Since last I wrote to you I have partaken in a number of exotic, fantastical adventures that have brought me not only to my lovely home of Rio de Janeiro but to Argentina (Buenos Aires and Mendoza) and Minas Gerais (the state directly north of Rio). In addition, I have passed my first set of international midterms with surprisingly flying colors, gotten frustrated with my English class almost to the point of tears and decided that I hate teaching, subsequently experienced the warm fuzzy feeling of volunteering and decided that I actually kind of enjoy it, and realized the depressing truth that my skin has once again returned to the same pasty shade it arrived to Brazil in, among other things. So you see, I'm really not a lazy blogger - I just have a lot of nifty things to do. For the time being, however, I will focus on the grandest adventure of recent times - Argentina.
Argentina was, in a word, fantástica. Packing up my bags and saying tchau tchau to all obligations for nine days was a wonderful feeling, and the knowledge that I would be spending my trip with two of my favorite people in the world made it all the more exhilirating. I left for Buenos Aires on a Friday afternoon with the intention of cramming in some much-needed studying on my voyage, but the gentleman seated next to me on the first leg to Montevideo, Uruguay who was buying a perplexing amount of women's luxury beauty products and overpriced hard alcohol made sure that my academic pursuits were pushed aside, inviting me to join him in several rounds of screwdrivers en route. Montevideo to Buenos Aires was remarkably mellower, especially considering that the flight only took about 35 minutes, and by the time I first set foot on Argentinean soil I was in great spirits, to say the least.
I stayed in a hostel conveniently located about three blocks from Sophie's homestay and immediately befriended about two-thirds of South America (Brazil, Argentina, Columbia, Uruguay, Paraguay, and Chile) upon entering the premises. More on them later. After an emotional reunion with Sophie that involved me physically attacking her in the middle of the street in front of a confused/judgmental family, we went out to dinner at a Middle Eastern restaurant (ethnic food? what?) and I sampled my FIRST ARGENTINEAN WINE, much to the delight of my mind, body, and soul. I don't really know what to say about the dining out experience in Argentina besides that it is delicious, includes FREE TAP WATER that is SAFE TO DRINK, costs about a third of a similar meal in Brazil or the U.S., and consistently made me feel like a grown-up who could actually afford such a dazzling meal. Food and wine were no doubt two of my favorite things about Argentina; I should probably just stop talking about them now so as not to end up writing a novel. Anyways, after finishing our meal at a tardy half-past-midnight we tested out the Buenos Aires nightlife (cheaper drinks but worse music than my Brazilian home) and I returned to my hostel to find the sun rising over the beautiful city.
I spent the next few days exploring Buenos Aires with Sophie and her friends, some fellow UC Davis students I met by chance at the hostel who were visiting for the weekend from Mendoza and who, coincidentally enough, were studying on Kevin's program there, and the South American crew from the hostel. Partaking in communication within this little group in three languages (Spanish, English, and Portuguese) was quite the cool experience and really helped to (marginally) bring back my Spanish. Exploring the neighborhoods of Palermo, La Boca, and Recoleta I noticed old, beautiful, Madrid-like buildings, adorable cafés with outside tables filled with people eating pastries and drinking coffee, stylish girls that ranged from thin to emaciated, attractive men with awful haircuts, and many other things one might find in a European nation.
(Posing with some graffiti in Buenos Aires - "El paraíso es vivir, disfrútalo hoy")
It wasn't until I boarded the 14-hour bus to Mendoza that I really even noticed I was in South America at all. After enjoying some excellent-as-always Malbec at lunch with Sophie I was feeling toasty nearing feverish and foolishly dressed not-so-warmly for the bus ride, assuming that I'd be able to perform my usual magic talent of falling asleep in any place at any time. Not so. As it turned out, the bus was freezing, at least in my tropically-accustomed opinion. My ticket came with a "dinner," which would have been a nice touch if it were not the driest food known to mankind, some kind of a dieter's special that included fat-free, low-sugar cookies with a suspiciously chalky texture, salt-free water crackers (really just not a good idea), and some dried-up melba toast type things. Balanced meal? I think not, but I eventually ended up eating it more out of boredom than hunger. The bus left just after nightfall and featured a movie that appeared to be about the saga of a young boy and his pet butterfly - with the volume turned up ALL THE WAY. After the movie was finished, I found myself feeling too cold to sleep and experimented with creative sleep positions without luck. After two hours or so of feeling bitter jealous that everyone else seemed to be sleeping soundly, I noticed that the man in the seat in front of me was sending steamy text-messages to his amante, so I busied myself by peeping over the seat and reading them for a little while, but eventually even he wished his lady buenas noches and went to sleep. I continued making little games for myself to pass the night away, never sleeping for more than 10 minutes at a time, constantly awaiting the sunrise, watching the beautiful Andes appear, pondering my strange state of insomnia until we finally arrived in Mendoza around ten in the morning.
After arriving in Mendoza, I took a cab to Kevin's homestay and was warmly welcomed by the most hospitable person in the world, a.k.a. Kevin's host mom, Liliana. As Kevin was still in class at the time, Liliana showed me around her huge, majestic house, telling me along the way that I was welcome to pretty much everything in her home. As charming, chipper, and Spanish-speaking as I tried to appear, I guess the bags under my eyes and the glazed-over stare gave me away because soon Liliana led me to my bedroom for a much-needed rest and (thankfully) the sleep finally came. But not for long! For at this point in the story, Kevin walked cautiously in armed with a lovely bouquet, an even lovelier smile, and a "travel beard" unlike any anyone has ever seen before (ask him about it, I'm sure he will be thrilled to explain). Naturally the reunion inspired lights and fireworks and all those kinds of nice things, and happily we set off to explore Mendoza. Obviously Mendoza is extremely different from Buenos Aires, from the size of the city to the natural setting to the accent to the men's haircuts (still bad, but different); from what I saw, it's much less a big-city tourist destination and much more an adventurey wonderland of wine, olive oil, and outdoor sports. The combination of the city structure, the agricultural setting, the types of shops and restaurants, and the fact that I was hanging out with a big posse of UC Davis students gave Mendoza a strangely Davis-y vibe. After a wonderful three days that included the best meat and wine I've ever consumed, a chance to see and spend time at the university, a view of the relatively low-key Mendoza nightlife, and my first casino experience (much more inviting when you're only betting 5 pesos or US$1.25 per round), Kevin and I hopped on a flight back to Buenos Aires for a few days.
Many a porteño had recommended to me the artsy, bohemian neighborhood of San Telmo, so Kevin and I decided to see what all the hype was about and booked a hostel there. After checking in, we were directed by a hostel employee to a street a few blocks over that was particularly happenin' and we set out for dinner with a specific goal: to find amazing seafood after experiencing a serious red meat overdose in Mendoza. As it turned out, this notoriously hip street was more or less empty besides a handful of people who stared at me strangely for wearing a skirt in the cold and an assortment of nondescript little restaurants. We finally came across one such restaurant with a large-ish seafood section and hungrily settled down with great anticipation. Unfortunately, the squid and mushroom salad was gummy, overcooked, and covered in blobs of yellow mayonnaise - kind of a bummer, but the seafood risotto looked decent enough so we dove right in, never stopping to notice the questionable texture and flavor of our meal. Half an hour later, we began to feel like some strange things were going on inside our bodies, and so we bypassed the San Telmo nightlife (which, as far as we could see, was actually not such a terrible thing) and went to bed. The remainder of the weekend consisted of many bodily fluids doing unusual things, feeling like we were going to die, gagging every time we saw or smelled food of any sort, taking naps, forcing ourselves to get out and sightsee, and having kind of a great time making fun of our puny selves. I left Sunday morning to return to Rio already dreaming of the day when I return to the land of the Andes, alfajor, tango, emapanadas, Malbec, and so many other marvelous things.
