Hola a todos! I'm in Resistencia, in the province of Chaco, Argentina right now, with internet for the first time in quite a few days! It has been a crazy week, starting with a sad goodbye, and since then there have been festivals, unexpected trips, food-robbers, and a voyage to every hotel in town.
I have gotten to know the feeling of an omnibus (the most common form of transportation in Argentina) and have perfected the sleep-upright-while-avoiding-contact-with-the-lady-next-to-me position, while munching on the preserved sandwich served at 11pm. I have now watched movies ranging from "It's Complicated" (chick-flick) to "Taken" (action-thriller about abduction of young people in a foreign country - not the best thing for me to watch, I must say), both with subtitles and dubbed with Spanish voices. I also now know that feeling that so many backpackers speak of when they speak of the strange feeling that all of their belongings are strapped to their body. Moving from place to place has its fair share of adventure, but has already made me want to take a break. I have had some trouble talking to some contacts, from meetings falling through to a surprise holiday when the entire city shut down to a detoured bus ride. The cool part is that I was able to focus the research portion of this week on poverty among the riches. That is, whenever there is a festival, the rich come. And whenever the rich come, so do the poor. In Chile, a holiday means no work, for anyone, and I still don't know what exactly they were celebrating.
Though I planned to head to the province of Chaco on Monday, no buses were able to make it to the city, so I spent 2 days in Catamarca, where Argentina's only winter festival was being held, a festival celebrating indigenous life and culture. It was interesting to witness this festival, because though it was celebrating the people who were traditionally subdued, put down, and forced into poverty, those who spent the most money on the celebrations were the ones whose ancestors forced these people into their separate communities. The hear the point of view of the mayor of Catamarca City, Catamarca contrasted with that of the chief of the Huarpes tribe fascinated me, that through history books and oral history two very different tales came to be. And though lined with a slight layer of tension, the festival served as a great opportunity to experience yet another culture in Argentina.
As I said, I am now in Chaco, in the capital city of Resistencia, the sculpture capital of the world, where yet another festival is being held, accompanied by contests and lectures. If I knew (or cared, for that matter) anything about sculpture, I'm sure I would know how lucky I am to experience the Bicentennial edition of this event. But instead, I sit, brooding over my lost sandwich that a stray dog stole, the oil stains that somehow appeared on my nice khaki pants, and the hotel shopping I did around town. Mind you, none of these hotels have websites, and even if they did, my computer battery managed to die - I'm talkin', dead, for good - so I couldn't look online. Hostels are not even in the question, as Chaco has absolutely nothing to give to an Australian, European, North American, or even local tourist (minus the sculptors and their enthusiasts). I took a bus instead of a taxi into the center of town, half to save the 75 extra cents and half to prove I could, and stepped off around a group of hotels. I had a map, but obviously no prices, and each hotel insisted that their price was the cheapest and that they knew of no other hotels in the area. So I took my 2 backpacks and 2 plastic bags and walked the 30-40 blocks (total) to each and every hotel in town. As I approached each building, I saw the prices, one more expensive than the other. I paused, wondering what lesson God was trying to teach me - not to be cheap? Settle with what I have? Don't push my limits? As I rounded the last corner, out of hope and ready for another starburst break (those things got me through the day), I walked into the luxor hotel, and found it: the Holy Grail of cheap 1-star hotels. for only eleven dollars, I got a full bed AND my own bathroom, and wi-fi and TV in the common area, all next to the central plaza! Then I realized the lesson: count my blessings. Twice. Everything looks so much better and nicer and cheaper compared to their ugly counterparts. This goes for people as well, as the receptionist, though not exactly happy, was at least willing to look at me without laughing at the immense amount of baggage I had surrounding me.
As I said earlier, I'm already ready for a break, and a break I shall take. I head off tonight to the world-famous Iguazu Falls, to apparently experience the awe-full sights and sounds of this tropical wonder. Hopefully it shall be another reminder of all of the things I should be thankful for, and how truly awesome this experience has the potential to be.
Until next time,
Will
Friday, July 23, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
El fin de un capitulo, la empieza de un otro
So it's "el fin," or the end, officially, of my stay with my host family today, and as I sit and reflect on the past 4.5 - 5 months with this family, it is strange to think about how I felt about them at the beginning: strangers who didn't pick me and who I didn't pick. We simply ended up together, hoping the other wasn't strange or high maintenance or mean. But today, the sentiment was completely different. I said goodbye and watched as my host mom started to cry, my host dad stopping his constant joking for a second to clear his throat and wish me safe travels, and my host sister taking a pause in her fervent argument with me to give a quick hug and a kiss. Gladys, who helps around the house, stopped making the potato pie with salad and milanesa (bread chicken) to wish me safe travels and tell me she was going to pray for me. What I had come to call "home" was getting smaller as I walked away, a backpacker's backpack on my back and a student's backpack around my front, carrying 4 plastic bags because I couldn't fit everything into my luggage, and a cheese-jelly sandwich in my mouth, the last of the delicious food my "mama" had shoved down my throat the past 5 months. Feeling quite emotional walking away from street Saint Mary of Gold and my Mendozan life, I needed something to put things into perspective and some time to think and write, so I did the only thing I knew to do: drop by an internet cafe/heladeria (ice cream shop) to eat some more and go on the computer. Boy will I miss the sweets of Mendoza and Argentina.
But the good thing is I still have some time left in Argentina to scoop up more dulce de leche ice cream, accompanied by the mini-cake aka alfajor aka little piece of heaven that Argentina is so known for. I have recently started my International Research summer, the third segment of the four summers generously subsidized as part of the Morehead-Cain Scholarship at UNC. My research is part sociological, part economic, based on poverty and the different ways that government, NGOs, and individuals treat those who are impoverished around the world. Already having experienced days speaking with individuals who are either impoverished or those who tirelessly work to better the lives of these people in Asia and North America, my goal was to go to every continent to investigate the intersection between human behavior, classism, culture, and economy. I have been able to perform "case studies" of the culture in Ban Phao, Laos (see previous blog entries), Washington, DC, the Triangle area of North Carolina, and Atlanta, Georgia in the US, Mendoza, Argentina, and Valparaiso and Santiago in Chile. My next step is Chaco, Argentina, the poorest province of the country, plagued with local government corruption, deforestation, destruction of indigenous way of living and society, and continuous problems with child labor and sex slavery. After that, I'm off to the beautiful Iguazu Falls (a new natural wonder of the World, Niagara Falls on steroids), then to visit friends and work for a week in Buenos Aires. I will also visit and work with friends who have connections with non-profit organizations in Montevideo, Uruguay, and on August 3 I head to Sevilla, Spain, to step foot on the 4th continent I've been to in a little over 1 year. I have a few connections in Spain, and plan to travel to Morocco (marking continent number 5!) until August 16th, when I will take my tired and traveled body back to Cary, North Carolina, with a home-cooked meal, laundry machine, and family waiting for me (hint, hint, Mom, Dad, and brothers). I am constantly amazed at how much I have been blessed, to be able to have the finances, time, and wonderful friends that have helped me be able to travel and change and learn and grow so much.
Speaking of growth, since last blog post, I certainly have grown. As I said, I was planning on running a marathon, and spent my first weekend in a hostel, ending the long weekend with the 42K (26.2) mile run. It was a struggle, but I got through it in around 3 hours and 40 minutes. Though from mile 15 to mile 26 I swore I would never run again and cursed my masochistic self for signing up for this hell, but at the 26.2 mile finish line, my attitude completely reversed. If I don't control myself, I might become obsessed with running marathons. It is a feeling like no other. The satisfaction and joy of completing the race, couple with the bananas, Gatorade, and medal, minus the excruciating pain in my leg muscles and uneasy digestion system, is compared to few others. I was able to meet people who were also running the marathon, and the bond was interesting, how we were able to spend so long conversing simply because we were both going to experience this race. I also made friends with other travelers at the hostel. For those of you who have experienced the hostel culture, you know what I mean when I say the hostel culture is, for lack of a better word, unique. A 30 year-old will come up to a 19 year-old, introduce himself in whatever language he sees fit, and the 19 year-old will invite him to dinner with the 2 others he is traveling with. A Frenchman and an Australian will bond over a hatred for a certain alcoholic drink popular within the community, and locals who are traveling for a three-day weekend will go out with foreigners traveling for 3 months. I was able to make a million connections, and was definitely in my element. Now I have connections and contact information for a 40 year-old man who lives with his mom in Southern Argentina, a Coloradoan guy who works in a Chilean ski slope, 4 collegiate females from Buenos Aires, and an Australian-Indian who offered me to stay in his house in Sydney in the future (which I totally plan to do). I thought I was going to meet Lance Armstrong, but he decided not to run the race because of some stupid thing called the Tour de France; but instead I met one of the top 5 marathoners in Argentina, who chatted with me about everything from politics to health and fitness over none other than a quarter-pounder McDonald's cheeseburger. But hey, if you run that much and that fast, you can eat whatever you want.
Classes ended, as well as the program, with an Almuerzo de Despedida (Goodbye Lunch) at a lush hotel. Afterward some friends and I went to about 5 of my favorite dessert/croissant places to say goodbye to the owners who by now knew me, not by name, but as "hombre que nunca termina" - the man who is never finished. Goodbyes are always so strange to me. In fact, I do whatever I can to avoid the goodbye. I always end it with a "see you soon," know that I, in fact, will most definitely NOT see them soon or a "can't wait until you visit me" promising that we OBVIOUSLY will have the time, money, and freedom to travel the hundreds or thousands of miles to see each other. I get awkward and fiddle with my hands and squirm so that I don't have to hug goodbye, and usually go for the thumbs-up or the high-five, because I'm afraid that one more hug will break me into pieces. Of course, this is all subconscious, and I don't think about the actually meaning of "Have a good life" until hours later, curled up on an airplane or a bus trying to keep every memory of that person or place alive so it will stick forever.
So see you soon, can't wait until you visit me, and until later,
Will
But the good thing is I still have some time left in Argentina to scoop up more dulce de leche ice cream, accompanied by the mini-cake aka alfajor aka little piece of heaven that Argentina is so known for. I have recently started my International Research summer, the third segment of the four summers generously subsidized as part of the Morehead-Cain Scholarship at UNC. My research is part sociological, part economic, based on poverty and the different ways that government, NGOs, and individuals treat those who are impoverished around the world. Already having experienced days speaking with individuals who are either impoverished or those who tirelessly work to better the lives of these people in Asia and North America, my goal was to go to every continent to investigate the intersection between human behavior, classism, culture, and economy. I have been able to perform "case studies" of the culture in Ban Phao, Laos (see previous blog entries), Washington, DC, the Triangle area of North Carolina, and Atlanta, Georgia in the US, Mendoza, Argentina, and Valparaiso and Santiago in Chile. My next step is Chaco, Argentina, the poorest province of the country, plagued with local government corruption, deforestation, destruction of indigenous way of living and society, and continuous problems with child labor and sex slavery. After that, I'm off to the beautiful Iguazu Falls (a new natural wonder of the World, Niagara Falls on steroids), then to visit friends and work for a week in Buenos Aires. I will also visit and work with friends who have connections with non-profit organizations in Montevideo, Uruguay, and on August 3 I head to Sevilla, Spain, to step foot on the 4th continent I've been to in a little over 1 year. I have a few connections in Spain, and plan to travel to Morocco (marking continent number 5!) until August 16th, when I will take my tired and traveled body back to Cary, North Carolina, with a home-cooked meal, laundry machine, and family waiting for me (hint, hint, Mom, Dad, and brothers). I am constantly amazed at how much I have been blessed, to be able to have the finances, time, and wonderful friends that have helped me be able to travel and change and learn and grow so much.
Speaking of growth, since last blog post, I certainly have grown. As I said, I was planning on running a marathon, and spent my first weekend in a hostel, ending the long weekend with the 42K (26.2) mile run. It was a struggle, but I got through it in around 3 hours and 40 minutes. Though from mile 15 to mile 26 I swore I would never run again and cursed my masochistic self for signing up for this hell, but at the 26.2 mile finish line, my attitude completely reversed. If I don't control myself, I might become obsessed with running marathons. It is a feeling like no other. The satisfaction and joy of completing the race, couple with the bananas, Gatorade, and medal, minus the excruciating pain in my leg muscles and uneasy digestion system, is compared to few others. I was able to meet people who were also running the marathon, and the bond was interesting, how we were able to spend so long conversing simply because we were both going to experience this race. I also made friends with other travelers at the hostel. For those of you who have experienced the hostel culture, you know what I mean when I say the hostel culture is, for lack of a better word, unique. A 30 year-old will come up to a 19 year-old, introduce himself in whatever language he sees fit, and the 19 year-old will invite him to dinner with the 2 others he is traveling with. A Frenchman and an Australian will bond over a hatred for a certain alcoholic drink popular within the community, and locals who are traveling for a three-day weekend will go out with foreigners traveling for 3 months. I was able to make a million connections, and was definitely in my element. Now I have connections and contact information for a 40 year-old man who lives with his mom in Southern Argentina, a Coloradoan guy who works in a Chilean ski slope, 4 collegiate females from Buenos Aires, and an Australian-Indian who offered me to stay in his house in Sydney in the future (which I totally plan to do). I thought I was going to meet Lance Armstrong, but he decided not to run the race because of some stupid thing called the Tour de France; but instead I met one of the top 5 marathoners in Argentina, who chatted with me about everything from politics to health and fitness over none other than a quarter-pounder McDonald's cheeseburger. But hey, if you run that much and that fast, you can eat whatever you want.
Classes ended, as well as the program, with an Almuerzo de Despedida (Goodbye Lunch) at a lush hotel. Afterward some friends and I went to about 5 of my favorite dessert/croissant places to say goodbye to the owners who by now knew me, not by name, but as "hombre que nunca termina" - the man who is never finished. Goodbyes are always so strange to me. In fact, I do whatever I can to avoid the goodbye. I always end it with a "see you soon," know that I, in fact, will most definitely NOT see them soon or a "can't wait until you visit me" promising that we OBVIOUSLY will have the time, money, and freedom to travel the hundreds or thousands of miles to see each other. I get awkward and fiddle with my hands and squirm so that I don't have to hug goodbye, and usually go for the thumbs-up or the high-five, because I'm afraid that one more hug will break me into pieces. Of course, this is all subconscious, and I don't think about the actually meaning of "Have a good life" until hours later, curled up on an airplane or a bus trying to keep every memory of that person or place alive so it will stick forever.
So see you soon, can't wait until you visit me, and until later,
Will
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