15 de Octubre
"I am currently sitting on a bed on the veranda of our 4 star hotel in Iguazu. I love it up here! The air is moist and warm and tangible and floating with buzzing insects and bird calls. There is a world of rainforest and red earth surrounding us, beaten down viviendas painted colorfully in the mountains, red rivers, dark faces, indigenous handicrafts. THIS is South America. THIS is hat I was expecting when I came down here. This is almost not Argentina, it feels like a completely different country up here. Minus the asado and the mate it might as well be, because those are the only shreds of culture that seem to have carried over into this ttropical jewel of a place. If I could live anywhere in Argentina, this place is my favorite so far!"
16 de Octubre
"Wow! What a day! What an incredible experience! I've seen and down alot of impressive things down here but I think Iguazu trumps all of them! Every single moment of awe got better and better as we got closer and wetter and the falls just grew bigger and more impressive, and there's CoQui just smiling with her mate saying "Oh trust me... it gets better than this!" First we walked around the upper pass and saw a panoramic of al the falls and walked over them. Then we took a train through the rainforest to the othe side to see La Garganta del Diablo (The Devil's Throat). WOW. I just.... reached a point of dumbstruck-ness where my jaw just couldn't drop any lower. The sound of the water is so deep and loud and angry and the billowing mist rises up in the wind like an untamed animal. Standing on the edge of Garganta del Diablo was seriously like standing on the edge of the world! It's like the earth made a shelf and all the water in the world is just pouring over in torrents into a white cloud of mist, nothingness, and there's the sparrows zooming in and out of the clouds frm the cliffs. How I envied them!
But I think one of my favorite moments was being on top of Garganta del Diablo and screaming in hysterical laughter with Erica as the billows of mist just overwhelmed us with droplets. Such an indescribable fleeting feeling. Nothing will ever recapture it or do it justice, not this journal, not any picture, or blog. Walking back I remember thinking "If I lived my whole life never knowing that this place exists, I'd never really understand what a true wealth of beauty and wonder exists in this world."
After lunch we walked through the lower pass and got REALLY close to the waterfalls. The wind, the water, the roar, the intensity of being right up in the face of the falls vs. the sheer disbelief and breathlessness of the Panoramic of it all. It literally looked like Jurassic Park from afar, complete with circling vultures, strange South American racoons, monkeys, toucans, deer, and yellow and black striped spiders! Then, as if I wasn't wet enought yet, we went on a speed boat through the strong murky churning water, zooming us around and chargning us into the billowing clouds where the water crashed into the river. We were screaming and laughing and choking and almost drowning nas we were about crushed by these towering monsters. I kept trying to open my eyes and savor the moment but it was so intense all I got were bried flashes and blinks while I seriously thought I was going to die! Greatest moment of my life... almost.
I was talking with Erica just now about how in all our adventures, its incredible fun and amazement and we are so lucky and grateful but there is such an intense desire to share it! I want my family and friends to see with me what I get to see. I want them to understand what I'm learning and grow with me in my experience.
At sun down we went to the end of Argentina, literally! From a look-out point one cant see where the Parana river intersects with the Iguazu and see Paraguay on the left and Brazil on the right... all as the neon tangerine sun sets in a pink lavender haze over the Chaco rainforest. Moments like that just... I can't comprehend them even when I'm the one in them! I can't begin to describe them to people back home. No one will understand this as much as I would die to have them."
17 de Octubre
"I wanna talk about the Guarani village we visited this morning. They live in a pretty secluded part of Misiones, Argentina. Their village only contains 1,000 people and that is quite alot for them. They don't have a written language because they believe speech is the distinct spirit of the speaker and it is a nhonor to be able to speak without holding a paper in one's hand. They are therefore very protective of their words. They don't talk very much. They used to be hunters and getherers but there are so few animals left in the rainforest that they can't live like that anymore. They have to buy the food that they can't grow themselves, so they rely on carting light-skinned tourists through their home, showing us their huts, traps, singing us songs in Guarani, and selling us their handicrafts.
Pascua, our guide, described to us the rules that the hunters of the clan had to observe. There were 2-3 hunters per family group and they were all overseen by a "boss" figure. They set precise traps in the forest, each hunter specialized in a specific trap for a specific animal, which had to be killed without bleeding. If the animal bled then it couldn't be eaten. Also, if the animal was still alive when the hunter came upon it caught in his trap, then he couldn't kill it or it would bring him bad luck. He could also never catch more than 2 animals in one trap. If the hunter failed even just once, he would no longer be allowed to hunt.
Walking through the heart of the rainforest , amongst swarms of mosquitos and blue and yellow butterflies, we noticed marks on the tree trunks. Pascua told us those wre taken to be used as medicines. Also the Guarani believe that Pachamama, Mother Earth their deity, had gifted the rain forest to their people and the open plains to the white people, and they were forbidden to pass in between. They actually lived near the falls area and believed that tha cataratas (waterfalls) were the incarnation of their gods, their guardians almost. I can completely understand that, after seeing how magnificent they were yesterday. I envy their profound connection to the natural world. I never was much of an outdoorsy person before, but seeing the outstanding works of nature that I've been fortunate enough to encounter down here really gives me a sense of respect and wonder. It makes me want to rediscover what being a human and living in this world really means."
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Backdated blogs (as promised): La Casita
15 de Octubre
"I skipped class again yesterday to visit the kids. They're getting a new roof over the patio in the playground! We went to the futbol cancha (soccer field) and made bracelets to give away on Mother's Day this Sunday. After lunch though, Lilian, Marisol, Daiana, and Julieta secluded themselves to the back room to pray immediately, all on their own, and again they broke themselves down into sobs! I was the only there with them so I stroked their backs and hair and held little Mauricio while he napped, trying to keep him quiet, but I really didn't know what more I could do for them. They seemed to do an amazing job of taking care of each other though. There was so much love between theses little girls that it just blew my mind. They were each praying for their own families, and struggles, and fears, as well as for eachother. But where one girl was crying, there were at least 2 more hugging and stroking her and making sure she was surrounded and supported. They took turns letting it all out. Even little Melina was supplying everybody with fresh tissue paper to wipe up the tears.
And they do that everyday! How can a kid of 13 years old have that much to cry about everyday? I couldn't functino with the weight of so much emotion! Karen, the Canadian volunteer, filled me in a little about some of the girl's situations. Two of the girls, sisters, are part of a family of 13 siblngs raised by a single mom. Their mother is dying of cancer. So not only are they facing the reality of becoming orphaned, but additionally, another sister of theirs committed suicide last year and now a brother claims that after their mother passes he plans to kill himself also. And for some reason all the siblings blame their mother's illness on the oldest daughter for causing her extra stress or something like that! How could a 14 year old deal with all that?? Feeling responsible of the deaths and degradation of her whole family? My biggest tragedy at 14 was having acne and no friends!
Also one of the girls stole some pesos out of Karen's purse for the second day in a row. Silvia talked to the kids and pointed out 4 or 5 of them who'd stolen from La Casita and its volunteers before She said we're a family here and we support and love each other and have to trust each other. The money reappeared. Apparently it was the first time they'd given anything back, so that's a good sign that they do care and despite the senses of desperation and opportunism that they've known since birth, we've taught them some integrity. The girl responsible and her 3 siblings sleep on the dirt floor and have no money at all, so I guess $20 pesos ($5 US dollars) has a much greater significance for her than to us volunteers. Still, I'm so very proud of the principles La Casita tries to instill.
"I skipped class again yesterday to visit the kids. They're getting a new roof over the patio in the playground! We went to the futbol cancha (soccer field) and made bracelets to give away on Mother's Day this Sunday. After lunch though, Lilian, Marisol, Daiana, and Julieta secluded themselves to the back room to pray immediately, all on their own, and again they broke themselves down into sobs! I was the only there with them so I stroked their backs and hair and held little Mauricio while he napped, trying to keep him quiet, but I really didn't know what more I could do for them. They seemed to do an amazing job of taking care of each other though. There was so much love between theses little girls that it just blew my mind. They were each praying for their own families, and struggles, and fears, as well as for eachother. But where one girl was crying, there were at least 2 more hugging and stroking her and making sure she was surrounded and supported. They took turns letting it all out. Even little Melina was supplying everybody with fresh tissue paper to wipe up the tears.
And they do that everyday! How can a kid of 13 years old have that much to cry about everyday? I couldn't functino with the weight of so much emotion! Karen, the Canadian volunteer, filled me in a little about some of the girl's situations. Two of the girls, sisters, are part of a family of 13 siblngs raised by a single mom. Their mother is dying of cancer. So not only are they facing the reality of becoming orphaned, but additionally, another sister of theirs committed suicide last year and now a brother claims that after their mother passes he plans to kill himself also. And for some reason all the siblings blame their mother's illness on the oldest daughter for causing her extra stress or something like that! How could a 14 year old deal with all that?? Feeling responsible of the deaths and degradation of her whole family? My biggest tragedy at 14 was having acne and no friends!
Also one of the girls stole some pesos out of Karen's purse for the second day in a row. Silvia talked to the kids and pointed out 4 or 5 of them who'd stolen from La Casita and its volunteers before She said we're a family here and we support and love each other and have to trust each other. The money reappeared. Apparently it was the first time they'd given anything back, so that's a good sign that they do care and despite the senses of desperation and opportunism that they've known since birth, we've taught them some integrity. The girl responsible and her 3 siblings sleep on the dirt floor and have no money at all, so I guess $20 pesos ($5 US dollars) has a much greater significance for her than to us volunteers. Still, I'm so very proud of the principles La Casita tries to instill.
Backdated Blogs (as promised): 21st Birthday!
11, 12, & 13 de Octubre
"I have the best families in the entire world! PROVEN FACT! Well, in the Americas at least. PA PANAMERICANA! And and Jorger and the family just threw me an asado on the roof of our building! It was lovely. A salad of tomatoes, eggs, and potatoes, bread, chorizo, blood sausage, and 2 different cuts of really rich meat. I ate it, and I liked it, and I even wanted more, that's how I know Argentina has transformed me! There was red wine and a delicious torta with dulce and this really sweet syrup that Ana made for me. They sang for me in Spanish and we took lots of photos and I just love them. So much! I'm terified of being forgotten when I leave, that the next girl will be cooler than me, and that I'll never actually come back to Argentina.
This morning I received a care package from Mom at 10:30am. It was a beautiful chocolate birthday cake that read "Happy 21st Kelly!" conceived in the EEUU but baked and delivered in Buenos Aires.
Erica, Tom, Emily, and I went to the park this afternoon and it was absolutely heavenly, filled with Argentinos, performers, families, and the 4 of us eating birthday cake, sandwhiches, and drinking mate. A rasta vendor came by and gave me a free ring when they told him it was my birthday. Later that night, I brought the rest of the cake home and let it loose for the starved sugar-hungry hiyenas in my house, I stole a slice and took it downstairs to Juanito at the gate. Then we went out to the Thelonious jazz club and shared a bottle of Cabernet, the boys ordered dirty martinis just to be cool while Emily and I shared a cheese platter. I got a glass of pink champagne and a frozen mojito bought for me... CLASSIEST NIGHT OF DRINKS EVER!
The following night I went to see La Tragedie Florentine and Violanta, 2 one act operas about love triangles and death. Very impressive! The Teatro Colon is so grandiose, so lassy, and just plain gorgeous really. I felt so erudite just being there amongst the men in tuxes and women in evening gowns. The voices were spetacular also of course!"
"I have the best families in the entire world! PROVEN FACT! Well, in the Americas at least. PA PANAMERICANA! And and Jorger and the family just threw me an asado on the roof of our building! It was lovely. A salad of tomatoes, eggs, and potatoes, bread, chorizo, blood sausage, and 2 different cuts of really rich meat. I ate it, and I liked it, and I even wanted more, that's how I know Argentina has transformed me! There was red wine and a delicious torta with dulce and this really sweet syrup that Ana made for me. They sang for me in Spanish and we took lots of photos and I just love them. So much! I'm terified of being forgotten when I leave, that the next girl will be cooler than me, and that I'll never actually come back to Argentina.
This morning I received a care package from Mom at 10:30am. It was a beautiful chocolate birthday cake that read "Happy 21st Kelly!" conceived in the EEUU but baked and delivered in Buenos Aires.
Erica, Tom, Emily, and I went to the park this afternoon and it was absolutely heavenly, filled with Argentinos, performers, families, and the 4 of us eating birthday cake, sandwhiches, and drinking mate. A rasta vendor came by and gave me a free ring when they told him it was my birthday. Later that night, I brought the rest of the cake home and let it loose for the starved sugar-hungry hiyenas in my house, I stole a slice and took it downstairs to Juanito at the gate. Then we went out to the Thelonious jazz club and shared a bottle of Cabernet, the boys ordered dirty martinis just to be cool while Emily and I shared a cheese platter. I got a glass of pink champagne and a frozen mojito bought for me... CLASSIEST NIGHT OF DRINKS EVER!
The following night I went to see La Tragedie Florentine and Violanta, 2 one act operas about love triangles and death. Very impressive! The Teatro Colon is so grandiose, so lassy, and just plain gorgeous really. I felt so erudite just being there amongst the men in tuxes and women in evening gowns. The voices were spetacular also of course!"
Friday, November 5, 2010
The goodbyes have already begun
Well, today is here.
And tomorrow is coming.
Which we all knew it would. The only thing is that when I looked at my life after college, I never saw any farther than tomorrow (little orphan Annie, please shut up). Last week was just overall terrible and left me feeling extremely sad and anxious at the prospect of living in a world without the people who I've grown to love down here, people like Jorge, and Ana and the kids, like Geraldine my Oriental theatre coach, like Alejandro my nerdy tango partner, like Silvia and Mariela and all my little ninos at La Casita, like Juanito my night security guard who invites me to drink the mate and share life lessons, like Fede and Sol and CoQui and Guille and Ana and Paula and Diego at ISA who know my name and to expect me every Thursday afternoon with a steaming bag of Chantilly's empanadas, I'm gonna miss those empis.
This week was a week of lasts.
Last dinner at home with the family, last night dancing tango and salsa at La Viruta, last final exam at Universidad de Belgrano and actually EVER again as an undergrad, last acting class at Centro Integracion Teatral, last trip to La Casita and last hugs and kisses from the kids who were never part of my plan when I came, but who've transformed my life in ways I don't even know yet. Those angelic little devils who used to terrify me, now I wish I could fit them all in my suitcase! I think the scary part about the saying goodbye is the fear of being forgotten. For los ninos I decided to leave them a little reminder that they are loved, even from the other side of the world. So I bought like 40 pairs of socks, cozy, warm, comfy, soft, socks, and painted on all of them "Te amo." They went nuts when I passed them out yesterday. They were first just excited for presents, and several of them stormed the pile and stashed like 4 pairs into their backpacks before coming back for more. But I don't know if I'll ever forget Julieta's and Lilian's faces when they realized what the message said. It was like seeing a flower swell up with sunshine and explode in a bloom of radiant smiles. It's the little things like that... like the music in Silvia's voice when she exclaims "Kelly!" and the plump little cheeks I get to kiss hello and goodbye, and how Milagros broke a little reluctant half smile from her gloomy mood when I told her "Te bancamos" (which I defiinitely learned from Alejandro, Gracias amigo!), and the tears in Abuelita's eyes when I said goodbye to her, and how she called me "nena" and "mi vida," and how Mariano didn't wanna show it but was super proud that he finished the math problems I gave him so much so that he wanted to keep going with them after I left.
I hate leaving them behind... but at the same time, now I have an anchor here. I have something left behind so that when I return, it will be a little bit like coming home. A very different home, but still. At the end of the day, I can't live this life forever. I feel like as this trip has been drawing to and end it feels more like waiting... I can't imagine leaving, but I also can't imagine staying.
Besides, I've done everything that I came down here to do, and more.
I traveled to Carilo, Mendoza, Calafate, Rosario, and Iguazu absolutely crisscrossing the whole of Argentina.
I visited Santiago Chile, Rio de Janeiro Brazil, and Colonia Uruguay, briefly but enough to get a sampling of the different cultures of South America.
I took four university courses and wrote a total of 7 papers in Spanish.
I took bi weekly tango classes.
I took two acting classes in the city with locals.
I volunteered once a week in Escobar.
I saw an opera at Teatro Colon.
I went on a date.
I went on an audition.
I dyed my hair pink.
I drank mate, Malbec, Fernet, Quilmes, pisco, and Caiphirnhas.
I also turned 21!
I bought leather boots.
I ate steak.
I swam in the Atlantic ocean and the Rio de la Plata.
I crossed the Andes Mountains.
I learned a little Portugese.
I went to a gay marriage rally on the day it was passed by the first country in Latin America.
I made friends from Chile, Brazil, Venezuela, Spain, Holland, Denmark, Australia, England, Canada, Ireland, and all over the United States.
I don't think I could ask for anything more. Goodbye is never easy, but it doesn't mean the end of the adventure. Just the start of a new one.
Speaking of goodbyes, I went with Ana to the cemetary on Sunday to see Jorge's resting place. We left flowers, Ana said a prayer, and I told her how much I miss Jorge, all his help, his jokes, his dancing in the car, how he always ALWAYS had to finish dinner with a dessert, and little things like that. I felt like saying it to her in front of him was as close as I would get to actually thanking him for being my Argentine father and making my time here so valuable. We realized that the last time I saw him was on my birthday asado. Ana had invited the whole family as a last big goodbye party for me, but no one could have known at the time just how precious was that goodbye would be.
I feel so overwhelmingly blessed I can't even describe.
ps. I have a TON of journal entries and photos that will be posted retrospectively. I've just been too preoccupied to get around to them and I apologize. I'll be state-side on Sunday so expect them within the next week :)
And tomorrow is coming.
Which we all knew it would. The only thing is that when I looked at my life after college, I never saw any farther than tomorrow (little orphan Annie, please shut up). Last week was just overall terrible and left me feeling extremely sad and anxious at the prospect of living in a world without the people who I've grown to love down here, people like Jorge, and Ana and the kids, like Geraldine my Oriental theatre coach, like Alejandro my nerdy tango partner, like Silvia and Mariela and all my little ninos at La Casita, like Juanito my night security guard who invites me to drink the mate and share life lessons, like Fede and Sol and CoQui and Guille and Ana and Paula and Diego at ISA who know my name and to expect me every Thursday afternoon with a steaming bag of Chantilly's empanadas, I'm gonna miss those empis.
This week was a week of lasts.
Last dinner at home with the family, last night dancing tango and salsa at La Viruta, last final exam at Universidad de Belgrano and actually EVER again as an undergrad, last acting class at Centro Integracion Teatral, last trip to La Casita and last hugs and kisses from the kids who were never part of my plan when I came, but who've transformed my life in ways I don't even know yet. Those angelic little devils who used to terrify me, now I wish I could fit them all in my suitcase! I think the scary part about the saying goodbye is the fear of being forgotten. For los ninos I decided to leave them a little reminder that they are loved, even from the other side of the world. So I bought like 40 pairs of socks, cozy, warm, comfy, soft, socks, and painted on all of them "Te amo." They went nuts when I passed them out yesterday. They were first just excited for presents, and several of them stormed the pile and stashed like 4 pairs into their backpacks before coming back for more. But I don't know if I'll ever forget Julieta's and Lilian's faces when they realized what the message said. It was like seeing a flower swell up with sunshine and explode in a bloom of radiant smiles. It's the little things like that... like the music in Silvia's voice when she exclaims "Kelly!" and the plump little cheeks I get to kiss hello and goodbye, and how Milagros broke a little reluctant half smile from her gloomy mood when I told her "Te bancamos" (which I defiinitely learned from Alejandro, Gracias amigo!), and the tears in Abuelita's eyes when I said goodbye to her, and how she called me "nena" and "mi vida," and how Mariano didn't wanna show it but was super proud that he finished the math problems I gave him so much so that he wanted to keep going with them after I left.
I hate leaving them behind... but at the same time, now I have an anchor here. I have something left behind so that when I return, it will be a little bit like coming home. A very different home, but still. At the end of the day, I can't live this life forever. I feel like as this trip has been drawing to and end it feels more like waiting... I can't imagine leaving, but I also can't imagine staying.
Besides, I've done everything that I came down here to do, and more.
I traveled to Carilo, Mendoza, Calafate, Rosario, and Iguazu absolutely crisscrossing the whole of Argentina.
I visited Santiago Chile, Rio de Janeiro Brazil, and Colonia Uruguay, briefly but enough to get a sampling of the different cultures of South America.
I took four university courses and wrote a total of 7 papers in Spanish.
I took bi weekly tango classes.
I took two acting classes in the city with locals.
I volunteered once a week in Escobar.
I saw an opera at Teatro Colon.
I went on a date.
I went on an audition.
I dyed my hair pink.
I drank mate, Malbec, Fernet, Quilmes, pisco, and Caiphirnhas.
I also turned 21!
I bought leather boots.
I ate steak.
I swam in the Atlantic ocean and the Rio de la Plata.
I crossed the Andes Mountains.
I learned a little Portugese.
I went to a gay marriage rally on the day it was passed by the first country in Latin America.
I made friends from Chile, Brazil, Venezuela, Spain, Holland, Denmark, Australia, England, Canada, Ireland, and all over the United States.
I don't think I could ask for anything more. Goodbye is never easy, but it doesn't mean the end of the adventure. Just the start of a new one.
Speaking of goodbyes, I went with Ana to the cemetary on Sunday to see Jorge's resting place. We left flowers, Ana said a prayer, and I told her how much I miss Jorge, all his help, his jokes, his dancing in the car, how he always ALWAYS had to finish dinner with a dessert, and little things like that. I felt like saying it to her in front of him was as close as I would get to actually thanking him for being my Argentine father and making my time here so valuable. We realized that the last time I saw him was on my birthday asado. Ana had invited the whole family as a last big goodbye party for me, but no one could have known at the time just how precious was that goodbye would be.
I feel so overwhelmingly blessed I can't even describe.
ps. I have a TON of journal entries and photos that will be posted retrospectively. I've just been too preoccupied to get around to them and I apologize. I'll be state-side on Sunday so expect them within the next week :)
Saturday, October 30, 2010
More Time: in the end that's all we want
I realize that I have not written in an extremely long time. In all honesty, not only have I not had the energy or desire to try and sum up my thoughts publicly, I've been outright dreading it. This is not a blog I ever anticipated nor would have ever wanted to write.
I have some very sad news from Argentina. Jorge, my host-father and the 9 year partner of my host-mom Ana, passed away two weeks ago while I was away on my trip to Brazil. He suffered a heart attack in his sleep on Dia de la Madre, Mother's Day. I just found out on Monday. Santi, Jorge's son and my host-brother, is living with his mother now, not Ana, and although I do not know how he is doing (I can only imagine), I know that he is surrounded by his friends right now who are wishing him well. Ana is still struggling to accept the sudden loss of the love of her life. It's a fresh and frightening battle everyday. But still she makes a point of reminding me and all of her other well-wishers that she believes in God and hopes He has a plan. Life must continue, she says.
For me it is very strange. I know that Jorge was not my father, but at the very least he was a good friend, a confidante, someone who I relied upon for help when I needed it, and even grew to admire. I remember that Monday I'd been so excited to tell him all about my travels and show off how well my Spanish has become. He taught me so much. I wish I could thank him now.
But more than that, I am pained for the family now. They opened their home and their lives to me. They shared with me their traditions, their daily routines, their memories, and went to every trouble to ensure that I felt like I was one of them. I do. And now that that family of mine is torn apart and hurting, I have this awful absurd unfounded feeling that when I pack up my suitcase and board the plane 7 days from now, I will be abandoning them.
I already had a terrible dreading and anxiety about leaving here. I knew I would. But I also feel like now everything is changed. It's my last weekend in the city and instead of hitting the bars and boliches and taking the boisterous BsAs nightlife by storm, I'm eating dinner at home with Ana and the kids. There's really, truly nowhere else in this wide world I'd rather be.
I am not at all ready to go.
I feel so irreconcilably torn.
I don't have sinply A home or A family. In reality, I have two of each. My heart, in transient orbit, is being pulled as if by gravity to two separate spheres, confused and helpless to drive itself towards the wisest course.
Time. It is made, and taken, and spent, and lost, and killed, and counted. And somehow though it never rests or ceases its self perpetuation, there never seems to be enough of it.
Siempre es un tema del tiempo.
I have some very sad news from Argentina. Jorge, my host-father and the 9 year partner of my host-mom Ana, passed away two weeks ago while I was away on my trip to Brazil. He suffered a heart attack in his sleep on Dia de la Madre, Mother's Day. I just found out on Monday. Santi, Jorge's son and my host-brother, is living with his mother now, not Ana, and although I do not know how he is doing (I can only imagine), I know that he is surrounded by his friends right now who are wishing him well. Ana is still struggling to accept the sudden loss of the love of her life. It's a fresh and frightening battle everyday. But still she makes a point of reminding me and all of her other well-wishers that she believes in God and hopes He has a plan. Life must continue, she says.
For me it is very strange. I know that Jorge was not my father, but at the very least he was a good friend, a confidante, someone who I relied upon for help when I needed it, and even grew to admire. I remember that Monday I'd been so excited to tell him all about my travels and show off how well my Spanish has become. He taught me so much. I wish I could thank him now.
But more than that, I am pained for the family now. They opened their home and their lives to me. They shared with me their traditions, their daily routines, their memories, and went to every trouble to ensure that I felt like I was one of them. I do. And now that that family of mine is torn apart and hurting, I have this awful absurd unfounded feeling that when I pack up my suitcase and board the plane 7 days from now, I will be abandoning them.
I already had a terrible dreading and anxiety about leaving here. I knew I would. But I also feel like now everything is changed. It's my last weekend in the city and instead of hitting the bars and boliches and taking the boisterous BsAs nightlife by storm, I'm eating dinner at home with Ana and the kids. There's really, truly nowhere else in this wide world I'd rather be.
I am not at all ready to go.
I feel so irreconcilably torn.
I don't have sinply A home or A family. In reality, I have two of each. My heart, in transient orbit, is being pulled as if by gravity to two separate spheres, confused and helpless to drive itself towards the wisest course.
Time. It is made, and taken, and spent, and lost, and killed, and counted. And somehow though it never rests or ceases its self perpetuation, there never seems to be enough of it.
Siempre es un tema del tiempo.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
This is an apology
My time here is drawing to a close which means that my weeks have become that much more compacted of things worth writing about, leaving very few free moments to actually write.
I'm about to take off on a 10 day adventure to Iguazu Falls and Rio de Janeiro so I will not be able to update for awhile however I will have millions of tales to tell upon return I'm sure.
But in the meantime, please remind me to discuss:
My family asado
My birthday in the park with jazz
My trip to Teatro Colon
La Casita de los ninos
Bueno?
Listo.
Dale!
CHAO!
I'm about to take off on a 10 day adventure to Iguazu Falls and Rio de Janeiro so I will not be able to update for awhile however I will have millions of tales to tell upon return I'm sure.
But in the meantime, please remind me to discuss:
My family asado
My birthday in the park with jazz
My trip to Teatro Colon
La Casita de los ninos
Bueno?
Listo.
Dale!
CHAO!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
International Audition Insight
Well yesterday was the day! I finally made it in to audition for Cibrian and Mahler's Dracula el musical.
It was...
interesting.
SO unlike any other audition I've ever done. First of all in the States normally your asked to come prepared with a few bars of a song or monologue or something, especially in massive open calls where there's lots of "Oh I think I wanna be an actor today!" people to weed out. But not in Argentina.
Our initial audition process was somewhat more of a call back from my point of view. We were asked to come in rehearsal clothes, which to the portenas meant fishnets and bootyshorts, and greeted by the eccentric and flamboyant Pepito Cibrian, the Elton John of Argentina of sorts. He speaks with a soft high voice, wears giant circle sunglasses, and had his enormous white dog in the theatre, just wandering the aisles and the stage!
They split us up into groups to learn a few phrases of the love balad. It was pretty but fairly simple, not Sondheim by any stretch that's for sure. So we gathered around this piano in the theatre lobby with this curly headed cute but nerdy lookin guy about 30 years old at the keys... the composer! No big deal, we're just singing Mahler's own music back to him and hoping we're not slaughtering it! After we each took a turn he wrote down who he liked and passed us along to the next level.
Inside the theatre we stretched and warmed up on the stage (OOH it felt so good to be on a stage again!!) until the choreographer, also wearing booty shorts, called our attention and started to teach us the audition dance. Now, I did as much research as I could through Youtube to get an idea of what I'd be asked to do for this show. The only dancing I saw was a party waltz with women in huge hoop skirts, Les Mis wedding status. But for reasons I still have not deduced, we were dancing to an 80's pop song by Madonna! The first move was a bunch of shoulder and hip bounces and the last was a backbended pelvic thrust. You can fill in the rest of the dance from point A to point B with your own imagination... and it probably still won't come out as ridiculous as in reality.
After we shook our groove thangs, Pepito called up individual numbers at random and asked them to sing the whole love ballad, and more! Along with having them do strange adjustments, like having a girl tie up her shirt and sing it really seductively, or a guy sing the leading lady's solo. Needless to say... everyone waiting in the wings were shaking in our boots, me probably more than anyone being that I only memorized the few stanzas from the one love ballad and even cold reading them off a page would be difficult for me! Unfortunately (or fortunately, whichever way you look at it) he only called about 10 people up out of the 100+ who were there and I wasn't one of them. The majority of us were then released and given the "Muchas gracias." One of the girls from my initial group was called back, and I remember thinking she was alright but definitely not spectacular. So in all honesty I have no idea what they were looking for! I asked one of the my fellow auditioners if that's how they all go, and he said yes almost exactly.
But hey! I did it. I sang my Spanish for Angel Mahler and danced my little heart out for Pepito so what more is there? All in all it was an exhilarating, harrowing, hilarious, and helpful experience that I'm really glad I had. After that ordeal, I should be able to walk into any audition confident and nerve-free right?
It was...
interesting.
SO unlike any other audition I've ever done. First of all in the States normally your asked to come prepared with a few bars of a song or monologue or something, especially in massive open calls where there's lots of "Oh I think I wanna be an actor today!" people to weed out. But not in Argentina.
Our initial audition process was somewhat more of a call back from my point of view. We were asked to come in rehearsal clothes, which to the portenas meant fishnets and bootyshorts, and greeted by the eccentric and flamboyant Pepito Cibrian, the Elton John of Argentina of sorts. He speaks with a soft high voice, wears giant circle sunglasses, and had his enormous white dog in the theatre, just wandering the aisles and the stage!
They split us up into groups to learn a few phrases of the love balad. It was pretty but fairly simple, not Sondheim by any stretch that's for sure. So we gathered around this piano in the theatre lobby with this curly headed cute but nerdy lookin guy about 30 years old at the keys... the composer! No big deal, we're just singing Mahler's own music back to him and hoping we're not slaughtering it! After we each took a turn he wrote down who he liked and passed us along to the next level.
Inside the theatre we stretched and warmed up on the stage (OOH it felt so good to be on a stage again!!) until the choreographer, also wearing booty shorts, called our attention and started to teach us the audition dance. Now, I did as much research as I could through Youtube to get an idea of what I'd be asked to do for this show. The only dancing I saw was a party waltz with women in huge hoop skirts, Les Mis wedding status. But for reasons I still have not deduced, we were dancing to an 80's pop song by Madonna! The first move was a bunch of shoulder and hip bounces and the last was a backbended pelvic thrust. You can fill in the rest of the dance from point A to point B with your own imagination... and it probably still won't come out as ridiculous as in reality.
After we shook our groove thangs, Pepito called up individual numbers at random and asked them to sing the whole love ballad, and more! Along with having them do strange adjustments, like having a girl tie up her shirt and sing it really seductively, or a guy sing the leading lady's solo. Needless to say... everyone waiting in the wings were shaking in our boots, me probably more than anyone being that I only memorized the few stanzas from the one love ballad and even cold reading them off a page would be difficult for me! Unfortunately (or fortunately, whichever way you look at it) he only called about 10 people up out of the 100+ who were there and I wasn't one of them. The majority of us were then released and given the "Muchas gracias." One of the girls from my initial group was called back, and I remember thinking she was alright but definitely not spectacular. So in all honesty I have no idea what they were looking for! I asked one of the my fellow auditioners if that's how they all go, and he said yes almost exactly.
But hey! I did it. I sang my Spanish for Angel Mahler and danced my little heart out for Pepito so what more is there? All in all it was an exhilarating, harrowing, hilarious, and helpful experience that I'm really glad I had. After that ordeal, I should be able to walk into any audition confident and nerve-free right?
El Calafate: 4 de Octubre
I did it. I planned it, booked it, paid for it, and made it all happen exactly how I wanted it to. I'm on the plane now thats going to take me home to the land, or the city rather (there's no land there at all) of noise and air pollution swarming with pretentious portenos. It was a lovely lazy weekend. I made lots of connections with friendly people I will probably, well certainly never see again. But we shared our travels and adventures and times of rest together passing through the world and each others' lives breifly... kinda like the Patagonian wind that carries itself from the salty Pacific high over the Andes depositing its moisture on frozen peaks in exchange the alpine chill that it in turn disburses over the grey expansive steppe of South America.
Give and take and move on.
Give and take and move on.
Monday, October 4, 2010
El Calafate: 3 de Octubre
Last night was great! I cooked myself a stirfry something just like I would back home and ate with the Australians, had an intense talk about rock climbing and chimi churri sauce with Pato the chef, and then shared some Piscola with Robert the German and this crazy Chileno. We went out to this teeny tiny little local bar with the guys who run our hostel and listened to a local reggae band, which was very fun. But I was very tired!
Today on the other hand was perfectly lovely. I strolled around the village a little, bought some post cards, and then walked over to the lake which is actually an ecology reserve for birds and sat and wrote them out. I was trying to relax and soak in the Patagonian sun the epic panoramic view of Lago Argentino and the Andes mountains but I was dying in the wind! It's harsh. The birds were amazing though. Flocks of wild pink flamingoes hanging out in the teal blue lagoon, flanked by yellow grass against a thin horizon of grey nothingness. It could almost be a mural with the back wall being the blue and white mountains and neon blue sky polka dotted with marshmallow clouds. And all the bird calls! Those trump piropos in the city anyday! So many different sounds and songs!
As I'm treading through the spongy wet marsh a pair of hawks swoops down in front of my face. They weren't afraid of me. They weren't afraid of anything. They live in a nature reserve in Patagonia. What threat could they possibly know out here? That's what stands out to me the most. There is a tangible calm and comfort in the nature, like this world truly is untouched and very well respected. My brochure said that all the plants and animals have different needs such as shelter and food, etc. and that's why there is so much biodiversity because they can all exist in the same habitat witout competing with each other for space and resources in order to survive. What a world they have?! If only in human society, our differences would ensure a peaceful existence rather than antagonize and destroy it.
I've been wondering what it would be like to have been born in El Calafate. How would you see the world as built by man, like a city such as Buenos Aires, if what you'd grown accustomed to and took for granted all your life were these grand scale natural wonders? The colors, the smells, the space, the sounds, all the elements that make you feel what you feel in a certain space and make you know it. Surely anywhere after this would be too busy and claustrophobic compared to here. And wasteful. And futile. Buildings and cars and clothes are so temporary. We, ourselves, are so temporary. These mountains and glaciers have been for a longer time than our transient minds can even grasp, nor are they moved at all by the mere misfortune that we don't grasp them. We don't matter to them, not the other way around. We are the ones that will pass away.
Today on the other hand was perfectly lovely. I strolled around the village a little, bought some post cards, and then walked over to the lake which is actually an ecology reserve for birds and sat and wrote them out. I was trying to relax and soak in the Patagonian sun the epic panoramic view of Lago Argentino and the Andes mountains but I was dying in the wind! It's harsh. The birds were amazing though. Flocks of wild pink flamingoes hanging out in the teal blue lagoon, flanked by yellow grass against a thin horizon of grey nothingness. It could almost be a mural with the back wall being the blue and white mountains and neon blue sky polka dotted with marshmallow clouds. And all the bird calls! Those trump piropos in the city anyday! So many different sounds and songs!
As I'm treading through the spongy wet marsh a pair of hawks swoops down in front of my face. They weren't afraid of me. They weren't afraid of anything. They live in a nature reserve in Patagonia. What threat could they possibly know out here? That's what stands out to me the most. There is a tangible calm and comfort in the nature, like this world truly is untouched and very well respected. My brochure said that all the plants and animals have different needs such as shelter and food, etc. and that's why there is so much biodiversity because they can all exist in the same habitat witout competing with each other for space and resources in order to survive. What a world they have?! If only in human society, our differences would ensure a peaceful existence rather than antagonize and destroy it.
I've been wondering what it would be like to have been born in El Calafate. How would you see the world as built by man, like a city such as Buenos Aires, if what you'd grown accustomed to and took for granted all your life were these grand scale natural wonders? The colors, the smells, the space, the sounds, all the elements that make you feel what you feel in a certain space and make you know it. Surely anywhere after this would be too busy and claustrophobic compared to here. And wasteful. And futile. Buildings and cars and clothes are so temporary. We, ourselves, are so temporary. These mountains and glaciers have been for a longer time than our transient minds can even grasp, nor are they moved at all by the mere misfortune that we don't grasp them. We don't matter to them, not the other way around. We are the ones that will pass away.
El Calafate: 2 de Octubre
Oh boy! How to describe this trip so far? AWESOME! Probably the most unique weekend I've yet to have in Argentina. I got in last night around 6pm and was chillin with the peeps in my hostel, sharing a beer with the German, chattin with the Irish, comparing scary movies with the Australian and vegetarian recipes with the Brit. I feel absolutely at home amongst all these foreigners in this barren cold land.
I booked the mini trek to Perito Moreno Glacier today. It rained but it was still spectacular. We got on the bus which took us 2 hours away to the Rico Brazo of Lago Argentino where we boarded a boat that took us across the water to the shore of the forest next to theis huge wall of ice. We hiked through the wet lush forest to the edge of what looked like a a monstrous white wave of snow frozen in mid lurch onto the rocks. The size of this thing is seriously inconceivable, yet there it is right in front of your eyes! We trekked across the beach and rocks to base camp where Diego our guide put on our crampons which reminded me of awkward metal bear traps on our feet. And then before you know it... I'M STANDING ON A GLACIER! Within 2 steps onto the ice I was satisfied. We could have turned around and gone home right then and there and it would have been worth it!
The mountains and peaks and valleys and crevices and holes that just defy wonder, pristine white, and sometimes a bright pure blue that I've only ever seen in gatorade flavors. (Aparently the blue parts are the older ice where it is most compacted, fun fact!) Trudging up and down to the sound of the crunch and slush of the giant ice cube under my metal claws accented by the tapping of the raindrops on the back of the awkward banana yellow rain coat, and asking for photos from the German girls while offering to take them for the sweet old Mexican couple who I always seemed to bump into right as they were having a romantic moment... such was the the trek! We reached our summit with an incredible panoramic of the glacier, the forest, the beach, and the lake where we came upon a set of tables nestled into the ice adorned with bottles of Scotch and alfajores for our adventurous pleasure! Coolest bar in the world....knee slapper!
After hiking back down and disembarking from our crampons we had some time to wander the forest and have lunch. I loved the solitue and the absolutely perfect beauty of the nature. I don't know how else to relate it, just breathing in freshness everywhere and treading on soft wet earth rich with red color, fallen trees black and soaked with rain, next to the crawling rock formations, grey shore, and the white-blue ice constantly cracking and churning in undetectable motion. I sat out on the rocks listening to the glacier for awhile. The 2 other Americans and the French boy joined me. As we were joking about how the whole front of Perito Moreno was going to fall down and kill us with a tidal wave, a huge chunk of the front wall broke off and went crashing into the lake in an enormous white splash! The sound of falling ice is so impressive. It's like thunder during a rainstorm except as if the clouds are made of stone smacking into each other. From the balconies we were able to see the glacier from a completely different perspective. Imagine an infinity of whiteness, like an ocean of ice that oozes out from the mountains. Absolutely spectacular. I'm so glad I had that experience because now I can describe to my grandchildren in vivid detail even the color and sound and smell of a glacier when they ask me what one was.
Now to recount some of the glacierology I learned today:
Glaciers dont have to be found in cold places or high elevations. The Patagonia ice field, roughly the size of the state of Israel and containing 300 glaciers, is in a low latitude and only 2,000 m above sea level. Patagonia glaciers are formed by the wind patterns that carry moisture from the Pacific Ocean up over the peaks of the Andes where they get cold and condense and form snow. The snow freezes in the upper part of the glacier, the ice factory they say, and eventually pushes down and out to the front with each season of new snows. Perito Moreno is only 450 years old and the 3rd largest in Argentina but its famous for its easy access and spectacular ice falls. It is also one of 2 stable non-receeding glaciers left in the world. All other glaciers are receeding and shrinking except for Perito Moreno and one more on the Chilean side. This is because its ice factory area is much much larger then its breking area so more ice is created than what breaks off in the spring each year. The other glaciers though are not so lucky. They've all been receeding since the ice age its true but the rate of breakage and melting has quadrupled in the past hundred years, much faster than its previous rate. This is a problem because Earth's glaciers regulate her atmospheric temperatures. It's like driving a car without any antifreeze or coolants basically. So yeah that's the tragic part. Listening to Marcelo our bus guide talk about it this morning made me want to cry! What more does our earth have to do to make us listen to it?
I guess the good news is that I finally found one place in Argentina where smoking is prohibed.
I booked the mini trek to Perito Moreno Glacier today. It rained but it was still spectacular. We got on the bus which took us 2 hours away to the Rico Brazo of Lago Argentino where we boarded a boat that took us across the water to the shore of the forest next to theis huge wall of ice. We hiked through the wet lush forest to the edge of what looked like a a monstrous white wave of snow frozen in mid lurch onto the rocks. The size of this thing is seriously inconceivable, yet there it is right in front of your eyes! We trekked across the beach and rocks to base camp where Diego our guide put on our crampons which reminded me of awkward metal bear traps on our feet. And then before you know it... I'M STANDING ON A GLACIER! Within 2 steps onto the ice I was satisfied. We could have turned around and gone home right then and there and it would have been worth it!
The mountains and peaks and valleys and crevices and holes that just defy wonder, pristine white, and sometimes a bright pure blue that I've only ever seen in gatorade flavors. (Aparently the blue parts are the older ice where it is most compacted, fun fact!) Trudging up and down to the sound of the crunch and slush of the giant ice cube under my metal claws accented by the tapping of the raindrops on the back of the awkward banana yellow rain coat, and asking for photos from the German girls while offering to take them for the sweet old Mexican couple who I always seemed to bump into right as they were having a romantic moment... such was the the trek! We reached our summit with an incredible panoramic of the glacier, the forest, the beach, and the lake where we came upon a set of tables nestled into the ice adorned with bottles of Scotch and alfajores for our adventurous pleasure! Coolest bar in the world....knee slapper!
After hiking back down and disembarking from our crampons we had some time to wander the forest and have lunch. I loved the solitue and the absolutely perfect beauty of the nature. I don't know how else to relate it, just breathing in freshness everywhere and treading on soft wet earth rich with red color, fallen trees black and soaked with rain, next to the crawling rock formations, grey shore, and the white-blue ice constantly cracking and churning in undetectable motion. I sat out on the rocks listening to the glacier for awhile. The 2 other Americans and the French boy joined me. As we were joking about how the whole front of Perito Moreno was going to fall down and kill us with a tidal wave, a huge chunk of the front wall broke off and went crashing into the lake in an enormous white splash! The sound of falling ice is so impressive. It's like thunder during a rainstorm except as if the clouds are made of stone smacking into each other. From the balconies we were able to see the glacier from a completely different perspective. Imagine an infinity of whiteness, like an ocean of ice that oozes out from the mountains. Absolutely spectacular. I'm so glad I had that experience because now I can describe to my grandchildren in vivid detail even the color and sound and smell of a glacier when they ask me what one was.
Now to recount some of the glacierology I learned today:
Glaciers dont have to be found in cold places or high elevations. The Patagonia ice field, roughly the size of the state of Israel and containing 300 glaciers, is in a low latitude and only 2,000 m above sea level. Patagonia glaciers are formed by the wind patterns that carry moisture from the Pacific Ocean up over the peaks of the Andes where they get cold and condense and form snow. The snow freezes in the upper part of the glacier, the ice factory they say, and eventually pushes down and out to the front with each season of new snows. Perito Moreno is only 450 years old and the 3rd largest in Argentina but its famous for its easy access and spectacular ice falls. It is also one of 2 stable non-receeding glaciers left in the world. All other glaciers are receeding and shrinking except for Perito Moreno and one more on the Chilean side. This is because its ice factory area is much much larger then its breking area so more ice is created than what breaks off in the spring each year. The other glaciers though are not so lucky. They've all been receeding since the ice age its true but the rate of breakage and melting has quadrupled in the past hundred years, much faster than its previous rate. This is a problem because Earth's glaciers regulate her atmospheric temperatures. It's like driving a car without any antifreeze or coolants basically. So yeah that's the tragic part. Listening to Marcelo our bus guide talk about it this morning made me want to cry! What more does our earth have to do to make us listen to it?
I guess the good news is that I finally found one place in Argentina where smoking is prohibed.
El Calafate: 1 de Octubre
This weekend I took off on a last minute trip down to the deep south of Argentina called Patagonia and had some incredible encounters with some of Earth's rarest and most precious natural wonders! Here's a little what I experienced...
1 de Octubre,2010
"Here I go. There's no turning back! My great adventure has begun!"
Thank you Sutton Foster and Little Women the musical for gracing my mental sound track right now. I feel incredible. Heart pounding, flutters in my stomach, tingling in my veins kind of incredible! I'm doing this! Saying piss off to the world and school and money and lets go get ourselves broke exploring frozen natureland all by ourselves with no one tagging along, holding us down, or helping us out. I'm sitting in this tiny Aerolineas Argentinos plane about to leave BsAs with $200 in my bank account and a carryon of stuff. I just love this anticipatory feeling... like knowing I'm on the verge of something unknown and feeling so empowered, so monumental that my own daring to stand on this edge overrides whatever fear I feel looking over it. I think that's the rush I'll miss when I go back home. But the perspective I'll have gained and the courage! What can't I do after Argentina? I have no excuse to ever be afraid or doubt myself ever again. That's the feeling of travel that I just can't adequately communicate, that I wish for people back home to know.
1 de Octubre,2010
"Here I go. There's no turning back! My great adventure has begun!"
Thank you Sutton Foster and Little Women the musical for gracing my mental sound track right now. I feel incredible. Heart pounding, flutters in my stomach, tingling in my veins kind of incredible! I'm doing this! Saying piss off to the world and school and money and lets go get ourselves broke exploring frozen natureland all by ourselves with no one tagging along, holding us down, or helping us out. I'm sitting in this tiny Aerolineas Argentinos plane about to leave BsAs with $200 in my bank account and a carryon of stuff. I just love this anticipatory feeling... like knowing I'm on the verge of something unknown and feeling so empowered, so monumental that my own daring to stand on this edge overrides whatever fear I feel looking over it. I think that's the rush I'll miss when I go back home. But the perspective I'll have gained and the courage! What can't I do after Argentina? I have no excuse to ever be afraid or doubt myself ever again. That's the feeling of travel that I just can't adequately communicate, that I wish for people back home to know.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Called on account of rain and road blocks
Well, once again I arrived at the Teatro Astral with my dance shoes and cough drops, all warmed up despite the wet and chilly weather outside. This time there definitely were auditions going on as there were tons of tiny girls and flouncy boys running around in rehearsal wear. I could taste the nerves in the lobby air, and they tasted just like the ones that buzz around my belly in auditions north of the Equator. And just like so many of those, today's audition was behind schedule. But because its South America, the disorganization, like everything else down here, was only magnified! So they told me and everybody else in my group to come back NEXT TUESDAY and MAYBE we'll get in to audition. So its just another week of waiting, building anticipation, and memorizing Spanish lyrics. I suppose I can do that.
But instead of going back to class, which I'd already resolved not to do today, I went exploring downtown in the light rain, had lunch at a cafe, and stumbled upon El Ateneo, an old opera house converted into a huge and lavishly gorgeous bookstore. Gold embellishments all up and down the cream colored walls, a mural of goddesses and angels in the expansive rotunda hovering overhead, a rich red curtain shading the old stage area that now acts as a cafe, and my favorite, comfy armchairs in the areas that used to serve as opera boxes for anyone to settle in and read the hours away... which is exactly what I did! My reading in Spanish has gotten so fast, and yet still I managed to sit there for over 4 hours. The afternoon was far from wasted in my opinion.
So that's how my today went. Come to think of it I should really recount my weekend too!
I spent Saturday and Sunday in Rosario, the third largest city in Argentina that lies a few hours Northwest of Buenos Aires on the Rio Parana. It's the birthplace of renown Argentine revolutionaries Che Guevara and Leo Messi, and it was lovely. It still retains the busy beat of a big city but is so much more laid back and friendly than the monstrous BsAs (honestly I think any city by comparison would be). I hypothesize that the calm amicability of the city is due to its cool refreshing breezes from the river, but being a SoCal native I tend to invest tranquil qualities in large bodies of water, so I'm kinda biased.
We arrived Saturday afternoon much later than scheduled due to a strike on the highways that forced our bus to take an alternate route, turning a 2 hour drive into a 5 hour one. We lunched at a tenedor libre, or as we know it in the States a buffet, and lazed away our resulting food coma on a cruise on the river. On the little islands and marshes across from the city, we floated by kyakers, fisherman, amigos drinking mate, a few dilapidated houses that I'm sure still serve as someone's shelter, and herds of cows grazing freely on the river banks... what a life, huh?
Saturday evening us girls went out for imitation Mexican food and margaritas... eran no buenas, lamentablemente. And Sunday we went on a bus tour of the city, seeing the view of the skyline from the great silver suspension bridge, the tiny fresh fish markets, and finally we ended at El Monumento de la Bandera, a gargantuous tribute to the place where was raised the first flag of Argentina. It is an awe striking, jaw dropping, neck craning, camera flashing, cartwheeling down the multitude of steps (which yes of course I did!) kind of beautiful that simply dwarfs any kind of artistic achievement you think you may have had in your lifetime. Plus it was a stunningly gorgeous day with lots of sunshine, so we wandered through the monument and over to the parks on the riverbank where city people were gathering for picnics and kites alongside the many artisan street vendors. That's one of the things that I've decided I really do love about city life. Cities are so populated, so concentrated with people that its impossible to live in one and not be social! You share all the same space! You can't dry your laundry on the balcony without your neighbors knowing what kind of underwear you prefer. And if you wanna get out of the house, enjoy the weekend sun, walk your cooped up dog, then you go to the city parks! It's like everyone shares the same backyard! In the suburbs you can exist solitarily for weeks or months on end without ever talking to your neighbors. I mean privacy is great... but so is human interaction!
I bought a necklace from a Rasta named Chaman, and ended up sitting a chatting with him for about an hour. He told me about how he spends all the money he makes selling his jewelry, traveling around with his reggae band, but that he still loves to come home to his little hut on the bank of the Parana inside the Rosario nature preserve. He also told me that the stones in the necklace I bought symbolize friendship and protection. Well, maybe its a little late in my travels to attain such assurance, but at least now I have a token of international friendship that'll forever harken my memory to the immensity of good fortune I've been doused with down here. What more could I ask for??
(hmmm... well on second thought maybe just a little punctuality??)
But instead of going back to class, which I'd already resolved not to do today, I went exploring downtown in the light rain, had lunch at a cafe, and stumbled upon El Ateneo, an old opera house converted into a huge and lavishly gorgeous bookstore. Gold embellishments all up and down the cream colored walls, a mural of goddesses and angels in the expansive rotunda hovering overhead, a rich red curtain shading the old stage area that now acts as a cafe, and my favorite, comfy armchairs in the areas that used to serve as opera boxes for anyone to settle in and read the hours away... which is exactly what I did! My reading in Spanish has gotten so fast, and yet still I managed to sit there for over 4 hours. The afternoon was far from wasted in my opinion.
So that's how my today went. Come to think of it I should really recount my weekend too!
I spent Saturday and Sunday in Rosario, the third largest city in Argentina that lies a few hours Northwest of Buenos Aires on the Rio Parana. It's the birthplace of renown Argentine revolutionaries Che Guevara and Leo Messi, and it was lovely. It still retains the busy beat of a big city but is so much more laid back and friendly than the monstrous BsAs (honestly I think any city by comparison would be). I hypothesize that the calm amicability of the city is due to its cool refreshing breezes from the river, but being a SoCal native I tend to invest tranquil qualities in large bodies of water, so I'm kinda biased.
We arrived Saturday afternoon much later than scheduled due to a strike on the highways that forced our bus to take an alternate route, turning a 2 hour drive into a 5 hour one. We lunched at a tenedor libre, or as we know it in the States a buffet, and lazed away our resulting food coma on a cruise on the river. On the little islands and marshes across from the city, we floated by kyakers, fisherman, amigos drinking mate, a few dilapidated houses that I'm sure still serve as someone's shelter, and herds of cows grazing freely on the river banks... what a life, huh?
Saturday evening us girls went out for imitation Mexican food and margaritas... eran no buenas, lamentablemente. And Sunday we went on a bus tour of the city, seeing the view of the skyline from the great silver suspension bridge, the tiny fresh fish markets, and finally we ended at El Monumento de la Bandera, a gargantuous tribute to the place where was raised the first flag of Argentina. It is an awe striking, jaw dropping, neck craning, camera flashing, cartwheeling down the multitude of steps (which yes of course I did!) kind of beautiful that simply dwarfs any kind of artistic achievement you think you may have had in your lifetime. Plus it was a stunningly gorgeous day with lots of sunshine, so we wandered through the monument and over to the parks on the riverbank where city people were gathering for picnics and kites alongside the many artisan street vendors. That's one of the things that I've decided I really do love about city life. Cities are so populated, so concentrated with people that its impossible to live in one and not be social! You share all the same space! You can't dry your laundry on the balcony without your neighbors knowing what kind of underwear you prefer. And if you wanna get out of the house, enjoy the weekend sun, walk your cooped up dog, then you go to the city parks! It's like everyone shares the same backyard! In the suburbs you can exist solitarily for weeks or months on end without ever talking to your neighbors. I mean privacy is great... but so is human interaction!
I bought a necklace from a Rasta named Chaman, and ended up sitting a chatting with him for about an hour. He told me about how he spends all the money he makes selling his jewelry, traveling around with his reggae band, but that he still loves to come home to his little hut on the bank of the Parana inside the Rosario nature preserve. He also told me that the stones in the necklace I bought symbolize friendship and protection. Well, maybe its a little late in my travels to attain such assurance, but at least now I have a token of international friendship that'll forever harken my memory to the immensity of good fortune I've been doused with down here. What more could I ask for??
(hmmm... well on second thought maybe just a little punctuality??)
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Back in Action!
Remember in my last entry how I said that I really miss performing??
Well, I think Providence heard me complaining and decided to do something about it.
Last Thursday my oh-so-friendly-tango-teach pulled me aside in class for what I was anticipating would be a terribly uncomfortable chat, when he told me about a musical theatre audition that he'd heard about and thought I'd be interested in. Oh! Well... now he just went and did something really cool and while I want to not like the guy I gotta say......GAAAAH! THANK YOU!!
The show is Dracula el musical written by Angel Mahler and directed by Pepito Cibrian, two pretty big deals down here aparently. Think Andrew Lloyd Webber and Cameron Mackinosh of South America... YEAH! And all I know is the address of the theatre and to show up sometime between 12:00pm and 8:00pm this Monday thru Thursday. So basically, this is a total absolute shot in the dark. I mean, I haven't had a voice lesson or a gym membership in 4 months, I don't have any of my audition materials, repertoire, or wardrobe, and I have like 2 days to prepare but no clue what I'm preparing for! OH, and did I mention its obviously all in Spanish???
...Thus went all my initial fears and doubts scurring about my brain in sudden reckless anxiety.
Then I said to myself, "Kelly?"
"Yes?" I answered.
"If you could describe your dream job, what would it be?"
"Pssh! That's easy Kelly! It would be performing in musical theatre all around the world!"
"You're crazy! Where's the money in that??"
"Um, excuse me, it's all about artistic fulfillment..."
"Oh please..."
"You shut up! Don't get me started..."
But I digress.
Basically I realized that the reason I'd come all this way was staring me in the face and there was no ignoring or walking away from it. I mean, it's not like I have anything to lose. I have no reputation to uphold or face to save. I have a plethora of audition songs I've memorized by way of busting them out in my car in LA traffic. And I now own a pair of genuine Argentine leather tango shoes perfect for onstage dancing. I can find a way to make this work.
So, I collected my headshots, translated my resume, downloaded some sheet music for an old go-to favorite, and dusted off the vocal chords while the family was out (our walls are very thin... if the neighbors heard of me as much as I can hear of them... we may start receiving hate mail).
Today was the big day! It was Dia del Estudiante, Student's Day, so we all had the day off of classes, which pretty much the entire city took advantage of because also it was the first day of Spring, Dia de la Primavera, where everyone buys each other fresh flowers and hangs out in the Palermo parks to drink mate and cerveza with friends (ps. I love this country's social life!). I, however, like a well honed Bachelor's-of-Theatre-Arts-holding LA actor spent the day trekking around my barrio printing out photos and sheet music, doing my yoga and vocal excercizes, and picking out the perfect audition outfit (a feat only made more difficult by the reduced selection in my closet). I even treated myself to a cab ride downtown so I could arrive in style.
OOOOOOOOooooooooh even if I tried, I couldn't describe just how legitimate I felt chattin with the cabby as we weaved thru the traffic, I becoming more exhilarated and nervous with every second. It was the perfect my-life-in-the-big-city-movie-moment.
When we got to the theatre, I thanked the cabby for his well wishes and donned my game face, only to be told that they just wanted my headshot and audition form and to give me an appointment time to come back next week for the actual audition.
Oh.
Well, I give myself props for being TOO prepared on TWO days notice at least. The actual audition itself doesn't even require us to come with a song prepared. We'll be given a peice from the show to learn and rehearse briefly before singing it one at a time. And did I mention that we'll be singing for Cibrian and Mahler themselves? Personally?? Even Sofi and Ana were like "Wha!? You're gonna meet Pepito Cibrian in person???" Well.... aparently. It will probably go down in the books as the ballsyiest/coolest thing I've ever done. : /
Honestly, even though I didn't even DO any audition today, just the getting prepared and psyching myself out and downing tea and cough drops and practicing slating in Spanish was SO REFRESHING! I just love acting like an actor again!
Well, I think Providence heard me complaining and decided to do something about it.
Last Thursday my oh-so-friendly-tango-teach pulled me aside in class for what I was anticipating would be a terribly uncomfortable chat, when he told me about a musical theatre audition that he'd heard about and thought I'd be interested in. Oh! Well... now he just went and did something really cool and while I want to not like the guy I gotta say......GAAAAH! THANK YOU!!
The show is Dracula el musical written by Angel Mahler and directed by Pepito Cibrian, two pretty big deals down here aparently. Think Andrew Lloyd Webber and Cameron Mackinosh of South America... YEAH! And all I know is the address of the theatre and to show up sometime between 12:00pm and 8:00pm this Monday thru Thursday. So basically, this is a total absolute shot in the dark. I mean, I haven't had a voice lesson or a gym membership in 4 months, I don't have any of my audition materials, repertoire, or wardrobe, and I have like 2 days to prepare but no clue what I'm preparing for! OH, and did I mention its obviously all in Spanish???
...Thus went all my initial fears and doubts scurring about my brain in sudden reckless anxiety.
Then I said to myself, "Kelly?"
"Yes?" I answered.
"If you could describe your dream job, what would it be?"
"Pssh! That's easy Kelly! It would be performing in musical theatre all around the world!"
"You're crazy! Where's the money in that??"
"Um, excuse me, it's all about artistic fulfillment..."
"Oh please..."
"You shut up! Don't get me started..."
But I digress.
Basically I realized that the reason I'd come all this way was staring me in the face and there was no ignoring or walking away from it. I mean, it's not like I have anything to lose. I have no reputation to uphold or face to save. I have a plethora of audition songs I've memorized by way of busting them out in my car in LA traffic. And I now own a pair of genuine Argentine leather tango shoes perfect for onstage dancing. I can find a way to make this work.
So, I collected my headshots, translated my resume, downloaded some sheet music for an old go-to favorite, and dusted off the vocal chords while the family was out (our walls are very thin... if the neighbors heard of me as much as I can hear of them... we may start receiving hate mail).
Today was the big day! It was Dia del Estudiante, Student's Day, so we all had the day off of classes, which pretty much the entire city took advantage of because also it was the first day of Spring, Dia de la Primavera, where everyone buys each other fresh flowers and hangs out in the Palermo parks to drink mate and cerveza with friends (ps. I love this country's social life!). I, however, like a well honed Bachelor's-of-Theatre-Arts-holding LA actor spent the day trekking around my barrio printing out photos and sheet music, doing my yoga and vocal excercizes, and picking out the perfect audition outfit (a feat only made more difficult by the reduced selection in my closet). I even treated myself to a cab ride downtown so I could arrive in style.
OOOOOOOOooooooooh even if I tried, I couldn't describe just how legitimate I felt chattin with the cabby as we weaved thru the traffic, I becoming more exhilarated and nervous with every second. It was the perfect my-life-in-the-big-city-movie-moment.
When we got to the theatre, I thanked the cabby for his well wishes and donned my game face, only to be told that they just wanted my headshot and audition form and to give me an appointment time to come back next week for the actual audition.
Oh.
Well, I give myself props for being TOO prepared on TWO days notice at least. The actual audition itself doesn't even require us to come with a song prepared. We'll be given a peice from the show to learn and rehearse briefly before singing it one at a time. And did I mention that we'll be singing for Cibrian and Mahler themselves? Personally?? Even Sofi and Ana were like "Wha!? You're gonna meet Pepito Cibrian in person???" Well.... aparently. It will probably go down in the books as the ballsyiest/coolest thing I've ever done. : /
Honestly, even though I didn't even DO any audition today, just the getting prepared and psyching myself out and downing tea and cough drops and practicing slating in Spanish was SO REFRESHING! I just love acting like an actor again!
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Mascaras en Fuga
I went to another very interesting piece of theatre today.
My teacher from Central de Integracion Teatral, Geraldine dramaturged and starred in this a show centered around masks in yet another hole-in-the-wall-wouldn't-even-know-it-was-there-unless-you-already-knew-it-was-there theatre in Palermo. I always feel super legit finding places like that!
It takes place on a train, not in any specific location, but a space and time in transit.
The train attendant, wearing a half mask that covers all his face except his mouth and chin, wanders up and down the stage calling out in gibberish language (when wearing a mask, you always speak as an extranjero, not as yourself).
A girl (played by Geraldine, mi maestra!) with wildly unkempt hair carefully obscuring her face, enters nervously carrying a red tote and sits down. The man, obviously enamored, takes her ticket and in an elongated aside to the audience rehearses how to give her a flower as a token of his adoration in the form of a mimed dance! Unfortunately for him when the lights change back to reality, the girl has skirted the train car leaving her seat now empty. He leaves her rose resting there awaiting her return.
An old man (also played by Geraldine) enters with a full face mask that obscures both eyes and mouth, shuffles up and down the ailses against the simulated motion of the train and finally comes to rest on the opposite bench from where the girl was just sitting. He too carries a familiar red tote. The train attendant asks the trembling old man for his passport and examines it scrupulously, then his train ticket which the poor man can't seem to find in his pockets. When the attendant has his back turned away, the old man hurriedly shuffles off in the same direction as the girl previously.
The attendant is enraged and rushes off in search of the little old freeloader. In his absence, a suave business man (Geraldine again!) in a suit, scarf, and another full face mask enters the scene confidently, again with a red tote, and sits in the girl's seat next to the rose. Intrigued, he picks it up, examines it, and smugly tucks it into his lapel. The attendant, obviously disgruntled, reenters and demands to see the business man's passport and ticket. The business man then presents to him, perhaps a bit too confidently, the passport of the tremulous little old man! Now aware that he has an imposter on board, the attendant struggles to subdue him, but just as their fight reaches its climax, the train crashes to a screeching halt. Blackout.
Lights up. Police sirens. The imposter has escaped and the attendant holds a newspaper (clever written in gibberish language... gotta love attention to details!) with the hairy girl's photo on the front page. She is a fugitive. As he reads, a very attractive oriental woman (Geraldine, obvio!) in full face mask, with a tell tale mangy mess of hair enters and immediately obscures herself with a large fan. Obviously she has caught the suspicious eye of the attendant, but she proceeds to do a seductive dance with her fan to distract his attention. He isn't fooled. The girl sees the futility of her actions and decides to abandone them and ceremoniously removes the oriental mask. Her true face however, is still completely obcured by her hair. The attendant tries to cuff her, but realizes he just can't. His initial feelings for her still linger. Then in another almost ritualistic dance, he removes his mask and she replaces it with a black fabric cap that covers his whole head. She dons one as well and for a fleeting shared moment the two are utterly faceless. Then, he gives her his guise, she assumes his identity and marches out of the train car, abandoning the solitary disoriented attendant who lost his identity to love.
Only seconds later though... she returns! She can't do it either! She returns his face, which he in turn, lays to rest with hers in her red tote, and together the two of them turn upstage, remove their last and final masks obscuring their real selves from the outside world, and exit triumphantly hand in hand.
Mascaras en Fuga, Masks in flight.
It was interesting to see how many ways of masking were used: actual masks, hair, caps, fan, simply turning away from the audience. I took it as a representation of the multiple layers of deception and protection that we build up and envelop ourselves in on a daily basis, letting only a select few past those barrier walls. Also just how many guises one person can don. Geraldine played one character, who moreover assumed the character of 4 other masks on top of that. How challenging to play a character within a character, and constantly changing the identity which is obscuring the identity which you are already affecting artificially!
There's also the question of flight, fleeing, being a fugitive. What is it that we all are running and hiding from? Reality? Honesty? Ourselves? What is it about our true faces that so offend?
I don a mask everyday. It's true, even in comfortable settings, but especially so in my life down here. I pretend to be a local who knows her way around every time I leave the house. Los portenos all maintain a very serious facade on the streets, no smiling almost ever, despite how openly emotional they are among amigos y familia. I admit, sometimes its exhausting to constantly work for obscuring the identity I carry with me, that was forged in another land and lifestyle. I do feel like I'm living an alternate life sometimes, like I'm not who I am back home. That person doesn't fit into the world down here as snugly as she does up there. I'm figuring that by the time this extended acting excercise is coming to an end, my transformation will have become complete and I will not know exactly how to discard my Argentine self upon returning to my own homebase. I've been desperately missing the stage, and the exhilaration of rehearsal and performance and audience... but I've just now realized that I am performing everyday, for everyone that I meet. This could be the most valuable and challenging role I've ever played.
Hmmmm.... I wonder if I could put portena on my resume??
My teacher from Central de Integracion Teatral, Geraldine dramaturged and starred in this a show centered around masks in yet another hole-in-the-wall-wouldn't-even-know-it-was-there-unless-you-already-knew-it-was-there theatre in Palermo. I always feel super legit finding places like that!
It takes place on a train, not in any specific location, but a space and time in transit.
The train attendant, wearing a half mask that covers all his face except his mouth and chin, wanders up and down the stage calling out in gibberish language (when wearing a mask, you always speak as an extranjero, not as yourself).
A girl (played by Geraldine, mi maestra!) with wildly unkempt hair carefully obscuring her face, enters nervously carrying a red tote and sits down. The man, obviously enamored, takes her ticket and in an elongated aside to the audience rehearses how to give her a flower as a token of his adoration in the form of a mimed dance! Unfortunately for him when the lights change back to reality, the girl has skirted the train car leaving her seat now empty. He leaves her rose resting there awaiting her return.
An old man (also played by Geraldine) enters with a full face mask that obscures both eyes and mouth, shuffles up and down the ailses against the simulated motion of the train and finally comes to rest on the opposite bench from where the girl was just sitting. He too carries a familiar red tote. The train attendant asks the trembling old man for his passport and examines it scrupulously, then his train ticket which the poor man can't seem to find in his pockets. When the attendant has his back turned away, the old man hurriedly shuffles off in the same direction as the girl previously.
The attendant is enraged and rushes off in search of the little old freeloader. In his absence, a suave business man (Geraldine again!) in a suit, scarf, and another full face mask enters the scene confidently, again with a red tote, and sits in the girl's seat next to the rose. Intrigued, he picks it up, examines it, and smugly tucks it into his lapel. The attendant, obviously disgruntled, reenters and demands to see the business man's passport and ticket. The business man then presents to him, perhaps a bit too confidently, the passport of the tremulous little old man! Now aware that he has an imposter on board, the attendant struggles to subdue him, but just as their fight reaches its climax, the train crashes to a screeching halt. Blackout.
Lights up. Police sirens. The imposter has escaped and the attendant holds a newspaper (clever written in gibberish language... gotta love attention to details!) with the hairy girl's photo on the front page. She is a fugitive. As he reads, a very attractive oriental woman (Geraldine, obvio!) in full face mask, with a tell tale mangy mess of hair enters and immediately obscures herself with a large fan. Obviously she has caught the suspicious eye of the attendant, but she proceeds to do a seductive dance with her fan to distract his attention. He isn't fooled. The girl sees the futility of her actions and decides to abandone them and ceremoniously removes the oriental mask. Her true face however, is still completely obcured by her hair. The attendant tries to cuff her, but realizes he just can't. His initial feelings for her still linger. Then in another almost ritualistic dance, he removes his mask and she replaces it with a black fabric cap that covers his whole head. She dons one as well and for a fleeting shared moment the two are utterly faceless. Then, he gives her his guise, she assumes his identity and marches out of the train car, abandoning the solitary disoriented attendant who lost his identity to love.
Only seconds later though... she returns! She can't do it either! She returns his face, which he in turn, lays to rest with hers in her red tote, and together the two of them turn upstage, remove their last and final masks obscuring their real selves from the outside world, and exit triumphantly hand in hand.
Mascaras en Fuga, Masks in flight.
It was interesting to see how many ways of masking were used: actual masks, hair, caps, fan, simply turning away from the audience. I took it as a representation of the multiple layers of deception and protection that we build up and envelop ourselves in on a daily basis, letting only a select few past those barrier walls. Also just how many guises one person can don. Geraldine played one character, who moreover assumed the character of 4 other masks on top of that. How challenging to play a character within a character, and constantly changing the identity which is obscuring the identity which you are already affecting artificially!
There's also the question of flight, fleeing, being a fugitive. What is it that we all are running and hiding from? Reality? Honesty? Ourselves? What is it about our true faces that so offend?
I don a mask everyday. It's true, even in comfortable settings, but especially so in my life down here. I pretend to be a local who knows her way around every time I leave the house. Los portenos all maintain a very serious facade on the streets, no smiling almost ever, despite how openly emotional they are among amigos y familia. I admit, sometimes its exhausting to constantly work for obscuring the identity I carry with me, that was forged in another land and lifestyle. I do feel like I'm living an alternate life sometimes, like I'm not who I am back home. That person doesn't fit into the world down here as snugly as she does up there. I'm figuring that by the time this extended acting excercise is coming to an end, my transformation will have become complete and I will not know exactly how to discard my Argentine self upon returning to my own homebase. I've been desperately missing the stage, and the exhilaration of rehearsal and performance and audience... but I've just now realized that I am performing everyday, for everyone that I meet. This could be the most valuable and challenging role I've ever played.
Hmmmm.... I wonder if I could put portena on my resume??
Saturday, September 11, 2010
American. Woman.
I have alot of thoughts today. I don't know if any of them are really worth sharing. I don't know if I will end up publishing this or just saving it to reread and ponder over on my own. But I feel the need to preserve the strangeness of my feelings on this day.
I went for an extremely long run earlier, let myself deviate from my normal trail, the routine to which I've recently been attached for its sense of normalcy, and ended up getting lost and circumventing half of Palermo before trotting back to my own Belgrano stomping grounds. But somehow I just didn't wanna stop runnning. Could be that yesterday for the 2nd time since I've been here, someone asked me if I was pregnant (making me feel A. OBVIOUSLY self consious and B. really fed up with the Argentines standards of beauty... did I mention though that the woman who asked had the figure of a snowman and weighed at least 100lbs more than me??), could be the 2 cups of mate that I drank for breakfast this morning, or it could be that my mind was so a flame with inscendiary thoughts that my legs had more than enough fuel to keep them moving forward.
Today, I hate being a woman.
I hate the cat calls, and the whistles, and honks.
I hate knowing that I can't leave the house without being stared at.
I hate guilting myself into working out to fit into this society of toothpick women, when really I'd rather tear that image to shreds.
I hate that I get the guest's extra helping at the dinner table, while my host mom and sister don't eat.
I hate that I'm complaining about being fed too much when everyday I walk past people on the streets with nothing to eat.
I hate that half the reason I've been complaining so much this week is PMS.
I hate having to admit that.
I hate that the term femenista is a joke.
I hate that being good at the tango means learning how to utterly submit to the dominance of the man indicating every step you take.
I hate running past discarded condoms and panties in the mud on the side of a park path (not to mention the intestines of some gutted stray animal).
I hate that 13 year old girls are moved to inconsolable tears when they talk to God, as 2 girls were during a prayer circle at La Casita yesterday, making me wonder what in their lives behind their hardened attitudes is so plaguing them.
I hate that I want so much to reach out to them, but even if I could understand their struggles in translation, I'd never be able to relate to them, I'm sure.
I hate that I came here to absorb this culture not to change it, and in 2 months when I leave it, it will continue just the same.
On an almost entirely different note...
I also hate how its September 11, 9 years since the worst day my own country has seen in all my lifetime, and I don't know how to feel on this day. In past years the date has rolled by almost without my notice. I'd forget to watch the news and no one around me would be talking about it. But I think being abroad makes me acutely aware of the significance of this day for my country, and to be honest I'm not sure how I should feel about it.
But I hate that the pride I should be filled with as an American living abroad is mingled with so many lesser feelings on this day.
... maybe its because I feel like no one at home really realizes or appreciates the luxuries and liberties our nationality, our accident of birth, grants us.
... maybe its because my journeys abroad have given me a more refined perspective of my country and its place in the world, but I know that only the 1/3 of my countrymen who have their passports will ever experience any kind of similar enlightenment.
... maybe its that I feel like we have so much untapped and squandered capacity for good with our position in the world
... maybe its because none of our people, myself included, understand why our government can't fix health care, or stop an oil leak, or get us out of an 8 year war, or even explain to us why we're still in it.
... maybe its because the leaders of the most prominent and affluent country on the planet seem to think they can get away with obscuring something as primitive as truth from the people to whom they are indebted and who have endowed them with underserving trust.
I hate that I can even find the breath to complain about my homeland when I am daily reminded how fortunate I am to come from where I do. But it's like Mark Twain said, "Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it."
The Argentines have been a perfect example of that. They love their homeland and their heritage... in fact they are quite snobbish about it. But no one, NO ONE, likes anyone or anything about their government. There are protests daily all over this capital city. But still they gather, and they jump, and dance, and drum, and sing, and demonstrate to their leaders exactly what it means to them to be a citizen of Argentina. I want that our country would know that sense of total unconditional unity. We are Americans, not Californians and Texans, not liberals and independants and conservatives, not whites and Mexicans and Blacks, not white collar and blue collar, not Lakers or Celtics even, just all unquestionably at one in our commonality. That doesn't at all mean being in agreement or support or even obedient. It means being informed and actively invested in our the culture that had made us what we are.
... wow this went from being really ranty to really preachy.... I'll conclude then.
This week, in this place, there is alot about being a woman that I don't like. Today, in this era, there is alot about America that I want to see changed. But those two elements are so integral to the core of who I am! If I'd been born any other way, I simply wouldn't be the person I am right now. I'd exist only in some completely other capacity. So yeah today is a weird day to be who I am, where I am, at the time in which I am. Pero lo que soy.
... and that is a really pathetic attempt at a conclusion, trying to tie this ridiculous monster of a rant repository up with a nice neat little bow! Gracias.
I went for an extremely long run earlier, let myself deviate from my normal trail, the routine to which I've recently been attached for its sense of normalcy, and ended up getting lost and circumventing half of Palermo before trotting back to my own Belgrano stomping grounds. But somehow I just didn't wanna stop runnning. Could be that yesterday for the 2nd time since I've been here, someone asked me if I was pregnant (making me feel A. OBVIOUSLY self consious and B. really fed up with the Argentines standards of beauty... did I mention though that the woman who asked had the figure of a snowman and weighed at least 100lbs more than me??), could be the 2 cups of mate that I drank for breakfast this morning, or it could be that my mind was so a flame with inscendiary thoughts that my legs had more than enough fuel to keep them moving forward.
Today, I hate being a woman.
I hate the cat calls, and the whistles, and honks.
I hate knowing that I can't leave the house without being stared at.
I hate guilting myself into working out to fit into this society of toothpick women, when really I'd rather tear that image to shreds.
I hate that I get the guest's extra helping at the dinner table, while my host mom and sister don't eat.
I hate that I'm complaining about being fed too much when everyday I walk past people on the streets with nothing to eat.
I hate that half the reason I've been complaining so much this week is PMS.
I hate having to admit that.
I hate that the term femenista is a joke.
I hate that being good at the tango means learning how to utterly submit to the dominance of the man indicating every step you take.
I hate running past discarded condoms and panties in the mud on the side of a park path (not to mention the intestines of some gutted stray animal).
I hate that 13 year old girls are moved to inconsolable tears when they talk to God, as 2 girls were during a prayer circle at La Casita yesterday, making me wonder what in their lives behind their hardened attitudes is so plaguing them.
I hate that I want so much to reach out to them, but even if I could understand their struggles in translation, I'd never be able to relate to them, I'm sure.
I hate that I came here to absorb this culture not to change it, and in 2 months when I leave it, it will continue just the same.
On an almost entirely different note...
I also hate how its September 11, 9 years since the worst day my own country has seen in all my lifetime, and I don't know how to feel on this day. In past years the date has rolled by almost without my notice. I'd forget to watch the news and no one around me would be talking about it. But I think being abroad makes me acutely aware of the significance of this day for my country, and to be honest I'm not sure how I should feel about it.
But I hate that the pride I should be filled with as an American living abroad is mingled with so many lesser feelings on this day.
... maybe its because I feel like no one at home really realizes or appreciates the luxuries and liberties our nationality, our accident of birth, grants us.
... maybe its because my journeys abroad have given me a more refined perspective of my country and its place in the world, but I know that only the 1/3 of my countrymen who have their passports will ever experience any kind of similar enlightenment.
... maybe its that I feel like we have so much untapped and squandered capacity for good with our position in the world
... maybe its because none of our people, myself included, understand why our government can't fix health care, or stop an oil leak, or get us out of an 8 year war, or even explain to us why we're still in it.
... maybe its because the leaders of the most prominent and affluent country on the planet seem to think they can get away with obscuring something as primitive as truth from the people to whom they are indebted and who have endowed them with underserving trust.
I hate that I can even find the breath to complain about my homeland when I am daily reminded how fortunate I am to come from where I do. But it's like Mark Twain said, "Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it."
The Argentines have been a perfect example of that. They love their homeland and their heritage... in fact they are quite snobbish about it. But no one, NO ONE, likes anyone or anything about their government. There are protests daily all over this capital city. But still they gather, and they jump, and dance, and drum, and sing, and demonstrate to their leaders exactly what it means to them to be a citizen of Argentina. I want that our country would know that sense of total unconditional unity. We are Americans, not Californians and Texans, not liberals and independants and conservatives, not whites and Mexicans and Blacks, not white collar and blue collar, not Lakers or Celtics even, just all unquestionably at one in our commonality. That doesn't at all mean being in agreement or support or even obedient. It means being informed and actively invested in our the culture that had made us what we are.
... wow this went from being really ranty to really preachy.... I'll conclude then.
This week, in this place, there is alot about being a woman that I don't like. Today, in this era, there is alot about America that I want to see changed. But those two elements are so integral to the core of who I am! If I'd been born any other way, I simply wouldn't be the person I am right now. I'd exist only in some completely other capacity. So yeah today is a weird day to be who I am, where I am, at the time in which I am. Pero lo que soy.
... and that is a really pathetic attempt at a conclusion, trying to tie this ridiculous monster of a rant repository up with a nice neat little bow! Gracias.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
I have no idea what is going to happen to me today.
When I first came down here I had a set of expectations, for the language, the city, the people, and especially for myself. I had a set of goals I needed to accomplish while abroad. Looking back at the Kelly who got off the plane at Ezeiza Airport... I can almost laugh at her for thinking that she could plan and predict the world she was about to encounter. I've now past the halfway point in my journey. I have about 2 months in the country and only around 30 days of classes left to fulfill whatever it is I came here for. Even as I write this a sense of anxiety is creeping up from underneathe me at that thought. Am I utilizing my time to its utmost? Will I have any regrets upon going home?
Usually on mornings when I wake up with a sense of disquiet and unsurety of what I will do with this day, I find myself saying " I have no idea what will happen to me today." And while such an unknown would have terrified the pee out of me only months before leaving, today it gives me peace and comfort. Some of the best things to have come to pass for me so far have been unpredictable, unpremeditated, and spontaneous. The character challenge that I have thus been facing is opening up to the frightening myriad of possibilities, accepting the lurching free fall, and trusting myself and my capabilities to tumble with grace and find my way back onto my feet after crash landing.
That said, since my blogging has been so sporadic recently, I'll fill you in on the events that came to pass since my last entry:
Monday: previously mentioned computer ordeal.... my week got better I promise!
Tues: Trekked down to the Correo Nacional to pick up my care package from Mom. Canned salsa, muffin mix, red beans and rice, and best of all SPICES! It was a box well worth getting rained on, let me tell you! That night around 9pm, I went out to Cafe Vinilo, a trendy little bohemian cafe in Palermo, with live music every night of the week! A guy I met through ISA was playing with his Argentine folk band comprised of 2 guitarras hispanolas and him on the classical bass.Together their intricate musicianship formed a pure, gorgeous, unadulterated fusion of jazz and folk. I was floored by the dexterity of those men's fingers! It was there also that I realized that Argentina has officially transformed me into a wino! Yes, I am now a wine snob through and through... it helps that even the cheapest lowest quality of wine here is still utterly superb. But I ordered a simple glass of house red, una copa de vino tinto de la casa, and immediately noted the reflection of its rich ruby red color in the candle light at our table, marked the tell-tale tears on the sides of the glass, swished the floral scents through my senses and let the smooth rosy netar spal into my tongue and trickle down my through like the tranquil music in my ears..... see what I mean?!?!
Wed: La Tormenta de Santa Rosa, which arrives every year around August 30th, brought an ugly, cold, rainy day with wind so loud you'd swear a poltergeist had decided to throw a Halloween party with all his buddies in my living room! So to avoid going outside until the absolute last possible minute before class, I stayed in and baked my mother's blueberry muffin mix... I don't know how she remembered those were my favorites. Ana doesn't have a pan with muffin cups in them, so they came out a little free-form looking like fat little amoebas, but their taste was still delicious. I left them on the counter and the family loved them so much that they didn't even last the night! Ana seemed excited that I'd figured out how to use the oven on my own, converting Farhenheit to Centigrade and Cups to cc's and everything!
Thurs: Exceptionally normal. Rain, class, Mask and Breathing Theatre workshops that I'm loving more and more each week! I did bring my friend Tom to tango class at UB though, I mean we desperately need more guys so I thought it'd give me brownie points or something (not that I need them when I'm already Jose's favortite student... and not necessarily in a good way!). But to my shock and surprise Jose FREAKED OUT! He comes over to me while I'm teaching my friend the basic steps and with a smug little attitude goes, "Where'd you get your doll?" He proceeded to give Tom dirty looks all the rest of class, and used me as an example to demonstrate to the class more than usual today probably cuz he just wanted to show off how great he is at shoving the woman around on the dance floor. UGH! I swear the tanguero ego is the most suffocating and infuriating thing I may have ever encountered, and trust me, in my line of work I encounter alot of egos.
Fri: I woke up early and took the bus to the bus to Escobar to visit los ninos, but for reasons unknown to me, it was closed. No one was there and all the doors were locked. I have no idea why but I wherever those kids ended up spending that cold soggy day, I hope that it was warm and dry. I tooled around Escobar for awhile, but there's nothing much to see out there and it wasn't very nice earther for a stroll, so I just took the bus back to BsAs, bought myself some fuscia hair dye on a whim and added some fun streaks to my already ostentatious blonde! I figure that in the state I can never have funky hair if I wanna work and be in shows... but as it were I won't be working or performing for at least a few more months and I gotta do something crazy while living in South America right?? That night a group of us went to the milonga at La Viruta. There were a ton more people than I am used to seeing during the week, unfortunately none of them were under the age of 40. Now as much as I love being shuffled around by slimey old men, or viejos babosos as Ana calls them, not my idea of a fun Friday night. So I got talked into going to Crobar, a boliche where the young people dance!! Again, a spontaneous "Well, why the heck not?" decision that ended up being alot of fun! I realized that one of the reasons I don't like going out to the boliches is constantly getting hit on by men that think they are hotter than I do. BUT I have now learned the system, and was with a really fun group of friends, so together we took turns fending off the vultures. I even had an opportunity to utilize some Argentine curse words!
Sat: Since we left the club at 6am (you know its time to go when there's so few people left you can actually see the dance floor!) I let myself sleep till 3:30pm! I think that's a new record for me. I was fully prepared to do hw and laze around the house in my pjs for the rest of the afternoon, when Ana excitedly asks me if I wanna go to the mall with her to have coffee with some old college friends of hers from Brazil! Going to the mall like a real mom and daughter!! I was so flattered and thrilled to be invited! So Ana, Sofi, and I went out to Recoleta, to this really high end mall and sat and talked to her old friend and his wife and son for hours in a delicious cocktail of Spanish, Portugese, and English. She introduced me as her American daughter, and they invited me to come visit them if I'm ever in Brazil... which I am totally planning on being sometime very soon. It was such a fun little family outing. OH and ps. Ana like any good mother does not like what I did to my hair, and when we were arriving at the mall, I started feeling really self consious about it... until her friend's wife took one look at me and exclaimed how cool she thought it was and how she wished she could do something like that to her hair!
Sun: We planned a lunch party for the Brazilians in our apartment, so I helped Ana clean up and get the table all set. We had empanadas, pasta, tarta de manzanas con helado, and $200 Malbec from Mendoza! I let my hair be wavy and wore my favorite tunic top that day... so they all made fun of me as a "hippie chick" and put a flower from the table behind my ear. After a couple more glasses of wine though, they all had flowers behind their ears too! They made me do an impromtu sing for them, which was awfully embarrassing. Also, given the fact that I have not had so much as a piano to do scales on for the past 3 months, I'm a little rusty. They didn't know the difference though, and loved it of course! After the meal and socializing, I snuck into the kitchen to start on the dishes while Ana said her goodbyes. I was already halfway finished when she realized, but she actually let me do them! I've never in my life been so proud of the opportunity to wash dishes. Its trivial, I know, but it makes me feel integrated into the family that has given me a home in this country. It was the perfect weekend.
Mon: Again, another normal day. Went running in the park, ate the rest of my red beans and rice, skirted off to class, and afterwards went down to Plaza de Mayo to take pictures of the architecture for my Arte Contemporaneo project due the next day... yeah, I'll never learn punctuality. We got there just at the time of night, after the sun has sunk behind the buildings and silhouetted their dark distinct outlines against a peachy sky, the city lights beam a little brighter, and the streets fill up with cars and people heading home after a day of work. As I am focusing my camera on the Pyramida de Mayo in the center of the plaza, I hear drums and sirens and song, and turn to see a massive demonstration of young people with colorful banners marching down the middle of the street from Congreso. That's one of the things that love about this city.
Tues: Practically no one went to their classes today BECAUSE the Espana vs. Argentina Bicentennial futbol game was being played this afternoon at the River Plate Stadium about 5 blocks from my apartment. The partido between La Madre Patria and her former colony in honor of Argentina's 200 year birthday this year, would have been a big deal in itself, but seeing as Espana just took the world championship title in the Mundial only months ago?? IT WAS A BIG FRICKIN DEAL! So I skipped out on tango (...oops!) and Erica and I went back to my apartment to share a $5 peso box of wine, Wheat Thins from home, and cheese on my balcony listening to the crowd from the stadium. Every time we heard an uproar we'd run inside to the tv to watch Argentina score another embarassingly awesome goal. 4:1 Argentina.... someone explain to me why we didn't take the world title again??? Probably the girliest way to watch a sports game though right?? I don't care! It was fantastic!
Wed: I was in a funk today. Couldn't explain it. I was just plagued with a shadow of nostalgia and homesickness that followed me around on my run through the park, while I sipped my coffee and watched the news, while I added some purple to the fuscia streak in my hair, and to all my classes. After Spanish I caught #15 to La Viruta to see if I could tango it away... and actually that worked! I recognized the names and faces of all my favorite Wednesday night partners, no babosos here, and finally fell back into my element, putting myself at ease and quieting my thoughts long enough to listen to the moves. I even met a couple new friends who I'm excited to dance again with next time
Today: I'm currently sitting in the sunshine on my balcony, thinking about grabbing some reading and going to the park before class. That sounds like a good gameplan for now... but like I said, I really have no idea where that will lead, what if anything will intervene, or if on my way over there I'll spontaneously decide to add some green to my hair!
Nadie sabe!
Usually on mornings when I wake up with a sense of disquiet and unsurety of what I will do with this day, I find myself saying " I have no idea what will happen to me today." And while such an unknown would have terrified the pee out of me only months before leaving, today it gives me peace and comfort. Some of the best things to have come to pass for me so far have been unpredictable, unpremeditated, and spontaneous. The character challenge that I have thus been facing is opening up to the frightening myriad of possibilities, accepting the lurching free fall, and trusting myself and my capabilities to tumble with grace and find my way back onto my feet after crash landing.
That said, since my blogging has been so sporadic recently, I'll fill you in on the events that came to pass since my last entry:
Monday: previously mentioned computer ordeal.... my week got better I promise!
Tues: Trekked down to the Correo Nacional to pick up my care package from Mom. Canned salsa, muffin mix, red beans and rice, and best of all SPICES! It was a box well worth getting rained on, let me tell you! That night around 9pm, I went out to Cafe Vinilo, a trendy little bohemian cafe in Palermo, with live music every night of the week! A guy I met through ISA was playing with his Argentine folk band comprised of 2 guitarras hispanolas and him on the classical bass.Together their intricate musicianship formed a pure, gorgeous, unadulterated fusion of jazz and folk. I was floored by the dexterity of those men's fingers! It was there also that I realized that Argentina has officially transformed me into a wino! Yes, I am now a wine snob through and through... it helps that even the cheapest lowest quality of wine here is still utterly superb. But I ordered a simple glass of house red, una copa de vino tinto de la casa, and immediately noted the reflection of its rich ruby red color in the candle light at our table, marked the tell-tale tears on the sides of the glass, swished the floral scents through my senses and let the smooth rosy netar spal into my tongue and trickle down my through like the tranquil music in my ears..... see what I mean?!?!
Wed: La Tormenta de Santa Rosa, which arrives every year around August 30th, brought an ugly, cold, rainy day with wind so loud you'd swear a poltergeist had decided to throw a Halloween party with all his buddies in my living room! So to avoid going outside until the absolute last possible minute before class, I stayed in and baked my mother's blueberry muffin mix... I don't know how she remembered those were my favorites. Ana doesn't have a pan with muffin cups in them, so they came out a little free-form looking like fat little amoebas, but their taste was still delicious. I left them on the counter and the family loved them so much that they didn't even last the night! Ana seemed excited that I'd figured out how to use the oven on my own, converting Farhenheit to Centigrade and Cups to cc's and everything!
Thurs: Exceptionally normal. Rain, class, Mask and Breathing Theatre workshops that I'm loving more and more each week! I did bring my friend Tom to tango class at UB though, I mean we desperately need more guys so I thought it'd give me brownie points or something (not that I need them when I'm already Jose's favortite student... and not necessarily in a good way!). But to my shock and surprise Jose FREAKED OUT! He comes over to me while I'm teaching my friend the basic steps and with a smug little attitude goes, "Where'd you get your doll?" He proceeded to give Tom dirty looks all the rest of class, and used me as an example to demonstrate to the class more than usual today probably cuz he just wanted to show off how great he is at shoving the woman around on the dance floor. UGH! I swear the tanguero ego is the most suffocating and infuriating thing I may have ever encountered, and trust me, in my line of work I encounter alot of egos.
Fri: I woke up early and took the bus to the bus to Escobar to visit los ninos, but for reasons unknown to me, it was closed. No one was there and all the doors were locked. I have no idea why but I wherever those kids ended up spending that cold soggy day, I hope that it was warm and dry. I tooled around Escobar for awhile, but there's nothing much to see out there and it wasn't very nice earther for a stroll, so I just took the bus back to BsAs, bought myself some fuscia hair dye on a whim and added some fun streaks to my already ostentatious blonde! I figure that in the state I can never have funky hair if I wanna work and be in shows... but as it were I won't be working or performing for at least a few more months and I gotta do something crazy while living in South America right?? That night a group of us went to the milonga at La Viruta. There were a ton more people than I am used to seeing during the week, unfortunately none of them were under the age of 40. Now as much as I love being shuffled around by slimey old men, or viejos babosos as Ana calls them, not my idea of a fun Friday night. So I got talked into going to Crobar, a boliche where the young people dance!! Again, a spontaneous "Well, why the heck not?" decision that ended up being alot of fun! I realized that one of the reasons I don't like going out to the boliches is constantly getting hit on by men that think they are hotter than I do. BUT I have now learned the system, and was with a really fun group of friends, so together we took turns fending off the vultures. I even had an opportunity to utilize some Argentine curse words!
Sat: Since we left the club at 6am (you know its time to go when there's so few people left you can actually see the dance floor!) I let myself sleep till 3:30pm! I think that's a new record for me. I was fully prepared to do hw and laze around the house in my pjs for the rest of the afternoon, when Ana excitedly asks me if I wanna go to the mall with her to have coffee with some old college friends of hers from Brazil! Going to the mall like a real mom and daughter!! I was so flattered and thrilled to be invited! So Ana, Sofi, and I went out to Recoleta, to this really high end mall and sat and talked to her old friend and his wife and son for hours in a delicious cocktail of Spanish, Portugese, and English. She introduced me as her American daughter, and they invited me to come visit them if I'm ever in Brazil... which I am totally planning on being sometime very soon. It was such a fun little family outing. OH and ps. Ana like any good mother does not like what I did to my hair, and when we were arriving at the mall, I started feeling really self consious about it... until her friend's wife took one look at me and exclaimed how cool she thought it was and how she wished she could do something like that to her hair!
Sun: We planned a lunch party for the Brazilians in our apartment, so I helped Ana clean up and get the table all set. We had empanadas, pasta, tarta de manzanas con helado, and $200 Malbec from Mendoza! I let my hair be wavy and wore my favorite tunic top that day... so they all made fun of me as a "hippie chick" and put a flower from the table behind my ear. After a couple more glasses of wine though, they all had flowers behind their ears too! They made me do an impromtu sing for them, which was awfully embarrassing. Also, given the fact that I have not had so much as a piano to do scales on for the past 3 months, I'm a little rusty. They didn't know the difference though, and loved it of course! After the meal and socializing, I snuck into the kitchen to start on the dishes while Ana said her goodbyes. I was already halfway finished when she realized, but she actually let me do them! I've never in my life been so proud of the opportunity to wash dishes. Its trivial, I know, but it makes me feel integrated into the family that has given me a home in this country. It was the perfect weekend.
Mon: Again, another normal day. Went running in the park, ate the rest of my red beans and rice, skirted off to class, and afterwards went down to Plaza de Mayo to take pictures of the architecture for my Arte Contemporaneo project due the next day... yeah, I'll never learn punctuality. We got there just at the time of night, after the sun has sunk behind the buildings and silhouetted their dark distinct outlines against a peachy sky, the city lights beam a little brighter, and the streets fill up with cars and people heading home after a day of work. As I am focusing my camera on the Pyramida de Mayo in the center of the plaza, I hear drums and sirens and song, and turn to see a massive demonstration of young people with colorful banners marching down the middle of the street from Congreso. That's one of the things that love about this city.
Tues: Practically no one went to their classes today BECAUSE the Espana vs. Argentina Bicentennial futbol game was being played this afternoon at the River Plate Stadium about 5 blocks from my apartment. The partido between La Madre Patria and her former colony in honor of Argentina's 200 year birthday this year, would have been a big deal in itself, but seeing as Espana just took the world championship title in the Mundial only months ago?? IT WAS A BIG FRICKIN DEAL! So I skipped out on tango (...oops!) and Erica and I went back to my apartment to share a $5 peso box of wine, Wheat Thins from home, and cheese on my balcony listening to the crowd from the stadium. Every time we heard an uproar we'd run inside to the tv to watch Argentina score another embarassingly awesome goal. 4:1 Argentina.... someone explain to me why we didn't take the world title again??? Probably the girliest way to watch a sports game though right?? I don't care! It was fantastic!
Wed: I was in a funk today. Couldn't explain it. I was just plagued with a shadow of nostalgia and homesickness that followed me around on my run through the park, while I sipped my coffee and watched the news, while I added some purple to the fuscia streak in my hair, and to all my classes. After Spanish I caught #15 to La Viruta to see if I could tango it away... and actually that worked! I recognized the names and faces of all my favorite Wednesday night partners, no babosos here, and finally fell back into my element, putting myself at ease and quieting my thoughts long enough to listen to the moves. I even met a couple new friends who I'm excited to dance again with next time
Today: I'm currently sitting in the sunshine on my balcony, thinking about grabbing some reading and going to the park before class. That sounds like a good gameplan for now... but like I said, I really have no idea where that will lead, what if anything will intervene, or if on my way over there I'll spontaneously decide to add some green to my hair!
Nadie sabe!
Monday, August 30, 2010
Why I didn't do my homework.... no really!
This day has just been too utterly ridiculous to NOT blog about! I usually don't write unless I've got a good reason too, which results in really sensational blog entries like Fuerza Bruta! or I hate public transportation! And I promise my daily life is not actually that over the top. That being said...
Saturday night, amidst a twitterpated Skype session, my computer once again stop charging and eventually went dead, unrevivable. Having dealt with this problem once before I knew the protocol, but had to wait til Monday when the electronics repair shop would be open. It's actually amazing how much I accomplished yesterday without having internet access! I read a million articles for Gender Studies, got my essay for today all prepared (since I couldn't actually write it!) and read a whopping whole 5 pages of the Motorcycle Diaries by the infamous Che Guevara (that's actually alot... you should be impressed!)
So this morning, my plan was thus: drop off my computer charger to be re-repaired early in the morning, and head over to the ISA office to confiscate one of their computers for a couple hours to crank out my very well thought out essay before 2:30pm. Well, after a 15 block ride on a colectivo that ALWAYS arrives in the last moment before you're ready to give up waiting, Hugo and his boys tell me that there's nothing wrong with my charger (of course not! They repaired it!) and could I bring in my computer?? So I wait a good 15 minutes for the colectivo, only so that the next one to pull over to the line of us impatiently gathering could change it's sign to "Afuera de Servicio." Realizing I was working against time at this point to get my computer repaired and my paper written, I decided to walk, no, power-walk it home. Once I had my precious non-functioning compu I waited once again for a enfuriatingly tardy colectivo to take be back to where I'd just come (had a great conversation with a lovely abuelita however). I thus present my laptop and its charger in desperate surrender, and the boys concluded that yes, something is wrong inside the laptop, something they can't fix. So they send me across the street to their buddy Gabriel who can.
It's past noon at this point. Gabriel tells me, almost immediately that something inside my laptop has been tweaked (what exactly I couldn't tell you, because I wouldn't have understood even if he'd explained it in English) and he needs to take it completely apart to fix it. An exasperated sigh, and I give him the command, "Hacelo." I can afford $250 pesos and a couple days without Skype, but I need my computer. Plain and simple.
Already exhausted by the backward and forward lugging of electronics, impunctual colectivos, and foreign computer talk, I now address my next task of finding a computer and writing my Gender Studies essay in Spanish in 1.5 hours. TOTALLY DOABLE! I catch another colectivo (ps. gotta insert a shoutout to Estevan de Newman, mi amigo de CLU, for dumping an ungodly amount of monedas on me as a parting gift before hopping a plane to Brazil... that's the only reason I was able to take so many successive colectivos today!) to the ISA office and set to myself to work. This is where I flourish! I'm the thrive under pressure type, at least thats what I say to pardon my insipid procrastination. I'm cranking out in depth grammatically correct sentences on the not-so-cut-and-dry topic of gender and transexuality in a foreign language, almost as fast as I would in English!! I am so impressed with myself in this moment!!!
And then my time limit expires, and kicks me off without allowing me to save a single word.
Its 1:45pm.
Even if I could have remembered what I'd spit out so fluidly that first round, there was no way I could have finished the minimum of 2 pages within a half an hour and still have enough time to print it and walk the 8 blocks to class in time. So... I used those remaining moments to 1. laugh at myself for having tried SO HARD and still been defeated by all elements beyond my control, 2. craft an email to my profesora explaining to her why I wouldn't be handing my paper in today, knowing full well that it would only come off as an elaborate my-dog-ate-my-homework fib, the like of which I am too well-versed, and 3. walk to Chantilly, the aforementioned best confiteria in all of Capital Federal (and possibly the world!) to buy myself the fattest, richest alfajor that ever graced your daytime fantasies.
Que podes hacer?
When life hands you technical difficulties, eat artisan chocolate!
The epilogue to this saga is that Gabriel called me at 7:00pm tonight to tell me (or to tell Sofi who could understand him and who in turn told me) he'd already finished repairing my computer 3 days ahead of the prescribed time! Without needing to be told twice, I grabbed my backpack and power-walked, no, power-sprinted as fast as was socially acceptable, the 15 blocks to my compu and was cosily back in my apartment with a cup of tea by a record 7:30pm, ida y vuelta and already working on my paper faster than it took to wait for the #107 this morning.
So...
$250 pesos
3 colectivos
80 blocks of walking
and a million calorie alfajor later,
and I am back in business!
(Although after my delightfully untethered weekend of productivity, I've decided I really don't want to abuse the luxury of my laptop anymore. I'm past the point of no return in this trip and I'd really like to savor where I am by actually being present in it.)
Saturday night, amidst a twitterpated Skype session, my computer once again stop charging and eventually went dead, unrevivable. Having dealt with this problem once before I knew the protocol, but had to wait til Monday when the electronics repair shop would be open. It's actually amazing how much I accomplished yesterday without having internet access! I read a million articles for Gender Studies, got my essay for today all prepared (since I couldn't actually write it!) and read a whopping whole 5 pages of the Motorcycle Diaries by the infamous Che Guevara (that's actually alot... you should be impressed!)
So this morning, my plan was thus: drop off my computer charger to be re-repaired early in the morning, and head over to the ISA office to confiscate one of their computers for a couple hours to crank out my very well thought out essay before 2:30pm. Well, after a 15 block ride on a colectivo that ALWAYS arrives in the last moment before you're ready to give up waiting, Hugo and his boys tell me that there's nothing wrong with my charger (of course not! They repaired it!) and could I bring in my computer?? So I wait a good 15 minutes for the colectivo, only so that the next one to pull over to the line of us impatiently gathering could change it's sign to "Afuera de Servicio." Realizing I was working against time at this point to get my computer repaired and my paper written, I decided to walk, no, power-walk it home. Once I had my precious non-functioning compu I waited once again for a enfuriatingly tardy colectivo to take be back to where I'd just come (had a great conversation with a lovely abuelita however). I thus present my laptop and its charger in desperate surrender, and the boys concluded that yes, something is wrong inside the laptop, something they can't fix. So they send me across the street to their buddy Gabriel who can.
It's past noon at this point. Gabriel tells me, almost immediately that something inside my laptop has been tweaked (what exactly I couldn't tell you, because I wouldn't have understood even if he'd explained it in English) and he needs to take it completely apart to fix it. An exasperated sigh, and I give him the command, "Hacelo." I can afford $250 pesos and a couple days without Skype, but I need my computer. Plain and simple.
Already exhausted by the backward and forward lugging of electronics, impunctual colectivos, and foreign computer talk, I now address my next task of finding a computer and writing my Gender Studies essay in Spanish in 1.5 hours. TOTALLY DOABLE! I catch another colectivo (ps. gotta insert a shoutout to Estevan de Newman, mi amigo de CLU, for dumping an ungodly amount of monedas on me as a parting gift before hopping a plane to Brazil... that's the only reason I was able to take so many successive colectivos today!) to the ISA office and set to myself to work. This is where I flourish! I'm the thrive under pressure type, at least thats what I say to pardon my insipid procrastination. I'm cranking out in depth grammatically correct sentences on the not-so-cut-and-dry topic of gender and transexuality in a foreign language, almost as fast as I would in English!! I am so impressed with myself in this moment!!!
And then my time limit expires, and kicks me off without allowing me to save a single word.
Its 1:45pm.
Even if I could have remembered what I'd spit out so fluidly that first round, there was no way I could have finished the minimum of 2 pages within a half an hour and still have enough time to print it and walk the 8 blocks to class in time. So... I used those remaining moments to 1. laugh at myself for having tried SO HARD and still been defeated by all elements beyond my control, 2. craft an email to my profesora explaining to her why I wouldn't be handing my paper in today, knowing full well that it would only come off as an elaborate my-dog-ate-my-homework fib, the like of which I am too well-versed, and 3. walk to Chantilly, the aforementioned best confiteria in all of Capital Federal (and possibly the world!) to buy myself the fattest, richest alfajor that ever graced your daytime fantasies.
Que podes hacer?
When life hands you technical difficulties, eat artisan chocolate!
The epilogue to this saga is that Gabriel called me at 7:00pm tonight to tell me (or to tell Sofi who could understand him and who in turn told me) he'd already finished repairing my computer 3 days ahead of the prescribed time! Without needing to be told twice, I grabbed my backpack and power-walked, no, power-sprinted as fast as was socially acceptable, the 15 blocks to my compu and was cosily back in my apartment with a cup of tea by a record 7:30pm, ida y vuelta and already working on my paper faster than it took to wait for the #107 this morning.
So...
$250 pesos
3 colectivos
80 blocks of walking
and a million calorie alfajor later,
and I am back in business!
(Although after my delightfully untethered weekend of productivity, I've decided I really don't want to abuse the luxury of my laptop anymore. I'm past the point of no return in this trip and I'd really like to savor where I am by actually being present in it.)
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Fuerza Bruta
How to begin to describe the experience I've just had. I could say vibrant, I could say innovative, I could even say transformative... but there really are no letters that I could string together into word form that would sufficiently relay the depth of excitement I felt upon seeing the international work of theatre/dance/acrobatics/tech calle Fuerza Bruta (Brute Force).
The theatre is another unique space, more like a giant cement warehouse than a conventional performance space. And a DJ is blasting dance mixes as we gather in the courtyard outside. As they open the doors, we all poor into a huge playing space heavy with haze and dripping in magenta light from above. There are no seats. We gather like sheep, all standing around anxiously staring up at the light and ceiling as if looking for a sign of what is coming to us. The doors close and flood lights and our attention is drawn to focus by flood lights and fans from the corners of the space. Then we see the silhouette of a man walking in place into a bright light. His pace or direction doesnt change, but suddenly our perspective changes to his profile instrad of his back. As we crane our necks in intrigue we realize that he is on a moving platform and it is movinging out into the crowd bringing his world among us. The techies were not only acting as the grunts to push this platform, but also working crowd control to move us out of the way of it. Suddenly the music changes and the man starts running, there is a large fan blowing water and bits of paper in his face as he desperately fights to stay on pace with the speed of the tredmill spinning out of his control beneathe his feet. A loud gunshot, he grabs his chest which explodes in blood seeping out onto his white shirt, and blackout. Lights up, he removes his white business shirt to another just like it underneathe and continues walking to the same routine, now passing plastic chairs placed and replaced by the techies, and other people walking in the opposite direction and disappearing on the other end. But he alone continues forward. A classic display of an individual vs. society, sisyphus-like struggle for survival. No dialogue necessary.
Finally the techies present him with a bed. Obviously grateful for rest, he lays himself down, as a metallic curtain is drawn across the oposite wall behind him. We see his dreams unfold as two girls on harnesses float out and dance sideways in the air against the waves of light on this curtain. At first peaceful and dreamlike, then again a sudden change in music incites frenetic energy and they fight to break free of their harnesses. Black out. The man wakes and walks.
His platform moves him to the oposite side of the room, where he encounters 5 people on a similar platform surrounded by cardboard walls and crowded with plastic furniture. They move about anxiously trying the extend their limbs in an effort to dance in this clausterphobic space. A change in the music, they realize the ludicrous of their spatial containment, and begin tearing down the cardboard walls, spraynig bits of paper and glitter everywhere, throwing the plastic furniture, and utterly obliterating the maufactured walls holding them in. Now they can dance! I think at this point in the show I thought to myself, wow... performing in something like this day after day is way more than a job, way more than a workout, way more than a performance even... its a daily celebration of life and human liberty!
They bring their frantic dancing out among the herd of audience and smash styrofoam boards over our heads, exploding more confetti and glitter, that the techies were probably all too excited to sweep up afterwards, and inviting us to break out and dance with them. They all but turned the theatre into a nightclub!
Then our attention is drawn upwards as the metallic curtain washes over us like a wave. Eventually it regresses and our skyward gaze reveals a pool/giant slip-and-slide over our heads filled with a few inches of water lit from above and gathering around the silhouette of a body. The water washes over her as it ebbs and flows from side to side like waves in a pool. She is joined by another, then another, and then a fourth body, all sliding, tumbling, jumping, playing in the water and casting the most spectacular patterns in the water for us underneath to see. At one point, a girl poled her head underwater and looks directly at the audience, the pool is lowered down to just above our heads, we touch the thick clear plastic holding their water world in place and literally probe the fourth wall in effort to feel that inate human connection between us, the masses, and the dancing girls in a world of water overhead. Strobe lights, water dance, pulsing music, and the pool lifts itself back up to the rafters leaving us with a beautiful image of four bodies joined together like a puzzle in the sky. Black out.
The corner flood lights and fans signify, like book ends, that we have reaching the end of our journey. But we still must resolve the story of the running man. His platform is brought back out among us and we see him sprinting and breaking through cardboard walls being wheeled at him. Finally he is joined by two others this time heading in his same direction, all with harnesses and fly lines. They join hands in relief and solidarity and run forward together. They are met by a staircase, wheeled out by the techs of course, which they mount only to find a dead end at the top... or an open end if you will, literally they stand hand-in-hand on a precipice. The music drives them instinctively to keep pressing forward, and with no other option, they jump, just as the final cardboard wall is wheeled out in timing so precisely rehearsed it only looked spontaneous, and burst through in an explosion of confetti that covers the audience and showers us in the joy of their freedom and victory.
The cast comes out among us again, as the platform is wheeled away, and the lights and music convert the audience once again into a dance floor, all of us in unison, dancing to the beats of human liberty and potential. And then... in an unexplained phenomenon, it starts raining on the dance floor, nurturing, cleansing, baptizing us all, the dancing mob of people, all at one in our estacy!
Then the doors open, and we are set free to go forth and break through the boundaries in our own world.
Like I said... a theatrical experience unlike any I've ever whitnessed in my two decades of life, and mind you I've been attending shows since I was in the womb! So ingeniously visualized and crafted and realized and executed. The lights, the music, the imagery, the acrobatics, the timing, the audience participation, the structure of the story and the way it told itself without any script necessary. I really dont know any way to truly convey how thrilled and priviledged I felt to whitness and experience it. I really wish I'd had a few of my theatre family members to join me, drenched like rats, for drinks and discussion in the restaurant afterwards. Thats probably the only way this weekend could have been any better.
The theatre is another unique space, more like a giant cement warehouse than a conventional performance space. And a DJ is blasting dance mixes as we gather in the courtyard outside. As they open the doors, we all poor into a huge playing space heavy with haze and dripping in magenta light from above. There are no seats. We gather like sheep, all standing around anxiously staring up at the light and ceiling as if looking for a sign of what is coming to us. The doors close and flood lights and our attention is drawn to focus by flood lights and fans from the corners of the space. Then we see the silhouette of a man walking in place into a bright light. His pace or direction doesnt change, but suddenly our perspective changes to his profile instrad of his back. As we crane our necks in intrigue we realize that he is on a moving platform and it is movinging out into the crowd bringing his world among us. The techies were not only acting as the grunts to push this platform, but also working crowd control to move us out of the way of it. Suddenly the music changes and the man starts running, there is a large fan blowing water and bits of paper in his face as he desperately fights to stay on pace with the speed of the tredmill spinning out of his control beneathe his feet. A loud gunshot, he grabs his chest which explodes in blood seeping out onto his white shirt, and blackout. Lights up, he removes his white business shirt to another just like it underneathe and continues walking to the same routine, now passing plastic chairs placed and replaced by the techies, and other people walking in the opposite direction and disappearing on the other end. But he alone continues forward. A classic display of an individual vs. society, sisyphus-like struggle for survival. No dialogue necessary.
Finally the techies present him with a bed. Obviously grateful for rest, he lays himself down, as a metallic curtain is drawn across the oposite wall behind him. We see his dreams unfold as two girls on harnesses float out and dance sideways in the air against the waves of light on this curtain. At first peaceful and dreamlike, then again a sudden change in music incites frenetic energy and they fight to break free of their harnesses. Black out. The man wakes and walks.
His platform moves him to the oposite side of the room, where he encounters 5 people on a similar platform surrounded by cardboard walls and crowded with plastic furniture. They move about anxiously trying the extend their limbs in an effort to dance in this clausterphobic space. A change in the music, they realize the ludicrous of their spatial containment, and begin tearing down the cardboard walls, spraynig bits of paper and glitter everywhere, throwing the plastic furniture, and utterly obliterating the maufactured walls holding them in. Now they can dance! I think at this point in the show I thought to myself, wow... performing in something like this day after day is way more than a job, way more than a workout, way more than a performance even... its a daily celebration of life and human liberty!
They bring their frantic dancing out among the herd of audience and smash styrofoam boards over our heads, exploding more confetti and glitter, that the techies were probably all too excited to sweep up afterwards, and inviting us to break out and dance with them. They all but turned the theatre into a nightclub!
Then our attention is drawn upwards as the metallic curtain washes over us like a wave. Eventually it regresses and our skyward gaze reveals a pool/giant slip-and-slide over our heads filled with a few inches of water lit from above and gathering around the silhouette of a body. The water washes over her as it ebbs and flows from side to side like waves in a pool. She is joined by another, then another, and then a fourth body, all sliding, tumbling, jumping, playing in the water and casting the most spectacular patterns in the water for us underneath to see. At one point, a girl poled her head underwater and looks directly at the audience, the pool is lowered down to just above our heads, we touch the thick clear plastic holding their water world in place and literally probe the fourth wall in effort to feel that inate human connection between us, the masses, and the dancing girls in a world of water overhead. Strobe lights, water dance, pulsing music, and the pool lifts itself back up to the rafters leaving us with a beautiful image of four bodies joined together like a puzzle in the sky. Black out.
The corner flood lights and fans signify, like book ends, that we have reaching the end of our journey. But we still must resolve the story of the running man. His platform is brought back out among us and we see him sprinting and breaking through cardboard walls being wheeled at him. Finally he is joined by two others this time heading in his same direction, all with harnesses and fly lines. They join hands in relief and solidarity and run forward together. They are met by a staircase, wheeled out by the techs of course, which they mount only to find a dead end at the top... or an open end if you will, literally they stand hand-in-hand on a precipice. The music drives them instinctively to keep pressing forward, and with no other option, they jump, just as the final cardboard wall is wheeled out in timing so precisely rehearsed it only looked spontaneous, and burst through in an explosion of confetti that covers the audience and showers us in the joy of their freedom and victory.
The cast comes out among us again, as the platform is wheeled away, and the lights and music convert the audience once again into a dance floor, all of us in unison, dancing to the beats of human liberty and potential. And then... in an unexplained phenomenon, it starts raining on the dance floor, nurturing, cleansing, baptizing us all, the dancing mob of people, all at one in our estacy!
Then the doors open, and we are set free to go forth and break through the boundaries in our own world.
Like I said... a theatrical experience unlike any I've ever whitnessed in my two decades of life, and mind you I've been attending shows since I was in the womb! So ingeniously visualized and crafted and realized and executed. The lights, the music, the imagery, the acrobatics, the timing, the audience participation, the structure of the story and the way it told itself without any script necessary. I really dont know any way to truly convey how thrilled and priviledged I felt to whitness and experience it. I really wish I'd had a few of my theatre family members to join me, drenched like rats, for drinks and discussion in the restaurant afterwards. Thats probably the only way this weekend could have been any better.
La Bomba del Tiempo
Saturday night, after rejuvinating day in the country, I went out with Estevan, my CLU amigo, and his friend Collin, to La Fiesta de La Bomba del Tiempo (The Time Bomb). La Bomba is a percussion group that plays improvisational concerts every Monday at Centro Cultural Konex, the super modern edgy warehouse/theatre space where I saw La Isla Desierta, the blind theatre peice. Saturday was a special celebration of La Bomba's 3rd year anniversary, so we got their early, like Americans would, to get tickets in time thinking they would sell out or at least stop giving entrance once the place had reached capacity.... nnnnnnnnnnnnno!
The opened the doors at midnight, but all that began was the accumulation of a loud of smoke hovering over the place as practically everyone ther lit up cigarettes and passed around drinks for a good 2 hours. We were beginning to wonder if this fiesta would ever even start or if this was all it was! Finally around 2am, the percussion ensemble takes their places and the masses crowd into the warehouse as embullient beats bombard us from the hands of these drummers. SO COOL! This went on for hours!! Amongst the crowd, nudging shoulders and elbows turned to carefree dancing turned to sweaty moshing and around 5am, the Americans decided it was way past our bedtime and as awesome as the music was, it didn't look like it was wrapping up soon and we needed to call it a night! So we squeezed our way free from the body odor of the warehouse only to inhale the fresh cool cloud of cigarette smoke and Buenos Aires fumes outside. Caught a cab home, had a great conversation with him actually, and was cosily snuggled in bed by 6am, abosolutely aware that the fiesta was PROBABLY STILL GOING!
ARGENTINOS SON LOCOS!
The opened the doors at midnight, but all that began was the accumulation of a loud of smoke hovering over the place as practically everyone ther lit up cigarettes and passed around drinks for a good 2 hours. We were beginning to wonder if this fiesta would ever even start or if this was all it was! Finally around 2am, the percussion ensemble takes their places and the masses crowd into the warehouse as embullient beats bombard us from the hands of these drummers. SO COOL! This went on for hours!! Amongst the crowd, nudging shoulders and elbows turned to carefree dancing turned to sweaty moshing and around 5am, the Americans decided it was way past our bedtime and as awesome as the music was, it didn't look like it was wrapping up soon and we needed to call it a night! So we squeezed our way free from the body odor of the warehouse only to inhale the fresh cool cloud of cigarette smoke and Buenos Aires fumes outside. Caught a cab home, had a great conversation with him actually, and was cosily snuggled in bed by 6am, abosolutely aware that the fiesta was PROBABLY STILL GOING!
ARGENTINOS SON LOCOS!
Dia del Campo
This past Saturday, ISA took a busload of us out to an estancia in the countryside 2 hours outside the city for a day of experiencing the heart and history of Argentine culture: el campo.
We stopped briefly in Lujan to see the most visited site in South America, La Basilica de Nuestra Senora de Lujan. It is a spectacular Neogothic rose colored cathedral, pointing violently to the heavens with sharp, scalloped steeples topped with golden sun medallions radiating the symbol of Argentina. Absolutely gorgeous... probably the only church I've seen down here that could hold a candle to the ancient cathedrals of Europe.
Upon our arrival to the estancia, we were greeted with complimentary empanadas and a profound inhalation of fresh air! The country air literally smells and feels different from the city air... I can breathe it in without shortening the years of my life! It wafted the strumming of guitarra hispanola to our ears and we were drawn to the front lawn of a traditional Argentine plantation home where a couple dressed in the traditional costume of a gaucho (cowboy) and his china (sweetheart) were dancing foklorico.
We passed the afternoon riding horses, exploring the house, and chasing the flocks of pavos reales (peacocks) that roam the grounds. At one point we got to whitness 7 of them spread out their irridesant plumage in effort to impress on peahen who wandered by entirely unimpressed.
We stopped briefly in Lujan to see the most visited site in South America, La Basilica de Nuestra Senora de Lujan. It is a spectacular Neogothic rose colored cathedral, pointing violently to the heavens with sharp, scalloped steeples topped with golden sun medallions radiating the symbol of Argentina. Absolutely gorgeous... probably the only church I've seen down here that could hold a candle to the ancient cathedrals of Europe.
Upon our arrival to the estancia, we were greeted with complimentary empanadas and a profound inhalation of fresh air! The country air literally smells and feels different from the city air... I can breathe it in without shortening the years of my life! It wafted the strumming of guitarra hispanola to our ears and we were drawn to the front lawn of a traditional Argentine plantation home where a couple dressed in the traditional costume of a gaucho (cowboy) and his china (sweetheart) were dancing foklorico.
We passed the afternoon riding horses, exploring the house, and chasing the flocks of pavos reales (peacocks) that roam the grounds. At one point we got to whitness 7 of them spread out their irridesant plumage in effort to impress on peahen who wandered by entirely unimpressed.
Then we had an asado... course after course of meat and bread, the two staples of an Argentine diet. I was content to request the vegetarian meal, a bowl of spaghetti and parmesan cheese, being that I've been fortunate enough to partake in several asados already with my host family and didn't deam it necessary to invite the days of digestive difficulty that would inevitably follow the ridiculous consumption of so much meat. The first course was salad and baskets of bread... typical right? Followed by chorizo, sausages meant to be sandwhiched in between the biscuits of bread and smothered in chimichurri sauce, a concoction of onion, bell peppers, and olive oil, the closest thing to spicy that Argentina knows. The second course is blood sausage, fat black little sacks of an oozy gooey mush that intrigues one just enough to solicit the questions "What exactly is this?" and then immediate regret asking. Really, if you can excuse the texture and forget the fact that your eating cooked coagulated blood... it can be quite flavorful! The third course is chicken, cooked like all their meat is: purely and simply over an open fire, without marinade, spices, seasoning, or sauce of any kind. The fourth course (what are you full already??) is finally, huge, think cuts of the best quality of prime rib roast you've ever seen in your life with strips of fat 2 inches thick that insulate the tenderest juciest pink middle. And if you haven't yet reached a comatosis state, they finished off with homemade helado, more guitarra hispanola and bailando foklorico which we were taught and invited to partake in. Needless to say I was the first one on the dance floor!
Afterwards we saw gaucho demonstrations of their traditional costume and horsemanship skills. They hung a ring just large enough to fit my pinky finger from an archway, and charged at it on horseback in full gallop with a stick the size of a pencil, hooking it through with aim and timing impressivle precise. It was incredible to watch the grown men surmount this spectacular feat, but fora grand finale, an 11 year old kid more deftly handling his horse than any cowboy I've ever seen before, nails it on the first try amidst cheers and applause from the crowd. The he haughtily dismounts his steed, and struts over to me to hand me the ring and claim his prize, a besito on the cheek! Yeah... I felt pretty legit in that moment. No... unfortunately I did not get his number.
The evening ended with tartas fritas and the drinking of mate, Argentina's favorite pasttime. Its a super strong and highly caffeinated green tea like herb that they sip through silver bombillas out of a gourd and pass around among friends in a manner almost ritualistic. On any given day, at any given hour, you can see couples drinking it in the park, security guards at their posts, shop owners behind the counter, pretty much anyone and everyone with lips to put to a straw! It's my theory as to how they can survive such late nights out on the town... the caffeine practically runs through their veins!
It was unfortunate that the mate was the last thing we did before getting back on the bus for a 2 hour ride home, because most of us just wanted to succumb to the fat-and-happy food coma that was washing over us. I've never been able to take the traditional South American siesta before... maybe I just wasn't eating enough beforehand!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Museums and Birthday Parties!
Well... if they gave out medals for museum going, I'm sure I'd at least have earned a silver for this past week.
For my Arte Argentino Contemporaneo class, we are a given practical assignments to go to certain museums and/or monuments and buildings in the city to view the art pieces we are studying in person. I love this! Not like I need an excuse to wander my day away absorbing culture and beauty and history via artwork, but now at least it counts as homework! Homework.... see now that's a word that I definitely left at HOME... somehow it just didn't make it into my suitcase. Getting my student's-head back into gear for the start of real classes has been interesting. After my visit to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes and the Jardin Botanico de Buenos Aires, I knew I'd have to at least prove that I went to those places with a brief description of what I saw, but when I rolled in last Thursday with nothing but names of paintings and artists jotted down on the back of my program I found that everyone else had typewritten pages with photos and full paragraphs! AAH! Aparently the South American me is a slacker-student! "Todo bien..." I thought, "I'll just let the overachieving kids do all the talking in class today." And then she calls on me. So I proceeded to improvise some intelligent artistic BS on the spot IN SPANISH! I have reached a new level of scholastic aptitude. Give me another medal for that please!
Friday was a blustery rainy day... perfect for more museums right?? So I spent the day in MALBA, the most talked about modern art museum in the city with Erica. I'm not quite sure which hurt my head more... trying to interpret the explanations in Spanish or the art itself! That evening we checked out the cinema in MALBA that plays independant Argentine films. We'd already seen on very interesting movie there called Plan B, about a guy who seeks revenge on his ex by making her new boyfriend fall in love with him. Friday was a documentary about Jewish gays in Argentina, Otro Entre Otros, about being a discriminated minority within a discriminated minority. Super relevant and touching subject, but without subtitulos, the already exhausted analysis-drive in my brain kinda went on strike and decided to just enjoy the body language and rainbow yermulkes.
Saturday, Tom and I went on an excursion to find the free tango festival thats happening in Microcentro for the rest of the month.... we were a block away from it and somehow too dense to stumble in the right direction. But the trip to Plaza de Mayo was worth it when Tom asked "Hey, did you know that the Casa Rosada (the pink equivalent of the White House) is a museum?" No I did not... but hey! It's free on the weekends, let's just go wander through the president's office! No big deal right? We got pictures with the cheery laid back guards in their full uniform, flashing smiles for tourists' photos as if that's the extent of their responsibilities, and then a tour of the rich wooden and gold plated offices and conference rooms where everything goes down. As I write this I'm watching the news and seeing a government meeting about traffic safety taking place in a room that I walked through a couple days ago!
The yesterday Erica and I went down to La Boca, the oldest most authentic and unique barrio in Buenos Aires, considered an open air museum in itself! It is the part of town where immigrants settled down upon first arriving in the city. Most of them were Italian, many were artists, and basically all of them were working class. They didn't have alot of money or status, but they did have alot of heart, and they wanted their run down dirty little neighborhood to reflect that. So they painted their homes and storefronts in the brightest boldest Italian colors: rojo, amarillo, azul, verde. If you've ever seen the classic image of a couple dancing tango on the street in BsAs, chances are it was taken in La Boca. However, it is a self-proclaimed tourist trap. And after two months of learning to adopt the language and mannerisms and dress of an Argentine life, I really didn't appreciate being approached with "Blondie, where are you from?" in English. But aparently I'm still more obvious than I would like to be.
So that's about 5 museum visits in 7 days... not bad at all!
Friday was also Franco's birthday so Thursday night some extended family came over and we celebrated with empanadas and a chocotorta, a cake made up of layers of crushed chocolina cookies and dulce de leche... easily the greatest dessert ever invented by mankind. He'd been whining the day before about how turning 19 made him too old for presents... oh please! So I got him a nice little card and a box of bon bons! We've been talking alot more now that we have similar schedules and hang out in the kitchen at the same times, and last night when a bunch of his friends came over he wanted to introduce me to them. Oh yeah... I'm in! I'm cool.
I would also like to share the mini-victory of my first successful phone call in Spanish! Until now, I've been completely useless over the phone, unable to understand anything without visual aids. But I was able to call the director of La Casita de Ninos, who excitedly told me she'd been waiting for my call, and arranged to spend my Fridays out in Escobar with the kids. I could not be more humbled or thrilled that they'll have me.
Thus went my week! Stay tuned for pictures via facebook!
For my Arte Argentino Contemporaneo class, we are a given practical assignments to go to certain museums and/or monuments and buildings in the city to view the art pieces we are studying in person. I love this! Not like I need an excuse to wander my day away absorbing culture and beauty and history via artwork, but now at least it counts as homework! Homework.... see now that's a word that I definitely left at HOME... somehow it just didn't make it into my suitcase. Getting my student's-head back into gear for the start of real classes has been interesting. After my visit to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes and the Jardin Botanico de Buenos Aires, I knew I'd have to at least prove that I went to those places with a brief description of what I saw, but when I rolled in last Thursday with nothing but names of paintings and artists jotted down on the back of my program I found that everyone else had typewritten pages with photos and full paragraphs! AAH! Aparently the South American me is a slacker-student! "Todo bien..." I thought, "I'll just let the overachieving kids do all the talking in class today." And then she calls on me. So I proceeded to improvise some intelligent artistic BS on the spot IN SPANISH! I have reached a new level of scholastic aptitude. Give me another medal for that please!
Friday was a blustery rainy day... perfect for more museums right?? So I spent the day in MALBA, the most talked about modern art museum in the city with Erica. I'm not quite sure which hurt my head more... trying to interpret the explanations in Spanish or the art itself! That evening we checked out the cinema in MALBA that plays independant Argentine films. We'd already seen on very interesting movie there called Plan B, about a guy who seeks revenge on his ex by making her new boyfriend fall in love with him. Friday was a documentary about Jewish gays in Argentina, Otro Entre Otros, about being a discriminated minority within a discriminated minority. Super relevant and touching subject, but without subtitulos, the already exhausted analysis-drive in my brain kinda went on strike and decided to just enjoy the body language and rainbow yermulkes.
Saturday, Tom and I went on an excursion to find the free tango festival thats happening in Microcentro for the rest of the month.... we were a block away from it and somehow too dense to stumble in the right direction. But the trip to Plaza de Mayo was worth it when Tom asked "Hey, did you know that the Casa Rosada (the pink equivalent of the White House) is a museum?" No I did not... but hey! It's free on the weekends, let's just go wander through the president's office! No big deal right? We got pictures with the cheery laid back guards in their full uniform, flashing smiles for tourists' photos as if that's the extent of their responsibilities, and then a tour of the rich wooden and gold plated offices and conference rooms where everything goes down. As I write this I'm watching the news and seeing a government meeting about traffic safety taking place in a room that I walked through a couple days ago!
The yesterday Erica and I went down to La Boca, the oldest most authentic and unique barrio in Buenos Aires, considered an open air museum in itself! It is the part of town where immigrants settled down upon first arriving in the city. Most of them were Italian, many were artists, and basically all of them were working class. They didn't have alot of money or status, but they did have alot of heart, and they wanted their run down dirty little neighborhood to reflect that. So they painted their homes and storefronts in the brightest boldest Italian colors: rojo, amarillo, azul, verde. If you've ever seen the classic image of a couple dancing tango on the street in BsAs, chances are it was taken in La Boca. However, it is a self-proclaimed tourist trap. And after two months of learning to adopt the language and mannerisms and dress of an Argentine life, I really didn't appreciate being approached with "Blondie, where are you from?" in English. But aparently I'm still more obvious than I would like to be.
So that's about 5 museum visits in 7 days... not bad at all!
Friday was also Franco's birthday so Thursday night some extended family came over and we celebrated with empanadas and a chocotorta, a cake made up of layers of crushed chocolina cookies and dulce de leche... easily the greatest dessert ever invented by mankind. He'd been whining the day before about how turning 19 made him too old for presents... oh please! So I got him a nice little card and a box of bon bons! We've been talking alot more now that we have similar schedules and hang out in the kitchen at the same times, and last night when a bunch of his friends came over he wanted to introduce me to them. Oh yeah... I'm in! I'm cool.
I would also like to share the mini-victory of my first successful phone call in Spanish! Until now, I've been completely useless over the phone, unable to understand anything without visual aids. But I was able to call the director of La Casita de Ninos, who excitedly told me she'd been waiting for my call, and arranged to spend my Fridays out in Escobar with the kids. I could not be more humbled or thrilled that they'll have me.
Thus went my week! Stay tuned for pictures via facebook!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Hoy es Dia del Nino
So just like in the U.S. we set aside specific days on which to show our appreciation to Mothers, Fathers, and Veterans, here in Argentina they also include days to commemorate one's Amigos and one's Children: Ninos. On this day one has an obligation, nay privilege, nay excuse to dote upon their kids with gifts and attention... but really the Argentines will come up with any reason to celebrate.
By a last minute stroke of coincidence, I was invited by a friend I met in Chile to spend this day helping out at La Casita de Ninos, a children's day care in Escobar which is a smaller, poorer city in provincial Buenos Aires. Unsure of exactly what I was getting myself into, I snatched the opportunity, woke with the sunrise this morning, and trudged over to the Plaza Italia bus station. An hour and $9 pesos later and I'm in Escobar!
La Casita is a little cement house chipped with bright blue paint and splotchy colorful handprints on its front. Inside amongst the crowded rooms and busy backyard are upwards of 20 kids from the ages 5 to 15 playing with well worn toys, swinging on the crooked playset, and painting with mixed up colors. Jeff, my amigo who graciously shared this little miracle with me, takes me around from face to face and introduces me to the extended family members that form La Casita. I receive a genuinely compassionate hug from Silvia, the director, as if I were a long lost neice at a family reunion. Each one of them greets me with a smile and a besito, and somehow I know that they will remember my name much easier than I will all of theirs.
Amidst playful little yells in the yard, Jeff explains to me in English (so the kids wont understand) what some of them have been through. I remember my stomach sinking as I tried to imagine the life some of them have known at such a young age, and feeling entirely naive and undeserving of the fortune of blessings that brought me to this place. Little scuffles break out over toys and attention and suddenly the playful cherubic kids start hurling curse words and blows at each other, but this is behavior probably more familiar to them than the lovey dovey "use your words" discipline that sculpted my childhood. I learn pretty quick from the other grownups how to go from nueva amiga to la policia in the playground.
But soon we're cleaning up the games, setting out chairs, blowing up globitos (balloons) and handing out panchos (hot dogs) and torta (cake) as the fiesta for Dia del Nino is about to begin. A couple of the older kids and Jeff put on a show with puppets brought by a kindly patroness who narrates the storytelling and afterwards each one receives a wrapped present to take home with them. I regret having to leave for my afternoon classes because I almost got a chance to visit the villas, the slums where the majority of the children return home when La Casita isn't open, and talk with some of their families to see where and what they come from that lends the tint of sadness behind their bright brave eyes.
I know I have plenty of time though. The cloud of compassion and energy and joy that emanates from this house assures me that at whatever time I want to return to lend a hand, I will be welcomed. I could honestly hope for no higher honor than to assume a small role in that family over the next few months.
... I really don't know how to sum up this journal entry. I'd hate to use my brief glimpse into these kids' lives as a tale of how I've grown in character or a preaching point about how you should hug your child today and be thankful for the blessings in your life. I mean, does it even need to be said?? But as long as I'm relaying my daily Argentine life to whomever on the other side of this blog wants to read about it, it's probably worth a mention. You wouldn't know it or even want to believe it unless you've seen it. I did... so I guess I'm just confirming it in a testimony to those who didn't.
Pain and poverty, unlike anything we know in the United States, is real and very much commonplace in the rest of the world.
By a last minute stroke of coincidence, I was invited by a friend I met in Chile to spend this day helping out at La Casita de Ninos, a children's day care in Escobar which is a smaller, poorer city in provincial Buenos Aires. Unsure of exactly what I was getting myself into, I snatched the opportunity, woke with the sunrise this morning, and trudged over to the Plaza Italia bus station. An hour and $9 pesos later and I'm in Escobar!
La Casita is a little cement house chipped with bright blue paint and splotchy colorful handprints on its front. Inside amongst the crowded rooms and busy backyard are upwards of 20 kids from the ages 5 to 15 playing with well worn toys, swinging on the crooked playset, and painting with mixed up colors. Jeff, my amigo who graciously shared this little miracle with me, takes me around from face to face and introduces me to the extended family members that form La Casita. I receive a genuinely compassionate hug from Silvia, the director, as if I were a long lost neice at a family reunion. Each one of them greets me with a smile and a besito, and somehow I know that they will remember my name much easier than I will all of theirs.
Amidst playful little yells in the yard, Jeff explains to me in English (so the kids wont understand) what some of them have been through. I remember my stomach sinking as I tried to imagine the life some of them have known at such a young age, and feeling entirely naive and undeserving of the fortune of blessings that brought me to this place. Little scuffles break out over toys and attention and suddenly the playful cherubic kids start hurling curse words and blows at each other, but this is behavior probably more familiar to them than the lovey dovey "use your words" discipline that sculpted my childhood. I learn pretty quick from the other grownups how to go from nueva amiga to la policia in the playground.
But soon we're cleaning up the games, setting out chairs, blowing up globitos (balloons) and handing out panchos (hot dogs) and torta (cake) as the fiesta for Dia del Nino is about to begin. A couple of the older kids and Jeff put on a show with puppets brought by a kindly patroness who narrates the storytelling and afterwards each one receives a wrapped present to take home with them. I regret having to leave for my afternoon classes because I almost got a chance to visit the villas, the slums where the majority of the children return home when La Casita isn't open, and talk with some of their families to see where and what they come from that lends the tint of sadness behind their bright brave eyes.
I know I have plenty of time though. The cloud of compassion and energy and joy that emanates from this house assures me that at whatever time I want to return to lend a hand, I will be welcomed. I could honestly hope for no higher honor than to assume a small role in that family over the next few months.
... I really don't know how to sum up this journal entry. I'd hate to use my brief glimpse into these kids' lives as a tale of how I've grown in character or a preaching point about how you should hug your child today and be thankful for the blessings in your life. I mean, does it even need to be said?? But as long as I'm relaying my daily Argentine life to whomever on the other side of this blog wants to read about it, it's probably worth a mention. You wouldn't know it or even want to believe it unless you've seen it. I did... so I guess I'm just confirming it in a testimony to those who didn't.
Pain and poverty, unlike anything we know in the United States, is real and very much commonplace in the rest of the world.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Encountering the Far East... in the Deep South!
I apologize for my unexplained lapse in in blogging... apparently I took a week off from having thoughts worth sharing!
Really the phenomenon that is taking place here is I've become so acquainted with the city and the lifestyle and the language by now that the novelty of everything has kinda worn off. My discoveries are less daily and more profound. Regardless, I've had an eventful week and now will have to recount it in a ridiculously long entry that will make me regret ever letting laziness overtake my locquasiousness.
I mentioned breifly that I wanted to find a volunteer outlet somewhere in the city where I could constuctively invest my newfound free time. I went researching and por casualidad found an organization called Food For Life that operates all around the world and has a branch here in Buenos Aires. They are a free food distribution group that hands out all vegan/vegetarian/organic food. Now I know what you're thinking! Why would poor hungry people needing to be fed care about the ethical quality of food that is put on their plate?? Well, let me tell you about the adventure that led me to the answer!
I emailed the group and they said "Sure! Of course! Just come by and meet us so we can get to know you and then you can help out however you want!" AWESOME! So on Monday I venture out to the address they gave me and find myself at the door of a Hindu temple! Intrigued, but obviously wary, I proceeded by the help of a shoeless devotee who led me to a multipurpose room where I joined him in his shoelessness and bore whitness to some kind of song and dance ritual that was being enacted by three young men before the statue of a deity in the corner of the room. (Shout out to Dr. Gill and his Global Religions class!! I was able to pretend I knew what was going on!) I was introduced to Veda Vidya, an extremely kind man who asked how I heard about Food For Life and where I'm from and yada yada yada. Then he told me all about their mission. Obviously, Food For Life was founded from a Hindu tradition, although it is not affiliated with a specific church or religion. Now, Hindus choose not to eat meat, not only because they believe in reincarnation and don't want to risk consuming their grandmother, but as Veda explained they believe the food you put into your body is what you offer up to God. Literally like your body is a temple. Therefore they choose to offer up only the purest, freshest, most love-filled foods through the vessel of their bodies. And they take the utmost care and pour the utmost love into all the foods that they prepare to distribute so that the people receiving those offerings will in turn be filled with purity and love that they can radiate out to those in their own world. Like it or not, I found it to be a beautiful philosophy. Veda was the nicest guy too, and gave me so much of his time and attention that I even felt comfortable enough to ask him about the ritual the men were practicing and a little bit about their faith. He ended up talking to me for over an hour! It wasn't until my long walk home that I realized I'd just had an hour and a half conversation about the nature of the soul TOTALMENTE EN CASTILLANO!
Some days are exhausting... and I feel like I'll never learn this language and all I'm doing is making myself look like a fool... but Monday was not one of those days!!
I also mentioned briefly that I was looking for acting/singing lessons to experiment with. Well, Teatro Colon was a bust, but thanks to some savvy websearching I found a couple of really interesting workshops through a little studio called Centro de Integracion Teatral. It seeks to integrate oriental theatrical practices with art and entertainment in the Americas. Now, I love world theatre.... that's kinda why I came down here in the first place! So encountering another theatrical/cultural tradition while exploring Argentina??
"Yes, I'll have South American special please with a side of Indonesia and South Asia!"
The first is Respiracion Emocional/Emotional Breathing, which is about utilizing the breath the fully connect one's thoughts and feelings to the body and being entirely present in the moment. It sounded to me like a fusion of Alexander Technique and the Alba Emoting Breath Technique that I'd studied and heard about at home.... with a little bit of an oriental twist!
The second is Mascaras/Masks!!! We'll be using authentic wood-carved Balanese masks... from Bali! And experimenting with the physical and vocal embodiment of the myriad of characters one face can create! Now in case you couldn't tell by the exclamation points, THIS is something I've just barely been exposed to and have always wanted to learn, so I couldn't be more thrilled!
I had my first class on Thursday, and I'll admit I was nervous! I mean I didn't know what to expect! Would I be handed a script in Spanish on day one under the scrutiny of judging actors' eyes and have to act through the translation?? What if they make me improv when I can't even form a sentence without rehearsing it my head first?? So many disasterous possibilities... I did not want to be THAT foreign girl who no one wants as a scene partner cuz she's so dumb! Luckily, the classes are no larger than 6 people, all of mixed levels of experience, so it was like we were all on even footing and came to the table as equals from the start.
Geraldine, the instructor, is fantastic! So supportive and welcoming, she made it clear that she would make sure I understoof everything... which surprisingly I did! There were a couple times when I didn't fully get the excerise I 'd just copy the guy next to me and pray she didn't ask me to go first! But overall, I loved the friendly open environment, the chance to be surrounded by locals with similar interests as me (as opposed to being known as "that actor girl" by all the ISA people), and the sense of having made a really brave, proactive decision to invest in some more invaluable life skills.
http://www.respiracionemocionyexpresion.blogspot.com/
http://www.teatrodemascarass.blogspot.com/
And for the sake of my parents who are the most frequent readers of this public verisimilitous journal of mine, the classes are ridiculously cheap!!! Less than US$10 a class whereas in Hollywood, they'd be anywhere from $60-$100 or more!!!
Me encanto Latinoamerica.
Really the phenomenon that is taking place here is I've become so acquainted with the city and the lifestyle and the language by now that the novelty of everything has kinda worn off. My discoveries are less daily and more profound. Regardless, I've had an eventful week and now will have to recount it in a ridiculously long entry that will make me regret ever letting laziness overtake my locquasiousness.
I mentioned breifly that I wanted to find a volunteer outlet somewhere in the city where I could constuctively invest my newfound free time. I went researching and por casualidad found an organization called Food For Life that operates all around the world and has a branch here in Buenos Aires. They are a free food distribution group that hands out all vegan/vegetarian/organic food. Now I know what you're thinking! Why would poor hungry people needing to be fed care about the ethical quality of food that is put on their plate?? Well, let me tell you about the adventure that led me to the answer!
I emailed the group and they said "Sure! Of course! Just come by and meet us so we can get to know you and then you can help out however you want!" AWESOME! So on Monday I venture out to the address they gave me and find myself at the door of a Hindu temple! Intrigued, but obviously wary, I proceeded by the help of a shoeless devotee who led me to a multipurpose room where I joined him in his shoelessness and bore whitness to some kind of song and dance ritual that was being enacted by three young men before the statue of a deity in the corner of the room. (Shout out to Dr. Gill and his Global Religions class!! I was able to pretend I knew what was going on!) I was introduced to Veda Vidya, an extremely kind man who asked how I heard about Food For Life and where I'm from and yada yada yada. Then he told me all about their mission. Obviously, Food For Life was founded from a Hindu tradition, although it is not affiliated with a specific church or religion. Now, Hindus choose not to eat meat, not only because they believe in reincarnation and don't want to risk consuming their grandmother, but as Veda explained they believe the food you put into your body is what you offer up to God. Literally like your body is a temple. Therefore they choose to offer up only the purest, freshest, most love-filled foods through the vessel of their bodies. And they take the utmost care and pour the utmost love into all the foods that they prepare to distribute so that the people receiving those offerings will in turn be filled with purity and love that they can radiate out to those in their own world. Like it or not, I found it to be a beautiful philosophy. Veda was the nicest guy too, and gave me so much of his time and attention that I even felt comfortable enough to ask him about the ritual the men were practicing and a little bit about their faith. He ended up talking to me for over an hour! It wasn't until my long walk home that I realized I'd just had an hour and a half conversation about the nature of the soul TOTALMENTE EN CASTILLANO!
Some days are exhausting... and I feel like I'll never learn this language and all I'm doing is making myself look like a fool... but Monday was not one of those days!!
I also mentioned briefly that I was looking for acting/singing lessons to experiment with. Well, Teatro Colon was a bust, but thanks to some savvy websearching I found a couple of really interesting workshops through a little studio called Centro de Integracion Teatral. It seeks to integrate oriental theatrical practices with art and entertainment in the Americas. Now, I love world theatre.... that's kinda why I came down here in the first place! So encountering another theatrical/cultural tradition while exploring Argentina??
"Yes, I'll have South American special please with a side of Indonesia and South Asia!"
The first is Respiracion Emocional/Emotional Breathing, which is about utilizing the breath the fully connect one's thoughts and feelings to the body and being entirely present in the moment. It sounded to me like a fusion of Alexander Technique and the Alba Emoting Breath Technique that I'd studied and heard about at home.... with a little bit of an oriental twist!
The second is Mascaras/Masks!!! We'll be using authentic wood-carved Balanese masks... from Bali! And experimenting with the physical and vocal embodiment of the myriad of characters one face can create! Now in case you couldn't tell by the exclamation points, THIS is something I've just barely been exposed to and have always wanted to learn, so I couldn't be more thrilled!
I had my first class on Thursday, and I'll admit I was nervous! I mean I didn't know what to expect! Would I be handed a script in Spanish on day one under the scrutiny of judging actors' eyes and have to act through the translation?? What if they make me improv when I can't even form a sentence without rehearsing it my head first?? So many disasterous possibilities... I did not want to be THAT foreign girl who no one wants as a scene partner cuz she's so dumb! Luckily, the classes are no larger than 6 people, all of mixed levels of experience, so it was like we were all on even footing and came to the table as equals from the start.
Geraldine, the instructor, is fantastic! So supportive and welcoming, she made it clear that she would make sure I understoof everything... which surprisingly I did! There were a couple times when I didn't fully get the excerise I 'd just copy the guy next to me and pray she didn't ask me to go first! But overall, I loved the friendly open environment, the chance to be surrounded by locals with similar interests as me (as opposed to being known as "that actor girl" by all the ISA people), and the sense of having made a really brave, proactive decision to invest in some more invaluable life skills.
http://www.respiracionemocionyexpresion.blogspot.com/
http://www.teatrodemascarass.blogspot.com/
And for the sake of my parents who are the most frequent readers of this public verisimilitous journal of mine, the classes are ridiculously cheap!!! Less than US$10 a class whereas in Hollywood, they'd be anywhere from $60-$100 or more!!!
Me encanto Latinoamerica.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)