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| After 11 months, 11 days of living abroad, I come home on December 13th, at 3:30 PM in the Louisville, Kentucky airport. It feels like it has been about 3 years since I bid my mother farewell at the gates of the Cincinnati airport on January 2nd.
A couple of days before I left for Madrid, I was reading the news and saw that some ETA terrorists had just bombed the Madrid international airport. Obviously I didn’t tell anyone other than Lucas, who was flying in the same day as I was. I didn’t want to worry anyone. But that kind of set the tone for my entire trip: close call after close call. I can’t explain the stomach churning anxiety that I had as I waited for my luggage in Madrid. Where was I going to find Lucas? What if I couldn’t find him? What if I can’t find the residence? How do I get there? What do I do when I get there? What if I can’t understand anything? What if no one can understand me? How do I eat? Where do I eat? What do I eat? But why does any of that matter because I won’t be able to find Lucas in this huge freaking airport and no one is going to understand me when I ask them for help and even if they do I won’t understand them and oh God why didn’t I study Elementary Education instead? Just to give you an idea.
But I did find Lucas. He was actually waiting outside the first door and I knew that whatever crap Spain had to throw at me, at least I wasn’t going to have to face it alone. And that helped a lot. But to be honest, even if Lucas hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have been alone. I have been in so many situation situations where the outcome was obviously a) dead Brandon, b) beaten and broken Brandon, c) lost forever Brandon, d) maimed Brandon, and yet I came out every time. God was obviously watching over me the entire time I have been gone, and it was definitely not because of my prayers. A lot of the time, I was too tired to pray or I forgot or I didn’t even think about it. But I know that I had a lot of people back home praying for me, and for that I have to thank you. Otherwise I would definitely be in much worse shape than I am and things wouldn’t have worked out quite as nicely as they did.
It has been a very long trip.
I have traveled to eight countries and lived in three different places. I’ve come close to dying on a number of occasions and wanted to kill myself just as many. I have seen hundreds of famous landmarks, pieces of art, and buildings. I’ve been to the top of the Eiffel Tower and under the Iguazu waterfalls. I’ve danced the tango on stage in the most famous cafe in the tango capital of the world. I’ve been spit at, cursed at, laughed at, spoken down to, and patronized. I’ve slept under the full moon at Stonehenge. I have peed along the side of the road at Stonehenge. I’ve been offered scissors, hangers, socks, markers, paper, cookies, razors, batteries, vitamins, stickers, calling cards, and strip shows all on the train to school in the morning.
I’ve kissed the Blarney Stone, read the Magna Carta, seen the Mona Lisa, and crossed the English Channel. I’ve walked the Giant’s Causeway and punched Cervantes’ statue in the stomach. I’ve pretended to be the hunchback of Notre Dame, a Moorish soldier defending La Alhambra from Charles V, Duncan MacCleod of the Clan MacCleod chopping off heads, and the phantom of the opera getting INSIDE YOUR MIIIIIIND. I’ve seen the royal jewels of Ireland and France. I’ve wandered the halls of the Prado, the Louvre, and countless castles. I’ve admired DaVinci, studied Michaelangelo and wondered what the heck Picasso was smoking. I’ve driven through the farmland of Ireland, the cities of Scotland, and made it from Edinburgh to London in under five hours on the M5 -- all on the wrong side of the road. I’ve been part of the human masses in front of the Parliament, Big Ben, London Bridge, and Westminster Abbey. I have seen more cathedrals than I can ever hope to remember. I, too, have asked Chavez, “¿Por qué no te callas?”
I’ve traveled by boat, subway, plane, train, automobile, bus, taxi, remise, colectivo, and foot. I’ve seen friends come and friends go. I’ve watched a friend die and wondered whether I should have done more. I’ve rooted for my Wildcats 7,000 miles away. I have wondered how to react to the homeless, the drunken, the blind, the lame, the poor, the stupid, the racist, and the French. I’ve listened to my country derided by everyone and their brother, matter of factly informing me of the way my country is. I’ve been offered roses by Indians more times than I can count. I’ve goose stepped to the Arch of Triumph in Paris, wondering all the while whether I was going to get beaten for it...and then remembering I was in France. I have seen The Office in Spanish.
I’ve befriended Spaniards, Englishmen, Scotsmen, Irishmen, Argentines, Mexicans, Swedes, Peruvians, Colombians, Chileans, Norwegians, Guatemalans, Frenchmen (just kidding -- Frenchwomen! Yowza.), Germans, Thailandians, Singapore...ishians, Japanese, Chinese, Taiwanese, Koreans, Australians, Italians, Austrians, Swiss, Armenians, Venezuelans, Canadians, Hondurans, Nicaraguans, Morroccans, Turks, Nigerians, Danes, Brazilians, Cubans, and Floridians (by far the most annoying). I have been mistaken for being an Argentine, a Colombian, a Spaniard, a Brazilian, a Mexican, an Italian, and a Yankee.
I’ve felt hurt, lost, confused, retarded, awkward, and just plain stupid more times than I can remember. I have learned the two strangest forms of Spanish in the world and somehow managed to understand both of them, in the end. I have a very weird accent; a Spanish lisp, Argentine intonation, and a Southern drawl. Some might find it ridiculous. The ladies find it sexy.
I have found myself having to think extremely quickly in order to defend Christianity from atheists, Buddhists, and Muslims at the same time without offending them. I met an atheist named Jesus. A professor told me I was the weirdest Christian he had ever met after I explained that humans are either a) created by God, or b) the fittest of all animals, therefore animal rights activists are incredibly stupid regardless of world view. I’ve been asked, “Brandon, you’re a Christian, what do you think about abortion” at 9 AM as I sat there wondering how I managed to find myself in these situations before my first cup of coffee. I have told a Cuban he’s going to hell. He agreed with me, then bought me dinner.
I have seen some really, really weird foreign films. I have marched in a demonstration against the United States under the flags of the Soviet Union and Che Guevarra and laughed at the absurdity of it all. I have been asked to join the Socialist Revolution in Argentina. I have had a German tell me rather condescendingly that Spanish was an easy language to learn after he learned where I was from. He did not speak Spanish. I have pretended to not know English in order to pretend to be an ignorant foreigner and let Dieter have a chance to use his “sexy accent” to get us into places we shouldn’t have been. I have pretended to not know Spanish to be perceived as an ignorant, angry tourist and get my money back from the vampiresque budget airlines.
I have eaten blood sausage, seen real, dissected bodies used as an exhibition, and been sick more times than I can count. One time was at the dead bodies exhibition. I have had my shoes pulled off in the middle of an intersection of downtown Buenos Aires, had my backpack caught in the doors of a moving bus, and been hit on the head by a bar lowering across the road to block traffic at a railroad crossing. I have almost been blown up, robbed, and ripped off. I have been dangerously close to getting into a bar fight with Spaniards, and definitely would have gotten myself killed in a fight with 10 Portuguese guys had God not intervened. I have been cursed by a gypsy. I’ve danced the tango, the salsa, and the whiteboy. I have learned how to manage cooking, cleaning, laundry, and classwork at the same time. I almost used a bedai. I came to my senses in time, though. I’ve had margaritas, sangria, mojitos, beers, wines, champaignes, and who knows what else. Most of them are nasty and overpriced. Guiness in Ireland is really good and explains why the Irish are all drunk.
I have been in some really gross places. I have slept in a lot of hostels, in cars, and on the cold, damp ground. I have taken showers in some really terrible showers. I have had to apply 30 pounds of pressure to a button to get firehose-velocity, scalding hot water for 3 seconds inside of a 2’ x 2’ shower stall. I have slept on the floor of the airport. I have been kicked in the ribs by a security guard to wake me up in afore-mentioned airport. I have seen monkies, geckos, and toucans. I have had couples make out 3 inches in front of my face in the subway. I saw a couple having sex on the grass beside a sidewalk. Some guy almost threw poop at me.
I have felt awkward and out of place more times than anyone should ever be in a lifetime. The past year has basically been one, long awkward situation. I think Spain would have been impossible without Lucas and Annie there with me. Sometimes they got on my nerves and I wanted to kill them, but I’m sure they wanted to kill me just as often. Without them things would have been a lot harder. They are some cool kids, so if anyone other than me ever gets a chance to go on a trip halfway around the world and learn another language with them, they should take it. Argentina has been somewhat easier from a “new and unusual experiences” stand point, but harder from a relationship perspective. Not living in a residence really hurt my ability to make meaningful friendships and that made it particularly difficult until the past month or two.
Would I do it again? Yeah, I’m masochistic. I’d do it again.
Do I have any regrets? Well, yeah. Who doesn’t? If I could do everything over again there are a lot of things I would do different, but I didn’t know that then. It’s been a long, hard road to get the knowledge I’ve got now and I’m not going to start second-guessing myself now. I did a lot of stupid things. Thankfully they’re over and I know they were stupid.
What was your favorite place in Europe? Paris. It was just a fun trip with Lucas and Annie and we got to see a ton of cool stuff.
In Argentina? Well, I only traveled to Igauzu, but the waterfalls there are amazing. I like Buenos Aires a lot, it’s a cool city.
What are the biggest differences between Spain and Argentina? Probably the public sanitation. Spain is much, much cleaner than Argentina. There is trash everywhere in Argentina and it’s really unfortunate because the city isn’t ugly by any means. You can tell they are going through some economic problems just based on the relatively small amount of upkeep they have. But the “trash everywhere” problem has been everywhere I’ve visited in Latin America. I think it’s some sort of cultural state of mind.
Do you like Spain or Argentina better? Hmm. Spain was amazing because of the historical stuff, which I love. Argentina has friendlier people. I dunno. I liked them both. They are different beasts.
Are you fluent in Spanish? Welllll, I dunno. Sometimes. I can get my point across, but I am by no means perfect. Learning a language is a lifelong process, unfortunately, so I’ve got a ways to go. I can read the Bible without a dictionary (older language and different literary style makes it harder than normal stuff) and the subjunctive no longer makes me want to kill myself. I make errors when I’m talking but I realize I’m making them instead of being ignorant, which I used to be. Recognizable = Correctable. I’ll be honest, the Argentine accent KILLS me. Half of them talk UUUUP and dooooown and it really messes with me. But I can understand them. Group settings are still difficult to follow and I don’t like talking in big groups. I usually just listen or let my mind wonder.
What are you going to do when you get home? Drink an Ale8 and watch a UK basketball game. Play video games. Visit my friends. Talk to my family. Strike up conversations with random people because it’s just SO EASY in English. Take a very long, very hot shower. Try to figure out who to vote for. Drive a car on the left side of the road. No wait, I mean the right side. Oh boy... it might be best for everyone to stay at home for about a week after I get home.
Did you bring me anything home? Yeah, me. Sorry guys, the suitcase (yes, I said suitcase. I have lived off of one suitcase for a year) is full.
Are you married to some exotic girl? Wouldn’t you all be surprised.
Was the world ready for a Kentucky boy? Let’s face it, no one is ready for Kentucky boys. I chewed the world up and spit it out. They can’t handle us. We’re like some sort of freak combination of Spartan warriors, Southern gentlemen, and Italian Stallions.
Are you the same sweet, lovable Brandon that left a year ago? Uhm. Well, I dunno. I’ve changed a lot. Spain changed me a whole lot. Other things have affected me. I dunno. I wouldn’t expect the same guy back, though. I’ve definitely changed. I am, however, still devilishly handsome and witty.
Okay, that’s all I’ve got. I doubt I’ll send out another email unless something terrible happens. Thanks to everyone that sent me letters and talked to me in one way or another. Thanks most of all for the prayers that kept my foolish, idiotic self from getting killed. I went the entire trip without being hurt (except that time I wiped out snowboarding... ugh), seriously ill, or robbed. The only thing I lost was a USB cable for my camera. So thanks. Thanks to Annie and Lucas for putting up with me in Spain... we all had our rough moments and I’m glad we came out of it without having a suicide pact. Thanks to my parents, my brother, and my aunt for the financial support. Living abroad is expensive. Living abroad for a year without a job is ridiculously expensive. It wasn’t a waste.
It’s been a long time and I’m excited to see everyone again.
Now let’s hope I don’t die in a plane crash, eh? :P
Hugs and Kisses,
Brandon
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| Life continues in not-so-sunny Argentina. I finished my final intensive semester and that makes me one happy man. I got a 9 for the class, out of 10, so I guess I did pretty well. I get the feeling they dumb down their grading system for us international students, though. It was probably the lowest grade in the class, but I'm okay with that since it's not a competition. I've now started the new semester here and it is pretty nice so far. I've not got my schedule finalized because of some misunderstandings I had about what was required of me, but I have a meeting scheduled to fix everything later this week, so everything should be okay. I've got all sorts of sweetness to tell, so I'll get back to the class stuff later on.
I have had a couple of near death experiences since the last time I wrote. I debated writing about them because I don't want to worry anybody, but let's face it, I am way too weak not to share such sweet stories. I lived, right? No worries here! However, I promise that when I actually die, I won't write a word about it.
The first time I nearly died was when I went to San Isidro to look around and see what I could see. I was having a pretty good time since I could do it during the daylight for a change. I managed to find the Cathedral there, which was a lot like those in Europe, expect had parts made out of red brick and there were trees and stuff around it. I stumbled across the Avenida del Liberador (Libertador? I can't remember.) which was a street I first encountered in the downtown area of the city. I figured that it was probably just another street with the same name until I noticed the block number 16,000-16,100, so yeah, I guess it's the same street. It's apparently a very long street.
Anyway, I was walking through a park, and saw the San Isidro Station on the other side of a one-way street and it looked like it had a shopping center attached to it. I couldn't resist the thought of a cute new handbag and went over to look around. When I noticed it was starting to get dark I decided I'd better try to find my way back to the train station I needed so I didn't end up lost at night. So I was waiting to go back across the street, watching some other tourists do weird poses while their friend took a picture until the traffic finally stopped coming. I started to put my right foot forward when I had a flash of insight, “HAY Brandon, u no it wuld be SMART if u lewked 2 the left 2 b4 u crawsed the streat.” You know, just in case. So as my right foot was traveling through the air, I threw a perfunctory look to the left of the one way street, even though it was stupid, because hey, it was a one-way street. Here's what went through my mind, “Okay, Dad, fine, I will look left, just like I will check to make sure the door is locked 15 times before I go to bed, just like I will put my seat belt on to move the car in the driveway, just like I will SWEET JESUS IN HEAVEN THAT CAR IS BACKING UP REALLY FAST RIGHT AT MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE AHHHHHGG MOMMYYYYNOOOOOO!!” I yanked my foot back next to my left one and stood there windmilling to gain my balance back as 3 cars flew past me about 2 inches in front of me. I had approximately a .4 second window from when I looked left to when the first car passed me. Moral of the story? That street in front of the San Isidro train station? Not a one-way. Thanks, OCD Dad.
My other near death experience took place when I was trying to get home. We had gone to watch Transformers (woot) at a mall that I had been to once before, but I was going to it from a different direction and wasn't 100% sure on the directions. I asked Beba how I could get there with minimal fuss and she told me about a bus that would take me straight there without any problems. Since I wasn't sure when I was going to be heading back I asked her if it ran late. A lot of the bus lines stop running around midnight, so I wanted ot make sure that I wasn't going to get stranded. She told me that it wouldn't be a problem since it ran until 3 AM. So I thought, “Hunky-dory, I'm set.” I got there okay, it was just one bus, but it's always interesting the first time you go somewhere. Pablo and I ended up watching Transformers while everyone else bowled. I wanted to bowl, too, but I am Optimus Prime Fan #1, so I had no choice. Years of childhood training > bowling. After it let out around 1 AM, everyone else had already left. Pablo lives in another direction, so we parted ways. I headed to the bus stop and waited on the bus. Except the bus never came. I waited around for thirty minutes (buses run less frequently the later it gets, even if they don't shut down) and then I realized I'd better start walking and maybe I'd get lucky and see the bus coming up behind me while I walked towards the main avenue (thirty blocks away) where I could get another bus.
Did I mention it was really cold? Because it was. Really. Cold. I walked and ran and walked and ran and never saw the bus. I got pretty tired from the running in the cold air, so I saw another bus stop ahead and decided to catch my breath there. It was on a corner, so I looked around to make sure I was alone and that I had something of an idea where I was. I know, it's lame, but I always look around and try to get my bearings in case I end up in a bad situation. I figured the odds of someone bothering me were pretty slim, but I tend to regard everyone suspiciously when I'm in a neighborhood I don't know and there is practically no one out walking around.
About 10 minutes after I stopped to rest I looked down the street in the direction I had to go and saw three guys on the other side of the street walking in the direction I had just come from. I thought, “Great, three guys. Young. Middle of the night. No one around. At least they're on the other side of the street.” And then they crossed the street and started coming towards me. Now, I'm not saying these guys were going to mug me or that they had bad intentions. They could have just been out and about like I was. But at that point I was pretty suspicious of them since they had no reason to cross the street if they were just going to keep walking the same way. As they crossed the intersection I was trying to figure out what I could do. I could run. I could scream like a little girl. I could use the wrestling move Lucas taught me (ahem). In the end I decided it was probably best to not show any signs of fear or aggression as that might encourage them and give them my full attention without letting them know they had my full attention.
So there I was. Looking at these three guys getting closer to me out of the corner of my eye while wondering innocently around and trying to keep something between myself and them. They got closer and closer. I looked down the street hoping for the bus. Nothing. I looked up the street hoping for more people. Nobody. They got closer and were almost to me. I figured things were either going to get interesting really soon or I was going to feel like a paranoid idiot. I gave one last glance up the street. Still nobody. I looked behind me one last time. That's when I saw a truck pulling around the block back the way I had come from. It didn't have any headlights on. I looked back towards the guys. They were about 10 feet from me. I looked back towards the truck zooming down the street. It flipped it's headlights on. 5 feet. The truck swerved towards me and stopped on the side of the road. The guys behind me didn't know what was going on either. That's when I noticed the lights on top of the cab. It was a police car...uh.. truck. The guys were right beside me as two cops piled out of the truck. The guys kept walking as I stood there somewhat afraid to move as I didn't want to give the cops the impression I was about to bust a move in the opposite direction. Then the cops walked up to the guys and shoved them against the wall and started shouting at them not 10 feet from me. I just stood there. They took the guys one by one to the truck and frisked them while the others stayed put against the wall. I couldn't decide whether I should start walking again or stay put. The cops never said a word to me. They didn't even acknowledge that I was there. Their focus was completely on the others. I ended up standing there “waiting on the bus” as casually as I could since I figured it was a bad idea to walk away without knowing what was going on and I didn't want to attract attention to myself. I had no ID since that was the first and only night that I have forgotten my wallet since I've been abroad.
They finished frisking the guys and told them to go on their way. As the guys started walking away from me and the cops, the cops got back into their truck and drove off down the direction I needed to be going. At that point I thought it would be okay if I left and started walking again. I eventually got to the main street about 30 minutes later and got a bus back to the house. I think I got home around 2:30. I don't know what to say about that story. I wrote a funny version of it, but it just didn't seem to convey the amazing timing of everything that happened. There were a lot of coincidences that night and I'm pretty sure God took a hand in protecting me, so thanks to everybody that is praying for me. Fun, right?
Enough death stories, on to the lighter side of things. I got a chance to go look around the city some with Sarah and Mary, the other Grace students here. We went to Recoleta and looked at the huge cemetery there. It's kind of cool. It has a lot of saracophogigusisii or whatever they are called and those are fun to look at. I couldn't help but think of the morbid irony of a bunch of people walking around a graveyard taking pictures. I'm pretty sure we're all going to end up in one, so why take a picture? I definitely climbed halfway inside one for a photo-op. The door was knocked down and it looked like something had exploded out of the coffin, so of course I couldn't resist.
I bought a necklace there. It was some cool looking Aztec thingy so I figured why not. Only later did I realize that it had a bunch of Aztec pyramids on it, where they offered up human sacrifices to the sun god or some such. I'm not sure how I feel about wearing that around after watching Apocolypto.
We also went to a neighborhood called San Telmo to look around at the street vendor stuff. Or at least I assume that is what is there, since I saw nothing other than street vendors. Lots and lots of them. I bought a cool bracelet made out of the bones of barbarian warlords from the Mongolian Horde for 5 pesos. It also might have been made of coconut. I asked the guy and he said it was “caca de coco”, which translates to coconut poop, so I have to assume I didn't hear him correctly. Because coconuts do not poop, so far as I know.
Probably the most interesting thing I saw while the three of us were wondering around happened as we were walking to Recoleta along some street. I looked ahead of us and saw a bunch of guys in tight jeans and leather jackets smoking cigarettes, so I figured, hey neat, a rock band. But one of the guys had a camera and was swinging it around, so I looked a little farther ahead and saw this fur coated figure wearing a mini skirt and ... baggy stockings or something... and high heels. As we're walking through this group of people, the fur coat person turns around and scared the white off of me. It was an old guy wearing a wig with make-up on. Quite the unexpected shock. I was only comforted knowing that all three of us Gracies were recorded on film with him. Thank goodness. Wouldn't want to forget that, would we?
I have also moved to my new and final destination. I am now located about 10 minutes (by bus) from the university with Riqui and Yolanda Dans. Riqui's parents also live here on the same side of the house as me. Everything is divided really weird, so I won't even attempt to explain it. Anyway, everyone is really friendly and much, much more talkative than the family I was with before. Which is good, because I don't start that many conversations and I'm here to practice talking, so it works out. I get along with Riqui and Yoly pretty well. Every night we eat around 9 and then afterwards play Dutch Blitz. I will admit, much to my shame, that I played very poorly for the first couple of nights. I definitely embarrassed my family heritage. So badly that they started asking me if I wanted to play a different game. Excuuuuuseme? *Heel-shovels: Engaged.* Needless to say, I did NOT want a new game and that is the only game that I will play with them. I have steadily improved and have now won a grand total of two times. Ahh yes, I can taste their fear. I can't decide what tastes sweeter, the fear or the tears that will soon be flowing freely. You just don't mess with a Burns in Dutch Blitz. It's genetic.
Norma is Riqui's mom and she is amazing. I really like her. She's 68 and is a hoot. Boy, is she a talker. She's one of those people that you have to start saying goodbye to 10 minutes before you actually plan to leave. She cooks lunch for me and we sit around and talk. She buys me anything I show even a hint of liking. Her husband, whose name I cannot remember for the life of me, looks like my Dad. It's freaky. I am going to get some pictures up soon, hopefully, and then you will all see. He gets up at 4:30 every morning to go to work and then goes to bed early. Needless to say, I don't see a lot of him. He's a really nice guy from what I can tell. He gave me a man kiss, not an air kiss. I guess I'm okay with that now. Europe changes a man, I suppose.
There is a sweet restaurant on the corner of the street where I live that is called “Pizza and Champagne.” I have yet to go there and eat, but that's because I'm saving it for a special occasion. Maybe a first date. You know, when you want to make it fun, so you think, "Pizza!" But it also has to be romantic, so you think, "Champagne!" That owner is one clever guy. I see where you're coming from, owner-dude. Nice.
Classes. Tango. We had our first class and it was glorious. We don't have a classroom. We meet at the end of a hallway in the basement. I got to class late since I accidentally missed my bus stop and got there juuuust as he finished explaining the guys steps. I know, right? Only me. I have this amazing, innate talent to make awkward situations twice as awkward as normal. So I got to watch him explain the girls steps. Then it was time. Time for the dance. The first, awkward, “Hey there, I'm Brandon and I had coffee before I came to class, so I have coffee breath right now and I wish I had thought my morning through a little better and oh by the way I have never danced before in my life” moment.
Now, about 2/3 of the class is comprised of women, so they have to share me (yes, I love this and yes, I will gloat in future emails). I ended up with a red-haired girl named Jenny. I debated telling this story, but it's too funny not to. Anyway. Jenny was neither ugly nor pretty, Jenny was normal. But Jenny made my first formal dance interesting for two reasons. One, she is what I shall term a “generously endowed woman.” And two, she wore a very low cut shirt. I had no idea what to do. I couldn't look her in the eyes because I was kicking the crap out of her, and I couldn't watch my feet because that made me look straight down her shirt. And remember how I got to class late and missed the guys steps? Yeah, I had to wing those. Crash course in dancing 101. But never fear, readers, I persevered and got all the steps down pretty quickly. Then I found a new partner. At least until Jenny decides that she wants to wear a shirt.
At one point the professor stopped everyone to teach us how to “walk”. This involved him getting all the guys, lining them up and snapping his fingers in time. We had to glide walk with him in time to the snapping and I swear it felt like I was in a Michael Jackson video, minus the bleach and Neverland Ranch Weekend Getaways. I wanted to do some sweet Jackson dance move, but alas I don't know any. Anyway, by the end of the class I had the stuff he taught us down pretty well, so I am not as tremendously clumsy as I originally thought.
Another one of my classes is called “Cultures and Customs of Argentina” and it's pretty interesting... I think. The professor seems pretty nice and I think the material will get better once he gets done going over the definitions of stuff. The problem is. He. Talks. Really. Slow. The first class I thought that was because he was trying to see who was capable of being in the class, since it's all people from the US (and one girl from France. Spanish + French accent = odd). But no, he always talks like that. It makes the two hours feel like four.
I have 4 other classes, but I haven't had them yet so I can't describe them. I am going to assume that they are the most fun and exciting classes imaginable, but when they are called things like, “Comparative Political Systems of Latin America”, it's hard to believe my assumptions are true.
There is a ton of stuff that I forget to write about. I know I'm leaving good stuff out. But I will come up with more good stuff. I'm doing alright. I had a cold. I got tired of never having a kleenex, so I bought little packages to carry around with me. My nose stopped running the next day. I bought a scarf because I was tired of the cold and figured it was never going to warm up. It warmed up the next day. I believe that I have figured out some weird way of twisting reality and am working on a way to use it to my advantage.
Stuff that could be prayed for: not to die. This has been working out great so far. Also that I learn a ton of Spanish and that I retain it as that can be a real problem for me. I learn something and then don't have a lot of opportunities to use it and I end up having to learn it again later. Also, I hate the past tense. Nothing is worse than telling a story in Spanish. It is painful and makes me want to crawl into a hole and die.
Welp, I guess that's about it. TTFN.
-Brandon | | |
| Howdy, just though I'd send out another update since it has been a while and you all miss me so much that you can't live without my bi-weekly, 5 page long updates.
Everything is starting to get better for me. I am finding more ways to spend my free time and I plan on doing a couple of more things after my intensive courses end. They are really a downer me and make me feel like a zombie most of the time. I love learning all that stuff in a short amount of time, but it is hard to stay focused. It feels a lot like when I worked at Amazon. Get up, go do some really hard thing for the entire day, come back home, go to sleep. Repeat. Except instead of shutting my brain down for 10 hours I have to try to keep it turned on for 5. And I don't get paid. And I can sleep until noon. But other than that... exactly the same.
Argentina is starting to grow on me. The people are friendly and the food is good. The accent is easier to understand, although completely different from what I got used to in Spain. You know how when you are watching Crocodile Dundee and you have absolutely no idea what he just said, even though it's in English? Well, it's kind of like that. But it's getting easier for me to decode and that helps me out a lot. My accent though... wow, half the time I don't understand what I'm saying. I find myself pronouncing stuff with the Spanish lisp AND the Argentine inflection and it comes out terribly. I guess there's not much I can do about that, but it can really make me think I don't know how to speak in Spanish. I am going to have the weirdest accent when this is all over with.
I am officially in the mate club now. I made my first mate (the cup) of mate (the drink) (welcome to the Spanish language... making sense yet?) and it was pretty good. The ash-water is growing on me. I am not to the point where I have a cup of it in my hand 24/7, but I can chug it down and it helps to fight the cold.
I also joined the less prestigious “I just stepped in dog crap” club. That stuff can sneak up on you. My poor Vans. It was right before class too.
Speaking of class, I am the stupid kid... by far. We've got one girl who speaks French, English, some tribal language from Africa, and is working on Spanish. She's also studying pharmacy. Then you've got another girl that speaks English, Greek, Spanish, and who knows what else. Then you've got the other guy, a Spanish teacher in Rhode Island, that speaks French, English, Italian, Spanish, and probably something else. There's another Spanish teacher from Texas or some such that also teaches Spanish so she's definitely over my head. I seriously think the next dumbest person in class is my professor. So yeah, Brandon is out of his league, but that's okay. At least I'm not the stinky kid. And the name of the class? Get this... “Perfection”. Hah, I am in perfection, yet sometimes I forget how to conjugate basic verb tenses. Holy short-term memory, Batman! However!!! I am in the class with these super geniuses, so I guess I'm doing alright. Or I've got them all fooled! Muahahaha!!!!
Most of the class is either straight up grammar rules, reading comprehension, or some weird movie. We learn all sorts of stuff. I learned 8 different ways in which one word, “se”, can be used the other day, which was interesting, if not difficult. Some days we don't do anything that feels worthwhile. We spent an entire day learning punctuation. I actually needed to learn some of the stuff, but still... it was not an exciting day.
Here is my Lucas inspired story, as without asking myself, “WWLD?” (What Would Lucas Do?) I probably wouldn't have done it. I got invited to go bowling with some of the people from church. Class ends at 7 and I had to write some emails, so I didn't leave the university until around 8:30. As I was leaving I realized I had little to no idea how to get to the bowling alley, because I had gotten the directions over the phone and I had forgotten most of them. Not only that, I was lugging around my MacBook, which I really didn't want stolen. I had barely enough change to get home, and the buses only take change. It's pretty tough to get change, especially as stores start to close down.
Needless to say, all of those things were giving me second thoughts. Then I looked at my cell phone and realized that it had no bars left on the battery readout, so I was about to lose my only method of communication in case I got lost and that really put me over the edge. I thought to myself, “Self, forget it, I'mma gonna go home.” So I stood there waiting for the bus and thinking about the activities the night included; dinner with the grandparents, homework, the Lord of the Rings in Spanish, playing the guitar. After thinking that through, I said to myself, “Brandon, I like you, for the most part, but I'd rather jump off of a cliff than spend the rest of the night with you again.” That pretty much settled things.
I asked a kid standing at the bus stop if he knew how to get to San Lorenzo and he had no idea. So I took a guess and got on a bus that looked promising.
“Hey, does this bus go to San Lorenzo?”
“Nope, that's the other direction.”
“Sweet, thanks... Uh, can you stop the bus now? Thanks.”
So I crossed the street and saw a kiosk by the bus stop. I went up to the lady working there and turned on the Burns charm, “Hey, can I have a coke? (The Burns charm involves spending money) Wow, thanks, oh by the way can I have some change?”
Side note: figuring out how to aquire change for the buses has actually been a problem for me. I'm not really sure how to go about it, so this was a giant step forward for Kentuckians everywhere (which is generally in Kentucky, except for Tubby's players who all ended up in Europe – ZING! Anybody get that? It's funny, I swear).
Anyway, the lady gave me some change, which I wasn't expecting and I went back to wait for the bus I thought I needed; the 60.
Not the normal 60, the Pan-American 60, of which Sergio told me, “Brandon, never, ever take the Pan-American 60. It goes out into the country and you will never find your way back. Seriously.” As I stood there contemplating the fate of being transported to some obscure Argentinian countryside, I came to the conclusion that I was not all that comfortable with never coming back. So I turned to some older looking guy in a suit and said, “Hey, do you know I can get to San Lorenzo?” And he reaffirmed that I did indeed need to take the forbidden Pan-Am 60. We got to talking and he asked me if I was from Italy since I had an Italian accent. I had to laugh at that. There's just something funny about Italians having redneck accents. I decided I would be best served by telling him the truth, so I told him I was from Kentucky, which is similar to Italy in that we are commonly held to be one of the more attractive races of man, but which is, in fact, located in the United States. Turns out he works below my university and runs a couple of businesses down there, so I plan to visit him sometime and ask him his name (oops).
He got on the same bus and we ended up talking some more. He kept telling me the directions because I looked like a puppy about to get kicked, or something. I think he felt responsible for me, seeing as he even went up to the bus driver and made sure I was going the right way. He got off about 10 minutes later and I was once again paranoid and my mind started going through all the possible ways I could screw up and end up in Uruguay. I took out my cellphone and wrote down Sergio's number in case I had to get ahold of him after the battery finished being a drama queen and died already. I was nervous about missing the stop (there's not much to label the stops, you kind of just have to know) so I went up to the bus driver about 5 minutes later and asked him if we were almost there. He told me to sit down and shut up. Just kidding. He actually told me it was only a little further, so I went back to my spot on the bus and waited a little while. In a couple more minutes he shouted, “HEY MANG, THIS IS SAN LORENZO, OKAY?” to me and I jumped off the still moving bus.
So there I was. Middle of the highway/interstate/thingy. No one around. Very few cars driving by. I think I saw a tumbleweed blow by me. Just a gas station and two overpasses. My prior instructions had involved crossing a bridge so I thought I might not be 100% screwed. Around that time I got a text message asking me where the heck I was at, so I frantically typed out a response to save the battery, “I R CRAWSING THEE BRIADGE NOW I THNK.” I hit send and then my phone died. I prayed that I was in the right place, because the other side surely looked a lot like an industrial zone with more lawn-mower repair shops than bowling alleys. I got to the other side and there was definitely not a huge entertainment complex called “North Center” there, so I thought, “If that other bridge doesn't have North Center at the end of it, I am screwed. I have no phone, no idea where I am, no idea how to get back to where I was, and there is no one around me to ask. I am going to die of starvation or wolves are going to hunt me down and kill me.”
I saw a building by the other bridge that looked suspiciously like the kind of building that houses a bunch of dentists and doctors... not exactly fertile bowling grounds but, I decided I'd better circle around to the other side and check it out before I flew off the handle and started yelling, “BUT I'M AN AMERICAN!!!” at the top of my lungs and slapping myself across the face with my passport. As I drew closer to the building and slowly circled around to the front of it, beautiful, sweet neon lights greeted me. A gigantor sign saying “CENTER NORTE” warmed my soul. It was a miracle and I am not ashamed to admit I was worried for at least 30 seconds. Regardless, I found it after much consternation and am now officially Indiana Jones minus the whip. I even hate snakes!
I got there just in time for everyone else to be done bowling. But I didn't really mind, I had already had my fun and I am somewhat terrible at bowling. There was a theater there and we ended up watching a movie called Mr. Brooks afterwards. Pretty good movie, if you like movies in the vein of Seven. And by that I mean if you like seeing someone get stabbed in the neck with a pair of scissors and thrash around bleeding for about thirty seconds, you will like Mr. Brooks.
The next day we had a field trip in my class. We went to the theater to watch a movie called XXY. This is an Argentinian/Argentine (I still don't know which it is in English. Someone help me out here) movie about a 15-year old hermaphrodite that had been raised as a girl, yet found herself changing back into a guy and falling in love with the 16-year old son of the doctor who was going to do “the” operation, so you had the added “struggling with homosexuality” twist. This was one of those movies with 10 minute long scenes where no one says anything or does anything, they just sit there and smoke a cigarrette and make you contemplate just how much money you spent on the ticket and why. Folks, the rest of the world has a lot of things to offer that are as good or better than in the US, but the cinema is not one of those things. I cannot stress this enough.
The past weekend was probably the best one I've had yet. Friday we went and saw Ratatouilleleloule or however you spell it and it was good. Saturday night we had a NIGHT OF TERROR at church, which was pretty funny to me, but that was mostly because I went through the haunted house with two 18-year old girls that are apparently easily frightened. It was a good night though, many games of Uno were played, many cups of mate were downed, and much cake was consumed. Sunday morning 4 of us Gracies and Pablo, one of the guys from church, went to the Bailey's (missionaries here) house in another part of the city. It took me 2 ½ hours to get there from where I live. And it was really, really, really cold. For some reason they had the windows down in the trains, so once those things got going we had some really sweet wind tunnel effects going on inside.
It was really nice being there. We cheated like crazy and spoke English the entire time. I feel like Socrates and Shakespeare rolled into one when I speak in English. It's so nice to be able to express myself without having to conjugate this and that and the other thing. Anyway, I got to experience my first asado (barbeque, I think) and it was good. Red meat and wine? Yes, please. I felt like a viking warrior, minus the sweet handle-bar mustache and broadsword. But really, do I even need a weapon to be deadly? I submit that I do not. We went to church and came back and watched two DVDs: James Bond, and ... The Faun in the Labyrinth? I don't know, something like that. It was pretty weird too. It kind of made me want to vomit. It was like Schindler's list with a Lord of the Rings twist. We stayed the night and got up around 10 to find the house fuuuull of people. I got introduced to about 6 different missionaries. They offered to let me come work with them on the weekends and I even got offered an internship here ranging from 3 months to a full year. That's pretty sweet, I don't think I've ever had career options before. Other than, “Hey Brandon, do you want to push carts or run a register tonight?”
Anyways, we left the Bailey's house around 2 in the afternoon and that's when it happened. Something that crushed all my childhood dreams of going on an adventure through the hot, humid, snake infested jungles of South America: It started to snow. For the first time in like 90 years, it snowed in Buenos Aires. Pablo told me he had never seen snow before, so I tried not to be bitter. It's really pretty, I know.. but come on. Snow in South America AND it's July? Can it get any worse? Bring on global warming, I say.
I got back home around 5, took a shower, and then the phone rang and I got invited to another party which I had to take a taxi to because I didn't know where it was. I got back late and decided I needed to recover from my long weekend, so I skipped class on Tuesday to recover from it and sleep. It was great.
Three of the Grace students left in the past couple of weeks; Karly, Ashley, and Ruth. That bums me out because it was sweet hanging out with them, but I guess they had to go sometime. And then the other three Grace girls are leaving in about a week and a half and that bums me out too. After that it's me and one girl for about a month and then she leaves. Then one more girl is coming and I think that's it. I think I'm here longer than she is, too.
On the days where I've got nothing to do other than homework, my time is mostly taken up with rocking out on the guitar. I think I've finally reached a point where I can do most of the intermediate stuff. When I first started playing about a year and a half ago I tried to learn the intro to a Jack Johnson song and I couldn't do it after like 3 hours of trying. The other day I decided to try again and ended up learning the intro in about 2 minutes and the entire song in about an hour, including some obscure chord that does it's best to break my pinky (Dmaj7, I'm looking at you). I guess not having anything else helps with practicing the guitar. Still, it feels good to make some progress with that.
I managed to do some pushups the other day. Yeah, I know, “Brandon U R so week LOL my little sistar can do pushups”. Yeah, yeah, the thing is that after I broke my wrist and it finally got better, it has basically been asking for a world of hurt to bend my wrist and put pressure on it that way. I could bend it, but putting my weight on it would feel like some one was hitting it with a hammer. So the other day I managed to crank out about 50 pushups without a problem. Hooray! My wrist feels fine, but I'll be danged if my chest doesn't hurt now. I'm thinking about joining a gym, but I have got a sneaking suspicion that they don't have heating in there and having my skin freeze to a bar doesn't appeal to me. We shall see, it might have to wait until it warms up a little.
My final for the July semester is on Thursday, so I'm really excited about being done with intensive courses. Hopefully, I will be able to get some sort of normal schedule going where I don't feel like a vampire. Once I get done with this week, I'd like to start working with the missionaries. I know that it would help me adapt to the culture and get to know more people. I really get bummed when I feel like I'm not doing anything, and that is the way it has been since January. It's basically impossible to do anything when you can barely speak, but now that I can communicate well enough I'm really looking forward to doing something to help out.
I will also be moving soon. I am going to be living in a house a lot closer to the university and that is going to make me one happy kid. No more waiting for the train for 15-20 minutes and no more 40 minute train rides. Plus the family is a lot younger and hopefully I will be able to connect with them more than I have been able to with my current family.
Stuff that can be prayed for: That I learn Spanish! That I can continue to make friends. That my next schedule is the best schedule of my life and one that will allow me to do things that I have as yet been unable to do. That I can be used by the missionaries in some way and learn a lot from them.
I suppose that's about it. I hope everyone is doing okay and that someone, somewhere, is enjoying the summer weather for me. Thanks for the emails and so forth.
-Brandon | | |
| It has occurred to me that I have not sent out any updates in almost 3 weeks now and that inquiring minds want (no, demand!!) to know what is going on with me. I will now take this time to answer some of your questions (acquired by me through the use of mind-control techniques taught to me by my Splinter, of ninja turtle fame). Here we go!
Brandon, what is the weirdest thing you have seen in Buenos Aires thus far?
Dearest and gentle readers, where to start? Maybe it was when I walked out the front door to go to church and at that very moment a horse pulling a cart passed in front of the house. Maybe it was the two McDonald's sandwiching a Burger King by the Obelisk in the downtown area. I really don't know. There have been many weird things, but all the weird starts to pile up and weird becomes common, so weird no longer sticks out. I have lost all reference points. Let's just say I am adrift in a sea of oddities.
Mr. Burns, what has your most awkward moment been? Surely there must have been many!!
Yes, reader, you are correct, there have been many awkward moments. One was experienced today, as I walked into a convenience store to buy a drink and something to eat. I walked to the refrigerator to see if they had any coke when I realized that both the women there were staring at me in shock and fear. “Uhh.... what?” “Well, it's just that people usually don't just walk behind the counter like that.” “... uhm... oops. Yeah, I'm not trying to rob you. I just want a coke.” I'm pretty lucky they didn't blast me away with a shotgun, now that I think about it.
Another moment was my first time going to the youth group at church. Side note, it's pretty weird that I am in the youth group. I was there sporting my wolf man beard that hadn't been touched in over a month and it just felt weird. But, apparently if you are below the age of dead you can still go to the youth group. Anyway, I had to get up and introduce myself, which was like a pfft, I am used to way more uncomfortable situations than this, bring it. So I told them I was 25 and from Kentucky and yadda yadda yadda. Then the pastor was like, “SO HEY ARE YOU SINGLE OR WHAT?!?” And I looked around the room and realized that the only girls there were around the ripe old age of 16, so I uttered a hesitant, “Uh.. yep.” Okay, so maybe that wasn't that awkward in retrospect, but dangit, I am not that keen on the 16 year olds (Okay, FBI? I know you're reading this). Giggity-giggity-giggity.
Another awkward (weird) moment came when I realized that I liked making tea in a pot on top of a gas stove because it made me feel like Mary Poppins. Yeah. I don't know either. I also realized that I have a gas stove phobia. It's just a time bomb waiting to blow up in my face and melt my features into the human blob while I sit there and try to light it. Man, those things are terrifying.
Dictator-for-Life Burns, what is the most exciting thing you have done?
Well, that one is hard to answer. I've gotta be honest, I haven't done that much since I've been here. The first week and a half I spent waking up choking on my own snot (this was preferable to waking up choking on someone else's snot... ahh yes, I just heard your collective groan and it amused me greatly). The climate change pretty much did me in from day one. That, in conjunction with 5 hours of classes lasting most of the daylight hours, left me exhausted until the beginning of last week. It got dark early and I got tired early, so I usually just came back home and died (after doing my homework of course [not really, I did it in the train the next morning... balancing is tricky]).
Anyway, I finally got to look around the city a little on Monday since it was a holiday. I took the train to downtown BA, which took me around an hour as the crow flies... Although I suppose as the train goes would be more apt of an analogy. Actually, I don't really need an analogy here, do I? Moving right along, I had no idea where to go once I got off the train. I walked up and down the street outside of the station trying to get my bearings on the little tourist map I had. I finally gave up and started walking until I found a really big street, then I follow that for a while, then I found it on the map and figured out where the floozifloppit I was and shouted, “EUREKA, NORTHWARDS HOOOOOO!!!” No one was on the streets, since it was a holiday. And then I went north, obviously. I found the main street, 9 de julio, or something like that. I found the big, famous obelisky thingy and took a picture, then I walked down a street that had a lot of people on it and discovered something famous, purely by accident.
Avenida Florida, tourist attraction of tourist attractions. Expensive shops, street performers, obnoxious tourists. This street had it all. I watched a “comedy” routine for a little while. I use the word comedy very loosely since the two guys didn't have much more than a couple of dirty jokes which they ran into the ground. I left without tipping, since I am also an obnoxious tourist. I then retreated to McDonald's (the left one) because I wanted a cup of coffee and ended up eating too. One of Annie's friends called me while I was standing in line, so I got to feel pretty sweet. “OH HEY THERE I AM SPEAKING IN ENGLISH WHILE STANDING IN THIS LINE!!” Followed by, “YO QUIERO PATATOES FRITOS GRACIAS.” James Bond, eat your heart out.
So I met up with Lindsey, Annie's friend, and we walked around the tourist section some more and then got some coffee. I totally cheated and spoke to her in English since she wasn't very confident in her ability to communicate in Spanish. We hung out for a while and then I went home before 10, since the train is dangerous much later (or so I hear, I will have to regrow my mountain man beard so I can blend in and find out for myself someday).
Another sweet thing that I did was go to see the Blue Man Group with the other students (I almost typed “the other girls from Grace”, but then I realized what that did to me... oh yeah, sharp as a tack here, folks, good luck getting something by me). It was pretty sweet. We were off to the side a ways, but it was still worth the $18 we paid to go see it. Karly said that the show was deep, as in profound, and I agree. Unfortunately, this river does not flow deeply enough to figure out what it was, other than something about colors and masks.
So, Brandon, are you enjoying that tropical jungle climate?
Dear reader, it is cold here. It is cold and humid and foggy. The humidity is usually around 90%. The winter officially started on the 21st, so I am freezing my butt off here. Central heating? Pfft!
How are your classes going, sweetie?
Well, Mom, they are going just fine. I finished my first semester (the month of June) on Friday and apparently I did well enough to warrant a 9 out of 10 for the class. I don't quite understand that, seeing as I felt like a complete retard taking the final. It was ugly. Unfortunately, that 9 doesn't count towards anything other than bragging rights, as the classes that I get credit for in Grace don't start until August. I am definitely glad to be done with the first of my two intensive semesters, though. Five hours of grammar is just... Anyway, moving on.
I started my new class today. Now I'm in class from 2 to 7 PM Monday through Friday. There are only four of us in the class now. The name of the class is, “Perfection.” That makes me laugh, but whatever. One of the students is from my other advanced class last semester. The other two are... get this... Spanish teachers. Yes, I am in class with two people that teach Spanish. I feel so, so out of place. We've got two professors. We've only met one of them, Ursula. Luckily for me, she's cute, a marked improvement over the last professor.
What is mate?
Mate is an Argentine drink. They like to carry around with them wherever they go and share it. It's kind of like a peace pipe, except a drink. It is basically an herb shoved into a cup and hot water is poured into it. What does it taste like? Kind of like cigarrette ash in hot water. Do I like it? Uh, I am working on it.
Is Che Guevara really that popular?
Yeah, he's that popular. I'm not sure how I feel about the Che, but I do know he went about solving the world's problems the wrong way. Anyway, he's famous roundabouts. My last teacher said she was a believer in Che. Whatever that means.
Can we call you?
Why, yes, yes you can. Assuming, that is, that international calling doesn't make you queasy. My cell phone number is 011-54-9-11-6-297-8478. That should work from any phone in the US. Don't call me Sunday nights, as I have church, and don't call me weeknights from 1 to 6 PM EST, as I will be in class. Feel free to call me at 6:30, as it is possible I will be in the train and can show off my international sweetness to my fellow travelers.
How's the accent coming, Che?
Hah, yeah right. Apparently, I still talk like a Spaniard. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I dropped the lisp and everything, but they still think I talk that way. I think it's because I don't have the whole Italian thing down yet. It's awkward trying to use a gangster accent in Spanish.
On a more positive note, I finally... finally, got the “R” sound down. Yes, I can now roll my r's on demand. One of the girls at church showed me how to do it (she has a boyfriend, mother) and I practiced it when I was walking around the city. Nothing like talking to yourself and repeating the same thing over and over to reassure the locals. I just want a coke, lady, I swear.
How can we pray for you?
Welp, I am pretty bored and I would like to make friends, but I am stranded out here in no-man's land. It's not like living in Madrid with 15 other people my age that want to do stuff with me. I'm living a 65+ year old couple and it can get dull. So if I could make some friends to have some adventures with, seeing as I'm missing Lucas and Annie, that would be sweet. Also that I continue to learn the language. It can get frustrating. Learning a language is a process, but it seems like every step I take makes two more steps pop up in front of me. I would also like to remain healthy, as getting sick really takes it out of me. And, of course, that I don't get robbed, mugged, beaten, maimed, or killed.
That's pretty much all I've got right now. I'm sure I'm forgetting a lot, but that happens when I don't write these things more regularly.
| | |
| Well, I've started to get settled in here in Buenos Aires so I figured
I would send out an update. I actually have to write this in a Word
document and upload it from school tomorrow, since I don't want to use
the family computer to do stuff.
Leaving Madrid was tough because I had finally hit my
stride there and things were really starting to come together for me,
but that's the way I knew that it would be. I had some issues with my
baggage at the airport. I went to the check-in and the woman at the
desk made me weigh my carry-on bag with the other luggage, which
wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't shoved every single book into
that bag, so of course I was overweight. They wanted me to pay 216
Euros to bring it with me, so I had to do some creative rearranging
with everyone from the residence helping me out. I pulled my backpack
out of my carry-on and shoved almost all my books into it, along with
my laptop, resulting in a backpack that probably weighed 40 pounds.
Not fun to carry around. I felt like a turtle. I also took my guitar
with me into the cabin, something that I didn't know you could do, and
if I had I probably would have brought another suitcase with me from
the States. Oh well, live and learn I suppose.
The plane was ginormous. I had a window seat above the
wing of the plane and an empty seat to my right, which was great. What
wasn't great was the kid behind me that spent the entire flight trying
to detach my seat from the floor of the cabin using nothing but leg
strength and leverage. Luckily it was bolted down. The mother was an
Argetine, and she gave me my first taste of an Argetinian accent... I
thought she was drunk. But nope, they all talk that way.
When I got to Buenos Aires, I was pretty beat. I got to
the customs counter and the woman rattled off something that I didn't
catch, so I asked her to repeat it. She did, then she said "misa"
which means Mass, as in Catholic Mass... So I was like, uhh... Lady,
what the heck are you talking about? Then I realized she wanted my
visa. She wasn't very friendly. As I stood there waiting for my
baggage, I realized that I had forgotten to ask how I was going to meet
the person that was going to pick me up. I was praying that they had a
sign or something with my name on it. It was around that point that I
felt like just laying down in the middle of the floor and giving up for
about 2 months. Just the idea of having to get to know a new city, a
new house, new people, new church, new school, new classes, new public
transportation, new accent, new grammar, new culture, new ways not to
die... I just wanted to lay down and sleep.
But I girded my loins (I have now officially used this
phrase) and got my baggage and walked out into the terminal to see if I
could find Carlos, the faceless Argetine. Luckily, three people were
looking for me and I guess my dazed and confused expression gave me
away and they picked me out of the crowd. So I met Sergio, Yoly, and
Carlos and they dragged me outside into the fresh (frigid,
soul-croushing) winter air and into a car. They were pretty surprised
that I could understand what the heck they were saying, apparently this
is rare. I was glad to see that the past 5 months had not been
wasted.
We got to the house I'm staying in around 1 and I met the
rest of the family. Sergio is a 37 year old guy that works in a
museum. He's kind of short, and reserved in public, but he seems like
a pretty good guy. He's a Baptist. His parents, whose names elude
me.. terrible, I know.. are a really nice Catholic couple that insist
on making me feel like their grandchild. This has its pros and cons.
The pros are they are really nice and talk to me a lot. The cons are
they are nice and talk to me a lot and I can't escape. I am only the
second Grace student to live with the Etulain family, so his parents
don't really know how to react to me. The other Grace student didn't
have the luxury of 5 months in Spain like I do, so he had a lot of
problems here.
Sunday I went to church and met a metric crapload of
people, probably only two of which I can remember. I spent a lot of
the day getting settled in to my room and trying to arrange everything
to my liking. I have a lot more space here than I did in Spain. And
it's a lot, lot cleaner. I have a TV in my room. I caught an episode
of... wait for it... The Office with Spanish subtitles. It was great.
I felt like I was crossing a threshold in life. Some of the jokes just
did not translate very well. But Dwight is ugly in every language, so
it's still pretty funny.
Monday, I got up at 8 and had breakfast (I know, weird)
and left off to go to school all by my lonesome. It's a pretty
straight shot to the train station, so I had no problems finding it. I
felt a little awkward, mainly because I was in a new place and felt
like a complete gringo, but luckily I look just like everyone else
here. Same as in Spain. I am the faceless man. I have no defining
characteristics. I should be in the CIA. Put a turban on me, and
boom, instant Brandon Mohammed Achmed Akbar Saddam abn-Burns. I
crossed the train tracks and was waiting for traffic to clear so I
could cross to the other side of the road, when the woman next to me
said, "Careful!", right before the pole that lowers to block traffic
from crossing the tracks nailed me in the top of my head. It hurt less
than you'd think it would. I shrugged at the three women standing
there and went on my way.
I met Karly at a station near the school so she could show
me where the university is at. We got there and she helped me find the
office for international students. I talked to one of the secretaries
and she SPOKE... TO... ME... LIKE... THIS. It was rather amusing.
Anyway, she sent me up to the 12th floor (the school is a tower, with
high-speed death elevators). There I met a guy named Daniel who was
so soft spoken I felt like I was hurting his feelings by being in his
office. I told him what was going on and why I had missed the first
week of school (finals in Spain) and he said he'd be right back. He
came back 2 minutes later, cleared off a desk and handed me a placement
exam. I was definitely not expecting it and I had definitely not
studied for it. I had planned on looking around the city after getting
an appointment to take the placement test. But nooo, the Argentine
complacency failed me Monday morning.
So I took it, handed it in, they graded it, and then put
me in the advanced intensive Spanish class. Literally. I had to go to
class on Monday directly after taking the exam. It was horrible. Now
I have class from 10 AM to 3 PM, every day. For two months. It's kind
of funny because they don't even have books with grammar rules or
structures. Just a workbook to do exercises in. That's all we do for
five hours: exercises. It's somewhat assumed that we know what we're
doing. It's a small class, there's only 7 of us including the
professor, and as an added perk I am the only male, so I get to enjoy
conversations about shaving legs, manicures, and hair-styles. And
before any women get offended by my chauvinism, these conversations
have already taken place in the first two classes, so neiner neiner
neiner!
Today (Tuesday), I went out with Sergio looking for a cell
phone so that I can be cool like the rest of the kids at school. I'm
thinking about buying one of those fake plastic ones that look like
they are gold-plated and then clipping it to my belt. After that we
went to meet up with Karly and Ashley and see Pirates of the Carribean
3, but the other people we were waiting on never showed up and we
missed it. Oh well. Now I'm dead tired and about to pass out.
I haven't had a chance to look around the city much. I
get back from class around 4 and it gets dark by 6. I dont understand
how the public transportation works, so I'm wary of traveling too far
from familiar areas right. I have no idea what is dangerous and what
isn't, and that makes me even warier. I feel a little like a fish out
of water. As such, I am pretty bored so far. I know it will speed up
as I make friends and learn how to get around without help, but for now
it's been a bit slow.
Random observations: It's not nearly as clean as Madrid.
Not as many people smoke here. The person to ipod ratio is down to
about 5:1 as opposed to 1:1 in Madrid. There are as many buses as
cars. Bus drivers are crazy everywhere in the world. There's a lot of
dog poop on the sidewalk. Crossing the roads is a lot like playing
Frogger, which, if you don't know video games, is a lot like Russian
Roulette with cars. Not everyone wears their poker face all the time.
I miss Lucas, it just doesn't feel right without him here. McDonald's
doesn't sell beer with their Happy Meals. The bus routes require a PhD
and ESP. I can't speak in Spanish very well when I'm tired. I am
hyper when I leave the house and act like an idiot. Guys kiss other
guys on the cheek here, and not just air kisses. I definitely felt
some man slobber on my cheek after one encounter. It's one kiss, as
opposed to the two in Spain, but I'm told it's okay to give two kisses
and a pinch if it's single girl. I have yet to experiment with this
theory. I am rich here, as the exchange rate is 3 pesos to the
dollar. Argetinian TV is just as trashy as Spanish TV, but the
camermen here are hyped up on crack cocaine and are in a nation-wide
competition to see who can zoom in and out the fastest and the most
often. Normal words in Spain are the f-bomb here, the f-bomb in Spain
is a normal word here, this leads to lots of fun being had by me. I
like the vosotros verb form and refuse to not use it, even though no
one else does.
Things that can be prayed for: That I do not remain this
tired for much longer, as I refuse to sleep more than 8 hours a night.
That I continue to elude death. That I know how to deal with people
begging for money, as there seems to be more of it here than in Madrid,
and a lot of it seems a lot more genuine. I saw a guy with no legs
pushing himself around on a skateboard today. I don't really know how
to react to that, as I don't exactly have a lot of money, but I feel
like I should give them something. That I dominate my classes like
Conan dominates his enemies. And did I mention that I would like to
continue eluding death for the time being? That I make some friends
and learn my way around the city. That I never, ever get lost here.
That I find a million dollars. That the other American students think
that I'm Spanish or Czechoslovakian or Martian, anything but an English
speaker. That I can find another anti-US demonstration and join in,
maybe even get to carry around a Che Guevarra flag, as I have a sick
fascination with this knowing that I am the enemy.
That's pretty much it. Sorry for such a long email, I
know they drag on. If only I had fewer adventures. I need an editor.
But really, can you edit perfection? I submit that you cannot.
¡¡Viva la Revolución!!,
Che Burns
P.S.
My English is getting progressively
worse. I forget how to spell words, and in some cases I forget the
word altogether. Sorry about that. I guess this voids the whole "not
being able to edit perfection" thing, doesn't it?
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