Patagonia

Patagonia is one of my favorite places in the world. The only thing that beats hiking in El Chalten and ice trekking on Perito Moreno is watching the sunrise over Angkor Wat in Cambodia. All things I highly recommend.

By bus it takes two or three days to make your way from Buenos Aires to El Calafate. Needless to say we flew. I had to try really hard not to act like a groupie when I met the owner of my favorite hot dog stand in Boulder, Mustard's Last Stand, on the plane. When we landed it was cold, but the sun was shining and it was beautiful. On the two hour bus ride to El Calafate to El Chalten the sunset was amazing and seemed to last forever. I immediately fell in love with Patagonia.

 

When we got to our hostel we made big plans to get up early for our Friday hike. We were slightly disappointed to find out that the sun didn't rise until 7am. I guess that's what happens when you're only 1,000 miles from Antarctica in the winter. In the end it didn't matter since we finally managed to leave around 9am. With only 12 or 13 hours of sunlight a day racing against the sun was our biggest concern.

The plan was to hike to a lake with a great view of Cerro del Torre. From there Sean, Daniel, Brandon, Sarah and I were going to keep hiking to a refuge in the mountains, while Tiffany, Rachel, and Ani headed back so they could catch the evening bus to El Calafate. We weren't sure if the refuge was still open because it was so late in the tourist season and there were no lines of communication between the refuge and the outside world, but we decided to go for it anyways.

After parting ways at the lake the five of us hiked for almost three hours without seeing any other hikers. After seven hours we finally found a ranger. She told us that she didn't think the refuge was open. Our biggest problem was if we went and the refuge was closed there was no way to make it back to town in time. We would either have to hike back in the dark without flashlights or spend the night in the freezing Andes with no gear. Unanimously we decided neither were outcomes we were willing to risk. Now the question was whether to turn around and go back on the path we knew or cut across to private property and see if we could either spend the night or hitchhike back. We chose Option 2. I was pretty excited about the prospect of hitchhiking.

As we continued hiking the path started getting harder to follow. There was no longer a beaten trail and we were walking single file on precarious cliff that hung over a dried out riverbed. About an hour in we were lost. At this point we decided to turn around and hike back the trail that we knew. This left us with four hours of hiking and roughly four hours before the sun went down.

By the time we made it back the sun was just about to drop behind the mountain. We were all exhausted and happy to be back in the hostel. Pictures don't do it justice and words can't describe how beautiful our hike in El Chalten was. They also don't fully describe how much the hike kicked my ass. I have never sorer in my life, but all the blood, sweat and tears were worth it

The next day I left for El Calafate to meet the rest of the group. We set up ice trekking on the Perito Moreno glacier. Sunday morning the excursion group picked us up early and we drove out to the national park. We took a boat to the glacier for a quick tutorial on Perito Moreno and got fitted with crampons.

Tiffany and I Modeling Our Crampons

Our guides Flavio and Juan led us up the glacier. I didn’t mind hiking up, but walking down freaked me out. We weren’t tied in and I didn’t completely trust my crampons. At one point I panicked when crossing a narrow crossing between two pools of water. Flavio grabbed my hand and all I could think to say was “Tengo, tengo, tengo…scary!” It all worked out though. At the end of the trek we hiked down to a lone table and group of chairs for some whiskey on crushed glacier ice and alfajores (dulce de leche cookies). With the help of some whiskey the scary se fue.

Fútbol

Once when I was in Texas I heard someone say, “Texans love family, God and football, but not necessarily in that order.”  If you replace football with fútbol the same holds true in Argentina. Soccer is a way of life down here, especially with the World Cup. All big cities in Argentina have at least one if not two teams in addition to the national team. In Buenos Aires the rivals are La Boca and River. Both are notorious for having insane popular sections where all of the hardcore fans spend the game cheering, singing, jumping, chanting, drinking, smoking, cursing and screaming the most outrageously complicated and complex insults you’ve ever heard. You can imagine how excited I was to be part of this.

The first soccer game I went to was an Estudiantes game. My friend, Julia, met two Argentine brothers whose mom is from Canada, but who now live with their dad in Buenos Aires. This meant their English was great and they knew their way around the city. Five other ISA students and I met them at the train station to head to the stadium. Honestly I have no idea where we were by the time we got off. I just knew it looked like a part of town I didn’t want to get lost in. We walked towards the stadium with a pack of Argentines who didn’t look like they were going anywhere in particular. When we got closer to the stadium guys started pulling soccer jerseys, shirts and hats out of their back pockets and backpacks. One of the Argentines told us that you don’t wear your colors on the street or you’ll end up in a fight. Once at the stadium I went through five different security check points each time getting my purse checked and patted down. The security to go into the soccer game was stricter than the security when Obama spoke at graduation last year.

When we finally made our way in, we entered into a huge row of cement bleachers with fans waiting for the game to begin. Lining the fence to the field where almost an equal number of riot police. One of the brothers told us that they hadn’t sold many tickets to the game because they didn’t want it to get out of control, so the popular section stayed fairly empty until the second half when more fans started streaming in. The crowd was mostly men with the exception of our group of five girls. Although they had been singing the entire game as the sunset the fans started to get louder, the jumping and movement more pronounced, people climbed the fences to tie on red and white streamers and then ran them up the bleachers. The second half of the game had the high energy I was expecting.

Estudiantes won which meant lots of post-game celebration. It was short lived as the police started to push us out of the stadium. Since we were the visiting team we customarily got to leave the stadium first. You never come in contact with anyone from the other team at an Argentine soccer game. Each has its own entrance and the home team isn’t allowed to leave the stadium until the visiting fans have left.

After a great experience at the Estudiantes game I was excited to go to a larger La Boca game. I had heard stories of insanity about their popular section and wanted to see it for myself. We managed to score tickets for the last game of the season, which was guaranteed to be packed. The security wasn’t as strict and the energy was higher on the streets. People live and die for La Boca.

As soon as we entered la cancha (stadium) I was overwhelmed with such a foul smell. I started dodging puddles on the way up of where men had relieved themselves in the middle of the stairwell. After a few flights of stairs and a lot of close calls we made it to one of the popular sections. I was sad to see that everyone was sitting and watching the game. No crazy diehard fans wreaking havoc.

When I looked across the stadium I saw where I wanted to be: behind the other goal. The crowd was moving as one cohesive unit, streamers were everywhere; there were even blue and yellow umbrellas. Looked like a good time. I asked the hotdog vendor how I got to the section, but he wouldn’t tell me. I asked a police officer, but he wouldn’t tell me either. Finally an expat heard me ask and told me, “You don’t want to go over there.” I tried to convince him that I really did, but he was insistent that I didn’t. I never did find out go to get the other section.

At the end of the game we all waited patiently for the visiting team to leave. Twenty minutes later the masses started moving towards the exit. It was then I realized something was leaking down from the ceiling. The visiting team had been sitting in the bleachers above us and I didn’t want to the think about what could possibly being raining down. But that was the least my worries. The puddles on the way up had expanded to cover the entire floor. As I looked down I realized I was the only person wearing flip flops. There was no way to avoid it. As soon as we got out of the stadium I immediately went home and washed my feet.

And now the Mundial has begun. If this doesn't make you excited for the World Cup, I don't know what will...

Punta del Este

My program began at the end of peak tourist season in South America. Although Buenos Aires was ridiculously hot and humid, it was a great time to go to the beach, mountains, or Patagonia. Unfortunately it took me a while to figure out where I wanted to travel so all of my trips have been during the off season.

My first weekend trip was to Punta del Este, Uruguay. Punta del Este is to Buenos Aires what the Hamptons are to New York City. During the summer hoards of city dwellers make their way to weekend and party in this popular beach town. I planned my trip with a couple of friends the same weekend as Spring Break in the States after most of the crowds had left.

Through my travels I’ve learned that sometimes things just don’t work out; they should be easy, but they’re not. This is how the trip began. Natalie and I had tickets to leave after our friends because she had a late Thursday class. We were supposed to take a midnight boat to Montevideo and from there a bus to Punta del Este. When we went to check-in I was incredibly surprised to find out I had bought our non-refundable tickets for the following day, which would leave us only one full day at the beach. I bought us new tickets for the boat that was leaving that night. Instead of a direct route we had a three hour boat to Colonia, three hour bus to Montevideo, where we had to purchase tickets to transfer to Punta del Este, which was another three hours journey.

This trip was made all the more interesting by my friend Steve. He’s one of those people who has the best of intentions but never manages to get it right. I called Steve as soon as we went through customs to tell him to make sure he filled out the exit paperwork for Argentina before getting his passport stamped. His response: “Passport? We’re supposed to bring our passports?” Yes, Steve. You have to bring your passport to go to a different country. Mind you Steve has been robbed twice in the last three months. After convincing him that there was no way he could talk his way or sneak onto the boat without a passport he agreed to change his ticket to the next day.

By the time we got in the following morning we were exhausted. Our friends, who had arrived the evening before, warned us that our hostel, El Viajero, had two locations and to go to the one close to the bus terminal. After finding an ATM we got a taxi and explained where we needed to go. Something was clearly lost in translation as we arrived thirty minutes later to a secluded hostel out of town. Turns out the hostels did have different names and our friends had given us the wrong one. After an easy bus ride back we finally found our way to the correct hostel.

Chivito

The first day of rain and clouds quickly changed to blue skies and sunshine. Days were spent sleeping in the sun, playing in the Atlantic, and eating chivitos (Uruguayan steak sandwiches). At night everyone in our hostel would play guitar, drink wine, or pile onto the couch for movies. The rest of the weekend passed as a lazy weekend at the beach should. Good hostel, good food, good people.

Tigre and Día del Campo

After charging us ridiculous amount to study abroad ISA throws in a couple of trips to justify the cost. The first two were day trips to Tigre and out to the country. The catch with ISA trips is that their strict no drinking policy paired with awkward amounts of free time and lack of activities make for some uneventful trips.

Tigre is an hour north of Buenos Aires by train. It’s a popular destination during the hot summer months because it’s by the shore of the Mar del Plata, although it’s not water I would eagerly jump in. Beach houses and country clubs line the muddy banks. It’s also where Sarmiento, an Argentine political figure, was born and his house stands preserved in a glass box.

Sarmiento's House

We took a long boat about an hour up shore to an out of the way island. When we got there a group of thirty or so crossed a giant rickety bridge from the dock to the island where we had a few hours of free time. The problem being there wasn’t much to do. There was a volleyball court, tables and chairs to lounge in, and a restaurant whose chef hadn’t shown up yet. We lazily lay around and waited for him to show up, slammed the kitchen with food orders as soon as he did, then spent the rest of the time waiting for our food. The next leg of the journey was to “Puerto de Fruta”, a port where there is in fact no fruit. We had just enough free time to walk around aimlessly without really accomplishing anything before hopping on a bus to head to the coast. This last stop was actually pretty cool and there was a great view of the city.

View from the Coast

Día del Campo followed suit with our trip to Tigre. The whole idea is to give us a better idea of how the gauchos (cowboys) used to live on the pampas. We all met early at the university and loaded up on a bus that took us to the country for the day. One of my favorite parts of these trips is seeing my friend, Vanessa, stumble onto the bus from the night before. She has this determined ability to stay out until 6am at the bars and get up only hours later to be a semi-contributing member of society. After a quick powernap on the bus we showed up to the campo for a fun-filled ISA day of horseback riding, bread making, bike rides, potato sack races, tug-a-wars, and most importantly eating and sleeping.

Figuring It Out

Monday morning Natalie and I were standing in the elevator struggling with the lock when suddenly her keys slipped from her hands. We stared at each other in disbelief as we listened to them plummet eight floors down the elevator shaft. Of course we were running late and decided to rescue them later.

Our Madre had drawn us a map where to catch the colectivo (city bus) to take it to campus. It picked us up and we sat patiently as the bus took us in the complete opposite direction. Hoping it would turn around at some point we waited almost twenty minutes before finally giving up and getting off.

When we got home that afternoon Natalie unsuccessfully attempted to fish her keys out from the elevator shaft with a bent wire hanger. She admitted defeat and confessed to our Madre what had happened. Ana laughed as she heard Natalie reluctantly admit she had dropped the keys down the elevator and told us our doorman, Alfonzo, could get them for us.

That’s when our Madre told us, “You’re not in the United States anymore. Argentina is a third world country.” Although I would argue a country with Wi-Fi at every café is probably not third world, it can definitely be a difficult city at times.

For starters I have been in this country for three months and still haven’t completely figured out the public transportation. Throughout the city there are extensive lines of colectivos, the subte (subway), trains, and taxis when all else fails. Literally hundreds of colectivos run the streets 24 hours a day daring any car to compete for space on the road. To figure out which colectivo you need to take there’s a guide of streets and grids where you match bus numbers. But for every bus number there are numerous different variations that take similar paths, but never quite the same. To say the least I get lost. A lot.

Then there is not only the language barrier, but the porteño language barrier. People from Buenos Aires, or porteños, speak castellano, a completely different form of Spanish than anywhere else in South America. Instead of tu they use a varied form, vos. To add to this their accent sounds more Italian than South American and their pronunciation is completely off. When I first arrived I couldn’t understand a thing. I was worried I had lost all of my Spanish after not taking classes for almost four years. Turns out it wasn’t just my bad Spanish.

Although this city is difficult at times, I absolutely love it. The most important thing to understand about Buenos Aires is that a porteño is completely different than anyone else in Argentina. Even if you talk to someone from Rosario or Cordoba or Mendoza they’ll tell you how stuck up porteños are. The more I experience it though the more I realize they’re not stuck up, just incredibly proud.

You Mean We Actually Have Class?

The tricky thing about living in another country for four months is that sometimes you forget you actually are there to do something, in this case study.

When we first arrived there were a slew of meetings, orientations, presentations, and city tours that we were obligated to attend. Class didn’t start for a week. Instead we passed the time exploring the city and traveling back and forth between the ISA office to the University of Belgrano for different meetings. I was getting use to the idea of continuing my three month winter break. Unfortunately I had to snap back to reality and start classes.

My School

My program offers the option of taking classes in either English or Spanish. This is great because it means I can understand what is going on in my English classes, but not so great because I only have classes with exchange students. While I have met people from Italy, France, Austria, and all over the States, I haven’t met any real Argentines at school. Either way, classes are easy and only meet once a week for two hours and every week is a three-day weekend, which has made traveling on the weekend that much easier.

My Class Schedule

• Spanish Grammar (Spanish)
• Globalization in Latin America (Spanish)
• Argentine Economic History (English)
• Political and Social Change (English)
• Argentine Literature (English)

Mi Nueva Familia

Our flight landed late so Kyle and I missed the big group meeting where all of the students were pawned off on their new host families. Instead we took a private car that dropped me off at the doorstep of my new apartment.

I walked up to the building, luggage in hand, and anxious about meeting my new family. I hesitantly pushed the call button for the apartment. No answer. Pushed it again. Still no answer. I was beginning to get nervous when I realized I was pushing the button for 8A, not 8B. I tried again, now to the correct house, and immediately heard my madre’s voice. She said she would be right down (or I assume that’s what she said because it was in Spanish and I was too tired to think after the long flight).

I was pleasantly surprised that there was an elevator to our 8th floor apartment. We headed up stairs where I immediately met my new roommate, Natalie, who is also from Colorado. After all of the traveling all I wanted to do was go to bed, but the three of us sat in the living room, put our feet up, and began talking. I think Ana caught on quickly because shortly after she showed me to my room where I immediately fell asleep.

My Argentine Family

Ana: My Argentine madre. She works at a school and has lived in Buenos Aires all her life. She’s always shuffling around the house in her platform shoes, or worrying about the next trip we’re about to take and how we’re doing in school.

Luciana: Ana’s 21 year old daughter. She was in New York when we first arrived, but came back mid-March. She’s rarely home because she takes care of her niece during the day, has school at night, and spends her free time with her boyfriend.

Natalie: My new roommate and partner in crime in Buenos Aires.