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.

Passport stamps, beaches, and a place to call "home"

The coming of March brought only slightly noticeable temperature drops (that the Argentines have met with entirely unnecessary winter coats and scarves for 70 degree weather), the halfway mark and, of course, "spring" (technically late summer/fall here, but that isn't really the point) break! For our vacation, we headed out to the coast in Montevideo, Uruguay.

So, third country on my repertoire! Argentina is definitely different from the US and Uruguay is almost as different from Argentina.

Here are some of my highlights from Uruguay:
-The bus system: (I know, buses again- let me know when buses are no longer interesting) In Buenos Aires, the buses are very much in a hurry, so you have to be there when the bus stops and on the bus within 30 seconds of it stopping tops in order to grant yourself a ride. In Montevideo, buses waited for us a few seconds longer if they saw us running. Also, in Buenos Aires you have to pay your fee in monedas (change). Which doesn't sound like a pain but it totally is. Because the coins used in Argentina are worth more melted as metal than they are as currency, monedas are scarce. Keeping monedas stocked is constantly a problem. In Uruguay, you can pay with bills- up to fifty pesos! That point might not have been as exciting as it sounds...
-Being serenaded: On the first bus we took in Uruguay, a young man and a guitar player followed us on. They entertained the bus with two Beatles songs, including one of my favorites "All My Loving" (which seemed all too appropriate, being so far away from all my loved ones). The singer probably didn't know English at all, but sang it almost perfectly. Enamored, I parted with 10 pesos in appreciation (an equivalent of 50 cents, oops probably should have given more - but more on money later). The second instance I had in mind was not technically a serenade but my favorite cat call ever. We were walking back to our hostel after a hot day on the beach, definitely not looking our best (but maybe our best version of beet red and in need of showers). We are used to cat calls now, I rarely take notice of them and am good at ignoring. But this particular man decided to show off his english for us, yelling in a sing-song voice from his spot on the park bench, "Oh my god! Look at these bee-yoo-tiful girls - walking down this bee-yoo-tiful street - with such grace!" I know we're supposed to ignore, but I couldn't stifle laughter this time. The men who kiss at us back in Buenos Aires could learn something from this guy.

-Beaches: We saw the ocean! The same one I saw off the coast of Florida- just way south. Nothing terribly different from beaches in the US (besides Brazilian cuts everywhere) just a couple days of relaxing, chatting, wading in the waves, and burning (mostly successful)
-Fútbol: will have its own post to come...

The group plus CJ and Alana from Australia

-New friends: We spent the week with Anna's boyfriend CJ, and some new hostel friends from around the world. So cool to share stories and exchange cultures and travel experiences.
-Calling Buenos Aires "home" for the first time: While Uruguay was fun, and experiencing yet another country was amazing, I definitely missed my good old Buenos Aires for several reasons. The currency in Uruguay was so difficult to manage. In Argentina, it is 1 dollar to 4 pesos (imagine paying for everything in quarters). In Uruguay, it is 1 dollar to 19 pesos. There is just no way to make that math easy. A reasonably priced dinner was listed at 200+ pesos - such a headache. But more than that, I missed knowing my way around, being able to navigate by myself, having my own space and my own agenda. Something felt so nice about the familiarity of stepping off that bus into the middle of Puerto Madero - knowing exactly where I was and how I needed to get home (and that my nice bed was waiting for me :) ) I was definitely glad to be back (which I'm sure had nothing to do with the fact that I was now anticipating the arrival of a certain boy in just 2 days - to be continued)

Beautiful sky outside my window upon returning.. ahhh hogar dulce hogar (home sweet home)

Food: Trial and Error

So lately we've been missing food from home a lot. Argentina is famous for its delicious steak, different Italian cuisines, and of course its red wine, and don't get me wrong, it is amazing, but it lacks a certain variety that we are used to in the US. Or maybe we just lack a good enough familiarity to find where the variety exists. Even though we are trying to completely immerse ourselves here, looking for ways to imitate "American" style food has become a guilty pleasure.

Me and my shiny foil-clad burrito

One of the things I miss the most is mexican food, or Tex-Mex I guess, since what we eat is probably nothing like authentic Mexican. Since, I've been dating someone who eats Chipotle 3-4 times per week, I got used to enjoying the delicious burritos, tacos and perfect guacamole perhaps more than the average person. So for my first shot at American food replication, we decided to try the California Burrito Company. A name in English and clearly modeled directly off of Chipotle. Upon visiting the restaurant, that became even more clear, the walls were decorated in tin and only sold the same three options (burrito, taco, burrito bowl, chips). Unfortunately, the food was nowhere comparable. My burrito was too cheesy, not spicy enough, and lacked guac. It was decent, but disappointing. Perhaps I set my expectations too high.

Nope. No good.

Brace yourself

For our next attempt, we tried McDonald's. Though none of us here are really big McDonald's fans, an Oreo McFlurry began to sound appetizing and we were hungry. So Anna, Kylie and I ventured to the nearest location and ordered chicken sandwiches, fries and McFlurries. To our disappointment, the chicken sandwiches weren't really patties but more like giant versions of the McNuggets on buns and the McFlurries weren't blended or very chunky :(  At least the fries were okay.

Kylie and I finally decided that if we wanted something done right, we were just going to have to do it ourselves (feel free to say that part in a Gru accent, Annie). And our "American" food (aka tacos) ended up being a complete success. I know tacos sound simple and easy (especially considering we're in South America) but who knew tacos would be such a struggle? We went on the grocery trip which would have lasted probably 15 min in good ol' Columbia Walmart, but no. We were in the grocery store for more than 2 hours. Tomatoes, lettuce, avocados, cheese- easy, Argentina can do all of those just fine. But literally every other ingredient posed a problem. So to illustrate how what should have been a couple quick errands turned into a multi-day chore, I'll take you through each item:

Taco seasoning

Taco Seasoning- This was actually the inspiration for our meal, a random find far from our grocery store in Recoleta, along with the tortillas (also rare). The trip that could have been a quick stop on the way home from class, became much longer by taking the wrong bus (oops) 


Ground Beef- This part, the first item on our list at our local grocery store, seemed easy enough at first. Grab the first thing in the meat section that looks like ground beef. But wait, is this lean? Oh there's another kind, is that leaner? It's cheaper, is it cheaper because its bad quality? Eventually we had to just say whatever and grab that kind that looks closest to home.

Lemoncello

Drinks- Our original idea was to complete our taco night (and spring break kick-off) with margaritas. Just grab some tequila and margarita and be all set.  Argentina must have something against Mexico, because not only do they not do mexican salsa, but they don't have margarita mix either. Our next substitute idea was Corona with limes. So we picked up some Corona and headed to the produce section when Argentina denied us again: no limes. We headed back to the liquor section and chose a cheap bottle of lemoncello, hoping it would taste something like lemonade (another thing we had missed). It ended up being pretty good, but I wouldn't call it similar to margaritas... or corona w/ lime... or lemonade, but good in itself.

Sour cream substitute

Sour cream- We weren't initially sure if they would have sour cream for sure, but thought it was definitely worth investigating. The dairy aisle was confusing and we didn't really know what anything was. We came up with a couple of contenders but couldn't judge by weight, spanish name, or package which might be sour cream. So we sought the help of an employee and started asking questions about the items. Unable to tell him the spanish term for sour cream, or even the word sour, we had to get creative. We picked a product and asked, [conversation translated into English for clarity] "What would you eat this with?" He responded, "todo", everything. Not very specific, grocery store man. Suspicious that it might be cream cheese we asked, "Would you eat it for breakfast?" "Oh si you could it it for breakfast I guess," He replied. "Would you eat it with fruit?" "No definitely not with fruit." Perfect we thought! So we knew that it wasn't cream cheese and decided to chance it and taste it at home. It ended up being very close, but a little cheesier than sour cream. Not the same, but we were definitely a fan of the product with the tortilla chips. And speaking of the chips...

Made with pride in the USA

Tortilla Chips- We found a cheap box of tortilla chips (a rarity here just like tortillas) at the same place as the taco mix and got those. Easy enough but as soon as we had tried them, we found they were terrible. Something must have been rotten in them. Unfortunately, we didn't figure this out 'til after our grocery trip to Coto, where we knew to have nice, normal, made in the USA tortilla chips. We decided it was worth it to head back in order to fully enjoy our meal. So another 30 min trip to the grocery store and we had the good chips in hand. 


With some quick preparation our meal was finally ready. I don't know if they were just satisfying because we worked so hard to make them perfect or if they were actually the best tacos ever made (I'm boldly assuming the latter). 

Yum!

The Backstreet Men

Halloween '99

So to appreciate this post you may have had to know me cerca 1999 (shout out: Mom, Dad, Amy Scassellati). For those of you who didn't, to sum up, I was obsessed with the Backstreet Boys, and obsessed in the truest form of the word. I devoted a good section of my Y2K time capsule to my devotion to the Backstreet Boys, hosted a BSB themed birthday party (complete with Nick Carter cake) and sported an awkward and clonky (but well-painted, Mom) suit of cardboard to dress as their "Millennium" album for Halloween. 

So, what does this have to do with Buenos Aires? I'll get there.

Earlier this week, Anna and I were working at one of the rare cafes where it is socially acceptable to spread out, and stay for a long time while working on your laptop. Three men sitting next to us, in town for work, noticed we were speaking English, and asked us where we were from and what brought us to Buenos Aires. We told them that we were studying abroad and had been in Buenos Aires for about a month and half. They asked for recommendations on stuff to do for their day off, and we summarized the coolest things we have found here, and went back to our own conversations. 

As the men got up to leave, they thanked us for the recommendations and added: "Have you heard of the Backstreet Boys?"... ummm WHAT!? We're college aged, so ten years ago (BSB peak) puts us in the prime BSB enthusiast age. They responded to our positive reactions, "We're on crew for their concert tomorrow, I think its sold out but we could leave tickets for you at will-call." Okay, again, WHAT?! Did we just get free tickets to a Backstreet Boys concert? In Buenos Aires? An unfulfilled childhood dream, that I thought to be impossible for years was about to come to fruition!?

As we entered the concert venue the following night to the sounds of BSB's "I'll be the one", I felt like I was being rushed into a time machine to my ten-year-old fantasies. But wait, not only is Kevin missing (a now former backstreet boy, who abandoned the group to start a family), these are clearly no longer Backstreet Boys, but Backstreet Men. AJ is bald, Nick may or may not have been intoxicated, the choreography has toned down quite a bit in the last ten years, and the band doesn't have the stamina to perform longer than an hour and a half show. 

But don't let me mislead you, the changes did not detract from the awesomeness of the show! The
songs I knew, I danced along and belted every word like ten year old Alyssa would surely have done. (Apologies for the shakiness of the video, that was due to dancing and excitement)

My money shot: The band takes a bow, repping Argentina fútbol

I still just can't get over the coincidence of the whole situation. To quote my Oscar pick, 127 Hours, "Everything is... just comes together... This rock... this rock has been waiting for me my entire life. It's entire life, ever since it was a bit of meteorite a million, billion years ago. In space. It's been waiting, to come here. Right, right here. I've been moving towards it my entire life. The minute I was born, every breath that I've taken, every action has been leading me to this crack on the out surface." Except for me, the girl who's parents thought concerts weren't the place for elementary schoolers (and perhaps rightfully so), it wasn't a rock, it was those free, will-call tickets, the right table, in the right cafe, on the right day, in the right country! I didn't pick Argentina over Spain for the internship and the more unique experience, it was fate, those tickets that didn't come in Spring of 2000  were waiting and had been waiting since the first time I heard "As long as you love me" on the radio. Okay, dramatic? Yes, I'm kidding.... really.

Sierras de Córdoba

Having whipped out 2 papers just in time for deadline late Friday afternoon, I was packed and ready for my first "weekend excursion" of study abroad: Córdoba, Argentina. Córdoba is the second largest city in the country (after Buenos Aires of course) located in the geographic center of Argentina and known for its architecture. I was mostly excited to be done with the papers, and away from the stresses of work and school in Buenos Aires.

Arguably the most comfortable
chair I have sat in in months

We arranged to take a long distance bus that would get us to Córdoba in about ten hours, overnight. And I promise that this won't be another post about buses, but this bus was crazy comfy. Never before have I legitimately enjoyed transportation (perhaps with the exception of catchphrase filled road trips to dance competitions). The chairs were comfortable, leather, and reclined 180˚. We were served dinner, shown a movie (in English, with Spanish subtitles), lolled to sleep with the rocking of the bus, and awoken with food in the morning, breakfast in bed style.

Being the second largest city, I didn't expect my weekend in Córdoba to be too different from BA, but there is a huge disparity in size as well as atmosphere. In terms of metropolitan areas, Buenos Aires is home to about 13 million people, while the Córdoba area houses about 1.5 million (not even bigger than KC!). The air was fresher, the streets were quieter and emptier, and the city was physically smaller and easier to navigate.

But the best difference was the sierras, small mountain ranges that surround the city. Aside from getting a terrible sunburn that limited my physical activity for the next two days, hiking in the sierras was one of my favorite experiences here so far. Apart from my family's roots being in Iowa, I've mostly considered myself a city girl, and I didn't realize that I would miss just driving through roads surrounded by grass. It was refreshing to just be out of a jungle of tall buildings, surrounded by busy people and crazy traffic. I feel like my experience in the sierras is best shown through pictures, so I'll stop writing here and let you see for yourselves.

Mantequilla de Cacahuete

Peanut butter. Or, in Argentina talk its actually "manteca de maní" but I learned it as the "mantequilla de cacahuete" (mahn-tay-key-yah day caw-cuh-wah-tay), and its more fun to say so I prefer it.

Arrival day full jars

One thing that I was warned about before coming on the trip by alumni of this program was: "Bring peanut butter, you will miss it!" Having only barely used one small jar of JIF the entire last semester and trying to keep to the 50 lb luggage limit, I figured that the small jar of peanut butter would be more than enough.

I was wrong.

Luckily (I thought), Kylie brought the giant size of crunchy Skippy! But those soon began depleting. I assured myself, "Drew will be here in March, surely we can last until then."

Wrong again.

Empty

As we felt farther and farther from the US and the culture, language, and food that we were familiar with, a spoonful (or 2) of peanut butter became a piece of home, comfort food. Five weeks in we find ourselves empty. And we scraped down to the last ounce.

We had heard rumors that Chinatown in Buenos Aires had grocery stores that sold imported foods, and that maybe some type of peanut butter would be for sale there. Devastated and desperate, Kylie and I ventured down to Chinatown (a 40 minute trip by bus), willing to spend whatever amount on any peanut butter substitute we could find.

The grocery store in Chinatown was an interesting experience. I've never felt  so much before like I had NO idea what anything was, and I've been a foreigner for more than a month now. We searched the aisles for anything that resembled our desired manteca, and finally we found it! Be it decorated with unfamiliar Chinese symbols and some spanish and beyond off-brand, when you're this far from home, peanut butter is peanut butter.

The Holy Grail

Update: The strange Chinatown peanut butter has since been finished... back to square one.