Coming to (South) America- Guest Post by Drew Beaven

Disclaimer: the post is long but worth it. I encourage you to keep reading-- just a forewarning :)

Some days in my boring, Middle America life are like pulling teeth.  Most people can relate to going through the motions.  Not everyone’s life is as exciting as they want it to be.  It’s human nature.  But, one Tuesday in late January, I found myself less excited than usual.  I woke up, went to school, came back from school, surfed the web for anything I could distract myself with, did my homework and went to bed.  I probably ate somewhere during all of this, too (which was probably the most exciting part).

Another boring Tuesday in Kansas City.

Every night before I would go to bed, I would lay in my room and Skype my girlfriend.  This night was no different.  Skype was the only mode of communication we had, because texting and calling her phone in South America was an expensive hassle.

Airport goodbyes

Not a month before this, my girlfriend, Alyssa, left the country to follow her dream to study abroad.  This was no new development, either.  I had known about this dream since before we started dating.  I just never thought I would actually have to deal with it.  That is an attitude that served to be both good and bad.  While I just shoved what she said in the back of my mind and never gave it any serious thought, when the day actually came I was in shock.

But, to be honest, we aren’t strangers to distance.  I started my college education at MU, only to leave aft8er my first semester to come back to Kansas City.  I would go back and visit friends, like Alyssa, during the next semester.  The constant flirting and Facebook chatting grew into us hanging out at my house on breaks, which grew into me nervously debating whether she would kiss me if I tried, which grew into me finally doing it, which grew into her not throwing up (which is usually a good sign), which grew into me wondering if she would date me.  After all of this “growing”, we finally began dating after our freshman year, at the beginning of our summer breaks.  The three months we spent together did not make the fact that we studied in different cities any easier.

 After that summer together, it was basically impossible to just not date her.  So, after a lot of thought, we decided to keep our relationship going during our schooling.  It was hard, sure, but I always liked the excuse to skip town during the weekends to go hang out with an amazing girl and all my old friends.

And so went our relationship, we had Christmas and Thanksgiving, Easter and Memorial Day weekend, regular weekends, and the summer.  We found a nice little routine, until last semester she dropped an atomic bomb on my mind.  Alyssa told me that her study abroad dream was coming true, and she would be studying in Buenos Aires next semester (immediately, my mind thinks of Pablo Escobar, drug wars, and the South American version of the movie “Taken”).

My jaw dropped, my heart sank, my mind got cloudy, my knees were weak, and basically every other part of my body had a negative reaction, I just don’t have that many adjectives in my brain.

But, I kept my “Spartan” reserve (300 reference) and told her that I wouldn’t even question our relationship.  I was confident we liked each other enough to do this.  So, I supported her through all of it… kind of. 

Of course, we had our fights about it.  I felt abandoned, jealous, sad, and worried, and I let her know about it.  I acted out in a lot of ways.  I mean, my girlfriend was taking off to South America; people aren’t just cool about that. But, it always ended up with us making up and feeling more confident than before.

Right before she left, I had this idea.  Maybe if I took her out to a romantic (expensive) dinner and threw her an amazing going away party, she would just quit the dream and stay… the (expensive) plan failed.  The dinner and the party both were perfect, other than the fact that I ruined several surprises throughout the night (i.e. the actual party, unexpected arrivals)

Not long after the party, I had to watch her get on a plane and fly over 5,000 miles away from me.

I was sad.  It’s not like I went home and put Taylor Swift on repeat and cried in a dark room for three days (I totally did that).  But, I did hit a little funk.  Though, the feelings dimmed over time.  After a while, my sadness turned into apathy.  There was no spark to my young collegiate life anymore.  No 21 year-old should feel like that, right?  I should’ve been shoving shots down my throat and forgetting my name.  Instead, I kind of just sat at home.

"Screenshots" of a long distance relationship

Which brings me back to the Tuesday night that was previously mentioned.  I was in bed, “skyping” my very long-distance girlfriend, venting about my problems.  After she had tried to cheer me up for almost an hour, she fell asleep.  I stayed up for a while, as usual.  I stared at my ceiling, feeling sorry for myself, when it finally clicked.  I really don’t have to feel like this.

But, I needed a spark.  I needed something to kick-start the sense of adventure I once had.  I needed to feel excitement.  

So, I sat down and started playing Call of Duty.

I must’ve got some blood flowing to my brain from the awesome adrenaline rush caused by online massacres, because I then got an even better idea than playing Call of Duty.  I decided to fly to South America.

I had my mind set.  I was going to get there in some way, shape, or form.  I was sick of being lame.  I wanted something to give me the boost I needed.  South America would do just that, and I knew it.  So, I got online to look at ticket prices.

My plan didn’t seem cool anymore.

Alyssa had told me how expensive they were, but actually seeing the prices and then looking at your bank account is a rude awakening.  But, as a 21 year-old college student, I wasn’t about to make the smart decision.  Sure, I could’ve stuck it out for three months and kept my money.  But, where’s the fun in that?

I talked to my boss (my mom) about a pay advance to make up some of the difference (we work together).  Her being the cool person that she is, she was totally helpful and supportive.  My dad, on the other hand, was the one I was worried about.  He has no problem giving me tough love.  I had to wait for the right time to tell him, like right before I went to the airport or something.  So, I mailed in my passport request and hoped for the best.

After I requested my passport, I had a little more pep in my step.  I was getting up earlier, working out more, and going out with friends.  As stupid as this would sound to anyone over the age of 30, I felt young again.  Looking back, I don’t even know if I felt old.  I was just mildly depressed.  Now that I think about it, being old and mildly depressed have a lot of similarities.

As March approached, so did my passport and the talk with my father.  I was excited to find out how this would all unfold.  All I really knew was, I would be in debt to my parents more than I already was.  Surprisingly, I was completely calm about it.  I figured I have my whole life to save and make money; I only have so long to be dumb.  Not that I don’t already take full advantage of the perk anyway.

Right before my mom bought the ticket, she talked to my dad about it.  My mom wasn’t exactly giving me a pay advance, but was going to have me pay my dad back instead.  That is where most of the fear came from.  I don’t want to know what my mom said or did to make my father lend me money, but he did.  Maybe the stars were aligned just right (I am not giving my dad the credit he deserves).  

The ticket was paid for, the passport had arrived, and I was definitely ready for a break…

***side note***

Right before we left for the airport, my dad went out to get some lunch at Burger King while I packed.  When I was just finishing up my packing, he came home with the Burger King and sat down at our kitchen table to eat with me.  While eating, he pulled out an envelope and gave me a large sum of money.  This was awesome.  Basically, he was telling me to go to South America and “make it rain” at the bars and at the clubs.  Needless to say, I made my father proud.

We arrive at the airport, check my bag (which ended up 2 lbs. under the 50 lbs. weight limit), and I buy a magazine to prepare for my very long journey to the other half of the world.  Right before I go through security, I hug my parents.  My mom, expectedly, begins to cry.  I say, “Mom, seriously, it’s only a week”, give her another hug, and go sit at my gate.  The flight from Kansas City to Dallas was nothing, a simple hour-and-a-half flight.  I arrive in Dallas and go straight to an information screen to find out where my next flight is.  Little do I know the Dallas airport has a monorail/tram system from gate to gate.  So, after I walked around for 40 minutes of my hour layover, I figured out the layout, and made my flight in the knick of time.  Literally, these people were calling me wondering where I was.  In true Drew Beaven fashion, I showed up last.

Flight route Dallas/Fort Worth - Buenos Aires

The ten-hour flight from Dallas to Buenos Aires started out exciting, but confusing.  I had all this paper work to fill out that was in Spanish and butchered translated English for customs.  After bothering this guy who was about the same age that I was, I finally filled it out and watched a movie (The King’s Speech was good, by the way).  That accounted for two hours of the trip.  Then, I watched all the NBC shows they had and an episode of The Big Bang Theory... that accounted for almost two hours.  Then, I tried sleeping… that accounted for thirty minutes, before I gave up and listened to my iTunes and read a book… which accounted for about an hour.  Then, I tried to fall asleep while watching The Departed (which didn’t work out).   After all of this, I still had about 3 hours to go.  I awkwardly fell asleep between two other grown men for about an hour, and woke up to the sound of a flight attendant giving me breakfast.  I wanted to punch her. Hard. 

I had an hour and half left when she woke me up, so I decided to stick it out.  I got up to go to the bathroom 10 times during the flight, and actually went to the bathroom twice.  It was miserable.  I almost fainted in exhaustion at one point, too.  Luckily, I got a rush of adrenaline when the pilot came on and said we were landing.  I almost kissed both of the men I was sandwiched between (I never imagined I would find myself writing the previous statement).

I land.  I get out, fall to my knees, and begin to cry.

That’s not true, but walking through the tunnel from the plane to the gate, I did notice that Buenos Aires smells completely different from anywhere I have ever been.  It was refreshing.  I walk through the gate, and a man says something to me in Spanish.  I had no idea what he said, not because I am terrible at Spanish, but because I was so tired it sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher.  I just nod and walk to what turned out to be the right direction.  I then hit a long line at customs.  I wanted to cry.  But, I held back the tears one last time and made it through the line.  Luckily, the guy at customs spoke a little English.  After he stamped my passport, I walk to get my bag, put it through another security machine, and walk through stained glass double doors into the airports lobby.

I look awful.  I smell like I have been spooning with two grown men.  I have my sunglasses half hanging off of my face.  I feel like keeling over and asking for someone to put me in a wheelchair.  

Reunited :)

This was all erased when I noticed a beautiful gringa in my peripherals.

Alyssa was standing to the right of the doors with a smile that couldn’t get any bigger.  My heart jumps, my vision clears, my senses are heightened.  I smile back at her as much as I could.  She walks around a crowd in a semi-haste, as if she wanted to run, but didn’t want people to think she was crazy.  I wanted to run too, honestly, but simply did not have the ability.  We finally touch each other for the first time in over two months.  We hug, we kiss, hug again, kiss again, and finally hug for about a minute.  Alyssa begins to cry.  I wipe the tears away, put my sunglasses on her so no one can see her puffy eyes, and we walk away from what can be only described as a super uncomfortable hellish death pit that was my plane ride.  

It was my first airport reunion.  I have to say, it was pretty emotional. 

I Loooooove Fútbol!

It's no secret that fútbol is South America's favorite sport. I expected that. But Argentina, being one of only 8 teams to ever win the world cup, and specifically Buenos Aires, the city with the highest concentration of professional fútbol teams in the world (24- thats almost the entire NFL in one city!), is especially passionate.

Crowd at Independiente

In the US, sporting events are centralized around entertainment. Yes you see a game and the game itself is entertainment, but there are also a million things at the stadium to occupy your attention if you happen to lose interest in the game (and maybe I'm only saying this because I'm a Royals fan.) You go to a game, you tailgate, you collect your free Royals snuggie, you play the is-the-baseball-underneath-cap-1-2-or-3? game, you watch employees dressed as hotdogs race around the bases while cheering for your favorite condiment, you text "vote #2" to a five digit number to put in your vote to hear "Party in the USA", the players approach the plate to a 30 second song clip of their choice, you fight the crowds in hopes of catching an XXL t-shirt launched by a man dressed as a lion in a baseball uniform- and after all this you've spent maybe 25% of your time watching the actual game (or maybe thats just me.) Needless to say, this is not the case in Argentina (or Uruguay.) 

Me with my boy :)

However, at the 2 South American soccer games I saw in the flesh (Peñarol, a team from Montevideo, Uruguay, and Independiente, one of Buenos Aires's top five soccer teams), I found myself watching probably no more than 25% of the game anyway. We showed up late for the Peñarol game, so we didn't get to see to much of it, but for Independiente, we got the whole experience. Independiente played the first night Drew was here, and since seeing a fútbol game was the one thing Drew definitely wanted to do during his stay, I dragged him out of bed from his nap (10 hours is a long, sleepless flight, if you're in the middle and 6'1") and we headed out. I booked through a tourist agency so we got the full experience- a personal guide and Independiente fan- Nacho, and a porteño-exclusive tailgate (we were told "no white people here"- when in reality we were the only white people at the whole game.)  At the tailgate, we got complimentary drinks and choripan, a traditional Argentine sausage sandwich and Drew's favorite thing (besides me) in Argentina. It was love at first bite.  

The reason fútbol is a must-see thing in South America, and the reason why I watched so little of the game, is the fans. The game we went to was on a Monday night and we were winning the whole time and they cheered non-stop like it was neck and neck at the Super Bowl. And not just cheering- jumping, singing, yelling chants and flailing arms. Non. Stop. Flags and banners were everywhere. Nacho told us that because of the crazy fans, alcohol is not sold inside stadiums (We drink we fight- he said), and lighters and coins are not permitted (because of crowd tendency to throw them at players if things don't go well). Despite the lighter ban, fans had celebratory fireworks and flares everywhere, as demonstrated in my video (sorry the audio doesn't record when I zoom.) Independiente won 4-1, so it was basically a blowout, but you never would have known it from the fans' reactions. At the point that Drew and I started to lose interest in the actual game the fans were going wilder than ever! Rather than attending a spectacle produced by advertisers, it was refreshing to see a culture that loves fútbol for fútbol, a pure interest and love for the game.