Year Reflection

Junior Year Reflection
While other students will take this time to write about their junior years and the 3 AP classes they took, my paper will differ quite a bit. I spent the last year of my life living in Cordoba Argentina and traveling within South America. I remember being asked what my expectations for Argentina were before I left. Honestly I don’t think I could fathom the idea at the time. Yet, today I can assure you that every one of the unfathomable exportations was met. As you can imagine it wasn’t always easy being so far from home. Yet I pushed myself, knowing that an opportunity like this only came once in a lifetime. A person in my life that I respect dearly once said the following about being an exchange student; “This person must be open-minded and understanding of cultural difference. This person must possess the initiative to bravely face the whole new world, but must walk with humility, or face rejection in the world. This person must be able to overcome fear, anxiety and his/her own shortcoming, and to persist when drowning in the depths of self doubt and insecurity. Finally, this person must embrace the fact that she/he must be an ambassador, whether or not she/he is comfortable in that role.” I can assure you I walked in humility as I misplaced words and struggled to integrate into the Argentine society. Fear, the fear to fit in on my first day of school, the fear to be liked by my family, the fear of not making friends; where soon to be overcome. And by becoming an ambassador I found true love for my country; the “melting pot” which brings us together. I can assure you at times it is not easy to represent such a controversially nation especially with our roots deeply planted into the history of Latin America. This same person concluded, “That the very fact that a person would voluntarily remove him or herself from the security of his or her own culture, context, and surroundings, is to be commended.” I don’t expect to be commended. On the contrary there are people I would like to commend. To the people that pushed me to pursue my dream, to my argentine friends and compeneros that were there for me in times of need, and to my families that made me a home away home. I cannot transcribe my year into a paper, nor will I attempt to. There isn’t a day that passes were I don’t find my mind drifting off to memories of summer nights in the countryside, cold winter afternoons sipping on warm mate with friends, backpacking through the mountains, participating in peace marches in memory of the deseparicidos, and dancing tango in the plaza as music blasted from old wooden speakers. Argentina will always be my second home; the remarkable adventure of my adolescence, and the missing place in my heart.

La Cumbre

The other day my Norwegian friend Emily and I decided to wake at dawn and take a bus to a town in the sierras of Cordoba called La Cumbre. The sun had yet to rise when I walked into the kitchen in the morning. I made sandwiches, cut fruit, and placed mate in my backpack, went outside and caught the bus to the terminal. La Cumbre is a two hour bus ride from the city. We decided to fill out thermos with water for mate. Note to self, scolding hot water on a bumpy bus ride is not recommended. Not only had we managed to spill mate all over the back of the bus but Emily sat on top of the pack of butter resulting in melted butter all over the seats and her pants. When the bus arrived at the terminal in La Cumbre we were anxious to get off before the driver noticed the mess we managed to make. We wanted to rent horses but after getting lost looking for the ranch and finding out it was 60 pesos an hour we concluded we were better off on foot. We headed back towards the town stopping by numerous restaurants asking if they could heat up the empanadas we had brought for our picnic. We ate lunch crossing the plaza on the riverside. I took out my notes to study for my geography test the next day but little concentration followed. We decided to go hike up the mountain to where a giant statue of Christ had been placed; similar to the one in San Palo Brazil (on smaller of scale obviously). You could see the entire town from where we stood. The houses all had a little English cottage look to them as a large population of Brits had immigrated here. We decided to continue hiking for about an hour when we came across another little river as well as some loose horses including a young foal. When the sun started to cast long shadows we decided we ought to start heading back towards the town. Back in town we came by a thrift store (something that almost NEVER exists in Argentina). We played around trying on Russian fur hats and leather bicker dresses. In the evening we took a bus back to Cordoba we ran into two Scottish girls and a young Irish backpacker. We all sat around sharing our traveling experiences in South America. It was the day I needed, fresh air, the country side, and good a friend.

The Pajama Party

The other night the girls in my class and I got together for a pajama party. I came prepared with pajamas and my cozy fuzzy green socks only to find out nobody else wore their pajamas. We made pasta I offered to make garlic bread. The whole time the girls made jokes about the bread. That they wouldn't be able to kiss their boyfriends for weeks, that garlic was retched and so on. In conclusion the bread was devoured before the pasta was served. During the night we watched movies and made popcorn (sweet and salty :) ) I can´t remember the last time I have had a good old sleepover like this. The ten of us slept two to each bed, three in the parents bed (who were out of town), and one on the couch. After a well rested 4 hours sleep we woke to watch Argentina play in the World Cup against South Korea. I was recruited to make a North American breakfast. The girls had done the grocery shopping the other day and had called every five minutes. “Brooke, how much butter do we need? Green or red bell peppers? You put cheese in the eggs!? “ We all piled up on the floor in front of the TV and cheered each time Argentina scored. Another successful game ending in 4 to 1. I forgot to mention the funniest part of this whole situation. The reason we were having a sleepover is because school didn't start till one the next day due to the soccer game. Can you believe it?! Only in Argentina do classes get cut for the World Cup events. Breakfast was an adventure from the moment it started and resulted in a lot of explaining. “Brooke this sauce is horrible on top of bacon.”...”thats maple syrup it goes on top of your pancakes dear.” We ate hash browns,pancakes,omelets,french toast, bacon, and a ton of fruit. The amazing part I managed to make everything with only one frying pan. The french toast was placed in the oven and omelets were made at the bottom of a large pot. Good food, good friends, good night.

Let the games begin!

The World Cup in South Africa has officially started. Weeks of preparation here in Argentina, street venders with flags, horns, hats, all decorated with patriotic colors of white and baby blue. Argentina was to play Nigeria at 11 this Saturday. I left walking to the gym at 10:30 everyone was rushing to get to a place where they could sit down and watch the game. As the entered the gym it was apparent there would be no waiting to use stationary bikes or weights today; it was empty. With first goal came cheering from other room where the owner of the gym sat watching soon followed by the honking of horns outside. As I left the gym the streets where empty, except for the group of guys watching the game from the kiosk across the street. Traffic had mingled down to nothing more than a little boy pedaling on a red bike carrying a flag larger than him. Store fronts closed. As I past the gas station all the workers were gathered around the television. The police had stopped in to get a glimpse of the game as well. Never had I seen such national spirit for a sport. Let the games begin!

Laughs

Yesterday a classmate wanted to call me sweetie pie, result muffin sweet :)

Fall

Northern Journey

The following are some photographs I took up north.....

Compeneros

I know I need to write about my journey up north, but I don’t have the motivation right now. I’d rather write you about my classmates. This year I changed classes; I wanted to study in the social studies sector of the school. It offered a class about history of the Argentine culture witch I knew I would only have the opportunity to study here. My new classmates are truly amazing! Last year my class was very divided within the group, and sort of cold. I still have my friends from the old class but each morning I can’t wait to go to school just to see my new compeñeros (classmates). We drink mate in each class; often between classes we the play the acoustic guitar and all sing a long. The Beatles always seem to be a hit, after all who doesn’t know we all live in a yellow submarine or here comes the sun. After school we get together at each others houses to have mate and criollos (a type of bread). They are all very unique, outgoing, and always
manage to bring a smile to my face. Gonzo the talented musician, reins over everyone with his height, he constantly loves to say random phrases in English; often vulgar that he learns from television. Juaco whose head is made up of dreadlocks is a talented artist even though he tries to hide it. Today I was feeling a little down and he came into the class shouting Baruk Baruk (Brooke) chocolate or vanilla he had bought to candy bars one for each of us. Juli is a an amazing dancer it reads as she walks. Fran is quite, an intellectual; he is going off to Germany next year to study. Ema, plays tennis he also offers great hugs. ¿Hey Che donde esta el mate? (hey where’s the mate?) That would be Javier who is always keeping track of who gets the next mate. I could talk for hours about the 30 of us and our adventures; but I’m sure I will bore you to death. For now I’m enjoying the little time we have together; and dreading the moment I will have to say
goodbye.

Birthday wishes...

This was a birthday wish from a firend that brought a smile to my face...
Being with you is a lot of fun
and now your age has got plus one
your hair is long, your dance is bad
but its ok; don't be sad
because Argentina is where you are
Riding free in a two stroy car
and thats ptreey good for a birthday, you know
so turn 17, you Denver- born hoe!

Friends Note

Sorry to everyone, for some reason I no longer can place photos on my blog. The option has somehow vanished when I click on "New Post". But any hew that doesn’t stop me completely from updating you on my adventures.
I recently returned from the North of Argentina with a group of exchange students. We traveled up through Mendoza, Salta, Juyjuy, La Rioja, Missiones, ect. I will add another post about our journey; but for the moment I would like to quote a passage a friend wrote in my travel journey. Dylan is a pretty cool kid; 18 and a young living hippy from Austin Texas. I know right, hippies exist in Texas?! That was my first impression. I’m pretty sure that is almost an oxymoron. Every moment with Dylan is sure to be an adventure; whether it be climbing mountains in the most southern city in the world to make a bonfire in the snow, or listening to his personal jam sessions on the acoustic guitar of old blues artist, or attempting to bring a little home to Argentina by making spicy chili and refried beans in a cabin Calafate. I have enjoyed our friendship over the year and like to share with you someone else’s outlook upon my year. ..
“So here is my response to your stimulating request that I write a sarcastic overview of our trip. Really the gift in that is just that ability to see truth exactly where you want to see it, and recognition is subjective to the point that just because because you think didn’t happen, doesn’t mean that it didn’t. You live your life that dies, and as I see it dead people don’t have to answer for stretching conventional reality a bit. So why not see the world as you think it looks best, not as they say it looks. The mountains, tree, lakes, people, and every little world within them are open to your own little mental manipulation so paint them any color you want because the moon looks a hella lot cooler in pink. That was a little bit of surrealist approach to the challenge, but is sort of rocks I think. If you really want to remember what we saw in our travels, then I’ll just say it was like mountains and water and shit. We really aren’t going that far away from each other in our grand trip back home, less now that this year has put distance into perspective. Bearing in mind that we live in the world, not just in the US, the distance in between us won’t be a good quarter of the country but just a short little leap in the globe, so I hope you will come visit me one day; and I’ll surely let you know if I ever find myself up in your parts.”

....

Well little update on my life since school has started. Last night was spent making five dozen chocolate chip cookies and two loafs of banana bread. Today I have my first photography exhibit and wanted to have a little North American treat to present my guests. The exhibit includes a collection of black and white portraits from here in Argentina and a few landscape shots. I have also started choir; I sing with one other girl soprano. All the songs are from Africa primarily South Africa (because this year the world cup is in South Africa). Ahhh I’m going to be late for my history of the argentine culture class. I will write soon! Besitos!

Jail cells and torture chambers became classrooms....

Last week was filled of events connecting back to my investigation over the Argentine dictatorship in result to the fact that 24^th  of March is a national holiday in memory of “El Golpe de El Estado”. Throughout the week at school videos were shown in the auditorium during lunch; each depicting a different child’s story that was born during the dictatorships kidnapped and placed in an illegitimate family. On Wednesday the students of Manuel Belgrano surrounded the balcony’s, gathered on the floors, and flooded the stairways as we paid honor the loss of classmates due the dictatorship.  An alumni of the school got up and spoke about his two friends that where disappeared from the school when the headmaster turned in names of students to the military; alleged terrorist that in fractured upon the state, otherwise known as 16 year-old children. The 10 photographs, black and white, dating back to the 1970´s hung below argentines celest blue flag, depicting the faces of the students. As the alumni told his story his tears quickly changed to anger “!Hijas de Putas!” (son of bicths!) in reference to the military. Hi anger could be easily justified but I found it inappropriate. That morning I had also passed a sign that read never forget nor forgive. What happened was horrible a clear violation of human rights. But these types of actions never result in peace. If Immaculee Llibagaza after being locked in a closet sized bathroom with 9 other women for 3 months during the Rwandan genocide was able to come out and face the man that slaughtered her family with forgiveness, what was the difference in this case? Not that I’m asking the same but anger will not bring vengeance. Off that subject for now… The 24^th I met with my friend to visit a detention center that was being opened into a museum. We boarded the busses in the morning that drove us to the outskirts of the city. In the morning only family members were allowed to enter. Students danced murga (a popular resistance dance originating from Bolivia spoken earlier about in my blog) Inside there was a photo exhibit and art work of children. After the detention center was closed it was turned into a school. Jail cells and torture chambers became classrooms. On the wall in the back where children played for recess was lined with hooks of where they would chain prisoners. On the same wall laid a hundred of small bullet holes. Families gathered with photos of their loved ones and family members. Around noon we headed back to Cordoba; we ate empanadas for lunch and got together with some other friends. At 6 we met up by the Cañada for the march. Tons of people gathered. NGO´s, families, university students. I gathered with my classmates. For about every five blocks we would crouch down repeating the names of the students followed by “presente!” At the end we would all run tearing through the streets to catch up with the parade. The parade ended with the city gathering in the Plaza de San Martin the masses were incredible. It was a once in a life time experience to participate in.

Darkroom

Film photography has always been seen to me as this raw beauty of an art form; an art form slowly demising due to our technologically developing society. In result I decided to go back to the basics. I picked an old Chinon thirty five millimeter camera and a role of black and white film. It took me nearly three months to finish the role. With film I found myself much more indecisive, the ability to instantly delete a photo when thought to be unsatisfactory was no longer available. At the same time it was most likely for the best.


Jose, started his photography career in 1950, he was 11 years old cleaned the floors of a darkroom studio. Today his carried out his passion for photography by opening up his own school. The two room studio hides away over the plaza de San Martin. The walls fainted paint reflects 1970s puke green. The first time we met I came to inquire about classes. We ended up talking for nearly two hours about photography. The following day I came with my role of film and photographic paper. The first day was spent developing my negatives. Sadly upon their development I found out that my camera had broken somewhere along the process. The role originally had 30 frames, on my 15th the frames images began to overlap as the film would not role. As big as a disappointment that was I still can’t explain to you the excitement of seeing those first 15 photos even if it was only a negative. I was so anxious to start developing that very moment but was faced with the fact that my negatives had to dry for 24 hours. So we called it a day and sat down to drink mate. Students passed in and out to say hello to Jose. I got to meet some very interesting people even a young guy that had worked in the ski resorts in Aspen.

The next day was hot even with the fan. It didn’t help our case that all the windows were closed to shut out the light. Jose helped me measure out the chemicals and place them into their proper bins. I cut various sheets of paper in to small squares to practice exposure times. After exposing my photos on an enlarger what is similar to a slide projector, I began dipping the paper into different chemicals. First the “revelado” for minute and 30 seconds, this is the most exciting moment for me as it is the first time your image appears on paper. Second the “detenido” for about 20 seconds at this point you can expose the picture to white light. Lastly “fijado” be sure that excess liquid are eliminated to ensure that there is no mixture of chemicals. I reproduced my first image three times with different filters increasing and decreasing the contrast. My first photo was a child in the arms of his father that I had taken downtown one day. I’m not going to lie I was overwhelmingly proud by the end of the day. I had always had more respect for film photographers and now it only became justified more.

Museo de la Memoria

People wondered down the alleyway that is nestled between the cathedral and tourist center heads gazed above as the black and white photos hung from light post to light post each portrait a victim of the argentine dictatorship. I stumbled upon this place by accident the day before. My good friend Maria and I were out exploring the city. We had heard that there was an underground Jesuit passage that laid under the main plaza of San Martin. Although successfully finding the entranceway we had arrived late and it was closed to our disappointment. On the left sat a building full of archives; I asked the women at the desk front where I might be able to come across some papers about the dictatorship. She began to draw me a little map out on a scrap of paper. Although I had crossed the Plaza of San Martin millions of times I had never stumbled across the museo de la memoria (the museum of the memory). The museum was closed by the time that we arrived but the office was still open. I explained to the women at the front desk about my 15 page paper I had written for school about the dictatorship and how I was looking to add to the paper. She looked at me with surprise; why was a 16 year old girl from the states investigating upon this touchy subject. And with her face full of curiosity followed her question that I could tell was already on her mind. I explained that I thought it was important for my society to know how our government had played a roll to assist the dictatorship and the ramifications of our foreign policy in Latin America. With my response a new sense of hospitality swept over she invited me to come back Thursday when new photographs would be hung. The next day I called two friends from school that had helped me a lot on the subject. Thursday we met on the cathedral steps, and shortly latter our eyes two where gazing up at the black and white photographs hung from light post to light post. The museum was a old detention center. Things for the most part where left the way they were found. Old papers sat in the desk drawer, cell chambers left ruminates of scratched messages. Newspaper articles where hung and poems could be found written on wall corners. In one room sat a TV a video of survivors and their stories replayed over and over again. Old stairs led to lightless basement chambers. And through an upstairs window the city could be seen. I could only imagine what it must have been like for the victims to look out that same window. While everything looked peaceful in the foreground an overwhelming sadness hung over the place. What really got me where the books families, loved ones, and friends had put together. Scrapbooks of victim’s life were full of photographs, notes, school papers, identification cards. Each told a story and at that point it was impossible to not to put a face to the 30,000 victims. Another room held old possessions an old electric scooter, records, a guitar, and clothing dating back to the 1970’s. Something about the dresses really stuck out at me as each was accompanied by a ticket of the person wearing it. Although I had read tons of books, watched documentaries, and had written the paper. A whole different emotion swept over me which reached a lot deeper than any story, book, or documentary.

The following photographs were put together by Gustavo Germano. The people missing in the pictures are victims of the Argentine dictatorship. These photographs speak louder the any words I could attempt to write.

Valentines Day

The other night I traveled to Unquillo with my two sisters. It’s a town outside the capital of Cordoba. Vale went to go visit her boyfriend Charlie and go out for dinner. The Lau and I went to a dinner concert where one of her friends Rawlfy plays in a band. The restaurant was set back in the woods on a dirt road. Upon arrival you had to walk across a little bridge and up the stairs past an old willow tree. The old stone building was set upon a hill; lights illuminated the garden at night. An eccentric cluster of tables formed a restaurant and a large painting of Frida Khalo hung on the wall where the band had set up to play. Things where tight even though there was only about twenty of us. I sat at a table with my sisters friends and we munched on pizza and empanadas. Music varied from Bob Marley, Mana, Jason Maraz, to BB King. The band consisted of three guys two who sang and played the guitar including our friend Rawlfy, and another who played the bongo drums and chimes. Our table was handed the mocarainas. We danced in what little space was available, it was a blast. It reminded me a lot of the Mercury café back home in Denver a bar and restaurant where friends I go to dance swing on Sunday nights. As we say here it had a muy Buena onda (translation a good essence). Not sure how to get back to the towns bus terminal we hitched a ride with a family that also attended the event. Seven packed in the little truck we took the back streets to avoid the police another Argentine adventure.

Family Number 3

I now reside with the Deptris family, in the quaint barrio of Lomas de San Martin on the north side of town. I have three siblings. Vale the youngest is 20; studies film and photography at the university. Her distinct haircut with a dreadlock in the back reflects her unique eccentric style. Here cleft note tattoo on her neck give away her passion for music; she sings and plays the guitar beautifully. She is currently teaching me the acoustic guitar. Marco is the only boy and 22, he is a little shy but I know that he likes to swim and that he loves pasta. He works with my father and mother who are architects and have their own business during the week and I don’t see a whole lot of him. He has started taking business classes at the university and would really like to do more management type of work. Lau has followed in her father’s footsteps and is now studying architecture as well; she also enjoys drawing and various crafts. She is currently making lamp shades out of yarn. My father is a dedicated Rotary member and just finished his term as president. He is also an artist and his work is hung throughout the house. My mother is a retired history teacher and now helps my father with his own business. Last but now least is Bernie our dog; a little mutt medium size who resides in the backyard. Oh wait I almost forgot the fish tank in the kitchen my dad’s personal hobby. I have never felt so at home with any of my families sadly I will only be here for a month. It’s a temporary situation until my third family gets home from vacations. So I’m working hard to enjoy the little time that I have.

Lip Stained Walls

My best friend Maria arrived in Cordoba the other week from Denver; she is here doing an independent project on dance and its influence in society. Wednesday evening we adventured out to our first tango class. Following the Cañada an old river that runs through the city we entered the art district; which is primarily occupied by hippies that vend their work on the street side and old antique stores bursting with vintage trinkets. The room began to fill, as the women took a seat to strap on their dance shoes. The sound of the ceiling fan was soon drowned out by the melody of tango music. We were told to rise and greeted by a kiss on the cheek. The dusty mirror, with a crack in the left had corner reflected the line of pupils from the other side of the room. We were ordered to walk, taking long strides back and forth across the dance floor we were taught the basic principles to tango. Afterwards, we were broken into groups of those who had tango experience and beginners. The teacher Marie told us to place our hands on the wall and practice a basic side turn front and back step. Concentrated on my feet I was oblivious to the lip stained imprint on the wall. As I begun to gain confidence I lifted my head catching a glance out of the corner of my eye. I wondered what could have been the story behind the imprint. Halfway through the class we took a break, even with the ceiling fans we couldn’t overcome the summer heat and resorted to dancing outside on the patio. I really felt as if I had tapped into the Argentine culture as the summer evening slipped into night. As a result of dancing bare footed my feet were stained black a slight reminder of the night’s activities.

Little Goodbye Notes…

A letter written to my friends Rani and Madi for their plane ride home to New Zealand…

Rani & Madi,

Its always sad to see friends off the un-longing fear of never crossings life’s paths again; but something tells me that I will find myself down under one day in New Zealand. The both of you cherish some of my fondest memories here in Argentina….star gazing in Calafate, tea cups and scrapbooked journals, the sweet sound of an acoustic guitar, and overwhelmingly large pots of pasta. Oh how the list goes on. As people turn the battered pages of my journal they always seem to encounter the picture of the six of us. I’m always more than delighted to tell the story of our friendship and our very distinct personalities. Lolly, the outgoing adventures one who’s laugh never seems to end. Rani, who serves as a constant reminder that true love, still exists. Lena, the kind & loving friend who you can always search refuge in or to provide a shoulder to cry upon. Francy, the quirky actress, who to all is secretly comic. Madi, who’s angel voice and mother mentality, can sing you to sleep. And me, somehow I fit into this contraption. We each fill the gaps, completing the other. As we set off on our different paths, we each offer something distinct in life. May we always remember the people Argentina taught us to be. Carry the valuable lessons you learned here wherever life might take you, as well as a cup of mate. May Argentina serve as a constant reminder of your young free spirited self. And as this letter comes to a close; I hope our friendship will not. Travel safely!

Besitos

Brookie

Christmas

For the last two weeks I had tried my hardest to create the Christmas spirit. I baked cookies on top of cookies, sewed stockings for my family, made a wreath; which unfortunately doesn’t work as well with palm leafs, and listened to Christmas music. Yet I failed in all my attempts; maybe it was the fact that I was walking around in shorts and t-shirt and dying from the summer sun; or the lack of or practically nonexistent Christmas lights. The only place that felt remotely like Christmas was the shopping malls were decorations could be found in ever store front window. The festivities began on the 24 as the entire family gathered in my grandmother’s house; there must have been around 35 of us. The food never ended a blend of Armenian and Argentine dishes took up three tables. Every aunt tried to make me feel comfortable while insuring me that I hadn’t tried there dish yet and stuffing a third helping down my throat. At midnight fireworks illuminated the sky, as well as little paper hot air balloons that would float away into the night until catching fire leaving a pile of ashes to float down. Considering that it was technically Christmas day at this time we gathered in the house to open gifts. The week before I had learned to sew and made almost all my gifts; embroidered towels, an apron, stockings ect… My favorite gift was a painting done by my young talented cousin of a gaucho on horseback riding off into the sunset; it now resides on my bedside table. Dessert lasted till around three in the morning when the elders started to head home. The younger generation got together with all the Armenian youth for another party. For the most part it included a lot of drinking (I not included) and horrible singing; the attempted Christmas carols came out as mumbles and screeches till 7 in the morning. The 25 is spent recuperating and sleeping till around noon. At lunch a small portion of the extended family met at my cousins to make pizza on the grill and swim. Another Christmas had passed by. Surely one the strangest I will probably ever take part in. Yet I loved it being surrounded by family something my childhood had lacked and breaking away from Americas materialistic Christmas was liberating. I had found the true Christmas spirit when I had given up looking for it.

Murga

The shouts of children rang over the crowd and the banging of the drums. Women sat in the grass under the shade of the summer trees painting the faces of the Murga dancers. Bright covered costumes which appeared to be remnants of whatever could be salvaged created a backdrop of color. Street venders moved their stands to the park center in hopes of profiting off the event. I sat in a circle in the grass with a group of friends and tried to take it all in. Murga a dance form originating from Uruguay has historic connections to movements of popular resistance. Originating from Uruguay’s dictatorship in the 1970’s groups such as the Araca de Cana used the dance as a form of protest. Now it is communally found during carnival a South American celebration.

The Lamp Post

For the most part Argentina’s dark history has been swept into a dustbin. Most choose to forget their collective grievances. But there times when 30,000 names cannot just be placed into a bag, tied to a brick and sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic like their bodies. Everyone is aware of what happened during Argentina’s dictatorship, the countless loss of loved ones, the oppression, and the torture. And for the most part I forget too. Only when I see an old green Ford Falcon the same used during the dictatorship am I reminded. I wonder who might have been blindfolded and thrown into the back seat. The other day I passed a lamp post; the disappeared person sign wouldn’t have aroused any suspicion if it wasn’t for the fact of how old the picture was. At first glance I didn’t cross my mind. Not until I saw the date reading 1976 printed on the bottom. These were no ordinary disappeared people these were those of Argentina’s dirty war. Crinkled and yellow they stood as a reminder to all, on the lonely street corner on a warm summer night.

The Thanksgiving Adventure

After talking to my good friend in Finland she convinced me that I should do something for Thanksgiving. So at 7:30 in the evening I set out to buy a chicken (The closest thing to a Turkey I could find). I’m pretty sure my last minute decision would be considered sacrilegious coming from a family where my father starts cooking two days in advanced. With a recipe for stuffing provided by my friend viva skype, I set out to make my first full chicken and thanksgiving dinner. The mashed potatoes took forever to cook. The broccoli was a little funky but yum. Asparagus accompanied the broccoli. The stuffing was my favorite part and considering I could barely hear my friend in Finland shouting the recipe at me it came out well. I also made a garlic cream sauce with mushrooms which my cousin devoured; and the chicken was a golden brown. At 9:30 all my cousins and I gathered in the kitchen. We opened a bottle wine and I explained to them the tradition of toasting to the things you were grateful for in life. Everyone was curious to what in the world we were celebrating for. I explained to them all about the pilgrims and the Native Americans, harvest season, and sitting around sharing a meal. Shortly latter I was asked if these were the same Native Americans my government had killed off shortly after. Which opened a whole other can of beans and a lot of explaining. My cousins contributed to the dinner by providing ice cream for dessert. I thought a lot of my family back home and what they were doing for the celebration. At the same time I was happier to be here in Argentina and share a little part of my culture with my new family.

The New Home

As time passes rapidly I now find myself living with my second host family. Cousins to my first host family they reside on the east side of the city. A lovely two story home with quaint little garden in the back to have asados (BBQs) in. They are Armenian Argentineans and living with them is sort of like the recreation of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, well of course except for the fact that they are Armenian. The whole family lives on the same block. My cousin and her boyfriend who is also Armenian live in the house in front of me. My aunt and uncle and their two children live in the house to out left which we share a wall with. My sister’s boyfriend lives 15 blocks away who is also Armenian. And not to forget the grandmother that lives ten blocks away. We are one block away from the street called Armenia and seven blocks from the Armenian school, church and club. All the Armenians’ took refuge in Argentina after the genocide and have now formed a large community. If there is one thing my mother loves to do it is to cook, I feel like we are always eating. The younger generation of cousins also get together a lot to eat. Saturday we had dinner together which started a 1:30 at night, might I add. We took a cardboard box and made a table in the grass. For chairs we cut up little pieces of cardboard. Sunday we gathered in the house of my cousins to the left with all their boyfriends and girlfriends and made pasta from scratch. It was real yum! My sister is named Silvina but everyone just calls her the Chili she is twenty four and very studious. She spent the last year working in New Zealand and traveling South East Asia. She is an English major. The back bedroom has been turned into a study were she teaches children English two times a week. My brother Simon is very adventures and enjoys all sorts of sports his favorite including sailing. He also helps my father with his shoe business; a common business for Armenians according to my first host mother. My father Juan is very proud of his Armenian heritage and gave a fifteen minute PowerPoint about Armenia upon my arrival. He also enjoys reading the back of the newspaper everyday where he intently scans the car section. My mother Patty lives for her cooking and also helps with the family business. I’m very content with my new family. I get the best of both worlds as I learn about Argentine and Armenian culture. Each new host family has something new to offer and a load of new memories to create. As much as I miss my first I know I will have the opportunity to visit a lot.

The Last Days of School

As the days got hotter students scrambled beneath the shade of the trees, our dreaded finals were around the corner. I had missed the past two and half weeks of school to travel to the south. I scrambled to study all my materials. At night I would take my papers and sit out in the grass using the street lamp as my light. Everyone was stressed at school. I was happy to see my classmates two and a half weeks felt like forever. I brought everyone back little seashells form Puerta Madryn. Here in Argentina when you finish your classes you have a two week period of finals. Each day you are given one test; you go to school for an hour and a half only. I was to pass my five materials… gym, history, geography, French, and English. History came easily to me. I scored an 80% on my last history test which came as a surprise considering I did better than most the students in my class; and due to the fact that I was able to talk about fascism and the ramifications of World War II all in Spanish. But I’ve always been sort of a nerd for History. Geography consisted more of history. I studied about populism in Latin America and the political, economic, and social connections of Latin America with capitalistic societies. Gym consisted of a volleyball game which I passed successfully. Everyone laughs when I say I choose gym for one of my 5 classes but I’m missing the credits due to the fact that gym is not offered at DCIS. I was surprised what I learned in English. It’s one thing when a language is your native tongue but to learn it from another perspective is very interesting. Often my classmates know more about the grammatical rules of English then I do, for me it just comes naturally. How I managed to pass French is beyond me; learning another language in another language is just about one of the most confusing things I have ever done. The students have three opportunities to take the finals. I passed all mine on the first try and am now on summer break till March. Originally I thought I would die of boredom but have been surprisingly busy. Everywhere I turn I have an invitation to do something. Tomorrow I will be heading to the main plaza to talk politics with a few classmates. We have set forth the topics to Cuba and communism as well as Hugo Chavez in Venezuela. Others might laugh, but I enjoy sipping warm mate from a bombilla and arguing politics with a group of friends a common pass time here in Argentina.

Southern Most Journey Continued

October 28, 2009
Upon boarding the bus everyone cuddled into their blankets and feel asleep. We woke to the passport control and boarder security to Chile. I have never gone through passport security so fast. Chile sort of looked like what I imagine Ireland to look like, green long grass, sheep, and cliff sides that lead out to the ocean. After about two hours of driving through Chiles Southern countryside we had to get out and board a ferry with the bus to cross over into the Tierra De Fuego, the Southern most province of Argentina. On the bus for lunch I ate canned peaches. We were very limited to what we could bring into the country. Within a few hours I was in the breathtaking mountains of Ushuaia. Upon arrival they brought us to a all you can eat Chinese buffet this time warning us not to get sick off the food.
October 29,2009
When I woke the next morning I was greeted by one of the most profound vistas in my life. The little town of Ushuaia stood on a hill side as the houses led down to the waterside. The snow top mountains created a little nest for the town and in the distance you could see Chile’s mountain range. The afternoon we had free to do as we like. A group of friends and I decided to take taxi’s up to the foot of a mountain. From there we hiked for about an hour on what was a deserted spring ski slope. At points bitter cold snow was up to our knees and quickly drenched our shoes. At the top was a small ski cabin and the end of the ski lift. We climbed into the ski lifts safety nets like hammocks. Latter we decided to start a campfire on the mountain side. We sat around singing songs as we struggled to keep or fire lit. The boys had decided to go see what was past timberline. You could see all of Ushuaia from our little hideout. When the sun began to set behind the mountain we headed back towards town. Shoes soaked and hands chilled we slid down the mountain side. It took us nearly half the time to get down. At the bottom we encountered a little tea house. Quaintly decorated like a doll house we gathered around a windowsill table as it began to snow and drank chocolate submarines.
October 30, 2009
We woke early; somehow we came up with the crazy idea to go swimming in the sea. After placing our bathing suits under our winter jackets we headed down to the port. It was just one of those things you have to say you did at the end of the world was our idea. By the time we got there the snow began to fall hard. I was already freezing. At this point there was no way I was going to go swimming. I guess that we just have to be one thing I didn’t do at the end of the world. In the afternoon we took a small bus to the national forest. The forest was green and lush similar to those of the east coast in the US. Our first stop was at an old train station and home to the southernmost prison in the world. The worst of the worst were sent here yet was closed in the 1950’s and now serves for a museum. Our second stop was the southernmost post office. A little shack that stood out on the waterside a green snow covered mountain side laid as its back drop. A little old man worked inside. On the back wall hung pictures of Che and Evita two national heroes, and in the right hand corner stood a little shrine of the virgin marry. We where each given our passports to get a special stamp from the southernmost post office. Our third stop was a beautiful lake covered in mist; you couldn’t see to the other side as things faded into the darkness. We sat and skipped rocks on the water side. Our final destination was the end of route three; a very famous route that travels from the tip of Alaska to the end of Argentina. In the night rotary took us to a bar restaurant like thing to celebrate Bernie’s 18th birthday.
October 31,2009
Today we woke early at four to drive to Esquel a town in the province of Santa Cruz. In the process we crossed back into Chile while leaving the Tierra de Fuego. The day was spent traveling on the bus. At night me and my friend Dylan could not sleep so we decided to pull some Halloween pranks on everybody. We placed sugar in the mouths of those who slept with their mouths open; glued paper to peoples face and to the leader’s bald spot. We also placed lotion on people’s hands and tickled their faces so that when they woke they whipped the lotion all over their faces.
November 1, 2009
Today we arrived in Esquel. It felt like a summer afternoon, we were greeted by a beautiful garden and little cabins. Lena and I ventured around taking pictures of the flowers and searching for a apple tree. The afternoon was spent in the grass with friends. Some wrote in their journals while others sunbathed and played the guitar. After everyone had showered we headed for the center where we bought stuff of make chocolate bananas for that nights campfire. We also bought a little cake and sat on the dusty sidewalk eating. As the Kiwis say it was real yum! We passed by a guacho an Argentine cowboy. We stopped him and asked to take pictures with him and his horse. I’m pretty sure he thought we were crazy. I still can’t get over how beautiful of a day it was. Here we were in sundresses as we looked out upon snow covered mountain tops. At night with a little bottle of Suzan’s rubbing alcohol we managed to start a fire. We cut open the bananas and placed chocolate inside and proceeded to roast them over the fire. Others soon began to gather around the fire side and we told scary stories through the night.
November 2, 2009
The next morning we loaded the bus for our journey to Bariloche. We ate breakfast in a cabin that also served as the receptionist’s home. I ate the best media lunas in my entire life (croissants direct translation half moons). Our arrival time was set for shortly before dinner. Bariloche is also nestled upon a mountain side the overlooks a lake. The street in front of our hotel was very similar to that of Lombard in San Francisco as it winded down to the waterside. At dinner another group of students began to cheer. “Oh o oh bari bari bariloche”. When students complete their secondary schooling in Argentina they travel to Bariloche for a little over a week to celebrate. To some extent it’s like Las Vegas. That night we went out dancing the place was packed as students from all over Argentina gathered
November 3, 2009
We woke in time for lunch the next day. We were one of the last groups there. We would have most likely slept through it if it wasn’t for the fact that Rocia came knocking on our door. The day was spent visiting the little town. Bariloche is famous for its chocolate and we stopped in all the little stores for samples.
November 4, 2009
The next day we drove around the city and to various lookouts. Rain sprinkled a little as we looked out onto Bariloches waterside. In the middle of the lake stood little green islands. I feel in love with the scenery and wish we had more time to go hiking. In the afternoon we drove to San Martin de Los Andes. We took a scenic route called the Seven Lakes. It took a lot longer but it was gorgeous. We stopped to take pictures at many of the lakes. We were supposed to have a picnic at one but do to the snow we ended up having our picnic on the bus. San Martin de Los Andes also sat on a lake side. We stayed in a little hotel on the southern part of the town. It was really cue. The bathroom was all one piece of plastic from the cling to the floor it sort of felt like a airplane. We walked around town taking pictures and drinking tea with friends. We ran into a interesting couple from France that had traveled all over the world and stopped to talk. Our final night was spent gathering with friends and reminiscing about all our adventures during the trip. I was sad to see the trip come to an end. But I made great new friends, traveled to far off places, and a handful of memories that I will forever store close to my heart.

The Southern Most Journey

The last week I was pulled out of class and asked to proceed to the front office. I sat and tried to think what I could have possibly done wrong. As I entered the office guided by a friend a wave of fear came over me. I was directed to a telephone. On the other side of the line was Marta from Rotary. What came next left me speechless, she informed me that the Rotary club had all pitched in to pay for my trip to the South of Argentina and Chile, with all the other exchange students. I was in utter shock with an overwhelming feeling of greatness. She informed me that the trip was departing the next day and that I needed to work fast to get paperwork signed. I was still in shock as I tried to take in all she was telling me. Shortly after we hung up I looked over at the school sectary and gave her a huge hug. I’m pretty sure she is afraid of me now. My friend was looking at me all weird as well but I was just so overwhelming happy. I proceeded home to prepare my things. I’m not going to lie I cried sitting there alone on the bus. I just couldn’t believe how fortunate I had been.
The next day all the exchange students from the provinces of Cordoba and Catamarca met in the center suitcases in hand packed full of sweaters and scarf’s we were set out for the South. These next seventeen days would end up being some of my life’s best memories, but little did I know. We would travel through two countries and over 8,500 km. A group of girls from New Zealand (which I would latter befriend) had laid out an extensive photo scavenger hunt including things such as…
· Dance tango on the roof of a car
· By something at a Kiosko (convenient store) and give it back as a gift to the person behind the counter
· Make a meal in a restaurant
· Ride in a garbage truck
· Supporting gay rights (be creative)
· A sign in Spanish that means something funny in your native language
This list went on for over 200 items and provided us with endless fun throughout the trip.
The following our excerpts from my travel diary ….
October 22, 2009
Coming to you from our little apartment in Puerto Madryn, my roommate from New Zealand lolly’s angel like voice rings over the sweet sound of a acoustic guitar. The atmosphere is very tranquil. I’m so thankful to be here; I don’t think I will every truly be able to express my thanks to Rotary. Today I woke up on the bus and was greeted by the barren Patagonian land. We pulled into Peninsula Valdez around lunch time, a little town which bases its economy of whale watching. The ocean fog formed a blanket over the town. We ate lunch in a little café on the cloudy beach side. Afterwards I ran down to the beach to soak my feet and take pictures. Forty Five of us crammed onto a boat in our stylish orange safety vests; we were off to see whales. As the boat began to pick up speed the cold Atlantic water splashed across my face. The water was dark making it difficult to spot the whales, but as they came up to breech for air the whole boat stood there in amazement. We even spotted an albino whale which was very interesting. The feeling that comes over you when you are surrounded by such large beings is indescribable; it’s hard to believe that we share the same earth. The wind was not to obad but with the splashes of salt water a bitter chill began to form. Latter in the afternoon we arrived in Puerto Madryn were we were each given keys to our little apartments. We all took some time to relax and prepare for dinner, which included an involuntary ice cold shower…
October 23, 2009
Today we woke early and prepared for breakfast a word that virtually does not exist in Argentina. We were off to see the sea lions in Peninsula Valdez. The natural reserve was about three hours from Puerta Madryn. Upon entering the bus everyone cuddled up and went back to sleep. We stopped half way through the journey at and overlook were both sides of the Peninsula could be spotted. Let me tell you now sea lions are some of the funniest animals I have ever seen. A baby sea lions sneeze is just about the cutest thing I have ever seen. ….That night after dinner a group of friends and I were sitting around talking in the restaurant after everyone else had left, when another group of friends entered. Originally there was an extra excursion on the trip to hike the Moreno Glacier in Califate. I didn’t think many others were going to do it because of the extra cost; but I guess me and a girl from Germany were the only ones. In result the entire group pitched in so we could participate. Now I really couldn’t get over how unfortunate I was. I hugged everyone but when I got to my friend Lena all I could do was cry.
October 25, 2009
The morning started early as the bus rolled up to a little roadside café. Little motivation was collected from the group to get off the bus, we were all still about half awake. I decided after lasts night’s events of getting sick over cold empanadas it was probably a safe idea to skip breakfast. Upon retreat to the bus I quickly fell back asleep and within forty five minutes I woke to the distant view of snow covered mountains. As we descended from the mountain side into the little town of Califate Argentina’s European influence became more and more apparent. We were given two hours to explore the little village but I felt very week and ill. For lunch we ate all you can eat Chinese food, which I found out we would be eating for the next six days in Califate and Ushuaia, lunch and dinner. If you think Americanized Chinese food is interesting you need to try Argentinianized Chinese food. Dumplings are rather empandas in disguise. We stayed in little “A” frame cabins just outside the main city plaza. I cooked the worst crepes in my life that night. I don’t know what it was but no matter how hard I tried they would just fell apart. Sadly the reason behind making them was to say thank you too the group for all chipping in; although they seemed to enjoy them whether or not they resembled a crepe.
October 26, 2009
With a bucket of pasta in hand which me and my friend had made the night before for dinner we boarded the bus. Looking out the bus window I watched the green landscape drip with snow. I was surprised to still have been in Argentina, it’s not exactly what you think of when you think South America. I was unprepared for how cold it was as we descended from the bus in front of the Moreno Glacier. I have never seen such a vibrant blue in nature before as I stood out over an overlook. Tourist from all over came to see the glacier. Standing down at a lower point I heard a large crack in the ice and a huge chunk fell into the cold water creating an enormous splash. Everyone stood in silence. We were given two hours to explore the glacier which I utilized to take photographs. Upon retreat to our cabins that afternoon we prepared for tea time in our little “A” frame cabin, an Argentine ritual. In the evening we walked to the grocery store to buy supplies to make fried rice for tomorrow afternoon. We spent the night relaxing and chopping veggies for our huge pot of fried rice.
October 27, 2009
In the morning we finished cooking our fried rice. We made a ton of rice but still managed to devour it all upon our arrival. We boarded a boat to which took us to the other side of the lake. On the other side we were greeted by a gorgeous spring forest. We hiked through the forest and across the lakes beach side to the glacier front. We were each given spikes to place on the bottom of our shoes called “cramp-ons”. It was hard to walk in them and they cut into the back of my feet causing them to bleed, but I was too preoccupied to care. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the ice, the snow covered mountains to my left and the green mountain side to my right were a waterfall trickled down from, not to forget the beautiful lake that stood in front of me. I knelt down and drank the water from the glacier, it was very cold and refreshing. At the end of the trek we came to a little table and chairs which had been set up on the glacier. We were each given cookies and whisky served with glacier ice. That night we cooked a cake for my good friend Antoine’s eighteenth birthday. We wrote his name in Rocklets (AKA M and M’s) on the front and took and old carrot and stuffed it with matches for a candle. The carrot was quite gross I’m not going to lie, you can imagine how soft it must have been for us to be able to stick matches into it. Latter in the night a group of friends and I dragged our blankets into the grass to star gaze. We were leaving Califate at four in the next morning and didn’t see the point behind trying to sleep.
To be continued….