Man, it has been SUCH a long time since I wrote in this blog (I have a sinking feeling that no one is really reading anything I write and I´ve just been communicating with some nebulous e-mass), but eh I might as well finish up the story of the psychadelic journey that has been my study abroad experience in Buenos Aires.
So.
The last time I wrote in here was a few days after my robbery. The month after that was undoubtedly really really hard, and also a very unreal time period. When I think back on it, it feels like I´m thinking back on some hazy dream, with all the auspicious airs that float in and out of a person´s dream-state. The first week was just unreal. I would go through dramatic mood changes and in a split second switch from feeling really nervous and panicky to feeling the most intense, deep-seeded anger I´ve ever felt, to profound joy at having survived something so troubling. The second week was more or less the same, but definitely to a lesser extent. The third week I developed this very bizarre body pain in my lower back and all down my right leg (which I realized after a few days was a pinched nerve... most likely some sort of psychosomatic reaction to my trauma, my body´s way of dealing with stress). And this shit was MIS-ER-A-BLE. There was this constant dull, aching pain all through my leg and it only went away if I was lying on my back. Luckily (or, actually, not sure if it was fortunate I received this), my super-medicated friend here with 83649362894 disorders and 96745740479482 bottles of the strongest shit a bad doctor can prescribe gave me A LOT of pills called clonazapam (a VERY intense pain killer), which I popped like candy all week long. On the one hand, I wasn´t in pain anymore. On the other hand, I straight up DON´T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED THE ENTIRE WEEK.
The week after I kept on running into people who would me stories about things I did, conversations we had, and I didn´t remember any of it. Apparently at one point I took my shirt off on a bus, walked into a classroom in the middle of class and started having a conversation with my friend, and fell asleep in the middle of my class, sitting in front row center with my head back and my mouth open! I missed a lot of class and the classes I did go to I don´t remember (my notes from that week are SO FUNNY! On one page in the middle of my notes I start making a list of movies I wanted to see and for some reason crossed out half of them and then rewrote them again...). After that, I decided it was better to be in pain than to be a fucking half-asleep tweaker and I stopped taking these pills.
The next week was really hectic and I had to write two HUGE essays, both of which actually turned out pretty good. I was still very much traumatized by what happened to me and I couldn´t stop thinking about it all the time, and I was in a constant state of hypervigilance regardless of where I was, but I found that getting really into my classes helped distract me from all of this, so I became the biggest bookworm and (surprise, surprise) read everything I was supposed to read for every class. Then my birthday rolled around and I turned 21 the perfect way (went to class, bought myself a book, went to a park and read for hours until the sun set, then got chinese food with my buenos aires harem). During my birthday dinner I ended up talking to my friend about what I´d been going through and she told me I probably had post-traumatic stress syndrome and that I should seriously consider seeing a therapist.
I ended up agreeing with her and my study abroad program set me up with an American therapist named Carol who lives here. I was really nervous for my first session with her because I´ve never been to therapy before and I was anxious about making myself vulnerable to a complete stranger, but I left the first session feeling as if a HUGE burden had been lifted off my shoulders. Already I was feeling so much better about what happened to me, just talking it out and realizing some really important things about my actions (and reactions) during the whole experience, and it´s only gotten better since then. I´ve continued seeing Carol and I think it´s getting serious. Fuck! Why is it that when I´m finally able to commit I have to leave the country? Ahhhhhh I AM FORTUNE´S FOOOOOOOL (dumb joke, but I barely slept last night so fuck you).
This last month here has been really really fun, and so busy. At the point when I had all these essays to write (an 8-pager and then two days later a 15-pager), I ended up getting an awful fever and was so delirious and miserable and oozing from every oriphous (yeah, that´s right, EVERY. ORIPHOUS.). Somehow I ended up busting out those two essays as well as filming and editing a 5-minute short for my film class (in which I tried to dramatically portray a girl having a panic attack in a park, who is subsequently devoured by pigeons, and for some reason my teachers loved it and thought it was hilarious, even though this wasn´t my intention. My one teacher called it a "tragi-comedy." Little did he know my LIFE is a tragi-comedy!).
I got over the fever and had to start studying for finals (three finals: ALL oral, meaning it´s just me and the professor and my bad pronunciation). One slight problem though: the registrar office in the film university is UNBELIEVABLY disorganized (I think they must only spend their workdays playing Freecell and getting drunk or something), and because of that we didn´t find out what dates our finals would be until the Friday before (giving us at most six days, at the least three days, to study). I´ve just had a weekend to study for three finals and have taken two so far, both of which I more or less fucked up but the teachers took pity on me because I had so little time to prepare, and I have one more final this Thursday (which I´m going to more or less fuck up as well).
Other than that, I´m so happy right now. I seem to have reached this wonderful peace of mind and, having been able to turn my robbery into a really important learning experience, I´ve been rediscovering how much I love it here and how much I´m going to miss it. I´ve been waking up every morning with a smile, even though I´m in the middle of finals week.
So yeah, that´s it. I leave Friday for Santiago, Chile, where I´m going to spend five days by myself (which is going to be wonderful) and then, after travelling for 20 hours I will be back in the States.
If any Cohnell friends are reading this, I´ll be back in Shith August 15. Mark it on your calendars.
martes, 8 de julio de 2008
lunes, 12 de mayo de 2008
5/13- I was violently, violently robbed.
I wish that were a joke. Here's the story:
So last Thursday night I had to give this midterm presentation and I put so much work into it and I was SOOOOOO nervous because it was pretty much the moment of truth: Can Peter speak Spanish in front of a large group of attractive, intimidating Argentines? I actually felt like I did a decent job, and even though my voice was fucking shaking and cracking and I probably sounded a little pre-pubescent, my body language was crazysexycoo. Anyways, so after the presentation, I was so glad it was over and was really antsy to just get really drunk and have a fun night. I ended up going to this club where this really sick band from Sri Lanka was playing that kind of sounds like M.I.A., but I think, SO much more fun (sort of like Lady Sovereign).
Anyways, so when I was walking home, I ended up meeting this really cool guy named Carlos on the street. We started talking and walked together for a while until we reached my apartment building. He then invited me to go out with him and his friends the next night (Friday). He kept on saying that I need to see the real Argentina and not the tourist version and I thought he was fun (and I also thought he was into me) so we exchanged numbers. Friday afternoon he called me and told me he and his friends were going to drive to a club just outside Buenos Aires and if I wanted to come I should give him my address so he could pick me up. I didn't think anything of it. He also asked what my apartment number was so that he could buzz me when he arrived. I gave it to him and then at 10:30 they were outside. I got in the car and we drove off. It was him and three other guys and we were having a fun time, talking politics, religion, etc. for about 20 minutes until we were outside of the city and then all of a sudden Carlos pulled out a gun.
Seriously, though. One second we were laughing, and the next second Carlos and his friends COMPLETELY changed and got really scary and were like, "Now? Now?" and nodded and then he pulled out a revolver. At first I thought it was a toy gun and I was confused until he started saying that they just wanted to take my money and that if I participated they wouldn't shoot me. As he was saying this, he was tying my hands and feet, taking everything from my pockets ($30, my cell phone, my ATM card, my driver's licence, my KEYS), and asking me for my PIN number. I at first lied but when he said, "We're going to an ATM right now and if you're fucking lying we're going to kill you motherfucker," I started crying and told him the truth, and he responded by smacking me on the head with the gun. It was so scary. On top of that, he asked me if my building always has a doorman, which really freaked me out, because I had told him my address and apartment number! These motherfuckers were ready to go into the place I live, threaten my host mom with a gun (a 73 year old woman who lives alone), and steal everything she and I own. Thank GOD we have a doorman 24 hours a day! Seriously!
So "Carlos" and another guy ended up getting out to go to an ATM and the other two stayed in the car and drove away. Right before Carlos stepped out, he put the gun to my face and said, "You wanted to know Argentina? THIS is Argentina. This is Argentina." And then they put duct tape over my mouth and made me lie on my side and they covered my face with a t-shirt. The whole time one of them was communicating with another one via cell phone, making sure they were able to withdraw as much money from my account as possible. The time period where I was lying on my side and had my face covered was the scariest because I had no idea where they were taking me and what they were planning on doing with me. They kept on saying, "Don't cry. We're not going to hurt you as long as you do as we say," but honestly, you never know when someone has a fucking gun and you're tied up! By this point, my mind was very clear and I decided to not say a thing and to not move an inch because when it came down to it, the money didn't matter. All that mattered was that I could get out of that fucking car. Nevertheless, it felt like we were driving around for two hours, even though it was probably about 20 minutes, and I was feeling nauseous I was so nervous, and I was trying to think of happy memories from my past just in case they ended up shooting me.
Eventually, they guy next to me said, "Peter. It's done. We're going to let you go now. We're going to cut your ties loose and you're going to run away from the car as fast as you can and not turn around. If you do, we'll kill you." They tried to cut the ties loose and let me out but the knife wasn't sharp enough (as calculating as these guys were, they were also idiots) so they just pushed me out of the car still bound hand and feet and drove away fast.
Luckily a few seconds later a big group of 20-something girls came out of the building right in front of me, and it was such a relief to see them. After experiencing such a horrendous and, frankly, hypermasculine crime, it was nice to be surrounded by girls. They were also great comic relief and really made me feel better, cutting my scissors, getting me water (and a cigarette haha), and giving me hugs and saying, "It's all over. You're alive." They told me I was in a province called San Martin (40 minutes outside of Buenos Aires!). They called the police and one of them gave me her phone number and told me to call her when I got back home.
Eventually the police showed up and took me to the station, where I spent literally three hours giving a confession to the police chief and then to investigators and then to a physician (to make sure I wasn't injured...obviously.). It was all so pointless, though, because they're definitely not going to catch them. These guys planned everything out, and also since I trusted them and wasn't suspicious at all, I wasn't able to adequately describe their car or anything important. Anyways, after all this, the police ended up driving me all the way back home.
When I got back, I checked my bank account balance and they had stolen all of my money (which was only $400, but still). I called Bank of America that night, though, and they said that I should be able to get reimbursed for 100% of the money stolen from me, but I have to call the Claims Department tomorrow to make sure. I didn't sleep at all that night knowing that they knew where I lived and had my keys and whenever I heard a door shut or the elevator go up or down, I'd freak out and think it was them.
On the positive side, they didn't hit me or violate me at all, and it could have been A LOT worse. Also, if Bank of America reimburses all the stolen money (knock on wood), then really, they'll just have stolen my cell phone, driver's license, and the equivalent of $30. The day after, my building changed all of its locks, which made me feel much better. And my friends here and the program directors have been very helpful. And, so sweet, I ended up calling the girl who had helped me out to say thank you and she said, "Don't worry. We're your guardian angels."
The day afterwards I experienced a whirlwind of emotions, switching between this intense, pure bliss at still being alive to the most intense anger I have ever felt in my life for being taken advantage of, for being bound and reduced to just a body and nothing more, and for falling for a stupid trick because I was thinking with my dick. At the end of the first day, I took a shower, felt the bruise on the back of my head, and for the first time since I was inside the car, started uncontrollably sobbing and couldn't stop for a good half hour, thinking about how scary it was and admitting to myself that I wasn't really all right.
By now, I'm feeling a lot better, although I really can't stop thinking about it. My intense anger has for the most part subsided, partially because it feels very unreal what happened to me, almost as if that day and the first part of the car ride were not just completely separate experiences, but almost separate levels of existence from what happened when they started robbing me. People always say that traumatic events feel like dreams or movies, and lemme tell you, it's really true.
Everyone's treating me as if I were a rape victim, being super tender and gentle and considerate, which is nice... and slightly amusing. I'm not sure whether they're overreacting and I'm actually doing well and slowly but surely dealing with this or whether they're completely justified and that my experience may affect me in ways I don't even notice. Who knows? As they say in Argentina, "Que se yo?" (What do I know?)
The shitty part is that this isn't common AT ALL in Argentina. It really could happen anywhere, which makes it harder because I feel like I can't really blame anyTHING, just the fucking a-holes who took advantage of me. Regardless, I'm going to take a break from bars and clubs for a while and instead, I don't know, stay at home, drink massive amounts of gin, read J.D. Salinger and Sylvia Plath, and play "Everybody Hurts." haha But no, seriously (sort of), I'm hoping to sort of repress this and deal with it about 30 years down the road... We'll see how that goes.
So last Thursday night I had to give this midterm presentation and I put so much work into it and I was SOOOOOO nervous because it was pretty much the moment of truth: Can Peter speak Spanish in front of a large group of attractive, intimidating Argentines? I actually felt like I did a decent job, and even though my voice was fucking shaking and cracking and I probably sounded a little pre-pubescent, my body language was crazysexycoo. Anyways, so after the presentation, I was so glad it was over and was really antsy to just get really drunk and have a fun night. I ended up going to this club where this really sick band from Sri Lanka was playing that kind of sounds like M.I.A., but I think, SO much more fun (sort of like Lady Sovereign).
Anyways, so when I was walking home, I ended up meeting this really cool guy named Carlos on the street. We started talking and walked together for a while until we reached my apartment building. He then invited me to go out with him and his friends the next night (Friday). He kept on saying that I need to see the real Argentina and not the tourist version and I thought he was fun (and I also thought he was into me) so we exchanged numbers. Friday afternoon he called me and told me he and his friends were going to drive to a club just outside Buenos Aires and if I wanted to come I should give him my address so he could pick me up. I didn't think anything of it. He also asked what my apartment number was so that he could buzz me when he arrived. I gave it to him and then at 10:30 they were outside. I got in the car and we drove off. It was him and three other guys and we were having a fun time, talking politics, religion, etc. for about 20 minutes until we were outside of the city and then all of a sudden Carlos pulled out a gun.
Seriously, though. One second we were laughing, and the next second Carlos and his friends COMPLETELY changed and got really scary and were like, "Now? Now?" and nodded and then he pulled out a revolver. At first I thought it was a toy gun and I was confused until he started saying that they just wanted to take my money and that if I participated they wouldn't shoot me. As he was saying this, he was tying my hands and feet, taking everything from my pockets ($30, my cell phone, my ATM card, my driver's licence, my KEYS), and asking me for my PIN number. I at first lied but when he said, "We're going to an ATM right now and if you're fucking lying we're going to kill you motherfucker," I started crying and told him the truth, and he responded by smacking me on the head with the gun. It was so scary. On top of that, he asked me if my building always has a doorman, which really freaked me out, because I had told him my address and apartment number! These motherfuckers were ready to go into the place I live, threaten my host mom with a gun (a 73 year old woman who lives alone), and steal everything she and I own. Thank GOD we have a doorman 24 hours a day! Seriously!
So "Carlos" and another guy ended up getting out to go to an ATM and the other two stayed in the car and drove away. Right before Carlos stepped out, he put the gun to my face and said, "You wanted to know Argentina? THIS is Argentina. This is Argentina." And then they put duct tape over my mouth and made me lie on my side and they covered my face with a t-shirt. The whole time one of them was communicating with another one via cell phone, making sure they were able to withdraw as much money from my account as possible. The time period where I was lying on my side and had my face covered was the scariest because I had no idea where they were taking me and what they were planning on doing with me. They kept on saying, "Don't cry. We're not going to hurt you as long as you do as we say," but honestly, you never know when someone has a fucking gun and you're tied up! By this point, my mind was very clear and I decided to not say a thing and to not move an inch because when it came down to it, the money didn't matter. All that mattered was that I could get out of that fucking car. Nevertheless, it felt like we were driving around for two hours, even though it was probably about 20 minutes, and I was feeling nauseous I was so nervous, and I was trying to think of happy memories from my past just in case they ended up shooting me.
Eventually, they guy next to me said, "Peter. It's done. We're going to let you go now. We're going to cut your ties loose and you're going to run away from the car as fast as you can and not turn around. If you do, we'll kill you." They tried to cut the ties loose and let me out but the knife wasn't sharp enough (as calculating as these guys were, they were also idiots) so they just pushed me out of the car still bound hand and feet and drove away fast.
Luckily a few seconds later a big group of 20-something girls came out of the building right in front of me, and it was such a relief to see them. After experiencing such a horrendous and, frankly, hypermasculine crime, it was nice to be surrounded by girls. They were also great comic relief and really made me feel better, cutting my scissors, getting me water (and a cigarette haha), and giving me hugs and saying, "It's all over. You're alive." They told me I was in a province called San Martin (40 minutes outside of Buenos Aires!). They called the police and one of them gave me her phone number and told me to call her when I got back home.
Eventually the police showed up and took me to the station, where I spent literally three hours giving a confession to the police chief and then to investigators and then to a physician (to make sure I wasn't injured...obviously.). It was all so pointless, though, because they're definitely not going to catch them. These guys planned everything out, and also since I trusted them and wasn't suspicious at all, I wasn't able to adequately describe their car or anything important. Anyways, after all this, the police ended up driving me all the way back home.
When I got back, I checked my bank account balance and they had stolen all of my money (which was only $400, but still). I called Bank of America that night, though, and they said that I should be able to get reimbursed for 100% of the money stolen from me, but I have to call the Claims Department tomorrow to make sure. I didn't sleep at all that night knowing that they knew where I lived and had my keys and whenever I heard a door shut or the elevator go up or down, I'd freak out and think it was them.
On the positive side, they didn't hit me or violate me at all, and it could have been A LOT worse. Also, if Bank of America reimburses all the stolen money (knock on wood), then really, they'll just have stolen my cell phone, driver's license, and the equivalent of $30. The day after, my building changed all of its locks, which made me feel much better. And my friends here and the program directors have been very helpful. And, so sweet, I ended up calling the girl who had helped me out to say thank you and she said, "Don't worry. We're your guardian angels."
The day afterwards I experienced a whirlwind of emotions, switching between this intense, pure bliss at still being alive to the most intense anger I have ever felt in my life for being taken advantage of, for being bound and reduced to just a body and nothing more, and for falling for a stupid trick because I was thinking with my dick. At the end of the first day, I took a shower, felt the bruise on the back of my head, and for the first time since I was inside the car, started uncontrollably sobbing and couldn't stop for a good half hour, thinking about how scary it was and admitting to myself that I wasn't really all right.
By now, I'm feeling a lot better, although I really can't stop thinking about it. My intense anger has for the most part subsided, partially because it feels very unreal what happened to me, almost as if that day and the first part of the car ride were not just completely separate experiences, but almost separate levels of existence from what happened when they started robbing me. People always say that traumatic events feel like dreams or movies, and lemme tell you, it's really true.
Everyone's treating me as if I were a rape victim, being super tender and gentle and considerate, which is nice... and slightly amusing. I'm not sure whether they're overreacting and I'm actually doing well and slowly but surely dealing with this or whether they're completely justified and that my experience may affect me in ways I don't even notice. Who knows? As they say in Argentina, "Que se yo?" (What do I know?)
The shitty part is that this isn't common AT ALL in Argentina. It really could happen anywhere, which makes it harder because I feel like I can't really blame anyTHING, just the fucking a-holes who took advantage of me. Regardless, I'm going to take a break from bars and clubs for a while and instead, I don't know, stay at home, drink massive amounts of gin, read J.D. Salinger and Sylvia Plath, and play "Everybody Hurts." haha But no, seriously (sort of), I'm hoping to sort of repress this and deal with it about 30 years down the road... We'll see how that goes.
domingo, 6 de abril de 2008
High Time For an Update, I Be Thinkin
So the last three weeks was our shopping period for classes and after checking out probably 10 classes I finally have all of them selected and I love them all (how great are the first two weeks of classes? There's such a sense of promise and that first reading always gives me such a thrill):
With the film track I'm required to take two classes with my program, Spanish and a Film Seminar, both of which are pretty blah, although the Seminar's been cool because we constantly have to see Argentine films for it, and I've seen some really amazing shit! Also, our final project is going to be to make a short (five-ish minute) film, which I'm SO excited about. At first, I wanted to make something funny. I was thinking about crafting an open letter to Buenos Aires as if she were an older sister who can sometimes be totally cool and caring and other times a raging cunt, but I decided to make something a little more emo, about panic and tranquility within the city, and as a foreigner, how one's levels of tranquility are put out of balance and how being caught off guard is the only way to get a sense of equilibrium. I was thinking about this because I had the first panic attack in my life three weeks ago, and as terrifying and awful as it was, what calmed me down was, interestingly enough, sitting by an enormous, painfully loud machine just outside an auto body shop. It was probably one of the most interesting experiences I've ever had.
As for my other classes:
-I'm taking this class at the film university called Contemporary Thought, and every class is such an experience. The section leader is great, and really clarifies and contextualizes our readings, and I can totally understand everything she says. The main professor, though, is without a doubt the most terrifying person I've ever encountered and every class I sit there cringing and on the edge of my seat. He'll get really off topic and talk about cats and quote his grandma, and will be talking at a normal voice and all of a sudden scream out a word and make the whole class jump. It's so fucking funny. Everyone in the class is smiling the whole time until he asks them a question, at which point they're all like, "Oh fuck. Oh fuck," and get really nervous. Usually with classes like this, the first week it's typical to start off with something relatively benign, but not this professor. Our first lecture and our first readings were about PAIN. This guy, if people walk in, I'm not exaggerating, a minute late, he'll stare them down as if he's thinking about how he's going to cut their body up, and he'll whisper over and over again, "So late, so late, so late, so late." He'll ask a question to the class and if no one raises their hand or answers it, he'll shout the question. The people in the class are really funny too. With the exception of my friend and me, they're all Argentine people and, as is the style here, will constantly raise their hand and challenge the professor. What's funny is that even when he's super off topic there will always, without exception, be someone to refute him. Last week he was talking about how the elephant is the world's most kind creature, and the symbol of a whimsical animal. This guy in my class raised his hand and said, "In fact, elephants can be quite violent," launching an argument between him and the professor, who refused to believe him whatsoever. It ended with the student frustratedly sitting back and shaking his head.
-I'm taking this class called Semiology and Communication Theory, which is really interesting. It's all about studying systems of signification and how things get meaning. The professor and the section leader are both these really insightful women who are so articulate and engaging. The people in the class piss me off though. It makes me feel like I'm back in high school because there's a group of people who always sit in the back and throw things at each other or put things down girl's shirts flirtatiously. What's funny is that they're all really sharp and will often take breaks from throwing balls of paper at each other to refute the professor. They make me feel so stupid because I'm just struggling the whole time to understand the readings first of all because they're in complicated academic Spanish and second of all, because they're just complicated in general. But so I'll be sitting in class and scowling at this one guy who's the worst and such a douche and I'll be thinking about how much of a tooly moron he is when all of a sudden he'll raise his hand and say something that shows that he not only got the readings but has been contemplating what's problematic about them. Damn!
-My third class is also at the film university and it's a dream come true. It's a 20th century art class, and it's the type of art history class that everyone wants and wishes they could have. The professor is brilliant and so so knowledgeable and a great lecturer too. The class is two and a half hours long and he's so engaging and interesting that it flies by. He fills his lectures with images, with great stories about the artists' lives, and with placing their art within a greater context, whether it's historical, ideological, philosophical, etc. I'm really excited for this class, and the only thing I'm scared of is that we have to give a ten-minute presentation in front of the class as our final. Oh well, though, I'll deal.
In general, I've been really happy. About three weeks ago I was awfully depressed and going through an existential crisis (pff surprise, surprise, right?), but now I've been rediscovering Buenos Aires and feeling that I'm really starting to understand it as a city. With that, there are so many things about living here that I don't like and that infuriate me, but I've become a lot more accepting of them and try to laugh it off. One is that, for no particular reason, there's a major shortage of change here and it makes me want to kill myself. People constantly will not have change for you and breaking a large bill (and by large, I mean the equivalent of $30) is impossible. It's also without a doubt the loudest place I've ever been in my life. Being in the street is like being in the middle of a riot pretty much every day, with all the cars honking for no reason, buses' brakes screeching so loudly, stupid remixes of tango and opera songs fucking blasting out of music stores, etc. The main thing that I've been coming to terms with, though, is the fact that my sensibility is just really incompatible with living in a Latin city. I'm way way WAY too neurotic and need to have things run on time and run smoothly. For anyone who's ever been to Latin America, it's never like that. My professors will show up a half hour, sometimes 45 minutes, late to class, waiters will take centuries to bring your bill because most people like to lounge in cafes and restaurants for two hours at a time, and buses, on top of driving like maniacs (people here pretend that lane lines don't exist and will go 40/50 mph on small, narrow streets), also have such inconsistent schedules.
Regardless, there are so many wonderful things about Buenos Aires that make me, albeit momentarily, overlook what drives me insane. First of all, it's a gorgeous city. There are all these colonial buildings and modernist architecture, and lots of parks with trees everywhere. My neighborhood especially, because I live a block away from the botanical gardens, is so green, and always smells like flowers, and in the mornings, the sunlight is piercingly white. Looking down the street, it's as if there's a white screen where the sunlight's coming down. It's so beautiful. Second of all, the people here are really quirky. I was walking down the street last week and this guy wanted to ask me for directions so he leaned out his window and, to get my attention, said, "Hey, hey you! Skinny guy! Is this street Arenales?" Hahaha People are really blunt here and it's great. My friend here, when people have asked her for directions they've been like, "Hey, you! Chinese girl!"
I'm also really excited because the Buenos Aires International Independent Film Festival is starting this week and since I'm studying film, I have to pay four pesos per movie (the equivalent of $1.30!!!!). All of the movies seem so interesting and they're from all of these different countries and after reading the description of every single one, I've chosen about 15 I'm going to see over the course of the next two weeks. Some of them sound fucking sick!
Ok I'm going to head out. It's 5 PM and I'm still in bed because I was out last night until 7 AM. Quick story before I go, though: Some of the clubs here play the BEST MUSIC. One club I went to I heard: Hanson, Backstreet Boys, Pussycat Dolls, Mika. Another one: Bittersweet Symphony, Oasis, Nirvana, Radiohead, Sublime. Another one: Missy Elliott, Ying Yang Twins, Dr. Dre (The Chronic), Snoop Dogg, and Ludacris (When "Move Bitch" came on, I started jumping up and down, like, "Oooooh girl this my song!")
With the film track I'm required to take two classes with my program, Spanish and a Film Seminar, both of which are pretty blah, although the Seminar's been cool because we constantly have to see Argentine films for it, and I've seen some really amazing shit! Also, our final project is going to be to make a short (five-ish minute) film, which I'm SO excited about. At first, I wanted to make something funny. I was thinking about crafting an open letter to Buenos Aires as if she were an older sister who can sometimes be totally cool and caring and other times a raging cunt, but I decided to make something a little more emo, about panic and tranquility within the city, and as a foreigner, how one's levels of tranquility are put out of balance and how being caught off guard is the only way to get a sense of equilibrium. I was thinking about this because I had the first panic attack in my life three weeks ago, and as terrifying and awful as it was, what calmed me down was, interestingly enough, sitting by an enormous, painfully loud machine just outside an auto body shop. It was probably one of the most interesting experiences I've ever had.
As for my other classes:
-I'm taking this class at the film university called Contemporary Thought, and every class is such an experience. The section leader is great, and really clarifies and contextualizes our readings, and I can totally understand everything she says. The main professor, though, is without a doubt the most terrifying person I've ever encountered and every class I sit there cringing and on the edge of my seat. He'll get really off topic and talk about cats and quote his grandma, and will be talking at a normal voice and all of a sudden scream out a word and make the whole class jump. It's so fucking funny. Everyone in the class is smiling the whole time until he asks them a question, at which point they're all like, "Oh fuck. Oh fuck," and get really nervous. Usually with classes like this, the first week it's typical to start off with something relatively benign, but not this professor. Our first lecture and our first readings were about PAIN. This guy, if people walk in, I'm not exaggerating, a minute late, he'll stare them down as if he's thinking about how he's going to cut their body up, and he'll whisper over and over again, "So late, so late, so late, so late." He'll ask a question to the class and if no one raises their hand or answers it, he'll shout the question. The people in the class are really funny too. With the exception of my friend and me, they're all Argentine people and, as is the style here, will constantly raise their hand and challenge the professor. What's funny is that even when he's super off topic there will always, without exception, be someone to refute him. Last week he was talking about how the elephant is the world's most kind creature, and the symbol of a whimsical animal. This guy in my class raised his hand and said, "In fact, elephants can be quite violent," launching an argument between him and the professor, who refused to believe him whatsoever. It ended with the student frustratedly sitting back and shaking his head.
-I'm taking this class called Semiology and Communication Theory, which is really interesting. It's all about studying systems of signification and how things get meaning. The professor and the section leader are both these really insightful women who are so articulate and engaging. The people in the class piss me off though. It makes me feel like I'm back in high school because there's a group of people who always sit in the back and throw things at each other or put things down girl's shirts flirtatiously. What's funny is that they're all really sharp and will often take breaks from throwing balls of paper at each other to refute the professor. They make me feel so stupid because I'm just struggling the whole time to understand the readings first of all because they're in complicated academic Spanish and second of all, because they're just complicated in general. But so I'll be sitting in class and scowling at this one guy who's the worst and such a douche and I'll be thinking about how much of a tooly moron he is when all of a sudden he'll raise his hand and say something that shows that he not only got the readings but has been contemplating what's problematic about them. Damn!
-My third class is also at the film university and it's a dream come true. It's a 20th century art class, and it's the type of art history class that everyone wants and wishes they could have. The professor is brilliant and so so knowledgeable and a great lecturer too. The class is two and a half hours long and he's so engaging and interesting that it flies by. He fills his lectures with images, with great stories about the artists' lives, and with placing their art within a greater context, whether it's historical, ideological, philosophical, etc. I'm really excited for this class, and the only thing I'm scared of is that we have to give a ten-minute presentation in front of the class as our final. Oh well, though, I'll deal.
In general, I've been really happy. About three weeks ago I was awfully depressed and going through an existential crisis (pff surprise, surprise, right?), but now I've been rediscovering Buenos Aires and feeling that I'm really starting to understand it as a city. With that, there are so many things about living here that I don't like and that infuriate me, but I've become a lot more accepting of them and try to laugh it off. One is that, for no particular reason, there's a major shortage of change here and it makes me want to kill myself. People constantly will not have change for you and breaking a large bill (and by large, I mean the equivalent of $30) is impossible. It's also without a doubt the loudest place I've ever been in my life. Being in the street is like being in the middle of a riot pretty much every day, with all the cars honking for no reason, buses' brakes screeching so loudly, stupid remixes of tango and opera songs fucking blasting out of music stores, etc. The main thing that I've been coming to terms with, though, is the fact that my sensibility is just really incompatible with living in a Latin city. I'm way way WAY too neurotic and need to have things run on time and run smoothly. For anyone who's ever been to Latin America, it's never like that. My professors will show up a half hour, sometimes 45 minutes, late to class, waiters will take centuries to bring your bill because most people like to lounge in cafes and restaurants for two hours at a time, and buses, on top of driving like maniacs (people here pretend that lane lines don't exist and will go 40/50 mph on small, narrow streets), also have such inconsistent schedules.
Regardless, there are so many wonderful things about Buenos Aires that make me, albeit momentarily, overlook what drives me insane. First of all, it's a gorgeous city. There are all these colonial buildings and modernist architecture, and lots of parks with trees everywhere. My neighborhood especially, because I live a block away from the botanical gardens, is so green, and always smells like flowers, and in the mornings, the sunlight is piercingly white. Looking down the street, it's as if there's a white screen where the sunlight's coming down. It's so beautiful. Second of all, the people here are really quirky. I was walking down the street last week and this guy wanted to ask me for directions so he leaned out his window and, to get my attention, said, "Hey, hey you! Skinny guy! Is this street Arenales?" Hahaha People are really blunt here and it's great. My friend here, when people have asked her for directions they've been like, "Hey, you! Chinese girl!"
I'm also really excited because the Buenos Aires International Independent Film Festival is starting this week and since I'm studying film, I have to pay four pesos per movie (the equivalent of $1.30!!!!). All of the movies seem so interesting and they're from all of these different countries and after reading the description of every single one, I've chosen about 15 I'm going to see over the course of the next two weeks. Some of them sound fucking sick!
Ok I'm going to head out. It's 5 PM and I'm still in bed because I was out last night until 7 AM. Quick story before I go, though: Some of the clubs here play the BEST MUSIC. One club I went to I heard: Hanson, Backstreet Boys, Pussycat Dolls, Mika. Another one: Bittersweet Symphony, Oasis, Nirvana, Radiohead, Sublime. Another one: Missy Elliott, Ying Yang Twins, Dr. Dre (The Chronic), Snoop Dogg, and Ludacris (When "Move Bitch" came on, I started jumping up and down, like, "Oooooh girl this my song!")
viernes, 7 de marzo de 2008
It Has Been Some Time, No?
Believe it or not, I STILL haven't started classes yet! Sorry to everyone freezing in Cornell, slaving away in classes. If it makes you feel better, when I'm laying in a grassy park on a sunny day or partying until 7 in the morning and sleeping all day afterwards, I'm pitying you.
That's actually kind of a lie, though. I haven't been entirely free. After the last post I made, we had two straight weeks of very intense orientation. There are 150 students in my program and we had to be in a giant building every week day from about 10 till 5 or 6. The first week at orientation I definitely gave off the WORST first impression, though, and looking back it's really fucking funny. After being so starved for attention for three and a half weeks and not really having a lot of friends except for two tourists who left after a few days, I had pretty much forgotten how to have conversations with groups of people. My tactic on how to make friends was to approach someone and, after the standard bullshit small talk (Where you from? What you study? Do you think thunder is an erotic noise?), I'd respond with the first thing that came to my head and hope my abrasive attitude would win people over. Example: When I met these two really chill girls who go to school as Macalaster, in Minneapolis, my first question is: So, like, is Minnesota full of (voice drops to a whisper) chubby people?
It did get better, though, and by the second week, I actually was able to have real conversations with some people, make some connections, and develop a really fun group of friends. One of my favorite guys is from Birmingham, Alabama and his name's Lewis. He is without a doubt the funniest person I've ever met, and in the many awkward silences that occurred time and time again during the first two weeks of orientation, he'd fill them in with something completely out of the blue and fucking hilarious. We got dinner for my friend's birthday the second week, and during one of those silences, he leaned over to me and said, "Have I told you I'm in a gang yet? Yet, we call ourselves the Culebras," and then proceeded to tell me how this week's a big deal because they gave him a bicycle and a slingshot. Yeah, I also made friends with these two really funny sorority girls from Columbia, and I laugh so hard I cry every time I hang out with them. They talk about their poo and make me feel like a kid.
Also, the study abroad program I'm doing, COPA, offers specialized research tracks, and I decided to pursue the film track. There are six people, four of whom are my closest friends in the program, and it just sounds fucking sick. We have to take a seminar on Argentine film, plus two classes at the local film university, plus one extra class of our choice at a different university. On top of it, we have mandatory field trips relating to the Buenos Aires film scene, one of which is a sound studio, another which is a special effects studio, etc. We also get passes to the Buenos Aires International Film Festival in April. Yeah, it's gonna be the shit.
Last weekend, all the students were split up into two groups and flown to a beautiful mountain town called Bariloche for three days. It was so relaxing, and it was there that I really bonded with my group of friends and cemented some really important relationships in my life right now. I stayed with a hilarious gay guy named David, and during the day the group would go for hikes, swim in the lake, take tours of the area, etc. It was wonderful and relaxing but I was also kind of glad when it was over because it sucked to be hauled around like cattle everywhere, to be stuck in a bus for hours, and to wait to be fed every day. Regardless, my last day I had a wonderful moment at the lake by myself. I was skipping stones and thinking about how wonderful it is to be 20, because not only do we have so many opportunities before us, but it's as if we've been given new eyes to see them with, and (for me at least) life's reached an intensity and a beauty that's sometimes nearly unbearable. Fuck, I sound like that guy from American Beauty!
Anyways, this week was very low key because the shopping period for classes starts next week, meaning I'm going to be checking out literally 15 different classes in one week and deciding the one's I'll stay in. Ok, I'm gonna head out now. I have a date (more on this later if anything interesting happens).
That's actually kind of a lie, though. I haven't been entirely free. After the last post I made, we had two straight weeks of very intense orientation. There are 150 students in my program and we had to be in a giant building every week day from about 10 till 5 or 6. The first week at orientation I definitely gave off the WORST first impression, though, and looking back it's really fucking funny. After being so starved for attention for three and a half weeks and not really having a lot of friends except for two tourists who left after a few days, I had pretty much forgotten how to have conversations with groups of people. My tactic on how to make friends was to approach someone and, after the standard bullshit small talk (Where you from? What you study? Do you think thunder is an erotic noise?), I'd respond with the first thing that came to my head and hope my abrasive attitude would win people over. Example: When I met these two really chill girls who go to school as Macalaster, in Minneapolis, my first question is: So, like, is Minnesota full of (voice drops to a whisper) chubby people?
It did get better, though, and by the second week, I actually was able to have real conversations with some people, make some connections, and develop a really fun group of friends. One of my favorite guys is from Birmingham, Alabama and his name's Lewis. He is without a doubt the funniest person I've ever met, and in the many awkward silences that occurred time and time again during the first two weeks of orientation, he'd fill them in with something completely out of the blue and fucking hilarious. We got dinner for my friend's birthday the second week, and during one of those silences, he leaned over to me and said, "Have I told you I'm in a gang yet? Yet, we call ourselves the Culebras," and then proceeded to tell me how this week's a big deal because they gave him a bicycle and a slingshot. Yeah, I also made friends with these two really funny sorority girls from Columbia, and I laugh so hard I cry every time I hang out with them. They talk about their poo and make me feel like a kid.
Also, the study abroad program I'm doing, COPA, offers specialized research tracks, and I decided to pursue the film track. There are six people, four of whom are my closest friends in the program, and it just sounds fucking sick. We have to take a seminar on Argentine film, plus two classes at the local film university, plus one extra class of our choice at a different university. On top of it, we have mandatory field trips relating to the Buenos Aires film scene, one of which is a sound studio, another which is a special effects studio, etc. We also get passes to the Buenos Aires International Film Festival in April. Yeah, it's gonna be the shit.
Last weekend, all the students were split up into two groups and flown to a beautiful mountain town called Bariloche for three days. It was so relaxing, and it was there that I really bonded with my group of friends and cemented some really important relationships in my life right now. I stayed with a hilarious gay guy named David, and during the day the group would go for hikes, swim in the lake, take tours of the area, etc. It was wonderful and relaxing but I was also kind of glad when it was over because it sucked to be hauled around like cattle everywhere, to be stuck in a bus for hours, and to wait to be fed every day. Regardless, my last day I had a wonderful moment at the lake by myself. I was skipping stones and thinking about how wonderful it is to be 20, because not only do we have so many opportunities before us, but it's as if we've been given new eyes to see them with, and (for me at least) life's reached an intensity and a beauty that's sometimes nearly unbearable. Fuck, I sound like that guy from American Beauty!
Anyways, this week was very low key because the shopping period for classes starts next week, meaning I'm going to be checking out literally 15 different classes in one week and deciding the one's I'll stay in. Ok, I'm gonna head out now. I have a date (more on this later if anything interesting happens).
lunes, 18 de febrero de 2008
2/13-2/18: The Program Has Begun.
But first a brief update (if anyone is actually reading this?):
I had a wonderful last week by myself. My Valentine's Day was quite eventful: Buenos Aires and I woke up to a very rough start and I was really fed up with some of the shit he's been putting me through. I went to the laundromat and, upon realizing that my clothing wouldn't be ready until the next day (the way laundromats work here is that you pay people a teensy bit of money (about 3 bucks or less) to wash, dry, and fold your clothes for you, usually within a day or less), I realized I had absolutely no clean underwear or socks. The adventure began there. I took the subway to an area of the city where you can get pretty much anything dirt cheap, bought some legit BA underwear and socks for, like, 2 bucks total, changed in a McDonald's and then tried to find a bus to find a really cool clothing store where I was planning on giving myself a little Valentine's Day present. But my fucking asshole of a boyfriend Buenos Aires just wouldn't let me find the right bus. The bus guide made absolutely no sense, I got on a bus going the wrong direction, it was about 95 degrees outside, a stranger asked me for a sip of Coke and then chugged the rest of the bottle, it was a rough day to say the least. But, like the good lover he is, Buenos Aires made it up to me and helped me find the right bus, find the clothing store, and buy the sickest T-shirt I've ever seen (it's a little too hip for me, actually). I went to a club later that night and met a cool guy from Brazil, and he and I decided to be each other's wingmen until he left to go back home in a few days. We went to a club, and, since I've been growing some balls I approached three different guys to introduce myself and was rejected three times in a row (the funniest was one guy: my friend walks over to him and his friend and says, "Hey, if I dance with you, will your friend dance with mine?" The guy turned, looked at me, and said, "No" plain and simple. Haha Happy Fucking Valentine's Day, cabron!).
The next day I got a membership at a gym because, hey why not? It's cheap and I'm going to have a lot of free-time. I went out with my Brazilian friend again that night, met a hot little rugby guy named Guido (haha, he is not a Guido though.), made out for a few hours, and went home. Had a low-key day that Saturday and Sunday, reading, relaxing, not spending money. And then this morning I left my apartment for good. It was actually pretty sad leaving it, knowing I was going to be living with an old widow (pretty much a guaranteed cockblock) and would probably lose my limitless freedom I had had.
With my 1203948710259861 lb. bag, this morning I left my apartment, chilled in a park for a few hours and then went to the brief orientation. Afterward, a few of the students and I decided to get lunch, and I made SUCH a bad first impression: I've been alone for so long I've pretty much forgotten how to converse like a normal person and made them all think I'm crazy or coked-up or something. I'm exaggerating a little bit, because I did hit it off with a few people, mostly New Yorkers, and I made a few friends (tomorrow morning I'm going to meet everyone in my program, all 150 of them. Jesus!). Then I went to move in to my host apartment.
I found the neighborhood and it's so lovely. The botanical gardens are literally a block down from me, it's quiet, it's clean, and there are trees everywhere. I got so used to life in my old apartment (with a bar downstairs and fucking drunkies stumbling home yelling the Pink Panther theme song at 4 in the morning) that I almost forgot how wonderful it is to have some peace and quiet. My host mother is an ancient widow named Beba. She's probably 70, with leathery skin, dyed brown hair, and a gravelly smoker's voice. We hit it off by smoking a cigarette and swapping family stories. We went to the grocery store and then she treated me to dinner. She's a little quiet, so it's been a bit awk, but not really. If anything, she's very low-maintenance, I can already tell. Well, time to go to bed because my program is making me show up for orientation activities every day this week at 9 or 10. Fuckkkkkkkk
I had a wonderful last week by myself. My Valentine's Day was quite eventful: Buenos Aires and I woke up to a very rough start and I was really fed up with some of the shit he's been putting me through. I went to the laundromat and, upon realizing that my clothing wouldn't be ready until the next day (the way laundromats work here is that you pay people a teensy bit of money (about 3 bucks or less) to wash, dry, and fold your clothes for you, usually within a day or less), I realized I had absolutely no clean underwear or socks. The adventure began there. I took the subway to an area of the city where you can get pretty much anything dirt cheap, bought some legit BA underwear and socks for, like, 2 bucks total, changed in a McDonald's and then tried to find a bus to find a really cool clothing store where I was planning on giving myself a little Valentine's Day present. But my fucking asshole of a boyfriend Buenos Aires just wouldn't let me find the right bus. The bus guide made absolutely no sense, I got on a bus going the wrong direction, it was about 95 degrees outside, a stranger asked me for a sip of Coke and then chugged the rest of the bottle, it was a rough day to say the least. But, like the good lover he is, Buenos Aires made it up to me and helped me find the right bus, find the clothing store, and buy the sickest T-shirt I've ever seen (it's a little too hip for me, actually). I went to a club later that night and met a cool guy from Brazil, and he and I decided to be each other's wingmen until he left to go back home in a few days. We went to a club, and, since I've been growing some balls I approached three different guys to introduce myself and was rejected three times in a row (the funniest was one guy: my friend walks over to him and his friend and says, "Hey, if I dance with you, will your friend dance with mine?" The guy turned, looked at me, and said, "No" plain and simple. Haha Happy Fucking Valentine's Day, cabron!).
The next day I got a membership at a gym because, hey why not? It's cheap and I'm going to have a lot of free-time. I went out with my Brazilian friend again that night, met a hot little rugby guy named Guido (haha, he is not a Guido though.), made out for a few hours, and went home. Had a low-key day that Saturday and Sunday, reading, relaxing, not spending money. And then this morning I left my apartment for good. It was actually pretty sad leaving it, knowing I was going to be living with an old widow (pretty much a guaranteed cockblock) and would probably lose my limitless freedom I had had.
With my 1203948710259861 lb. bag, this morning I left my apartment, chilled in a park for a few hours and then went to the brief orientation. Afterward, a few of the students and I decided to get lunch, and I made SUCH a bad first impression: I've been alone for so long I've pretty much forgotten how to converse like a normal person and made them all think I'm crazy or coked-up or something. I'm exaggerating a little bit, because I did hit it off with a few people, mostly New Yorkers, and I made a few friends (tomorrow morning I'm going to meet everyone in my program, all 150 of them. Jesus!). Then I went to move in to my host apartment.
I found the neighborhood and it's so lovely. The botanical gardens are literally a block down from me, it's quiet, it's clean, and there are trees everywhere. I got so used to life in my old apartment (with a bar downstairs and fucking drunkies stumbling home yelling the Pink Panther theme song at 4 in the morning) that I almost forgot how wonderful it is to have some peace and quiet. My host mother is an ancient widow named Beba. She's probably 70, with leathery skin, dyed brown hair, and a gravelly smoker's voice. We hit it off by smoking a cigarette and swapping family stories. We went to the grocery store and then she treated me to dinner. She's a little quiet, so it's been a bit awk, but not really. If anything, she's very low-maintenance, I can already tell. Well, time to go to bed because my program is making me show up for orientation activities every day this week at 9 or 10. Fuckkkkkkkk
lunes, 11 de febrero de 2008
Pictures part deux (sp?)
Sorry I haven't been posting more pictures, but it quite literally just took 15 minutes for these ones to upload. So far, though, these are my favorites. First one is of Plaza San Martin, my absolute FAVORITE park. It's kind of like a miniature version of Central Park in one area, and then like a miniature version of SF's Dolores Park in another area. Second picture is the view from my rooftop. Isn't it beautiful. You can't see it in the picture, but way off in that direction is the Atlantic Ocean. Third picture is the city's Ecological Reserve. I spent a whole day there, and it's completely wild land, with a few paths going through it in different areas. Most of it is kind of like a tropical marshland. It was really beautiful and also pretty gay. I passed by a man who was probably about 70 who said to me, "Que lindo sos" (How beautiful you are). Since it was just me and him and no one for about a mile, I awkwardly half-smiled and quickly walked past him.
Got Sick, Now Much Better 2/5-2/12
Last Wednesday I was reading in a park and started to feel really achey, and then my eyes started to get sore, and right as I realized I was probably coming down with a fever, I decided to go home. While I was in the subway, the combination of the heat + crowdedness + nearly unbearable noise = near blackout. I almost fainted but luckily got off in time, got a cab back to my place and fell asleep. I woke up with a raging fever and a horrible sore throat that lasted until pretty much today.
I started feeling a little better yesterday about my body, but my feelings toward this city were seriously low. I was feeling underwhelmed, and after all the amazing things I've seen so far, I was running out of ideas, and was starting to realize, maybe this city's actually kind of disappointing if I already feel like I've done everything, maybe I chose the wrong place, and what the fuck am I going to do for another six months?
I woke up today, though, at around 3 PM (I decided to buy an alarm clock because I'm pretty much missing out on every day by staying up so late reading/watching movies/being a drunk), and the city seemed completely fresh, which was also the result, I'm sure of me recovering from being bed-ridden for close to five days. I actually used my tour guide and went on a suggested "city stroll," which I thought would be kind of lame and touristy, but was actually really rewarding. Site by site, I walked around, stopped, looked at where I'd reached, read about it, looked some more, and kept on walking. Most of the locations I encountered weren't even tourist hotspots, but just places with really interesting stories, or symbolic architecture, or something like that. The majority of my time was spent like a total sunburnt white American tourist, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, looking straight up for long periods of time, and grinning. I then went to my FAVORITE park and read for hours, also stumbling upon some camera crews who I believe were shooting a commercial or a music video full of people standing on a grassy slope and stomping their right feet in unison. Haha
More importantly, though, what I realized when I was sitting on a bench in this park (by this point the sun was setting) was how unbelievably exquisite everything was around me. The statue that I usually walked by while I was scouring for a spot in the sun, when I looked at it again, I realized that it was actually so so lovely. And I noticed how green all the leaves were (it IS the middle of summer, duuhhhh), and all the shadows, and all the couples making out around me. I was completely by myself, and a feeling overcame me that was really overpowering. I realized that many of the nuances of Buenos Aires that shook me at first into an immediate culture shock and then hit me again by making me realize their aesthetic qualities, today were impacting me in a third way, much more difficult to explain. They were more than just really pretty things I was seeing, they were actual relics of my life here. I was thinking about how living in a foreign location, it's really like experiencing a re-birth. Cut past the "cultural sensitivity" bullshit, take in how the people live their lives in a way that is more than visual, and while the voyeuristic process of "trying to figure people out" becomes more cerebral, I think you'll start to adopt the culture around you and become a hybrid. It sounds weird, but from people-watching and being around these people who for my time here have just been a mystery, I feel like I'm starting to get them, and with that this city's starting to feel instinctual. I had the same thing with Manhattan, like it slid itself into me in little ways that I didn't even recognize at first. Slid itself in? I guess I'm slowly being penetrated by Buenos Aires!
I started feeling a little better yesterday about my body, but my feelings toward this city were seriously low. I was feeling underwhelmed, and after all the amazing things I've seen so far, I was running out of ideas, and was starting to realize, maybe this city's actually kind of disappointing if I already feel like I've done everything, maybe I chose the wrong place, and what the fuck am I going to do for another six months?
I woke up today, though, at around 3 PM (I decided to buy an alarm clock because I'm pretty much missing out on every day by staying up so late reading/watching movies/being a drunk), and the city seemed completely fresh, which was also the result, I'm sure of me recovering from being bed-ridden for close to five days. I actually used my tour guide and went on a suggested "city stroll," which I thought would be kind of lame and touristy, but was actually really rewarding. Site by site, I walked around, stopped, looked at where I'd reached, read about it, looked some more, and kept on walking. Most of the locations I encountered weren't even tourist hotspots, but just places with really interesting stories, or symbolic architecture, or something like that. The majority of my time was spent like a total sunburnt white American tourist, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, looking straight up for long periods of time, and grinning. I then went to my FAVORITE park and read for hours, also stumbling upon some camera crews who I believe were shooting a commercial or a music video full of people standing on a grassy slope and stomping their right feet in unison. Haha
More importantly, though, what I realized when I was sitting on a bench in this park (by this point the sun was setting) was how unbelievably exquisite everything was around me. The statue that I usually walked by while I was scouring for a spot in the sun, when I looked at it again, I realized that it was actually so so lovely. And I noticed how green all the leaves were (it IS the middle of summer, duuhhhh), and all the shadows, and all the couples making out around me. I was completely by myself, and a feeling overcame me that was really overpowering. I realized that many of the nuances of Buenos Aires that shook me at first into an immediate culture shock and then hit me again by making me realize their aesthetic qualities, today were impacting me in a third way, much more difficult to explain. They were more than just really pretty things I was seeing, they were actual relics of my life here. I was thinking about how living in a foreign location, it's really like experiencing a re-birth. Cut past the "cultural sensitivity" bullshit, take in how the people live their lives in a way that is more than visual, and while the voyeuristic process of "trying to figure people out" becomes more cerebral, I think you'll start to adopt the culture around you and become a hybrid. It sounds weird, but from people-watching and being around these people who for my time here have just been a mystery, I feel like I'm starting to get them, and with that this city's starting to feel instinctual. I had the same thing with Manhattan, like it slid itself into me in little ways that I didn't even recognize at first. Slid itself in? I guess I'm slowly being penetrated by Buenos Aires!
lunes, 4 de febrero de 2008
So, I almost died...and I fell in love with this city.
Friday:
On Friday night I ended up meeting Jay, the American I had met last week, in a gay club, and although at first I sort of wanted to try something with him, it became apparent pretty shortly after that we were just friends and that, more importantly, we should be each other's wingmen this week. We talked for a long time in the bar, and I expressed how I become so painfully shy with hitting on guys, how I never know what to say, and all that lame bullshit, and he was just like, "What's the big deal? Life's too short." That night I didn't really approach anyone because I was still shy, but watching him was pretty inspiring and made me realize there is absolutely nothing weird or wrong about approaching someone and introducing yourself, as long as you don't do it in a weird way. It gave me hope, and I knew that this week would be the week to put myself out there.
Saturday:
I spent several hours reading in this really pretty park, I got incredibly sunburned (on my scalp again!), and I ended up seeing this movie called 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days about a girl in Romania who gets an abortion after, yep, four months, three weeks, and two days. It was a good movie, but pretty much the most depressing thing I've ever seen. Walking back from the theater, I was just really bummed out and wanted to go back to my place and just read and go to sleep when all of a sudden I noticed lots of weird little things around me. The first was a car full of girls who drove by, honking their horn to a rhythm, with a girl sitting in the trunk with balloons, a cigarette, and a paper crown. The second was a club where everyone in line was in costume. The third was a lot of people I walked by who were covered with foam. And as I approached my street, I saw a crowd of people standing in the street watching something, which turned out to be a parade of people dressed in matching costumes (glittery, sequined tuxedoes with matching top hats) dancing to a huge group of drummers. I completely forgot that Carnaval started that day! There were tons of people in the streets spraying foam all over each other, and I got sprayed several times in the face. Everyone was really drunk and having a fun time, so, of course, I joined in the festivities, bought a 40 and drank it on the street. I ended up going to a bar but got WAY too drunk to even approach people, which I wanted to do that night but I realized that I should have good judgment, take a cab home, and try the next day.
Sunday:
Jay and I met up and hung out at this really cool street market in my neighborhood. We talked for hours, and by far my friendship with him has been one of the most rewarding things I've done here so far. I ended up asking him all about what it's like to be out in the world and in the gay dating scene (he's 28), and it really made me excited to get older. He was telling me his theory, which I think is so true and makes me feel way better about dating/relationships/etc., which is that in contemporary America, and not just in the gay scene, but just in general, there really are no rules when it comes to dating and relationships. Whereas in the 1950s, there were very much rules that if you violated them, you were shunned pretty much from society, but in the contemporary era, you can be single at any age and not be an outcast. You can be into S & M and find places in nearly every US city where groups of people participate in those activities. There are no rules; people make their own dating/relationship/hookup rules and where people struggle is not understanding that the person they're dating, fucking, etc. just has different rules in their mind.
Anyways, we ended up going out to a bar that night and when we were standing on a corner, talking, I noticed a bus driving by full of people leaning out the window, yelling at me, and motioning. All of a sudden, I heard Jay yell, "Look out!" and run. I heard a crash, turned my head, and a fucking car was barrelling at me from an intersection, going probably about 40-50 mph. I quite literally run out of the way right before this car smashes into a store front and shatters the window. It turned out the driver of the car had a heart attack right before then, and passed out with his foot on the accelerator. Jay and I were fine, but I was in shock for about two hours afterwards, not saying anything, not really noticing anything, just thinking about the sight of a car just about to hit me. The owner of the bar was like, "Oh my God. Come inside. I'll get you some free tequila shots." Hahaha We ended up leaving and going to a club where I decided to be daring, and I approached a guy who I thought was cute whose name was Adrian (I was into him because he looks like Che Guevara). He ended up being really nice, we danced for hours, and I ended up making the first move and kissing him and then inviting him back to my place when we left the bar at 7 AM (so fucking late, right?). We didn't really do much, but it was nice just to know that I did this, that I picked up a really nice, cute guy, that I have it in me.
Monday:
I woke up with Adrian, and we hung out for a while and ended up getting up and getting lunch. It was really kind of awkward after that, and I realized he's kind of dull. Eh, we'll see. We exchanged numbers and he left. Today's been amazing though. I really feel like I'm coming into my own and I'm discovering, this sounds funny but it's true, how to be a man. Really, though. I've been realizing that I'm taking more chances and risks than I ever have in my life, and because of that, I'm feeling fulfilled. I'm discovering my potential, and I'm actively pursuing my desires. I've never felt so happy and mature in my life! I've also been writing again (I started a short story called "Jet Lag"), which has been really important to me. I love this city!
On Friday night I ended up meeting Jay, the American I had met last week, in a gay club, and although at first I sort of wanted to try something with him, it became apparent pretty shortly after that we were just friends and that, more importantly, we should be each other's wingmen this week. We talked for a long time in the bar, and I expressed how I become so painfully shy with hitting on guys, how I never know what to say, and all that lame bullshit, and he was just like, "What's the big deal? Life's too short." That night I didn't really approach anyone because I was still shy, but watching him was pretty inspiring and made me realize there is absolutely nothing weird or wrong about approaching someone and introducing yourself, as long as you don't do it in a weird way. It gave me hope, and I knew that this week would be the week to put myself out there.
Saturday:
I spent several hours reading in this really pretty park, I got incredibly sunburned (on my scalp again!), and I ended up seeing this movie called 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days about a girl in Romania who gets an abortion after, yep, four months, three weeks, and two days. It was a good movie, but pretty much the most depressing thing I've ever seen. Walking back from the theater, I was just really bummed out and wanted to go back to my place and just read and go to sleep when all of a sudden I noticed lots of weird little things around me. The first was a car full of girls who drove by, honking their horn to a rhythm, with a girl sitting in the trunk with balloons, a cigarette, and a paper crown. The second was a club where everyone in line was in costume. The third was a lot of people I walked by who were covered with foam. And as I approached my street, I saw a crowd of people standing in the street watching something, which turned out to be a parade of people dressed in matching costumes (glittery, sequined tuxedoes with matching top hats) dancing to a huge group of drummers. I completely forgot that Carnaval started that day! There were tons of people in the streets spraying foam all over each other, and I got sprayed several times in the face. Everyone was really drunk and having a fun time, so, of course, I joined in the festivities, bought a 40 and drank it on the street. I ended up going to a bar but got WAY too drunk to even approach people, which I wanted to do that night but I realized that I should have good judgment, take a cab home, and try the next day.
Sunday:
Jay and I met up and hung out at this really cool street market in my neighborhood. We talked for hours, and by far my friendship with him has been one of the most rewarding things I've done here so far. I ended up asking him all about what it's like to be out in the world and in the gay dating scene (he's 28), and it really made me excited to get older. He was telling me his theory, which I think is so true and makes me feel way better about dating/relationships/etc., which is that in contemporary America, and not just in the gay scene, but just in general, there really are no rules when it comes to dating and relationships. Whereas in the 1950s, there were very much rules that if you violated them, you were shunned pretty much from society, but in the contemporary era, you can be single at any age and not be an outcast. You can be into S & M and find places in nearly every US city where groups of people participate in those activities. There are no rules; people make their own dating/relationship/hookup rules and where people struggle is not understanding that the person they're dating, fucking, etc. just has different rules in their mind.
Anyways, we ended up going out to a bar that night and when we were standing on a corner, talking, I noticed a bus driving by full of people leaning out the window, yelling at me, and motioning. All of a sudden, I heard Jay yell, "Look out!" and run. I heard a crash, turned my head, and a fucking car was barrelling at me from an intersection, going probably about 40-50 mph. I quite literally run out of the way right before this car smashes into a store front and shatters the window. It turned out the driver of the car had a heart attack right before then, and passed out with his foot on the accelerator. Jay and I were fine, but I was in shock for about two hours afterwards, not saying anything, not really noticing anything, just thinking about the sight of a car just about to hit me. The owner of the bar was like, "Oh my God. Come inside. I'll get you some free tequila shots." Hahaha We ended up leaving and going to a club where I decided to be daring, and I approached a guy who I thought was cute whose name was Adrian (I was into him because he looks like Che Guevara). He ended up being really nice, we danced for hours, and I ended up making the first move and kissing him and then inviting him back to my place when we left the bar at 7 AM (so fucking late, right?). We didn't really do much, but it was nice just to know that I did this, that I picked up a really nice, cute guy, that I have it in me.
Monday:
I woke up with Adrian, and we hung out for a while and ended up getting up and getting lunch. It was really kind of awkward after that, and I realized he's kind of dull. Eh, we'll see. We exchanged numbers and he left. Today's been amazing though. I really feel like I'm coming into my own and I'm discovering, this sounds funny but it's true, how to be a man. Really, though. I've been realizing that I'm taking more chances and risks than I ever have in my life, and because of that, I'm feeling fulfilled. I'm discovering my potential, and I'm actively pursuing my desires. I've never felt so happy and mature in my life! I've also been writing again (I started a short story called "Jet Lag"), which has been really important to me. I love this city!
jueves, 31 de enero de 2008
Picture time!!!
So I'm doing wonderfully, blah blah blah. I'm hanging out with that American Jay tomorrow night. May try to get a little sum'n sum'n depending on how it goes. I've pretty much overcome my loneliness for the time being because I've been realizing how much this city has to offer, and how much is just waiting to be discovered. Pretty much I'm falling in love with Buenos Aires, and it's becoming my luvah. I found this wonderful park the other day that kind of reminded me of Central Park. It was so lovely. I sat there and read for a while. My goal foor today is to figure out how laundromats work here.... Jesus, everything is so confusing, and it doesn't help that somehow my Spanish has reverted to the level of a 4th grade kid...with Down's Syndrome.
The first picture is the view from my apartment, showing how fucking sick my neighborhood is. The next is the tiiiiiny studio I'm living in. It's small, but, you know, it gives me what I need juuuuust right. The last picture is this little plaza where I sat in the sun and read for about an hour, but then I realized that I was incredibly sunburned and left (haha the most sunburned part of my body is my scalp!).
Well, that's about it for now....
lunes, 28 de enero de 2008
Fuck
Today's been the hardest day so far. Whereas before, my loneliness was actually a little entertaining and I'd laugh at myself about it, recognizing my loneliness, letting the emotion flood over me, and then letting it disappear when I encountered something inspiring, something that distracted me, the loneliness I encountered today wasn't the breath-of-fresh-air-solitude-and-independence loneliness, but more of a pathetic-self-pitying brand, where my heart would race at the slightest bit of attention from a stranger. With a few important exceptions, today was definitely my hardest day. Part of it is recognizing that I need to take a risk and strike up random conversations, but it seems so impossible when the person's language is so different. Argentine Spanish is REALLY difficult to understand.
On the positive side, I went to the most amazing bookstore of my life today. It's an old theater that they converted into a bookstore. Where the stage once was, there's a cafe. Where the orchestra level was, there are columns and columns of books. And where the balcony seating was, they turned it into a reading room. Things like this make me think that Argentinians are naturally innovative, and the way that they act, it makes me think sometimes that they just get something we don't. BA reminds me a lot of New York, but the people are patient, accomodating, and straightforward. There's always a single-file line going down the street for people waiting to get on the bus. Little things like that make me think that people in this city just sort of have their shit together. Clearly this isn't the case, though, because there are more therapists per capita in BA than in any other city, something like 1 therapist for every 30 people. Hahah
Anyways, waaahhh I have no friends. I'm going to go smoke another cigarette.
On the positive side, I went to the most amazing bookstore of my life today. It's an old theater that they converted into a bookstore. Where the stage once was, there's a cafe. Where the orchestra level was, there are columns and columns of books. And where the balcony seating was, they turned it into a reading room. Things like this make me think that Argentinians are naturally innovative, and the way that they act, it makes me think sometimes that they just get something we don't. BA reminds me a lot of New York, but the people are patient, accomodating, and straightforward. There's always a single-file line going down the street for people waiting to get on the bus. Little things like that make me think that people in this city just sort of have their shit together. Clearly this isn't the case, though, because there are more therapists per capita in BA than in any other city, something like 1 therapist for every 30 people. Hahah
Anyways, waaahhh I have no friends. I'm going to go smoke another cigarette.
Second Day
So my rose-colored glasses were DEFINITELY removed by my second day, and I got past completely romanticizing this whole experience as the reality set in: that I was going to be alone for a month, in a place where I don't understand what the fuck is going on, what the fuck people are saying, what the fuck I should do or not do, WHATTHEFUCK. I realized that, even three days into this experience (I'm counting my first whole day of travelling alone), I've never felt so alone in my entire life. I know that sounds tragic, and it's really not, because I don't mean it in a way that most people would interpret it. What I've learned from my vast four days of experience here is that feeling alone isn't necessarily a bad thing (because you are truly free). On the other hand, it isn't necessarily good either (because you're fucking lonely, horny, and constantly second guessing yourself). But it is exciting and new and, yeah I kind of feel like I've emerged out of some womb and everything's different. I kind of want to cry, but not really, because I'm constantly laughing at myself and at the fact that I'm alone in a city for a month, which is admirable in theory, kind of retarded in practice.
I ended up going back to Palermo my second day because I realized that this place made me feel calm. It kind of felt like Greenwhich Village, and parts of San Francisco, and even a few parts of Ithaca. I then decided to go to Recoleta Cemetary because it's not that far from where I was. This is a huge cemetary in the city where the tombs of some of the most important people in Argentine history are. Evita's tomb is always the biggest seller. So I showed up and immediately wished that I hadn't, being surrounded by fat, sweaty American tourists, cameras clicking, fannypacks swinging. The graves were actually really beautiful, but I ended up getting really frustrated because after staring at many of the inscriptions, I noticed a trend: nearly all of them were not people who impacted history or were even that important, they were doctors, CEOs of businesses, people who had enough money to go for the largest grave in the most prime cemetary real estate. When I realized that, I then noticed how gaudy many of the tombs were, and I started to see this less as memorializing the dead and more as a pissing contest, some type of one-upmanship over who can have the largest tomb. It started to irritate me, but then I got over it, when I realized that there were dozens of stray cats everywhere I looked, cats sleeping on graves, in tombs, foraging for mice, it was really funny. I approached one tomb with a cat INSIDE of it, and it kind of looked dead until I meowed and it put its head up and followed me around. I kept on petting it, realizing that I could very well get fleas...or rabies...or FIV.
I ended up walking to MALBA (The Museum of Latin American Art), which took SO LONG to get to, but was really worth it because it was so interesting and thought-provoking and, in one artist's case, really moving. And then I walked through the park, checked out the street I'll be living on when my study abroad program starts (it looks like the Upper East Side), and stopped for a cafecito. The coffee here is interesting. It's more like a mini-latte, but oh my god it's SO tasty.
Later that evening I ended up checking out a gay bar, because I've been having a really difficult time reading the men here. I still am. I had heard that Buenos Aires men (called Portenos) were supposed to be the cockiest, most forward people on the planet, but they seem really aloof to me. Regardless, this is a city full of models. I swear to God, the men and the women here. It makes me feel like a troll.
The gay bar was really fun, but it was more of a reconnaisance (sp?) mission than anything else. I had my binocculars, my safari hat, and a notepad, recording the mating habits of the Argentine homosexual. Conclusion: they travel in herds, most are single, all are beautiful. I ended up leaving and took a cab home.
I ended up going back to Palermo my second day because I realized that this place made me feel calm. It kind of felt like Greenwhich Village, and parts of San Francisco, and even a few parts of Ithaca. I then decided to go to Recoleta Cemetary because it's not that far from where I was. This is a huge cemetary in the city where the tombs of some of the most important people in Argentine history are. Evita's tomb is always the biggest seller. So I showed up and immediately wished that I hadn't, being surrounded by fat, sweaty American tourists, cameras clicking, fannypacks swinging. The graves were actually really beautiful, but I ended up getting really frustrated because after staring at many of the inscriptions, I noticed a trend: nearly all of them were not people who impacted history or were even that important, they were doctors, CEOs of businesses, people who had enough money to go for the largest grave in the most prime cemetary real estate. When I realized that, I then noticed how gaudy many of the tombs were, and I started to see this less as memorializing the dead and more as a pissing contest, some type of one-upmanship over who can have the largest tomb. It started to irritate me, but then I got over it, when I realized that there were dozens of stray cats everywhere I looked, cats sleeping on graves, in tombs, foraging for mice, it was really funny. I approached one tomb with a cat INSIDE of it, and it kind of looked dead until I meowed and it put its head up and followed me around. I kept on petting it, realizing that I could very well get fleas...or rabies...or FIV.
I ended up walking to MALBA (The Museum of Latin American Art), which took SO LONG to get to, but was really worth it because it was so interesting and thought-provoking and, in one artist's case, really moving. And then I walked through the park, checked out the street I'll be living on when my study abroad program starts (it looks like the Upper East Side), and stopped for a cafecito. The coffee here is interesting. It's more like a mini-latte, but oh my god it's SO tasty.
Later that evening I ended up checking out a gay bar, because I've been having a really difficult time reading the men here. I still am. I had heard that Buenos Aires men (called Portenos) were supposed to be the cockiest, most forward people on the planet, but they seem really aloof to me. Regardless, this is a city full of models. I swear to God, the men and the women here. It makes me feel like a troll.
The gay bar was really fun, but it was more of a reconnaisance (sp?) mission than anything else. I had my binocculars, my safari hat, and a notepad, recording the mating habits of the Argentine homosexual. Conclusion: they travel in herds, most are single, all are beautiful. I ended up leaving and took a cab home.
Primera Semana
Dude what a fucking trip! Today (January 28) is my fourth day in Buenos Aires, and it's been SOOOOO overwhelming, wonderful, scary, etc. etc. etc.
I flew out Wednesay night and was travelling for 22 straight hours! It was kind of terrible. The only good thing is that, I've pretty much turned 21 already (even though my birthday's in June) because I can drink everywhere. First thing I did when I got off in El Salvador for a layover: smoked a ciggie, drank a scotch on the rocks, and read the New Yorker (in case you didn't realize: I've turned into a 50 year old New Yorker overnight). I got into Buenos Aires at 6 AM and ended up crashing at a hostel my first night. I was intially planning on staying there longer, but I'm glad I didn't. It was kind of nasty and the toilet didn't work (when I tried to flush it shot water onto the wall!)
The next day I caught a cab to the apartment I'm renting for the month before my study abroad program starts, and the cab driver was unbelievable! He was this bald guy who was telling me about how he's a manager for a rock band in Buenos Aires. Their name is Engranaje, which is Spanish for "Gear" and when I asked him why, his answer: "Because our band, the rhythm is the gear that makes the machine we call life run." hahah check out the website: http://www.engranajerock.com.ar/
When I showed up at my apartment, it was a nice studio apartment in an area of the city called San Telmo, which is the historic district. I like it because it's really beautiful and colonial, with winding cobblestone streeets, buildings with ornate old designs, bay windows, balconies, etc., but it's also kind of gritty and dirty and feels like a combination of Brooklyn and Italy. What's kind of funny with this area is that it's a little ghetto, but it's also a little gay, and when I realized that, I had no clue if the men who intensely stared me down as I walked past them wanted to take my wallet or my virginity (haha kidding!).
I met my landlord, a funny, slightly obnoxious woman named Susana, who took my rent money and security deposit, made me sign a lease, and then led me through the apartment. It's really tiny, and I really like it. My bathroom has a bidet (is that how it's spelled?), which kind of sketched me out at first, but I really like it now. Cleans that shit right up!
After she left, I unpacked, took a shower, went outside, and got lost in a matter of minutes. When I found where I was, I walked to the Plaza de Mayo (the center of town, a really beautiful plaza), where I had a cafecito, and mistakenly ordered something nasty to eat. I then walked to the shopping district, which I wasn't into because it reminded me of how fucking irritating 7th Ave. in Manhattan can be. Then I took a subte (subway) train to Palermo.
The subway is so easy. There are only five lines, and each ride costs 30 cents!!! Did I mention how cheap things are here? Pack of cigarettes=$1.50!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So, Palermo. It's a really trendy, chic area with lots of boutiques, galleries, cafes, and the most beautiful people I've ever seen in my life. No joke, I'd say half the men and women in this city are models, and the other half are kind of greasy, with rat-tails and sweaty bangs. I ended up walking all the way down the main street in Palermo (Avenida Santa Fe), which is about two miles long and I had such bad blisters when I got home. I was still really jet lagged so I passed out at 8 PM, like a loser.
I flew out Wednesay night and was travelling for 22 straight hours! It was kind of terrible. The only good thing is that, I've pretty much turned 21 already (even though my birthday's in June) because I can drink everywhere. First thing I did when I got off in El Salvador for a layover: smoked a ciggie, drank a scotch on the rocks, and read the New Yorker (in case you didn't realize: I've turned into a 50 year old New Yorker overnight). I got into Buenos Aires at 6 AM and ended up crashing at a hostel my first night. I was intially planning on staying there longer, but I'm glad I didn't. It was kind of nasty and the toilet didn't work (when I tried to flush it shot water onto the wall!)
The next day I caught a cab to the apartment I'm renting for the month before my study abroad program starts, and the cab driver was unbelievable! He was this bald guy who was telling me about how he's a manager for a rock band in Buenos Aires. Their name is Engranaje, which is Spanish for "Gear" and when I asked him why, his answer: "Because our band, the rhythm is the gear that makes the machine we call life run." hahah check out the website: http://www.engranajerock.com.ar/
When I showed up at my apartment, it was a nice studio apartment in an area of the city called San Telmo, which is the historic district. I like it because it's really beautiful and colonial, with winding cobblestone streeets, buildings with ornate old designs, bay windows, balconies, etc., but it's also kind of gritty and dirty and feels like a combination of Brooklyn and Italy. What's kind of funny with this area is that it's a little ghetto, but it's also a little gay, and when I realized that, I had no clue if the men who intensely stared me down as I walked past them wanted to take my wallet or my virginity (haha kidding!).
I met my landlord, a funny, slightly obnoxious woman named Susana, who took my rent money and security deposit, made me sign a lease, and then led me through the apartment. It's really tiny, and I really like it. My bathroom has a bidet (is that how it's spelled?), which kind of sketched me out at first, but I really like it now. Cleans that shit right up!
After she left, I unpacked, took a shower, went outside, and got lost in a matter of minutes. When I found where I was, I walked to the Plaza de Mayo (the center of town, a really beautiful plaza), where I had a cafecito, and mistakenly ordered something nasty to eat. I then walked to the shopping district, which I wasn't into because it reminded me of how fucking irritating 7th Ave. in Manhattan can be. Then I took a subte (subway) train to Palermo.
The subway is so easy. There are only five lines, and each ride costs 30 cents!!! Did I mention how cheap things are here? Pack of cigarettes=$1.50!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So, Palermo. It's a really trendy, chic area with lots of boutiques, galleries, cafes, and the most beautiful people I've ever seen in my life. No joke, I'd say half the men and women in this city are models, and the other half are kind of greasy, with rat-tails and sweaty bangs. I ended up walking all the way down the main street in Palermo (Avenida Santa Fe), which is about two miles long and I had such bad blisters when I got home. I was still really jet lagged so I passed out at 8 PM, like a loser.
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