly Lady Luck

Outside of the center of town, I found that lines were tremendous in the groceries not too damaged and that the earthquake defeated buildings felt funereal in presence. I´m glad of course not to be waiting in hopelessly long lines to fill my gas tank as I empty the car of it´s fuel. There are many sad pods of homeless neighbors I´m glad not to be a part of and sad faces on the news that luckily are not mine, nor those of my loved ones. I have several places near by to restock on bread and toilet paper. I think I witnessed today the growing force of forgetting. There was dust and failed construction, sadness and sweet cream.

My heart, as it does exist, goes out to those hurt and endangered by this event, those nervously waiting to hear from loved ones, and those desperate for health attention and basic resources. I´m glad that the prisoners that escaped in the quake seem to have been recovered. I´m also achingly depressed in thinking of those trying to escape with their families via car as the tsunami swept away their traffic jammed efforts. I´m even sad about thinking that my life just isn´t that different now that they´re gone. Sadness could be consuming in Santiago at present, in Chile at large, or for anyone aware of the lives of others. And I´m still glad for a little sensitive in my coffee. I guess I´m just glad to feel alive and glad. I remember that life is a rich gift.

So is my bike.

Recently, Claudio took me to a place where Lady Luck was affordable and available. I took her home the day before the quake and I am so happy to be with her now. To break from yesterday´s fearful home lockdown, today I took the opportunity to ride the streets with my wonderful new bike around Santiago along with my camera to see how things are holding up. I started with some of the destruction sites from news shots that have been cycling through the news. Of course, destruction is a more interesting subject than normalcy and it happened to be what had brought me out doors, but I found my focus changing slightly once in motion. Life was almost normal.

So that´s the subject of many of my pictures. Life is just happening like always, people moving on. We were in the grips of a weird and shaky perspective, and then the danger lessened. Tension relaxed. People still enjoy a good ice cream cone and stroll. I found people moving like unmotivated half zombies and a few people gathering to photograph building crumbs, but most of what I saw just wasn´t what CNN had showing and it didn´t sound like it´s deathly sountracks either. Aint no body gonna hold Santiago citizenry back from walking through Plaza de Armas or eating sweets with friends. I appreciated a little normalcy and tried to capture both ordinary and less ordinary wreckage of my town before hygienic forces put it back together again.

My bike, as it turns out, is more present in my mind then all of the death and destruction in my residence. That which I see, feel, and use are the only things my mind can consider real and concern itself with. Even though my mind is undisciplined and wandering, imaginative and fanciful, it apparently rooted to simple restrictions of tangibility, and these days, glideability.

Living Life Like....

Santiago is almost without music. I realized today that tunes are missing in this town suddenly when the sound of a lively radio licked me from inside a decrepit building. I wasn´t expecting it. Street musicians and singing on buses for change, the lively beats from roommate's machines and the house radio are normalcy and central to my system. That radio was the second sound that shook and unrattled my somber nerves today.

The first sound that brought light to life today was my roommate's excited cheering. Whatever he was saying in loud Italian was a happy awakening in a serious condition, a beat in today's march. Personally indifferent to most sports events, I was ready to cheer along side Seba while Napoli won 2 to 1 in their futbol game this morning. Having forgotten the sound of excitement and recreational cheer, Seba was momentarily my duel savior and best friend.

Thirdly was the sound of life in the midnight street of Ñuñoa. Popping laughter was newly refreshing to hear in the night´s dark; it announcing with joy that everything on the neighborhood street again seemed simple, tranquilo. The kids were doing what kids do without danger´s looming presence, picking on each other, giggling, and moving around. I felt like going outside and exchanging sounds and life with the neighbors, having nothing interesting in content to share, just wanting to enjoy in good company the show of lights.

Pleased

I am pleased to have found some recycle art fans through Facebook in my very town!

Lunas y Lunares is the name of my recent favorite artist. She makes papel mache art and jewelry and even welcomes others to join her in outer Ñuñoa, in Villa Macul. I probably won´t take advantage of the open offer, but it makes me happy to see nonetheless.

So as I continue to collect favorable arguments for the use of Facebook, I have to proclaim myself a fan of this woman´s site and of the other nuts I found through a Chilean recycling network. Additionally, I appreciate the connectivity of travelers and stayers. Through Facebook, I connected with the hostel in Valparaiso that I enjoyed staying in while Angie was in town. I hope to share photos through this connection and recover a lost journal.

F.ing genius

So, since I am a genius and since I don´t have the assigned materials for making paper, since I want to reuse the newspaper that I have and create something new and wonderful, I spent an afternoon making one giant sheet of paper on my cooking tray. Today I could no longer pretend that the dulling color was anything but mold. Today I also discovered that my banana bread project had fermented without yielding anything worth tasting, smelling or touching. It´s mold day, wasted time and money day.

On the up, however, I did find a new apartment where rent is about half of what I pay now. With the money saved, I plan to buy lots of food and let it rot in my new room. It´s closer to my buddy´s house, which is wonderful. On top of it all, my friend Angie is coming to town. I´m so excited, I can´t sleep. Now THAT is saying something. Life can be really sweet.

Embecinada

Es la palabra del dia. Nice word of the day, isn´t it? Sitting next to my Merriam Webster, dictionary.com, and urbandictionary words of the day is that of spanishwordofthedayatmylist.net´s EMBECINADA, meaning stubborn and determined. I like this.

Though I was thinking this morning, half alive before the sun came, that being determined doesn´t have to mean doing great things. I read an article about a 90 yr old Inca descendant who´s great marker of success and determination is existing as a relative of past leaders. Once you reach 100, determination is existing to eat birthday cake. As for me, a 20 something, success and determination ranges from consistently living with minimal sleep, producing academic work to just eating well and fulfilling my most basic promises. Right now my determination level is really modest, I guess. Still, I want to hold on to the word embecinada for the moments where remembering to be stubborn is most needed.

Maternal disease

I want to borrow kids, feed them, entertain them, read with them, explore with them, and not have them. I guess I want to be a mommy mundial without the responsibility of making sure they grow up right.

This maternal thing is a strong force to be reckoned with, but I still don't have even an itch of interest in carrying my own. I'm not there. Not that organized, mature, or reliable, employed or otherwise desiring. Still, I am starstruck in the presence of each kid and wish that I had the freedom to interact with each one and be received well.

What's cool is that I'm meeting lots of young women that feel the same while traveling. And in even more extreme levels. For some, marriage is out of the question, for some, just not an interest. Lots don't even consider having kids in the next 15 years. I'm meeting people that are more in love with, say, music than men. Something about that is really cool to me.

Love Molly, love what she do

"One small zipper pouch, one giant step back from the edge of despair."

This quote was, well, beautiful.

Plus, I drooled all over myself laughing when I read

"

I can save a few trees and a few steps for our postman Randall, and there is the added benefit of not having to see a real estate agent in white pants. Someone really should tell her you can see right through them "

...from the green section.

Oh thank whatever for blogs and fam.

Hostels and Transportation in Argentina, where time went

Hosteles

Telmotango Hostel Suite (San Telmo)(GREAT staff, Recommendable) $55 Arg. Pesos

Tanguera (San Telmo) (Eh) $42 Arg. Pesos

Hostel 1 (Palermo) (Eh+) $40

Hostel Cultural Corrientes 3594 (GREAT) $45

Iguazu Falls Hostel (Eh) $40

Cordoba Backpackers (Eh+) $40

Hostel International Mendoza (Seemed Great. RECOMMENDED) $40

Because of Booking Err from Cordoba staff to Mendoza, I was told to come here though my reservation was actually made in the following listed place. I ate good (hostel style) breakfast, loved the staff, and then had to go to the less central and more mediocre site to sleep. Of course, you meet great people in hostels, anywhere, but I would come back to this site without a doubt.

Mendoza Inn (Good) $40

Transporte

Buenos Aires SUBTE metro $2 per ride Arg. Pesos

Public Bus (depends on trip) $1.50 AP typically

Tigre Iguazu De Buenos Aires A Iguazu $227

Expreso A. Del Valle De pto. Iguazu A MINAS WANDA $10 Arg. Pesos

Expreso Singer De Iguazu a Cordoba $298 Arg. Pesos

Sarmiento De Cordoba a Alta Gracia $6 Arg. Pesos

Sarmiento De Alta Gracia a Carlos Paz $10.50 Arg. Pesos

Car- Cor De Carlos Paz A Cordoba $7 Arg. Pesos

Chevallier De Cordova A Mendoza $184 Arg. Pesos

Nevada De Mendoza A Santiago $80 Arg. Pesos

Jueves, January 07, 2010

Saw MATAR A VIDELA at a theater on Av Rivadavia 1635. The theater was breathtaking, the movie, forgettable. Although I basically didn't know who Videla was beforehand. At least I learned something basic about Argentina. To be fair, I couldn't exactly follow the film.

Viernes, January 08

Bellas Artes AV> DEL LIBERTADOR 1473

AMAZING art museum. I saw Paul Gauguin, Camille Pissarro, Vincent Van Gogh, Claude Monet, Edgard Degas, Edouard Manet, Jean Louis Forain, Pierre Auguste Renoir, Joaquin Sorolla, Francisco P Zargoza, Luis Felipe Noe, Marc Chagall, Pablo Picasso, Mark Rothko, Franz Kline, Francisco de Goya y Lucientes, and a Pollock. Bullox on Pollock.

Recoleta, walking. Saw the sad library, the National Library, which is not even open through the Summer.

Soft Cheese (yummy brie like cheese is easy to come by) in bread for lunch.

Wandered through the very commercial Santa Fe strip.

Sabado, January 09

El Ateneo Bookstore, large and beautiful converted opera house. Bought Spanish to Japanese book.

I had time to read a very strange comic book version of Peter Pan, which I will not be giving to my cousin Peter as I had planned. Peter Pan is a sexually abused bastard with an alcoholic mother. Adults are twisted and he doesn't want to be one. His father's friend looks out for him somewhat, offering food and even shelter. He gives Peter a book that the abandoning father had left behind and Peter runs from his murderous mothers house to a shack where he wildly devours the print. Interesting.

Coffeeshop on Corrientes. The place was a ok, with two stories. I wrote lists and lists of lists while waiting for the movie to start.

Discount Movie. A bookstore Libreria Libertador on Corrientes gave me the tip to go next door and see what shows were available at discount. Even current theater and movies were available. I saw ABRAZOS ROTOS, an Almodovar movie. It was great, of course. The movie theater was quite a few blocks away but also on Corrientes.

Domingo, January 10

Poesia Cafe was really great. It sits on Chile Av, not far from the hostel. There are people there late, reading, writing or just being family. An array of crafted cheese and bread were offered. I had a glass of wine and wrote at length about my mother. I had staring contests with an attractive dude that was downing whiskey and reading. He looked like a smart cookie and a musician or something. Another girl sat by herself, eating whatever, writing in her notebook, and drinking. I saw her snooze a touch. She was Asian and looked to be about my age, but I don't think I caught her attention.

My roommate's snoring was so very profound that I abandoned all hope of sleep. Even the attendant at the hotel was snoozing, occupying the common space and making it impossible to use the computer. The room was cut off for, he said, the fogging of the room, which he needed to do early enough to clear the air before breakfast. Yet he didn't mind sleeping in the room after fumigating it. I saw lots of this RAID situation. RAID is terrifying to me, so I don't see why so many kitchens and eating spaces, in this case sleeping spaces, are casually sprayed down and then occupied as if nothing had happened. For me, bombing an area is a big undertaking because afterwards I don't want to be eating off of the sprayed surfaces or having too much direct contact with the items covered in insecticide.

Anyway, I went to the bar and met some fun people.

Met a Suis music teacher that is in love with her guitar. She was beautiful and I liked her. She came to Buenos Aires to tango, which I also liked. The next step for her is to return to study and become a music therapist. All very cool.

Lunes, January 11

Packed up and found a place in Palermo to sleep. Met up with Federico, who I met at the first hostel and he treated me to a show and beer. Good guy. Bomba de Tiempo was the group and they played at Konex. The beats killed me. His friends seemed less gringa friendly, but I boogied with some girls that I met in the crowd and we took care of each other. Adriana had been there with her buddies too, which we didn't realize until the following day. On the walk home with Federico, I was terribly tired. We had followed the beat to another bar, left it and found another, ate pizza and drank more, and went on our way. I half drunkenly tried to salvage scraps of fabric from the street which I was certain about needing to reuse. Those things got thrown away, sadly. I am never going to knit them and I collect too many things to carry on my back.

I checked out of the Palermo Hotel 1 the next day and left it to stay with Adriana and her two buds in the Hostel International. Best move ever. At the Palermo place, I had shared a room with an amazing climber from Ecuador who really made me want to see his country. He was some chef rockstar and martial arts pro, rugged and action oriented. He had a lot to prove and I left without saying goodbye.

Martes, January 12

I went walking. I thought it would help. After having some difficulty meeting up with and communicating with Adriana through limited internet access and without phones, I thought exercise was the answer. Walking and seeing more of Palermo was not as helpful as I thought. I found myself overwhelmed and wanting to leave the city. I felt unhealthy, malnourished, smogged to death, hungry for sushi, lonely, and restless. I bought salad supplies and put them in my knit bag, which reminds me of Julia and the beauty of my favorite women. I took my greens back to the hostel, made real contact with Adriana, and took my everything to go.

Seeing Adriana was the best part of my day, if not week. She and her friends were good company and made me want to learn Portuguese and go to Brazil. Adriana and I went to San Telmo together to collect more of my things that I had left behind and returned to the hostel after eating a giant salad with Alan. Later we went to eat pizza and fugazza on Corrientes. The hostel crew was cool.

Miercoles, January 13

Alan left at some obnoxious hour, and I didn't get to say goodbye. Adriana and I went to La Boca and el Caminito and then to the cemetery in Recoleta before meeting up with Marcos. Also we secured our bus tickets to Iguazu for the following day. We had planned to meet Marcus at 5 at the McDonalds in the Recoleta Village shopping center. What we hadn't realized was that everything was under construction. Having given up on meeting with Marcos, Adriana and I sat down to eat. Marcos walked by and we were overjoyed. Next was a hunt for banana splits and more walking. I bought a series of books written by a Uruguayan male prostitute and we happily made our way back to the hostel. Wine and cheese on the terrace were the cap on the night and I loved the hammock that held me there.

Jueves, January 14 and Viernes, January 15

Bus trip to Iguazu! 18 hours. Arrival and settling at the mediocre hostel we found there. I read some and walked some with Adriana. We made a meal and ate one out at Flavor Station.

Sabado, January 13

Iguazu national park, from morning till afternoon, baby!! Wonderful Iguazu. Adriana and I went on some boat ride and got goofy happy with other tourists that love to be sprayed by waterfall h20. We climbed and explored until the absolute last moment. My favorite part was throwing my hands up and smiling right into one huge downpour. I felt like I was the waterfall. Adriana and I took pictures of ourselves from every angle, with every stop and new path and sign, with butterfly pests, and with new acquaintances and coati lunch snatchers.

Finished the first of the books written by the prostituto.

IGUAZU

$85 Arg. Pesos to enter the park

Couldn't bye a bus ticket at the last minute to Mendoza. Decided from Annie's advice to go to Cordoba instead of spending 2 days on a bus to the Andean side of Argentina. I think it was a good idea to break up the trip and stop in the middle of the country.

Domingo, January 14

WANDA

$6 pesos para entrar

Beautiful and humble. Kids swarm to sell you precious stones. You see the mine and the red earth road. You get the impression that the people don't see much else.

Lunes, January 15

Cordoba trip, alone.

FOME

I had the great opportunity to travel through Argentina after the new year and before my final semester in Chile. I find that for the most part, vacation picks up right as it´s about to end, which is what happened in my departure from Argentina. Good byes seem to bring the connections that I want, and I now know the people worth spending time with in the country I have just left.

Mendoza is a place I will want to revisit. It´s got a pleasant city vibe, set with a shining night life and great hostels, theoretical art, and natural beauty. Not too far away are the settings of rafting trips, hiking trails, mountain whatevering, and wine. There are hot springs, rosy quartz forms, both clean and nasty riverwater, and visible stars at night. Spanish is everywhere but so are the travelers of all sounds. Coffee is easy to find and the prices are really reasonable. I feel good being in a place where education through college and health care are free to normal blowjos.

The micro that I took through nighttime mountainrange was more like a short bus. It was a van, really. The discount trek was good, though definitely not sleep friendly or fast. The people smooshed in our lil ride was goodfolk, a mix of Argentinians and Chileans. My bag was the size of a passenger, which could have caused a conflict, but by way of shoving and stuffing, each person and their belongings made it on board. Including the driver, we were 12. We could call the van, "broken promises" from the lack of certain amenities, but none of them bothered me. The little jimmyrigged tv set up didn´t work; nor did the good music stations, all of which was ok by me. The promised coke and starter food didn´t really seem too appealing and I was sick of the disposable trays of shitty food that other bus lines had given me. We wasted so much packaging, and I assume gas, on the other trips in fancy buses!

So in the beginning of the trip, before I started to resent the cold, I was entirely in love with my setup. I had enough room, I was comfortable, and the cutout of the dark mountainshape against the stars was stunning. There was more community than individualism on this ride. In comparison with the bigger buses I traveled on, this was a big difference. The other bus rides were absent of eye contact or conversation, touching or connectivity. In the short bus, there was often enough an ass in my face and a joke, and comment and unavoidable name exchanges. Stops would have been miserable in the tin if it weren´t for the chatty attitude of the others with me. In contrast, stops in other buses would have just allowed everyone to roll over and sleep more.

I don´t mean to glorify mediocre to shitty travel conditions and I´m glad that I have had many more comfortable rides throughout Argentina. Seriously doubting too any notion that others on board were celebrating less waste or some kind of community atmosphere, but I mention the differences that I notice nonetheless. I just want to find the reasons I liked being on a tiny bus. Maybe I just don´t like the distance between people on the other buses or the less mutual feeling between driver and passenger. It could be the prepaid plastic food and the huge bags of garbage that they accumulate on board fancy pants buses. Maybe I just like doing whatever seems more economical because it curbs my sense of unemployment guilt though, in reality, the mini bus from ancient times is not so much of a money saver. It´s almost like taking a Grayhound bus rather than Amtrak in Sacramento, which are worlds apart in quality and close neighbors in price.

Still, I think there is a certain pulse that community brings. The bucket I took from Argentina to Chile brought that oxygen and flow where the other experiences I´ve have been dead and sleepy. Crying on other buses, for example, bothers me. The cries come from faceless things and nameless mothers, not traveling sidekicks. But when you are traveling at the hip of others, the people you are with are peers and not invaders of personal space. Their noises are just people reasonable. I walked away from the trip cross country having shared some kind of border torture with people I will continue to be in contact with and I´m glad it worked out the way it did. That said, I have to mention in reality that I was not thrilled to be dealing with customs at 4:30 am or the traffic build up before it, though conversation all the while was good and the jacket loan, sweet.

One of these gaps of time shared with other border crossers brought the topic of Chilean and Argentinian cultural differences. This topic is a golden one and I love hitting on it. Each viewpoint on the matter is interesting to me. Bring on the generalities and stereotypes! I want to hear it all. One thing insisted upon from a true Argentinian was the boring nature of the Chilean. "Fome" is the Chilean word for boring. According to this guy, Chileans don´t want to get up and seek the action, make a party happen, or do anything. They wait for things to happen. This is interesting to me, since my experience in Chile has been more partytastic than I can keep up with. I feel like I can´t keep up with the Chilean party pace in general. Any place that has clubs open all night and many people getting down till the sun comes up is impressive to me. The fact that Chileans have their own verb for party to the death, or "carrete" says something to me. Besides that, the party´s don´t get started until late, like the last meal. I´d like to see what the Argentinian party can do.

But then I want to defend the fome. Others talking about fome seem to include the reader as boring. The tv watcher, the rathernotpartyer, the quiet, seem to be the boring face of people. So is the shopper more interesting because of physical movement? The mover and shaker more compelling? What about the person that stays at home rather than hopping planes to different places? I think a lot of these ideas of boring and fun are consumption based. What about the cheapo? I´m more interested in hearing thoughts of someone who has done plenty of processing than the one who rattles off his adventures. The latter that I´ve met seems more of an insecure person in desperate need of distraction.

These very notes are just rough sketches, by the way. I don´t know if I´ll see this differently within the hour...

Adios Buenos Aires

To the people of Buenos Aires, I will miss you. Your sexy smoke tones of porteño Spanish, amiability, and the museums and bookstores you own and demand, I love. The international mezcla, I adore. The music, sublime. Your affordable blueberries and incredible bus system, a hard act to follow. I´m going to Iguazu where hopefully the smog is less dense and where a girl can get waterfalls and ruins in one place.

Spooked

Not wise, watching a movie about murder and walking home in a new city at night. The trouble with me is that I don´t trust taxi drivers or cops more than the people on the street. I trust mothers with children and people that look like middle class office workers, for no good reason. I don´t trust large groups of children, people that stare without hiding it, or trash piles. For some reason, I feel spooked walking by piles of trash on the street. Buenos Aires is full of such stuff. Maybe it´s that I associate crime with overturned trashbins. Tonight, I felt like April from the Ninja Turtles, walking over grates and hodgepodge waste. I was hoping the half shells would come rescue me if anything jumped from my shadow or rose from the depths of unlit streetcorners. I would feel unsure of myself until some carefree young couple walked by, a jogger would pass, or some elderly person would stroll by. My confidence and sense of security would again soar, dip again when some tall passing man mutters sex under his breath, and rise in seeing a full restaurant, lit well.

It´s funny what makes me feel safe and what makes me fearful. Eating sugary foods has actually (though not after Christmas) made me feel safe in uncertain times. The most sugary, fatty snacks should leave me shaking in my boots. In public, the oddest conditions change me from easy going to uptight. For example, seeing a black couple, business caj eating at a restaurant nearby on an apparent date, made me feel comfortable and more easy on my walk. As far as the later goes, could there be a logic to fearing a neighborhood without diversity? Does it show general acceptance? Not likely. While by no means does racial diversity spell safety, I cannot feel right in places without it. What I´m describing isn´t a moral that I´ve decided on, but something that I´ve noticed about myself; I´m trying to understand why I feel so jumpy and distrustful of skin tone homogenies. Why does it make me feel physically unsafe? No sé.

Buenos Aires

Well after not having done anything on this site since September, I´m newly interested in airing my dirty laundry online. Is it the air? I´m just so happy at the moment to be in South America. What´s funny is that I was so sad to leave Santiago and California both, yet content in arriving in each new place. Now that I´m in BA, I´m going to have to start preparing myself anew for departure. I truly suck at transition.

So my first impressions of Buenos Aires seem to be heavily resting on the initial experiences in the airport. The airport feels clean and open. I felt comfortable, right off the plane. The surprise fee bothered me, but the people dealing with me were wonderful. They treated me very humanely, which I found surprising. One girl came out from her booth to talk to her boss about my case and returned to explain the haps without excitement, defensiveness, or trouble. She apologized and let me know what had to happen next. The other girl was also relaxed and communicative without being short or cold. The more time that passes, the more these skills are impressive to me. I am more and more surprised and awed by friendliness or general kindness. I want to thank people for their kindness, even when small. Something, however, stops me from just saying, "thank you for being nice to me." Maybe in a year or two, a kind word will bring tears and unleashed gratidute. I used to think this stuff was standard. Maybe next year when I grovel to anyone practicing kindness and humanity, my habit of repeating myself will be even larger and in charger. Then I can repeat my grovelings and blubbery thanks. Thank you for being kind! Thank you! Thank you!

The rest of my judgement of Buenos Aires will probably have a lot to do with the expenses of meals, the way I do or don´t get robbed, my interractions with the police, and the public transportation system. If I go to a good party, I´ll probably tell the world that Buenos Aires is the 9th wonder of the world. If I don´t maybe I´ll go on to tell everyone what a sad, sleepy place this is.

I can´t relate to the couple that I met on the way to my hostel who seems to want to spend their vacation together like two pieces of wet paper. She wanted to go to museums, see art, and go to the Venice of Argentina. He wants not to plan anything and wander the streets. She said, ¨...and that´s fine¨with a damp look on her face. I asked if they would do separate things. Her response was one of surprise, saying as if obvious that they would stay together the whole time. This is where I got lost, since, as I said, I can´t relate. She said that she would rather spend time together than apart. Being that the couple was a middle aged, wedded unit, I immediately made assumptions about the relationship. I assume the two see each other regularly. I assume they do many things together. I assume both people will seriously compromise their way of seeing the city by being together every moment. Without talking to them or knowing anything, I start wondering if they fear being apart. And then I can hear my youthful arrogance. I´m looking on the surface of the lives of others, judging and thinking that my way of not being married is so much better. It is most likely that any amount of truth that I see from my position is greatly exaggerated and obviously there are complexities to their habits that I can´t see. Perhaps spending quality time with your spouse is not so easily done, whether or not you see one another daily. I wished them well and carried my heavy self up the stairs to my temporary residence where I was happy to be, alone or not. I wonder if that says anything about my maturity level.