Today I am promoting myself from the starting rank of “Nanny” to that of “Key Master.” The title “teacher” is not yet appropriate (if ever) since teaching is not always on the agenda. But today, I am proud to say I am exactly what the title describes and I kept order pretty damn well for it only being my 6th day at el comedor.
The day started with only six younger kids and I read them a story. While a few lost interest about halfway through, they respected the other’s choice to listen and played quietly in a corner.
A small riot started formulating shortly after lunch had started. A group of 13 boys kept stealing plastic fruit and throwing it around. They then removed a few tomatoes from the top shelves and were throwing those as well. Today, I had come prepared. I told them all toys had to stay inside the classroom, and if they were going to wreak havoc, I had to use my greatest weapon—a lock and key. I had bought the lock this weekend just in case, hoping that I wouldn’t have to use it during lunchtime. But they left me no other choice. So I locked the classroom gate—no one could go inside. A few did try and climb up the gate, but after a few sterns “NO”s and help from a few mothers, everything quieted down, and I ate my lunch peacefully.
After lunch, the gang of boys didn’t come back—so I was back to my regular group of girls with a handful of younger boys. We played cards and drew pictures, but when the mothers wanted to clean the classroom floor we headed for the hills. I had also come prepared with a soccer ball in case something like this would occur. So, we walked across the street and played on a field with two small goals posted at either side. I attempted to form teams, but it ended up being the boys playing, the girls watching or following me around, and me trying to stop any shots the boys kicked my way. We took a few breaks to get some water—it was way too sunny and hot for little boys like Papelito running around without water. Papel had to have been a favorite today. Although he has a horrible habit of wanting to play with any cards in the classroom, and does so by throwing them around—but all morning, he kept asking about the soccer ball, wanting to know when we would play. During the game this little 3-year old would run as fast as his little legs would carry him. Luckily, with a little encouragement, the older boys were patient with him and let him kick the ball every so often. It was too precious.
Eventually the girls started complaining about being bored. I guess they’ll play soccer, but only if the boys aren’t there, since they hog the ball. So, I ended the game, much to the disdain of the boys and we went back to el comedor for water and a clean classroom.
I spent the rest of the afternoon organizing the endless types of cards (math flash cards, alphabet cards, animal flash cards, English phrases, etc), with the wonderful help of a few girls. The others played quietly with cards, drawing or if you were Papelito, you would persistently come up to me with a different set of cards asking if I wanted to play.
Overall, it was a successful day. My new plan is to organize at least one game each day—anything from organized drawing, to teaching English, to soccer, just to keep the kids attention for at least an hour. That should be counted as an accomplishment. For that, I feel “leader” is appropriate enough.
Also, I’ve become more accustomed to each child’s accent and use of words, so I actually understand what they are saying.
As a sidenote, the election results were announced last night. Each province in Argentina gets 3 Diputados Nacionales. The winners were Yarade, Wayar, and Ohlmedo (the first two aren’t a surprise, but I’d never heard of the third). It appears this election was a great victory for democracy. Four parties have substantial roles throughout the country, where normally it is just two. However, this complicates matters when it comes to changing laws, as there will be so many more opposing perspectives.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Keep Truckin'
Not having regular access to modes of communication since I’ve been in Argentina has brought to light a few things. First, our generation was raised with consistent stimuli, especially with regards to technology. Growing up, we had television, radio, movies, computers, CD players, ipods, GameBoys, Tamagachis, Nintendo, and the list goes on. If we got bored with one stimulus, we would simply move onto something else. This illustrates two main points. First, it shows the impressive advancement of technology over a short period of time (Thomas Edison would be proud). However, it also demonstrates our generation’s inability to deal with “down time.” Periods of time in which we literally have nothing to do—and thus we either make something of it or enjoy the quiet time.
Here, I do not have a cell phone, nor do I have friends to call to hang out. I do not have regular Internet, so my emails are written beforehand until I gain access to send them all. I do not have the option of exploring the net, watching youtube videos or playing computer games. My host family doesn’t have cable, so we have a total of two channels. Public TV and Channel 11 which has news, stupid game shows (I hate “Justo a Tiempo” and “El Ultimo Pasajero”), some movies, lots of soap operas and at 6pm on weekdays they show the Simpsons. That’s it. I can’t flip through the channels.
I’ve used this down time for various things. Primarily, to sit, drink tea, and chat with my host family. I’ve also walked quite a bit around the city, trying my best to ignore the persistent staring and whistling. I can’t change being a white girl with blue eyes. In a city like Salta, I stand out. I clean the dishes, read, play with Flor, or just sit and think. If asked what I did that day, I’d probably say nothing. It was relaxing and it didn’t burn my brain cells as I’m told watching too much TV can do. It was “down time.”
However, those few moments of connection with my “other” world, better known as the U.S., send a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. I love being able to skype with my family and Jon and be kept up to date, but it also reminds me of my moments of loneliness, and the challenge that is actually in front of me…being in Argentina, working at a soup kitchen, keeping order with the kids, not being near the people I care for most. I try not to think about what I miss, because it only makes the day harder. Living in the moment keeps me being optimistic.
I plan to make the most of my time in Argentina, but it is still the beginning. I feel I’ve reached the lowest point of the traveler’s parabola. I’ve passed the moment of nervous excitement upon arrival and am still feeling the symptoms of culture shock and helplessness.
My DukeEngage proposal had so many ideas. The main one being to organize a framework for future volunteers so they are more efficient and el comedor benefits more each time. However, I’ve come to realize this may not be possible. My ideas for the kids have all gone up in smoke and I need to recreate my “plan.” My new plan is to not have a plan—however convoluted that sounds.
I feel useless and helpless. The last volunteer that was working at el comedor left in February. They’ve had no one here for over 3 months. It’s no wonder it doesn’t stay organized.
Things will improve. I hope. I just have to keep truckin’.
Here, I do not have a cell phone, nor do I have friends to call to hang out. I do not have regular Internet, so my emails are written beforehand until I gain access to send them all. I do not have the option of exploring the net, watching youtube videos or playing computer games. My host family doesn’t have cable, so we have a total of two channels. Public TV and Channel 11 which has news, stupid game shows (I hate “Justo a Tiempo” and “El Ultimo Pasajero”), some movies, lots of soap operas and at 6pm on weekdays they show the Simpsons. That’s it. I can’t flip through the channels.
I’ve used this down time for various things. Primarily, to sit, drink tea, and chat with my host family. I’ve also walked quite a bit around the city, trying my best to ignore the persistent staring and whistling. I can’t change being a white girl with blue eyes. In a city like Salta, I stand out. I clean the dishes, read, play with Flor, or just sit and think. If asked what I did that day, I’d probably say nothing. It was relaxing and it didn’t burn my brain cells as I’m told watching too much TV can do. It was “down time.”
However, those few moments of connection with my “other” world, better known as the U.S., send a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. I love being able to skype with my family and Jon and be kept up to date, but it also reminds me of my moments of loneliness, and the challenge that is actually in front of me…being in Argentina, working at a soup kitchen, keeping order with the kids, not being near the people I care for most. I try not to think about what I miss, because it only makes the day harder. Living in the moment keeps me being optimistic.
I plan to make the most of my time in Argentina, but it is still the beginning. I feel I’ve reached the lowest point of the traveler’s parabola. I’ve passed the moment of nervous excitement upon arrival and am still feeling the symptoms of culture shock and helplessness.
My DukeEngage proposal had so many ideas. The main one being to organize a framework for future volunteers so they are more efficient and el comedor benefits more each time. However, I’ve come to realize this may not be possible. My ideas for the kids have all gone up in smoke and I need to recreate my “plan.” My new plan is to not have a plan—however convoluted that sounds.
I feel useless and helpless. The last volunteer that was working at el comedor left in February. They’ve had no one here for over 3 months. It’s no wonder it doesn’t stay organized.
Things will improve. I hope. I just have to keep truckin’.
Mini Paradise
I was told Salta had a steady flow of tourism, even though now is not tourist season. I had yet to encounter many tourists or go to any of the popular sites. I decided to explore the gondola that takes you up to the top of one of the mountains surrounding Salta. From it, I could see that Salta is directly in the center of a circle of mountains. On top of the mountain I encountered a mini paradise. Despite the cold weather, there were beautiful trees and flowers, and stretches of grass and gardens. As you walked around, you were enveloped in waterfalls. The aroma was a mix of fresh water mist and freshly cut grass.
Now there is a staircase that runs completely up the mountain. It starts at the monument of Guemes (Salta’s hero) and ends at the gondola and statue of St. Bernardo. I felt walking down the stairs might be a better challenge than attempting to go up especially since I’m not yet accustomed to the high altitude, and was tired and out of breath from just riding the gondola. On the trek down, I passed many brave individuals who were walking up the hill, as well as a different icon every 50 steps or so. These little houses had an image illustrating part of Jesus’ crucifixion. When put together, the pictures told the entire story. Unfortunately, they had been wrecked by political graffiti and “Leo te amo, --Raquel.” But it still sufficiently demonstrates the existence and importance of Christianity since over 90% of Argentinians are Catholic.
Now there is a staircase that runs completely up the mountain. It starts at the monument of Guemes (Salta’s hero) and ends at the gondola and statue of St. Bernardo. I felt walking down the stairs might be a better challenge than attempting to go up especially since I’m not yet accustomed to the high altitude, and was tired and out of breath from just riding the gondola. On the trek down, I passed many brave individuals who were walking up the hill, as well as a different icon every 50 steps or so. These little houses had an image illustrating part of Jesus’ crucifixion. When put together, the pictures told the entire story. Unfortunately, they had been wrecked by political graffiti and “Leo te amo, --Raquel.” But it still sufficiently demonstrates the existence and importance of Christianity since over 90% of Argentinians are Catholic.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Miguel
Miguel is more of a free spirit. Even Laura talks about how he has no cares in the world. He’s almost best described as an indigenous Argentinean hippy. Coming from an indigenous background, he does stone carvings that tell stories. He loves poetry and is a member of a poetry group where they read their recent work. His spiritual leader is Señor Li, who runs the Tai Chi class, but also has a group of followers in Taoism. He loves talking about what he knows—especially about different types of art and music. He’ll attempt to sing various songs by American artists. This morning, he started belting out “Angie” by the Rolling Stones.
His friends are all painters, photographers, artists, etc. Miguel believes that they have all left the “system.” The system is doing the same thing every day and living by other’s people lives instead of your by your own desires and wishes. He thinks there is too much going on in the world to be happy with just one thing—one needs to escape the “regular” schedule created by society and culture.
I often hear Laura and Miguel bickering about responsibilities. Miguel always has his head in the clouds and Laura gets frustrated. Also, every Wednesday and Thursday Miguel leaves to go to the neighboring province Jujuy to visit his 10-year old son from his previous marriage. Laura understands Miguel needs to visit his son regularly, and almost enjoys this time to clean up the house and keep it clean! She always says Flor takes after her father by making a mess and leaving it.
Miguel is also fascinated with other cultures. Whenever the Argentinean news comes on, he asks how it relates to the U.S., or what is happening in the U.S., or what did I think about it.
This morning, he showed me Spanish haikus and talked about Japanese poetry and its connection to various South American authors. We also took a long walk to the Museum of Anthropology. I didn’t have time to walk inside, but during the walk we talked about what it means to be human. If people are instinctually greedy, power hungry, and crude, or if everyone internally believed in peace and wanted to solve conflicts instead of create them. Every thing has a counterpart, and one must realize that you can’t have one without the other. According to Miguel, just because there is war and killing, in the end, it doesn’t matter, because overall people want peace. Especially, people need to take the time to stop and think before acting on impulse. People normally feel anger in specific instances, not over a continuous period of time. For that reason, he feels people are naturally willing to find harmony.
He’s an interesting character—with so many interests, thoughts, and opinions. But he does love to talk. Often at dinner, he’ll be blabbering about something and Laura will look at me and roll her eyes. Ah true love!
His friends are all painters, photographers, artists, etc. Miguel believes that they have all left the “system.” The system is doing the same thing every day and living by other’s people lives instead of your by your own desires and wishes. He thinks there is too much going on in the world to be happy with just one thing—one needs to escape the “regular” schedule created by society and culture.
I often hear Laura and Miguel bickering about responsibilities. Miguel always has his head in the clouds and Laura gets frustrated. Also, every Wednesday and Thursday Miguel leaves to go to the neighboring province Jujuy to visit his 10-year old son from his previous marriage. Laura understands Miguel needs to visit his son regularly, and almost enjoys this time to clean up the house and keep it clean! She always says Flor takes after her father by making a mess and leaving it.
Miguel is also fascinated with other cultures. Whenever the Argentinean news comes on, he asks how it relates to the U.S., or what is happening in the U.S., or what did I think about it.
This morning, he showed me Spanish haikus and talked about Japanese poetry and its connection to various South American authors. We also took a long walk to the Museum of Anthropology. I didn’t have time to walk inside, but during the walk we talked about what it means to be human. If people are instinctually greedy, power hungry, and crude, or if everyone internally believed in peace and wanted to solve conflicts instead of create them. Every thing has a counterpart, and one must realize that you can’t have one without the other. According to Miguel, just because there is war and killing, in the end, it doesn’t matter, because overall people want peace. Especially, people need to take the time to stop and think before acting on impulse. People normally feel anger in specific instances, not over a continuous period of time. For that reason, he feels people are naturally willing to find harmony.
He’s an interesting character—with so many interests, thoughts, and opinions. But he does love to talk. Often at dinner, he’ll be blabbering about something and Laura will look at me and roll her eyes. Ah true love!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Teachers deserve more credit
Today, Valeria came to el comedor. I realized just how crippled I am at gaining control and order there because of my Spanish speaking ability (or lack thereof). With 15 minutes, Valeria had kids cleaning up voluntarily, playing quietly in corners, and cleaning up after themselves. There was no throwing of paper airplanes, or screaming, or fighting. She made it look so easy.
The kids have talked about the past volunteer here. I found out she was a 31-year-old from Ireland who was a teacher and didn’t know a word of Spanish. While her Spanish skills were very minimal, she knew how to control kids en masse.
I understand I have yet to receive the professional training of a teacher and realize we never give our teachers enough credit for the crap they have to put up with, so I am not necessarily at fault for how difficult it is to keep order. That takes a little bit of the pressure off…but again, my perfectionist personality wants more and can’t settle for “okay.”
Hopefully as my Spanish improves, my adapting skills and awareness of which actions to use to control the kids behavior will improve as well.
The kids have talked about the past volunteer here. I found out she was a 31-year-old from Ireland who was a teacher and didn’t know a word of Spanish. While her Spanish skills were very minimal, she knew how to control kids en masse.
I understand I have yet to receive the professional training of a teacher and realize we never give our teachers enough credit for the crap they have to put up with, so I am not necessarily at fault for how difficult it is to keep order. That takes a little bit of the pressure off…but again, my perfectionist personality wants more and can’t settle for “okay.”
Hopefully as my Spanish improves, my adapting skills and awareness of which actions to use to control the kids behavior will improve as well.
Laura
Laura is a prime example of completing changing her life around in less than a month. At age 25, Laura lived alone in Buenos Aires. She worked from Monday to Monday, no breaks. Her life was work. She had all the up-to-date technology, with Internet (cable and wireless), a laptop, a computer, a telephone, a cell phone. She wore marked clothing—not so much because she cared about the icons, but because she made plenty of money, and living alone, what else would it go towards?
One day, she broke her right wrist. During the week, she was a physical education teacher, but with a broken wrist, she obviously couldn’t work. She also couldn’t type on her computer or do anything she normally did. Working at such a fast pace, it wasn’t until this broken wrist that she was forced to sit and think. She realized this type of life was too fast, too stressful, too much. Her material things were holding her down, and she wasn’t happy.
She decided to rent her apartment. The same day she put it up for rent, someone took it. She had 15 days to move out. Within those 15 days, she traveled to Salta, rented a small house, packed all of her belongings, and moved in. In Salta, you don’t get a job through interviews and a resume. You get a job through connections with friends and family. So, Laura started her own clothing line, making jackets and sweaters. She also fixed clothes and made jewelry of all sorts. Six years ago she met Miguel and has been with him ever since. At age 42, Flor became the newest addition to her life.
Now, here in Salta, she does have her own home, and a child, and a job, but the pace at which she runs her life has reserved entirely. Her friends said she’d be back in Buenos Aires in a month. She wasn’t. They often ask her to come back, but she hasn’t. This complete turn around completely changed her outlook on life, and for the better. She could never imagine going back to the fast paced life in Buenos Aires.
This is similar to the beliefs in some forms of Buddhism, to minimize one’s connections with material things and simplify one’s life.
One day, she broke her right wrist. During the week, she was a physical education teacher, but with a broken wrist, she obviously couldn’t work. She also couldn’t type on her computer or do anything she normally did. Working at such a fast pace, it wasn’t until this broken wrist that she was forced to sit and think. She realized this type of life was too fast, too stressful, too much. Her material things were holding her down, and she wasn’t happy.
She decided to rent her apartment. The same day she put it up for rent, someone took it. She had 15 days to move out. Within those 15 days, she traveled to Salta, rented a small house, packed all of her belongings, and moved in. In Salta, you don’t get a job through interviews and a resume. You get a job through connections with friends and family. So, Laura started her own clothing line, making jackets and sweaters. She also fixed clothes and made jewelry of all sorts. Six years ago she met Miguel and has been with him ever since. At age 42, Flor became the newest addition to her life.
Now, here in Salta, she does have her own home, and a child, and a job, but the pace at which she runs her life has reserved entirely. Her friends said she’d be back in Buenos Aires in a month. She wasn’t. They often ask her to come back, but she hasn’t. This complete turn around completely changed her outlook on life, and for the better. She could never imagine going back to the fast paced life in Buenos Aires.
This is similar to the beliefs in some forms of Buddhism, to minimize one’s connections with material things and simplify one’s life.
Resolutions
I am a very organized individual. I keep lists and like to know what I have to do, schedule appropriately, and complete everything way in advance whenever possible. Often, being extremely organized is seen as a positive character trait, however it does carry with it a lot of stress if things don’t go right or as I had planned.
During the past two years, each New Year I’ve set between 1-2 reasonable resolutions. One normally involves exercising more regularly, which never holds out for very long. However, the second somehow relates to my personality and ways to improve myself as an individual. I always used to consider myself a very pessimistic person because I hate to be disappointed. My resolution two years ago was to be more optimistic and find the good things in life, however big or small. With help from those close to me, and my own motivation to improve my outlook on life, I have kept up with this resolution relatively well (and I’ve been told by family and friends as well that I’ve improved).
My resolution this past year was to keep up with being optimistic. But I want another challenge that parallels the one I currently have. My adventure here in Salta seems to serve a purpose beyond helping the community here, and has introduced another resolution for me. Reduce my stress. One way of doing so is accepting life as it comes, especially when I can’t control it or organize it to my liking.
People say the first step to changing a problem, is admitting you have a problem. Now, being organized isn’t a problem and it’s a part of who I am, but the amount of stress I consistently carry with me is a problem.
Salta runs on a different clock then the life I’m used to. El comedor has no schedule, and I must adapt accordingly. I must accept that I leave every morning unaware of what I’ll have in front of me, and must adjust to what I’m given. That way, the day will not become stressful or frustrating, but will be seen as another adventure and as opportunity to remind myself that there will always be times in your life that you aren’t prepared and you have to accept it.
During the past two years, each New Year I’ve set between 1-2 reasonable resolutions. One normally involves exercising more regularly, which never holds out for very long. However, the second somehow relates to my personality and ways to improve myself as an individual. I always used to consider myself a very pessimistic person because I hate to be disappointed. My resolution two years ago was to be more optimistic and find the good things in life, however big or small. With help from those close to me, and my own motivation to improve my outlook on life, I have kept up with this resolution relatively well (and I’ve been told by family and friends as well that I’ve improved).
My resolution this past year was to keep up with being optimistic. But I want another challenge that parallels the one I currently have. My adventure here in Salta seems to serve a purpose beyond helping the community here, and has introduced another resolution for me. Reduce my stress. One way of doing so is accepting life as it comes, especially when I can’t control it or organize it to my liking.
People say the first step to changing a problem, is admitting you have a problem. Now, being organized isn’t a problem and it’s a part of who I am, but the amount of stress I consistently carry with me is a problem.
Salta runs on a different clock then the life I’m used to. El comedor has no schedule, and I must adapt accordingly. I must accept that I leave every morning unaware of what I’ll have in front of me, and must adjust to what I’m given. That way, the day will not become stressful or frustrating, but will be seen as another adventure and as opportunity to remind myself that there will always be times in your life that you aren’t prepared and you have to accept it.
Elections
I was wrong. There aren’t only six or seven candidates for Diputado Nacional. There are twenty-four. Twenty-four! And you can only vote for one!
And how candidates take advantage of the poor is done in the most obnoxiously crude and visible way possible. The “top” candidates are normally those who have a lot of money and can pay for an extensive amount of advertising. I can’t walk down the street without seeing hundreds of posters for some guy named Yarade—“Con Vos, Con Urtubey, Por Salta” is the slogan (Urtubey is Salta’s governor). Every single television advertisement is either about a candidate, the up and coming TV show, or cellular phone service. I’m curious to see what happens on TV when Election Day is finally over.
On Election Day, to guarantee that people vote, these individuals drive to the poorer neighborhoods and take the residents on a “field trip” to the voting booths. The candidates walk these people up to the booth, whisper their name in their ear, and escort them back to the neighborhood after they’ve voted. And that’s how they win. Rigging? It should be.
And to top it all off, voting is obligatory. Valeria told me that most people here don’t really care when it comes to voting, but when they don’t vote, it just goes to the majority. So the winner is whoever can ship enough Argentineans to the voting booths and then use the apathetic population to win on a landslide. Absurd.
Now that it is late in the week, with only 3 days until Election Day, the advertising is even more annoying. Every child at el comedor had a pile of pamphlets from various candidates. At the city’s center, there were computers set up for each candidate to vote early and show your loyalty.
And how candidates take advantage of the poor is done in the most obnoxiously crude and visible way possible. The “top” candidates are normally those who have a lot of money and can pay for an extensive amount of advertising. I can’t walk down the street without seeing hundreds of posters for some guy named Yarade—“Con Vos, Con Urtubey, Por Salta” is the slogan (Urtubey is Salta’s governor). Every single television advertisement is either about a candidate, the up and coming TV show, or cellular phone service. I’m curious to see what happens on TV when Election Day is finally over.
On Election Day, to guarantee that people vote, these individuals drive to the poorer neighborhoods and take the residents on a “field trip” to the voting booths. The candidates walk these people up to the booth, whisper their name in their ear, and escort them back to the neighborhood after they’ve voted. And that’s how they win. Rigging? It should be.
And to top it all off, voting is obligatory. Valeria told me that most people here don’t really care when it comes to voting, but when they don’t vote, it just goes to the majority. So the winner is whoever can ship enough Argentineans to the voting booths and then use the apathetic population to win on a landslide. Absurd.
Now that it is late in the week, with only 3 days until Election Day, the advertising is even more annoying. Every child at el comedor had a pile of pamphlets from various candidates. At the city’s center, there were computers set up for each candidate to vote early and show your loyalty.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Finding Motivation
Today it really hit me that each day I go to el comedor, I will be presented with a completely different situation. A schedule is virtually impossible.
I had bought a soccer ball last night thinking I could keep the kids busy today by playing a nice, long soccer game. But that didn’t happen. Not as many boys came today, the majority were girls. Miguel, the young boy who ranges from being a hassle, to helping clean up, to conversationally chatting quietly with me during lunch, wasn’t there. I was expecting wrestling and fighting. Guti and Bolsa (Bolsa literally means "bag" and is only a nickname, but no one actually remembers his real name), two young brothers, had brought their tiny puppy and were throwing it around recklessly, which kept most of the kids entertained (I wouldn’t be surprised if the puppy doesn’t survive). As a funny side note, they have an even younger brother everyone calls Papel, or Papelito (which means "paper" or "little paper"). Don't ask me why, no one knows (his real name is Jorge).
There were 3 girls all at least 11 years of age, who wanted to practice their English and voluntarily took out small chalkboards and starting copying down English words written on the wall. Some knew more than they would give themselves credit for, some knew a little, and the younger girls still couldn’t read, but copied the letters. I had at least 8 kids continuously running up to me showing me what they had written. I asked them to say it in English and tell me what it meant in Spanish.
Of course, there were still a few that played to the side, spilling legos around, but I worked to keep the majority busy. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that they wanted to learn. Just so many things have happened over the past three days, it’s tough to find what motivates them—especially when WHO is there varies daily thus changing what works and what doesn’t. It appears as though I need to go in every day with at least 10 different plans, to accommodate for whoever shows up, and hopefully, just hopefully, one will work…
Whenever my brothers and I would argue, my mom would always tell us to “pick our battles.” While this is an important lesson and useful throughout life, it’s often tough to decide which battles to pick. I can’t decide when is the right time to ask people to clean up, such that a majority will actually help, or when is the right time to put my foot down about throwing paper airplanes outside of the classroom.
I often end up just standing and watching the kids as they run around, hoping to observe enough to soak in the “secret” for peace. The past three days have been stressful, but I need to accept the fact that I’ll need at least a week, if not more, to catch my bearings and successfully run each day at el comedor. It’s just finding the patience and motivation to survive that week that will be the toughest.
I had bought a soccer ball last night thinking I could keep the kids busy today by playing a nice, long soccer game. But that didn’t happen. Not as many boys came today, the majority were girls. Miguel, the young boy who ranges from being a hassle, to helping clean up, to conversationally chatting quietly with me during lunch, wasn’t there. I was expecting wrestling and fighting. Guti and Bolsa (Bolsa literally means "bag" and is only a nickname, but no one actually remembers his real name), two young brothers, had brought their tiny puppy and were throwing it around recklessly, which kept most of the kids entertained (I wouldn’t be surprised if the puppy doesn’t survive). As a funny side note, they have an even younger brother everyone calls Papel, or Papelito (which means "paper" or "little paper"). Don't ask me why, no one knows (his real name is Jorge).
There were 3 girls all at least 11 years of age, who wanted to practice their English and voluntarily took out small chalkboards and starting copying down English words written on the wall. Some knew more than they would give themselves credit for, some knew a little, and the younger girls still couldn’t read, but copied the letters. I had at least 8 kids continuously running up to me showing me what they had written. I asked them to say it in English and tell me what it meant in Spanish.
Of course, there were still a few that played to the side, spilling legos around, but I worked to keep the majority busy. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that they wanted to learn. Just so many things have happened over the past three days, it’s tough to find what motivates them—especially when WHO is there varies daily thus changing what works and what doesn’t. It appears as though I need to go in every day with at least 10 different plans, to accommodate for whoever shows up, and hopefully, just hopefully, one will work…
Whenever my brothers and I would argue, my mom would always tell us to “pick our battles.” While this is an important lesson and useful throughout life, it’s often tough to decide which battles to pick. I can’t decide when is the right time to ask people to clean up, such that a majority will actually help, or when is the right time to put my foot down about throwing paper airplanes outside of the classroom.
I often end up just standing and watching the kids as they run around, hoping to observe enough to soak in the “secret” for peace. The past three days have been stressful, but I need to accept the fact that I’ll need at least a week, if not more, to catch my bearings and successfully run each day at el comedor. It’s just finding the patience and motivation to survive that week that will be the toughest.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Dia Numero 2
Today was my second day as nanny. I’ll start by saying it wasn’t quite as bad as yesterday…however, I think that is only because I knew what to expect, so it wasn’t quite as much of a shock.
I have noticed I don’t have to come until noon or so. I arrived at 11am again today and not a single kid showed up until 12:15.
Once again, all hell broke loose around 1pm when families started arriving. The boys were throwing plastic fruit again, the girls kept being tattle-tales on one another (oh, remember the days), and the stray dogs that wander the neighborhood kept coming into the classroom sniffing for food.
Now, I was able to get the handful of girls to sit and draw quietly. The three teenagers (probably only 13 years old) played UNO together. The boys once again threw legos all over the floor. Their favorite game involves sticking someone inside of a cupboard and holding it shut—for that one, I decided not to get involved until someone got hurt (which they normally didn’t)—and at least it kept them entertained for awhile.
Also, today was a little different because they didn’t open up the dining hall. Families stood in line outside the building with bags of empty plastic containers. Eventually, each family went away with a handful of apples, some bread, and containers full of soup. I asked the main cook Maria why, and all I understood was something about them having to leave early today, and they didn’t have time to clean up the entire dining hall—thus the families just had to pick up their food and eat at home. This resulted in a few mothers sitting in the classroom with their infants and small children while waiting for the food. While it sounds more chaotic, it was actually helpful, because I had multiple mothers and older teenagers keeping peace with their own kids, as well as keeping (some) peace with the kids I was normally in charge of.
Now, because the dining hall wasn’t open, that means the kids who I worked with and I both had to eat in the classroom. This meant spilled soup, spilled water, bread pieces, and apple cores scattered around the floor and tables—making clean up much harder and why stray dogs kept trying to get into the classroom.
Once all the families had left, I had a group of 10 kids (give or take). A few from yesterday plus a few more—two of which were at least 13—which helped me in keeping peace and leading different games. They even taught me a few games (all involving running and tagging people), which kept everyone entertained for quite awhile. I figured there was no point in trying to accomplish anything else, so we just ran around all afternoon. This did result in a few girls crying when they accidentally got hit by a large tomato (yes, they have HUGE stuffed animal-type tomatoes in the classroom, don’t ask me why, but I assume it was the project of some other volunteer). But overall, things went pretty smoothly.
Tonight I plan to buy a soccer ball and hopefully have a game going most of tomorrow afternoon—I’ve noticed everyone is more involved and willing to listen if it involves some sort of physical activity. Also, that way, I don’t have to consistently clean up hundreds of plastic coins, cards, and legos.
Tomorrow is another day, another adventure, and another set of unexpected events. Wish me luck.
I have noticed I don’t have to come until noon or so. I arrived at 11am again today and not a single kid showed up until 12:15.
Once again, all hell broke loose around 1pm when families started arriving. The boys were throwing plastic fruit again, the girls kept being tattle-tales on one another (oh, remember the days), and the stray dogs that wander the neighborhood kept coming into the classroom sniffing for food.
Now, I was able to get the handful of girls to sit and draw quietly. The three teenagers (probably only 13 years old) played UNO together. The boys once again threw legos all over the floor. Their favorite game involves sticking someone inside of a cupboard and holding it shut—for that one, I decided not to get involved until someone got hurt (which they normally didn’t)—and at least it kept them entertained for awhile.
Also, today was a little different because they didn’t open up the dining hall. Families stood in line outside the building with bags of empty plastic containers. Eventually, each family went away with a handful of apples, some bread, and containers full of soup. I asked the main cook Maria why, and all I understood was something about them having to leave early today, and they didn’t have time to clean up the entire dining hall—thus the families just had to pick up their food and eat at home. This resulted in a few mothers sitting in the classroom with their infants and small children while waiting for the food. While it sounds more chaotic, it was actually helpful, because I had multiple mothers and older teenagers keeping peace with their own kids, as well as keeping (some) peace with the kids I was normally in charge of.
Now, because the dining hall wasn’t open, that means the kids who I worked with and I both had to eat in the classroom. This meant spilled soup, spilled water, bread pieces, and apple cores scattered around the floor and tables—making clean up much harder and why stray dogs kept trying to get into the classroom.
Once all the families had left, I had a group of 10 kids (give or take). A few from yesterday plus a few more—two of which were at least 13—which helped me in keeping peace and leading different games. They even taught me a few games (all involving running and tagging people), which kept everyone entertained for quite awhile. I figured there was no point in trying to accomplish anything else, so we just ran around all afternoon. This did result in a few girls crying when they accidentally got hit by a large tomato (yes, they have HUGE stuffed animal-type tomatoes in the classroom, don’t ask me why, but I assume it was the project of some other volunteer). But overall, things went pretty smoothly.
Tonight I plan to buy a soccer ball and hopefully have a game going most of tomorrow afternoon—I’ve noticed everyone is more involved and willing to listen if it involves some sort of physical activity. Also, that way, I don’t have to consistently clean up hundreds of plastic coins, cards, and legos.
Tomorrow is another day, another adventure, and another set of unexpected events. Wish me luck.
Monday, June 22, 2009
My First Day of "School"
I’m not really sure where to begin to attempt to explain the chaos that ensued during my first day at el comedor. The stories I’d heard about past volunteers and how few have made an impact and few actually accomplished something during their stay now makes complete sense. I bow down to those who were able to keep peace, especially when volunteering alone.
Valeria and I arrived at 11am. No one was there, save one mother who was starting to prepare lunch. We decided to take this “free” time to clean up the classroom. We tried to organize the books, restack the magazines, sweep the floor, and put toys in their place. I came across the oddest assortment of books. There were your basic children’s books, teaching numbers and letters, both in English and Spanish. Yet then I found a Spanish book on civil law, a few that belonged at a medical school, various encyclopedias, tons of mini Spanish-English dictionaries, and books that looked to be from the 1800s, with pages all worn and brown, where one couldn’t even read the writing. I came across many sheets of paper, obviously from past volunteers, with the months, days, and numbers written out in English. Asking questions like: What is your name? How old are you? The further I dove into the piles of paper, the more I realized that each volunteer must bring (or buy) their own supplies. The mess of resources is impossible to sort through and use; so the comedor is left with tons of great reading materials and books to teach students English, Spanish, geography, math, chemistry, everything…but there is no order, no schedule. Just like the roads in Salta, it is every man for himself.
Around noon or so is when all hell broke loose. Valeria had left, so I was on my own. Kids started trickling in, but by 12:30 there were at least 15 kids, all wanting to do something different. The boys were wrestling, and throwing flashcards of English words at each other. The girls were coloring and cutting out hearts and butterflies, but would argue when one girl would take another one’s pencil or scissors. They would play with legos, dumping the entire box on the ground, as they scattered across the floor. They would play for about 10 minutes and suffer from the well-known ADD child syndrome in which they loose interest, move on to something else, and leave a mess behind. This chaos only escalated as we got closer to lunchtime. By 1:15, I stopped counting. Families came in and out, people started sitting inside the comedor, feeding their children. Around 1:30 I decided I deserved to eat, and had no choice but to leave about 15 kids running around the classroom wreaking havoc.
I sat at a table with a few young girls, probably between 7 and 10 years of age. We didn’t speak. I just ate, and watched what was going on around me. Most people just stared at me and whispered—but I expected nothing less. In terms of numbers, my guess would have to be about 50 kids, if not more; plus about 10 or 12 teenagers, many young mothers, a few older mothers and a few old men. I managed to squeeze out a 30 minute lunch break before kids starting running in and complaining how another kid had taken a toy out of the classroom (they weren’t allowed to take toys outside so we wouldn’t lose anything).
At 2pm I went back into the lion’s den. The lunch rush had started to die down, but there were at least 20 kids playing. I knew there was no point in trying to keep order, so I played with a child at a time, normally whichever kid was sitting in the corner quietly. I know I wouldn’t accomplish much if I started yelling.
By 2:30, the comedor had quieted down to about 8 kids. I guess the rush before is what happens daily for lunch, as most kids just go home with their parents. The few mothers that work there were cleaning in the back, and the classroom looked worse than it did when Valeria and I had arrived that morning.
Two boys ask me to play UNO with them. I played one game and said I’ll only play another if we clean up the classroom. I was surprised I got as much help as I did (although a couple boys lost interest quickly and just ran around throwing plastic fruit), but eventually, we cleaned up a majority of the mess (I could finally see the floor). After another game of UNO, I attempted to keep order by playing a game with everyone. I racked my brain for ideas, and eventually decided to teach them how to play Sharks and Minnows. They loved it—but after about 15 minutes, lost interest. So then we played Duck, Duck, Goose (Pato, Pato, Patudo), which lasted another 15 minutes.
Around 3, one mother had asked how long her kid could stay (i.e. how long I was staying). Even though I should stay until 4:30 or 5, I said 4pm, since I knew today needed to end a little sooner for my own well-being. It was then I realized that even though I’m referred to as la profesora (and one mother was kind enough to tell them all to behave for me), in reality, I’m closer to being a nanny. El comedor, after lunch, basically serves as a day-care center, to watch the kids so the parents don’t have to.
With between 8 and 50 screaming children, it’s impossible to run a class, teach English successfully, or do anything. Some kids are 16 years old; some are 3, and all the ages in between. You can’t organize anything well enough to provide for them all, much less hold their attention for more than 15 minutes.
Today was a very difficult day for me. I don’t really think I’m sufficiently explaining the situation in this blog. When I came home, I was at a loss for words with Laura. All I could tell her was that I was tired.
It is going to be a long summer.
Which reminds me, winter has finally hit. It’s cold and cloudy outside, which makes the 3-wall classroom a little more of a challenge. And I have a cold coming on too...
Valeria and I arrived at 11am. No one was there, save one mother who was starting to prepare lunch. We decided to take this “free” time to clean up the classroom. We tried to organize the books, restack the magazines, sweep the floor, and put toys in their place. I came across the oddest assortment of books. There were your basic children’s books, teaching numbers and letters, both in English and Spanish. Yet then I found a Spanish book on civil law, a few that belonged at a medical school, various encyclopedias, tons of mini Spanish-English dictionaries, and books that looked to be from the 1800s, with pages all worn and brown, where one couldn’t even read the writing. I came across many sheets of paper, obviously from past volunteers, with the months, days, and numbers written out in English. Asking questions like: What is your name? How old are you? The further I dove into the piles of paper, the more I realized that each volunteer must bring (or buy) their own supplies. The mess of resources is impossible to sort through and use; so the comedor is left with tons of great reading materials and books to teach students English, Spanish, geography, math, chemistry, everything…but there is no order, no schedule. Just like the roads in Salta, it is every man for himself.
Around noon or so is when all hell broke loose. Valeria had left, so I was on my own. Kids started trickling in, but by 12:30 there were at least 15 kids, all wanting to do something different. The boys were wrestling, and throwing flashcards of English words at each other. The girls were coloring and cutting out hearts and butterflies, but would argue when one girl would take another one’s pencil or scissors. They would play with legos, dumping the entire box on the ground, as they scattered across the floor. They would play for about 10 minutes and suffer from the well-known ADD child syndrome in which they loose interest, move on to something else, and leave a mess behind. This chaos only escalated as we got closer to lunchtime. By 1:15, I stopped counting. Families came in and out, people started sitting inside the comedor, feeding their children. Around 1:30 I decided I deserved to eat, and had no choice but to leave about 15 kids running around the classroom wreaking havoc.
I sat at a table with a few young girls, probably between 7 and 10 years of age. We didn’t speak. I just ate, and watched what was going on around me. Most people just stared at me and whispered—but I expected nothing less. In terms of numbers, my guess would have to be about 50 kids, if not more; plus about 10 or 12 teenagers, many young mothers, a few older mothers and a few old men. I managed to squeeze out a 30 minute lunch break before kids starting running in and complaining how another kid had taken a toy out of the classroom (they weren’t allowed to take toys outside so we wouldn’t lose anything).
At 2pm I went back into the lion’s den. The lunch rush had started to die down, but there were at least 20 kids playing. I knew there was no point in trying to keep order, so I played with a child at a time, normally whichever kid was sitting in the corner quietly. I know I wouldn’t accomplish much if I started yelling.
By 2:30, the comedor had quieted down to about 8 kids. I guess the rush before is what happens daily for lunch, as most kids just go home with their parents. The few mothers that work there were cleaning in the back, and the classroom looked worse than it did when Valeria and I had arrived that morning.
Two boys ask me to play UNO with them. I played one game and said I’ll only play another if we clean up the classroom. I was surprised I got as much help as I did (although a couple boys lost interest quickly and just ran around throwing plastic fruit), but eventually, we cleaned up a majority of the mess (I could finally see the floor). After another game of UNO, I attempted to keep order by playing a game with everyone. I racked my brain for ideas, and eventually decided to teach them how to play Sharks and Minnows. They loved it—but after about 15 minutes, lost interest. So then we played Duck, Duck, Goose (Pato, Pato, Patudo), which lasted another 15 minutes.
Around 3, one mother had asked how long her kid could stay (i.e. how long I was staying). Even though I should stay until 4:30 or 5, I said 4pm, since I knew today needed to end a little sooner for my own well-being. It was then I realized that even though I’m referred to as la profesora (and one mother was kind enough to tell them all to behave for me), in reality, I’m closer to being a nanny. El comedor, after lunch, basically serves as a day-care center, to watch the kids so the parents don’t have to.
With between 8 and 50 screaming children, it’s impossible to run a class, teach English successfully, or do anything. Some kids are 16 years old; some are 3, and all the ages in between. You can’t organize anything well enough to provide for them all, much less hold their attention for more than 15 minutes.
Today was a very difficult day for me. I don’t really think I’m sufficiently explaining the situation in this blog. When I came home, I was at a loss for words with Laura. All I could tell her was that I was tired.
It is going to be a long summer.
Which reminds me, winter has finally hit. It’s cold and cloudy outside, which makes the 3-wall classroom a little more of a challenge. And I have a cold coming on too...
La Feria Artesano
Balcarce is the street known for its bars and clubs. It is the ideal location when one is looking for a solid night on the town. However, every Sunday from 11am to 10pm it becomes the center for artists in Salta to sell their work. Covering three blocks, local families and tourists alike wander through the many stands. There is indigenous art, with paintings, shawls, pottery, and carpets. However, one of the more common artwork is with leather in belts, jewelry, and purses. Also, the use of silver in jewelry is very popular. Because of their abundance, silver and leather are probably the best finds in Salta in terms of price vs. quality.
Unfortunately, this was the day the sun decided to stay behind the clouds, as well as the first time I didn’t bring a jacket with me. I figured I stuck out enough being white, but it probably didn’t help that I was clutching my arms while I walked with a Nike bag on my shoulder—my stance probably screamed TOURIST or AMERICAN. A few girls confronted me and asked me to fill out a survey. It asked my name, age, how many times I had visited Salta, what places I had seen in Salta, if I would buy toy puppets, and if so, how much would I pay. It was an odd set of questions, and I answered to the best of my ability. Despite having explored Salta quite a bit over the past few days, I’ve never actually been INSIDE any place here. I have yet to see inside the famous Cathedral, I haven’t taken the gondola up the mountain, nor have I traveled to sites slightly outside the city. My answer to that question was depressingly “nothing.” When asked if I would buy toy puppets, I said “no” and wrote that I had no idea how much I would pay for them.
About 10 minutes later I saw them ask another person who also seemed out of place. Although it’s not tourist season, I wonder if they are taking a poll with the foreigners they do come across to see if making and selling toy puppets is a good investment. Not a bad business move for 14-year old girls…
Unfortunately, this was the day the sun decided to stay behind the clouds, as well as the first time I didn’t bring a jacket with me. I figured I stuck out enough being white, but it probably didn’t help that I was clutching my arms while I walked with a Nike bag on my shoulder—my stance probably screamed TOURIST or AMERICAN. A few girls confronted me and asked me to fill out a survey. It asked my name, age, how many times I had visited Salta, what places I had seen in Salta, if I would buy toy puppets, and if so, how much would I pay. It was an odd set of questions, and I answered to the best of my ability. Despite having explored Salta quite a bit over the past few days, I’ve never actually been INSIDE any place here. I have yet to see inside the famous Cathedral, I haven’t taken the gondola up the mountain, nor have I traveled to sites slightly outside the city. My answer to that question was depressingly “nothing.” When asked if I would buy toy puppets, I said “no” and wrote that I had no idea how much I would pay for them.
About 10 minutes later I saw them ask another person who also seemed out of place. Although it’s not tourist season, I wonder if they are taking a poll with the foreigners they do come across to see if making and selling toy puppets is a good investment. Not a bad business move for 14-year old girls…
Father's Day without Dad
So there we were, Laura, Stella (Laura’s neighbor and my original host mom), Stella’s nephew Luciano, Flor and I. Sitting at our table, all set with a table cloth, wine glasses, napkins decoratively placed within the glasses (thanks to Luciano), and a meal of handmade gnocchi with chicken, cheese, and bread. A feast.
We all lift our glasses to cheers. “Chin Chin! Feliz dia del padre sin padre!”
Miguel had not yet come home, Luciano’s father wasn’t there, and mine is back in the States. So we celebrated Father’s day without our fathers.
But, this morning I was blessed with a strong Internet connection in the mall, enough to skype with my family back home. It was wonderful to be able to see them and talk to them, with little technical difficulties. While I have become more comfortable speaking Spanish and can easily understand a majority of what is said around me, it was nice to be able to speak a language I am most familiar with, make jokes, and hear what’s going on at home.
And despite the lack of fathers, the feast was wonderful! Luciano, who is only 13 years old, said he has been studying English for 10 years, and throughout the afternoon spoke in English to practice. He talked a lot about movies; the actors he was familiar with being Nicholas Cage, Tom Cruise, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, and Arnold Schwarzenegger. While it is a diverse group of actors, many are not the most respected or gifted in Hollywood (in my opinion), but it was interesting to know what he has been exposed to in Argentina.
Conversation took a more interesting turn when Stella starting complaining about her ex-husband’s tendency to buy broken furniture claiming he’d fix it—but never did. Which led to her belief that spouses limit a person’s abilities and opportunities (Laura disagreed saying it depended on the spouse). And this somehow led to the talk of trying to mate Stella’s dog, Racer, a beautiful male golden retriever, with a neighbor’s dog. And then Luciano brought up the Kama Sutra, which led to Miguel talking about a non-erotic movie called “Kama Sutra.” Then, Stella talked about her visit to New Orleans and the consistent flashing of women breasts in the streets, while people threw coins at them…
In case you didn’t follow this train of thought, don’t worry, neither did I. But it was quite a funny conversation to listen to.
We all lift our glasses to cheers. “Chin Chin! Feliz dia del padre sin padre!”
Miguel had not yet come home, Luciano’s father wasn’t there, and mine is back in the States. So we celebrated Father’s day without our fathers.
But, this morning I was blessed with a strong Internet connection in the mall, enough to skype with my family back home. It was wonderful to be able to see them and talk to them, with little technical difficulties. While I have become more comfortable speaking Spanish and can easily understand a majority of what is said around me, it was nice to be able to speak a language I am most familiar with, make jokes, and hear what’s going on at home.
And despite the lack of fathers, the feast was wonderful! Luciano, who is only 13 years old, said he has been studying English for 10 years, and throughout the afternoon spoke in English to practice. He talked a lot about movies; the actors he was familiar with being Nicholas Cage, Tom Cruise, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, and Arnold Schwarzenegger. While it is a diverse group of actors, many are not the most respected or gifted in Hollywood (in my opinion), but it was interesting to know what he has been exposed to in Argentina.
Conversation took a more interesting turn when Stella starting complaining about her ex-husband’s tendency to buy broken furniture claiming he’d fix it—but never did. Which led to her belief that spouses limit a person’s abilities and opportunities (Laura disagreed saying it depended on the spouse). And this somehow led to the talk of trying to mate Stella’s dog, Racer, a beautiful male golden retriever, with a neighbor’s dog. And then Luciano brought up the Kama Sutra, which led to Miguel talking about a non-erotic movie called “Kama Sutra.” Then, Stella talked about her visit to New Orleans and the consistent flashing of women breasts in the streets, while people threw coins at them…
In case you didn’t follow this train of thought, don’t worry, neither did I. But it was quite a funny conversation to listen to.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Effective packing
Now there are a few things I have that I’m grateful for remembering to bring, and others I wish I hadn’t forgotten.
I did bring:
Slippers: With wintertime and tile floors, socks won’t cut it.
Books: I have a lot of down time, and curling up to read keeps me sane.
Comfy shoes: Like I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been walking between 1 and 2.5 hours every day since I’ve been here—my feet better be treated right!
Things I forgot:
Spanish/English dictionary: I remember thinking to myself to bring it…but I forgot. I struggle the most with vocabulary, and I’ve learned ways around it—but I’ll be thankful when the house has Internet so I can look words up!
Things I brought that are unnecessary:
Malaria medicine: It’s wintertime, there are no mosquitoes, and even Laura said malaria doesn’t exist in Salta—but I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry.
I did bring:
Slippers: With wintertime and tile floors, socks won’t cut it.
Books: I have a lot of down time, and curling up to read keeps me sane.
Comfy shoes: Like I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been walking between 1 and 2.5 hours every day since I’ve been here—my feet better be treated right!
Things I forgot:
Spanish/English dictionary: I remember thinking to myself to bring it…but I forgot. I struggle the most with vocabulary, and I’ve learned ways around it—but I’ll be thankful when the house has Internet so I can look words up!
Things I brought that are unnecessary:
Malaria medicine: It’s wintertime, there are no mosquitoes, and even Laura said malaria doesn’t exist in Salta—but I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry.
Tai Chi in Argentina
I always enjoy a good in-depth conversation once in awhile. It could be about religion, politics, music, art, or even reflections on a certain experience or conversation that day.
Originally, I was going to live with an older lady, Stella, but due to various circumstances, that fell through. Instead, I am living with Laura, Miguel and their 1 yr 8 month old daughter Florencia. I’m surprised at the benefits I’ve already experienced from living with this family.
Both Laura and Miguel are artists/craftspeople. Laura sews and makes jewelry with all sorts of materials. Miguel carves drawings into stone, making plaques, jewelry, key chains, etc.
Miguel even has a stall at La Feria that is held every Sunday for artists to sell their goods.
I’ve found that Miguel loves literature and poetry. He loves all sorts of music, especially jazz, and being indigenous to this community (Laura is from Buenos Aires) he knows all about the culture and history.
With both, I’ve carried multiple conversations concerning Obama, the politics in Argentina, religion, my own religious beliefs, where I’m going with my life, and so on. While I struggle most with my Spanish vocabulary, I’ve been impressed with our ability to communicate so in-depth despite the language barriers.
This morning, to spice things up a bit, I woke up at 7:30 and went with Miguel to a free Tai Chi class held by a Chinese man. I never would have thought I’d being learning Tai Chi, in Spanish, in Argentina. Señor Li is also Miguel’s spiritual teacher in Taoism.
One woman held a small class in the corner for those of us new to Tai Chi. I learned four basic movements (out of 24 total) and I’ll try and practice each day to improve for next Saturday morning! It was unreal.
Originally, I was going to live with an older lady, Stella, but due to various circumstances, that fell through. Instead, I am living with Laura, Miguel and their 1 yr 8 month old daughter Florencia. I’m surprised at the benefits I’ve already experienced from living with this family.
Both Laura and Miguel are artists/craftspeople. Laura sews and makes jewelry with all sorts of materials. Miguel carves drawings into stone, making plaques, jewelry, key chains, etc.
Miguel even has a stall at La Feria that is held every Sunday for artists to sell their goods.
I’ve found that Miguel loves literature and poetry. He loves all sorts of music, especially jazz, and being indigenous to this community (Laura is from Buenos Aires) he knows all about the culture and history.
With both, I’ve carried multiple conversations concerning Obama, the politics in Argentina, religion, my own religious beliefs, where I’m going with my life, and so on. While I struggle most with my Spanish vocabulary, I’ve been impressed with our ability to communicate so in-depth despite the language barriers.
This morning, to spice things up a bit, I woke up at 7:30 and went with Miguel to a free Tai Chi class held by a Chinese man. I never would have thought I’d being learning Tai Chi, in Spanish, in Argentina. Señor Li is also Miguel’s spiritual teacher in Taoism.
One woman held a small class in the corner for those of us new to Tai Chi. I learned four basic movements (out of 24 total) and I’ll try and practice each day to improve for next Saturday morning! It was unreal.
No rigging here?
There are elections coming up for Diputado Nacional (I think it’s similar to a House Representative). Election day is June 28th. You can’t walk around town without seeing hundreds of flyers for various candidates. After watching advertisements on television, I’ve taken note of at least 5 different candidates. I asked Valeria about the popularity of each candidate. She couldn’t explain one thing about any of them. She said no one knows anything, and no one ever knows who to vote for. It almost seems as convoluted as so many American politicians.
The advertisements only talk about hope, life, “knowing” what’s right, and some candidates have marketed “do it for Salta.” What are they actually hoping to change? Valeria said there is always one candidate from a working-class party, and she’ll just vote for them, even though they never win. Then who votes? At least in Salta, I feel as though a majority of the population is the working class…maybe it is rigged.
The only advertisement I have seen that seems to send a message is about the importance of voting. Two teenagers talk about how someone can cause change, and do so by voting. I had to see this ad a few times before I realized that it was actually for ANOTHER candidate. I guess they didn’t quite get the candidate’s message across to vote for him, but I could see it might motivate some viewers to take advantage of their right to vote in general.
The advertisements only talk about hope, life, “knowing” what’s right, and some candidates have marketed “do it for Salta.” What are they actually hoping to change? Valeria said there is always one candidate from a working-class party, and she’ll just vote for them, even though they never win. Then who votes? At least in Salta, I feel as though a majority of the population is the working class…maybe it is rigged.
The only advertisement I have seen that seems to send a message is about the importance of voting. Two teenagers talk about how someone can cause change, and do so by voting. I had to see this ad a few times before I realized that it was actually for ANOTHER candidate. I guess they didn’t quite get the candidate’s message across to vote for him, but I could see it might motivate some viewers to take advantage of their right to vote in general.
How much is a peso worth?
We all know the dollar hasn’t had the best record in net worth recently, especially when compared to the euro or pound. However, you’d be surprised how far one dollar will take you in Salta. I won’t say in Argentina overall, because Buenos Aires is a lot more expensive (although still cheaper than the U.S.).
Just to give you an idea of what things tend to cost…
The exchange rate varies between 3.4 pesos to 3.7 pesos for each U.S. dollar. The average tends to rest around 3.5, which I’ll use in my calculations (and I’ll round up).
This means 1 peso is the equivalent of about 29 cents.
At the parade I went to the other day, I got a sandwich for 2 pesos, which is 57 cents.
100 pesos=28 dollars
75 pesos= 21 dollars
Today, Laura and I drove to the mall. At a stoplight a man came up and starting cleaning the windshield, front and back. Laura told him she didn’t have any coins with her, but he didn’t listen. All she found was 75 cents (in pesos), and the man said that was sufficient. 75 peso cents is the same as 21 U.S. cents. If someone cleaned your windshield in the U.S. I’m sure they would expect at least 3 U.S. dollars if not more depending on what city you were in.
I went to the grocery store. I bought two different types of meat, mozzarella cheese, French bread, and two ears of corn. The total came to 29 pesos, which is $8.29. Another day I bought 5 apples for 2.90 pesos, which is 83 cents. Five apples for less than a dollar!
However, a few things are at the other end of scale (at least in the eyes of Argentineans). Laura bought a laptop computer for 1900 pesos, which is about $543. The same computer was being sold in Buenos Aires for 3000 pesos, which is $857. Of course, all of these prices would seem absurd in the U.S.—how would one make any profit?
It just gives you an idea of the level at which economies in other countries stand.
Just to give you an idea of what things tend to cost…
The exchange rate varies between 3.4 pesos to 3.7 pesos for each U.S. dollar. The average tends to rest around 3.5, which I’ll use in my calculations (and I’ll round up).
This means 1 peso is the equivalent of about 29 cents.
At the parade I went to the other day, I got a sandwich for 2 pesos, which is 57 cents.
100 pesos=28 dollars
75 pesos= 21 dollars
Today, Laura and I drove to the mall. At a stoplight a man came up and starting cleaning the windshield, front and back. Laura told him she didn’t have any coins with her, but he didn’t listen. All she found was 75 cents (in pesos), and the man said that was sufficient. 75 peso cents is the same as 21 U.S. cents. If someone cleaned your windshield in the U.S. I’m sure they would expect at least 3 U.S. dollars if not more depending on what city you were in.
I went to the grocery store. I bought two different types of meat, mozzarella cheese, French bread, and two ears of corn. The total came to 29 pesos, which is $8.29. Another day I bought 5 apples for 2.90 pesos, which is 83 cents. Five apples for less than a dollar!
However, a few things are at the other end of scale (at least in the eyes of Argentineans). Laura bought a laptop computer for 1900 pesos, which is about $543. The same computer was being sold in Buenos Aires for 3000 pesos, which is $857. Of course, all of these prices would seem absurd in the U.S.—how would one make any profit?
It just gives you an idea of the level at which economies in other countries stand.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
La Floresta
Today I visited el comedor, La Floresta, where I will be working. Valeria came with me to make sure I got off at the appropriate bus stop (its quite a long ride) and to introduce me to the people there. I met a few of the mothers who regularly run the kitchen, as well as the kids who regularly show up. I met about 7 kids total.
After we left, I asked Valeria what past volunteers had done. The comedor had a room to eat in, as well as a three-wall classroom for the kids. The classroom was enclosed in a gate, with a lock. One volunteer had bought the gate after she had bought lots of supplies for the kids, and the next day they were all gone. Within the room are shelves of books that had been donated. The wall is covered with basic English phrases, as well as the primary colors, and the days of the week. There were unopened boxes of tables that another volunteer had brought. This girl from Ireland had done some fundraising prior to coming and had a lot of money—so she bought tables.
Valeria explained that not many volunteers came through here, and each one did something a little different. Most taught some English. One boy tried to teach the mothers English while they were cooking, but otherwise the mothers stay out of it. They play games with the kids, use coloring books, and paint. But most of all, said Valeria, they just let the kids do their own thing. Thus, they don’t accomplish very much. Since volunteers don’t come regularly it’s impossible to keep a schedule. Kids normally only show up when they know a volunteer will be there. One guy came and was very strict, and the kids behaved, but otherwise it is hard to keep order with so many kids running around, especially when it is only one volunteer.
It is all a little intimidating, but I have a few ideas and I have until Monday to work out my game plan.
Goal #1: Get to know the kids and capitalize on their interests—otherwise they won’t care, behave, or pay attention.
After we left, I asked Valeria what past volunteers had done. The comedor had a room to eat in, as well as a three-wall classroom for the kids. The classroom was enclosed in a gate, with a lock. One volunteer had bought the gate after she had bought lots of supplies for the kids, and the next day they were all gone. Within the room are shelves of books that had been donated. The wall is covered with basic English phrases, as well as the primary colors, and the days of the week. There were unopened boxes of tables that another volunteer had brought. This girl from Ireland had done some fundraising prior to coming and had a lot of money—so she bought tables.
Valeria explained that not many volunteers came through here, and each one did something a little different. Most taught some English. One boy tried to teach the mothers English while they were cooking, but otherwise the mothers stay out of it. They play games with the kids, use coloring books, and paint. But most of all, said Valeria, they just let the kids do their own thing. Thus, they don’t accomplish very much. Since volunteers don’t come regularly it’s impossible to keep a schedule. Kids normally only show up when they know a volunteer will be there. One guy came and was very strict, and the kids behaved, but otherwise it is hard to keep order with so many kids running around, especially when it is only one volunteer.
It is all a little intimidating, but I have a few ideas and I have until Monday to work out my game plan.
Goal #1: Get to know the kids and capitalize on their interests—otherwise they won’t care, behave, or pay attention.
The love of lines
I have found there is one thing that my dad, Duke students, and people in Salta have in common. They all love lines. They just love standing in line. Even if they don’t know its purpose, they don’t bother to question, they just stand there—often for hours, standing, waiting. Anyone who knows my father or goes to Duke is completely aware of this phenomenon.
People in Salta have the same obsession.
This morning I went to the bank to trade in traveler’s checks. As I get closer downtown, there is a line filed out of every single bank, as well as an internet/computer store, a bus ticket station place, and a few other stores that I couldn’t label. I go to my bank, and sure enough, there were at least 4 different lines. One to use the ATMs, another to meet with a banker, another to meet with customer services, and another on the second floor for people with checks, travelers checks, and what not. On the lower floor you even had to take a number like at the DMV and wait to be called.
I didn’t have time to wait in a line, so I left, and every single line I had passed earlier was longer, and no one had moved! There were lines at the mall, at a Visa stand, there were lines at the meat section of the grocery store, and the line I waited in to pay at the grocery store took forever!
Valeria, my HelpArgentina contact in Salta, told me that today is the day most people get their salary checks from the government. Also, supposedly, at the mall, if you spend a certain amount of money, you get a gift (such as a bottle of wine). Also, there might be discounts around for Father’s Day this Sunday. Although there are reasons, I am beginning to believe it’s simply a love of lines.
And one more quick note…they love being pregnant and having kids. The amount of pregnant women here would astonish anyone whose culture does not run on the schedule of “at the age of 20 or a little older or a little younger you need to have LOTS of kids.” And the worst part is, according to Valeria, the poorer the family, the more kids they have!
People in Salta have the same obsession.
This morning I went to the bank to trade in traveler’s checks. As I get closer downtown, there is a line filed out of every single bank, as well as an internet/computer store, a bus ticket station place, and a few other stores that I couldn’t label. I go to my bank, and sure enough, there were at least 4 different lines. One to use the ATMs, another to meet with a banker, another to meet with customer services, and another on the second floor for people with checks, travelers checks, and what not. On the lower floor you even had to take a number like at the DMV and wait to be called.
I didn’t have time to wait in a line, so I left, and every single line I had passed earlier was longer, and no one had moved! There were lines at the mall, at a Visa stand, there were lines at the meat section of the grocery store, and the line I waited in to pay at the grocery store took forever!
Valeria, my HelpArgentina contact in Salta, told me that today is the day most people get their salary checks from the government. Also, supposedly, at the mall, if you spend a certain amount of money, you get a gift (such as a bottle of wine). Also, there might be discounts around for Father’s Day this Sunday. Although there are reasons, I am beginning to believe it’s simply a love of lines.
And one more quick note…they love being pregnant and having kids. The amount of pregnant women here would astonish anyone whose culture does not run on the schedule of “at the age of 20 or a little older or a little younger you need to have LOTS of kids.” And the worst part is, according to Valeria, the poorer the family, the more kids they have!
A good kind of stubbornness
I don’t exercise much. I should, but while I’m at school, I always find an excuse—I have work to do, research to do, paper to write, I need to relax, I haven’t eaten yet, I’m sick, the list goes on…
The few times my mother or my roommate had convinced me to get off my ass and do some exercise, it actually felt pretty good, especially taking advantage of renting bikes for free at Duke!
But the one thing I hate most about exercise is running. I just hate it. All I do is run in circles, getting nowhere. And if I go on some path outside, after two minutes I’ve slowed to a pathetic crawl, unable to motivate myself to go faster, although I probably could.
I’ve set goals for myself in the past, trying to exercise regularly, but something always comes up—the most often used excuse is running outside got me sick and I need my rest, so I’m not running anymore.
Since it is winter now in Salta, I assumed running wouldn’t be an option, and once again, I’d come up with excuses…so the newest plan was to do sit-ups and push-ups every morning when I woke up. So far, I have yet to begin…my excuses to myself are the usual…I’m tired, I have a long day, its too cold in my room, etc.
BUT, I have good (and bad) news (depending on how you look at it). My stubbornness with being cheap has overcome my hatred for exercising!
My house is a solid 20 minute walk away from the mall, where there is wireless Internet. The main square with all the banks, shops, and restaurants is a solid 30-minute walk from my house. To make a stop at the mall, then go downtown, then walk home is hands down an hour walk. If I’m conservative in my time walking today, I can honestly say I’ve walked two hours (so I’ve probably walked a little more than that), and it’s only about 4pm.
I could take a taxi, which is pretty cheap, but they aren’t easy to find where I live, and it’s a great way to get my moving! I feel my desire to communicate with the outside world via internet will easily get me to make that 40-minute round trip walk on a regular basis. By the time I post this blog, I will have done it twice in one day! Boo-yah! If I’m not in decent shape just from walking every day for over two hours…then something is wrong with human nature.
Hopefully my shoes won’t hold me back. After only two days of walking, I already have a blister from my pumas. What’s up with that?
The few times my mother or my roommate had convinced me to get off my ass and do some exercise, it actually felt pretty good, especially taking advantage of renting bikes for free at Duke!
But the one thing I hate most about exercise is running. I just hate it. All I do is run in circles, getting nowhere. And if I go on some path outside, after two minutes I’ve slowed to a pathetic crawl, unable to motivate myself to go faster, although I probably could.
I’ve set goals for myself in the past, trying to exercise regularly, but something always comes up—the most often used excuse is running outside got me sick and I need my rest, so I’m not running anymore.
Since it is winter now in Salta, I assumed running wouldn’t be an option, and once again, I’d come up with excuses…so the newest plan was to do sit-ups and push-ups every morning when I woke up. So far, I have yet to begin…my excuses to myself are the usual…I’m tired, I have a long day, its too cold in my room, etc.
BUT, I have good (and bad) news (depending on how you look at it). My stubbornness with being cheap has overcome my hatred for exercising!
My house is a solid 20 minute walk away from the mall, where there is wireless Internet. The main square with all the banks, shops, and restaurants is a solid 30-minute walk from my house. To make a stop at the mall, then go downtown, then walk home is hands down an hour walk. If I’m conservative in my time walking today, I can honestly say I’ve walked two hours (so I’ve probably walked a little more than that), and it’s only about 4pm.
I could take a taxi, which is pretty cheap, but they aren’t easy to find where I live, and it’s a great way to get my moving! I feel my desire to communicate with the outside world via internet will easily get me to make that 40-minute round trip walk on a regular basis. By the time I post this blog, I will have done it twice in one day! Boo-yah! If I’m not in decent shape just from walking every day for over two hours…then something is wrong with human nature.
Hopefully my shoes won’t hold me back. After only two days of walking, I already have a blister from my pumas. What’s up with that?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Excursion #1
Today (Wednesday June 17th) was my first full day in Salta. Today was a holiday too, so my first day at the work site was delayed, giving me to time to get the lay of the land. I heard a parade would be held to honor the hero of Salta (for whom the holiday was held for), some man who helped Salta gain its independence from some power…I’m really not sure if that’s completely right, as my contact here didn’t even know the whole story, and I didn’t catch all of the speeches that were announced on loudspeakers during the parade. But the speaker’s tone of voice definitely sent the feelings of pride and honor.
My first excursion took about 4 hours. The main square, the shopping mall, and the site where the parade was held are all quite a bit further than expected from my house, and are in slightly different directions than one another. However, I did successfully make it to each site. The parade took the longest, as I stood there for 2.5 hours and it still wasn’t over! After getting bored of one too many men on horseback, I found the main square, called Plaza 9 de Julio, don’t ask me why. I think scoped out what I was told are the two most popular streets for stores, restaurants, etc. Now please excuse my constant reference to similarities in Salamanca, Spain, but it’s the only other city that I’ve spent enough time in to see how things works. Living in a city, being a student in a city, working in a city, and being a tourist are all completely different things!
But seriously, I felt like Salta was a slightly different version of Salamanca. It is bigger, but the types of stores, the food, and the fact you need to have your fruit weighed AT the fruit section of the grocery store before bringing it to the cashier is the same.
However, the biggest difference is the concern with transportation—there isn’t less transportation here…its just a little more dangerous. Unless you are in the main streets near the main square, there are NO stoplights, NO stop signs, NO yield signs, NO crosswalk signs, NO signs of any sort. It is literally every man, motorcycle, car, bicycle and horse for himself. There are also no lines to divide lanes, people just drive where they want at whatever speed they want (no speed limits). I’m surprised I haven’t seen any crashes yet, as cars speed down the streets and only briefly brake to see if they are about to clip a car or innocent bystander, before speeding off again.
Despite my adventurous day, my main goal was to find an Internet café with Wi-Fi. Maybe it was the sun blinding my eyes while walking, the fact it was a holiday and most places were closed, or my own stupidity, but I could not find a single one. The two Internet places I did find had Internet, but not Wi-Fi. I feel completely removed from the outside world, and I can’t say I like the feeling. Some people may find this refreshing. That removing oneself from the technology that ties us down and controls our lives too often is a good thing. While I do agree that the increasing dependency on technology is sometimes disgusting, it is also a wonderful invention that let’s us keep in touch with those people important to us. From seeing someone every day to having to struggle to find a way to tell him or her you arrived safely is a little disconcerting.
My first excursion took about 4 hours. The main square, the shopping mall, and the site where the parade was held are all quite a bit further than expected from my house, and are in slightly different directions than one another. However, I did successfully make it to each site. The parade took the longest, as I stood there for 2.5 hours and it still wasn’t over! After getting bored of one too many men on horseback, I found the main square, called Plaza 9 de Julio, don’t ask me why. I think scoped out what I was told are the two most popular streets for stores, restaurants, etc. Now please excuse my constant reference to similarities in Salamanca, Spain, but it’s the only other city that I’ve spent enough time in to see how things works. Living in a city, being a student in a city, working in a city, and being a tourist are all completely different things!
But seriously, I felt like Salta was a slightly different version of Salamanca. It is bigger, but the types of stores, the food, and the fact you need to have your fruit weighed AT the fruit section of the grocery store before bringing it to the cashier is the same.
However, the biggest difference is the concern with transportation—there isn’t less transportation here…its just a little more dangerous. Unless you are in the main streets near the main square, there are NO stoplights, NO stop signs, NO yield signs, NO crosswalk signs, NO signs of any sort. It is literally every man, motorcycle, car, bicycle and horse for himself. There are also no lines to divide lanes, people just drive where they want at whatever speed they want (no speed limits). I’m surprised I haven’t seen any crashes yet, as cars speed down the streets and only briefly brake to see if they are about to clip a car or innocent bystander, before speeding off again.
Despite my adventurous day, my main goal was to find an Internet café with Wi-Fi. Maybe it was the sun blinding my eyes while walking, the fact it was a holiday and most places were closed, or my own stupidity, but I could not find a single one. The two Internet places I did find had Internet, but not Wi-Fi. I feel completely removed from the outside world, and I can’t say I like the feeling. Some people may find this refreshing. That removing oneself from the technology that ties us down and controls our lives too often is a good thing. While I do agree that the increasing dependency on technology is sometimes disgusting, it is also a wonderful invention that let’s us keep in touch with those people important to us. From seeing someone every day to having to struggle to find a way to tell him or her you arrived safely is a little disconcerting.
I'm not Irish
During my 18 hour bus ride, which went pretty smoothly, I had thought of quite a few profound things to talk about in my blog, yet now that I’ve successfully arrived at my host family’s place, I can’t remember a single thing.
The only thing I remember now is that I met an Irishman, who has been in Buenos Aires for the past 5 months and got a degree to be an English teacher. After only working there for two months, he left (he said he got “itchy feet”) and was on his way to Salta to explore. I asked how long he was staying—he said either a day or the rest of his life. But after laughing, he said most likely only 10 days, but afterwards he might go to Peru or Colombia and teach there. He seemed so carefree. The only thing he was certain of was after having worked a year in Ireland, he saved up all his money to GET OUT! We didn’t get into why he had wanted to leave Ireland so badly, but it seemed to me it probably concerned his antsy-ness.
However, his relaxed and untroubled mindset on his future confused me. My reaction was similar to when a friend told me she knew a guy who after college had bought a one-way ticket to Nepal with no plans, and ended up becoming a certified Buddhist monk. First of all, how cool is that, but on the more rational side, how do you DO that?
It is definitely my organized, plan-ahead, OCD-like personality that keeps me grounded from doing anything so irrational and crazy. I don’t like to think of myself as a boring, only live-by-the-rules kind of person. I like to think I love taking adventures and exploring…I mean, here I am, in Salta, Argentina, alone, not having a single clue if ANY of my DukeEngage proposal will actually work out or apply to the community I’ll be working in. That’s pretty adventuresome right?
Yes, but I didn’t work for a year to save up to take a one-way trip to South America (like the Irishman) or to Nepal (like that crazy college student).
I guess there are levels at which one can step outside one’s comfort zone. I’ve always been open to new things, projects, adventures…but I also like to know I have a place to stay, appropriate transportation, and at least one contact in case everything goes completely haywire. Maybe I can blame this concern for safety and control on the fact that I’m not Irish…
The only thing I remember now is that I met an Irishman, who has been in Buenos Aires for the past 5 months and got a degree to be an English teacher. After only working there for two months, he left (he said he got “itchy feet”) and was on his way to Salta to explore. I asked how long he was staying—he said either a day or the rest of his life. But after laughing, he said most likely only 10 days, but afterwards he might go to Peru or Colombia and teach there. He seemed so carefree. The only thing he was certain of was after having worked a year in Ireland, he saved up all his money to GET OUT! We didn’t get into why he had wanted to leave Ireland so badly, but it seemed to me it probably concerned his antsy-ness.
However, his relaxed and untroubled mindset on his future confused me. My reaction was similar to when a friend told me she knew a guy who after college had bought a one-way ticket to Nepal with no plans, and ended up becoming a certified Buddhist monk. First of all, how cool is that, but on the more rational side, how do you DO that?
It is definitely my organized, plan-ahead, OCD-like personality that keeps me grounded from doing anything so irrational and crazy. I don’t like to think of myself as a boring, only live-by-the-rules kind of person. I like to think I love taking adventures and exploring…I mean, here I am, in Salta, Argentina, alone, not having a single clue if ANY of my DukeEngage proposal will actually work out or apply to the community I’ll be working in. That’s pretty adventuresome right?
Yes, but I didn’t work for a year to save up to take a one-way trip to South America (like the Irishman) or to Nepal (like that crazy college student).
I guess there are levels at which one can step outside one’s comfort zone. I’ve always been open to new things, projects, adventures…but I also like to know I have a place to stay, appropriate transportation, and at least one contact in case everything goes completely haywire. Maybe I can blame this concern for safety and control on the fact that I’m not Irish…
Monday, June 15, 2009
Branded
It has to be the blond hair and blue eyes, and perhaps the t-shirt and jeans combination is the equivalent to a big American flag pasted to my forehead. When arriving at a café to eat lunch, the waiter paused, unsure of what to do, and quickly turned around. Two minutes later a different waiter came to take my order, and spoke in English. I guess it’s appropriate that they assume I can’t speak even a little Spanish, not even enough to order a meal. While I was be slightly insulted, they are probably doing so to play it safe and please their customers. However, I didn’t appreciate it when I spoke to this waiter in Spanish and he still responded in English. This happened in Barcelona too! Whenever you would speak Spanish, and not use a SINGLE word of English, just because they knew you were American, they felt it necessary to speak English, as if to say Americans are inadequate and can never speak the Spanish language properly. It’s frustrating.
I was also reminded of the obnoxious, annoying and sketchy flirting that I’ve heard is a reputation especially among men in South America. At a bar in Spain, I found the Spaniards much nicer, and the other nationalities (from my experience, Colombians) just plain creepy. While Salta won’t be an international as Buenos Aires or Madrid, and I will stick out even more so like a sore thumb, hopefully they’ll be a little more accepting and not make assumptions based on my casual dress code and the American flag I carry with me everywhere (just kidding).
I was also reminded of the obnoxious, annoying and sketchy flirting that I’ve heard is a reputation especially among men in South America. At a bar in Spain, I found the Spaniards much nicer, and the other nationalities (from my experience, Colombians) just plain creepy. While Salta won’t be an international as Buenos Aires or Madrid, and I will stick out even more so like a sore thumb, hopefully they’ll be a little more accepting and not make assumptions based on my casual dress code and the American flag I carry with me everywhere (just kidding).
Dinner with Enrique
I was in the mood for pasta. My stomach never sits well after long flights, so I thought some good ol’ carbs would help—and my cab driver had mentioned Italian food here was good. The hotel’s help desk told me about a place quite a walk away. I decided I was too lazy and didn’t want to risk being mugged, so I stuck to my familiar spots which consisted of the street my hotel is on. Of course, walking outside, I realized that I don’t have a high chance of getting pick pocketed because Spanish people always stay out late (of course its 7:30pm at this time) and there were way too many people on the street to be worried. Secondly, I also realized I had forgotten to bring a book with me to read with waiting/eating, but again, I was too lazy to go back up and get one. So I find a nice looking Italian place and am greeted by a 70 some year old man who seats me, asks where I from, and starts a conversation. This is Enrique. Amidst his duties as greeter, since I was seated immediately next to the door, I had a conversation with him throughout my meal. I told him I was going to work in Salta at a community center, and he immediately asked if it was religious.
I had never thought about that. I guess I don’t realize how many missionaries run around South America, but it still seems a little strange when 90% of the residents are Catholic.
Shortly after, I helped him with his English—basically clarifying the difference between “I” and “you” and explaining how to sound out “do” and what “it” means. The final product was him asking me “Do you like it?” He practiced quite a few times in reference to my pasta dish, my glass of wine, and my meal altogether.
He asked that I try and come back to the restaurant (called La Casona de Nonna on Avenida Lavalle) when I return to Buenos Aires before I fly back to the states. I think I will definitely try to take him up on that request. I told him he could see how well my Spanish had improved, and I made him promise to practice his English.
It was refreshing to have a conversation, although there was a language barrier when Enrique was asking if the U.S. universities had scholarships (but I didn’t know the word in Spanish, so it took awhile to sort out the meaning). I will have plenty of down time during my trip, to think, reflect, and write this blog—but if it weren’t for these small social interactions, then I probably wouldn’t have a whole lot to say. Ciao.
I had never thought about that. I guess I don’t realize how many missionaries run around South America, but it still seems a little strange when 90% of the residents are Catholic.
Shortly after, I helped him with his English—basically clarifying the difference between “I” and “you” and explaining how to sound out “do” and what “it” means. The final product was him asking me “Do you like it?” He practiced quite a few times in reference to my pasta dish, my glass of wine, and my meal altogether.
He asked that I try and come back to the restaurant (called La Casona de Nonna on Avenida Lavalle) when I return to Buenos Aires before I fly back to the states. I think I will definitely try to take him up on that request. I told him he could see how well my Spanish had improved, and I made him promise to practice his English.
It was refreshing to have a conversation, although there was a language barrier when Enrique was asking if the U.S. universities had scholarships (but I didn’t know the word in Spanish, so it took awhile to sort out the meaning). I will have plenty of down time during my trip, to think, reflect, and write this blog—but if it weren’t for these small social interactions, then I probably wouldn’t have a whole lot to say. Ciao.
Prior to Arrival in Salta
I’ve officially talked with my contact in Buenos Aires (chances are we may never actually meet in person) and am now excited about going to Salta. I won’t lie—I was pretty anxious about the travel experience and being in Buenos Aires all alone—but I’ve managed to make the most of it without getting mugged!
For a brief overview of the center I’ll be working at (to the best of my knowledge at least)…The center is within a network of other community centers, as the population surrounding the center is not as supportive. The people there are mostly volunteers, and mostly mothers. They provide lunch every day, and it is this alone that keeps residents coming back. Volunteers have been slack recently, but whenever they are around, activities are consistently organized for the kids. However, I have been told a lot depends on the support and help of the mothers. The community consists of about 300 residents, which differs extremely from the almost 400,000 residents in the city of Salta.
I have a few ideas about projects I want to pursue while I’m there, but I’ve been told not to go into the field with too many expectations, or else you will be disappointed. Also, do not make promises, especially to the kids!
So tomorrow I have an 18 bus ride to Salta…it may not sound too great, but my seat will stretch out into a flat bed, which is much better than an airplane seat, so I won’t complain. Wish me luck!
For a brief overview of the center I’ll be working at (to the best of my knowledge at least)…The center is within a network of other community centers, as the population surrounding the center is not as supportive. The people there are mostly volunteers, and mostly mothers. They provide lunch every day, and it is this alone that keeps residents coming back. Volunteers have been slack recently, but whenever they are around, activities are consistently organized for the kids. However, I have been told a lot depends on the support and help of the mothers. The community consists of about 300 residents, which differs extremely from the almost 400,000 residents in the city of Salta.
I have a few ideas about projects I want to pursue while I’m there, but I’ve been told not to go into the field with too many expectations, or else you will be disappointed. Also, do not make promises, especially to the kids!
So tomorrow I have an 18 bus ride to Salta…it may not sound too great, but my seat will stretch out into a flat bed, which is much better than an airplane seat, so I won’t complain. Wish me luck!
International Obsession with tidbits of Argentinean Pride
Buenos Aires is truly a unique city. First of all, it’s huge, and big cities tend to intimidate me—but in order to stay safe, I was very consistent with taking taxis (although I stressed out when one cab driver told me my peso bills didn’t have the appropriate government stamp on it and I would have to go to a bank to change it—unfortunately those bills were all I had, so he took one and said he’d change it himself—phew).
Before taking taxis though, I felt lunch might be nice and walked down the street where my hotel is. After having walked down 4 blocks, I was offered four different menus from restaurants, I passed a McDonald’s, a Burger King, a Chinese restaurant, and a few McDonald’s wanna-be’s who butchered their own amazing Argentinean food to make it look like (and I’m sure taste like) the greasy concoctions created in America. I ended up in a Parisian café, which appeared to have the most Spanish like cuisine in all the places I’d passed (who woulda thunk). However, the Paris/American influence did come forth when I ordered a sandwich with Spanish ham, and received a double-decker ham sandwich on white bread with a huge plate of fries. I guess they are a little more generous in their servings here…
My first stop was the bus station. My goal was to buy my bus ticket to Salta for tomorrow, but all I had was a reservation number and my passport—I had no idea what the name of the bus company was. This presented itself as a problem, and I wandered around asking stupid questions in mediocre Spanish, such as “I don’t know what bus company I’m using, this is my reservation number, where do I go?” Third time was a charm, and I finally tracked down the correct company and now successfully have my ticket for tomorrow!
The final stop was La Recoleta. Named after the Recoleto monks who settled in this area in the 18th century, it was first a cemetery (and still is), but now also includes fancy stores, restaurants, museums, and la feria artisanal (craft fair) held every Sunday. Since today happened to be Sunday, I thought I’d stop by. It was an endless circle of little huts set up by artists selling tons of jewelry and leather, among other things (although I have heard leather here is very good quality and cheap).
One quick sidenote, tomorrow is a holiday called El Dia de la Bandera, celebrating the creator of the Argentinean flag (I can’t recall his name, but I think he’s French). Jorge told me that the holiday date is actually the 20th, but just like the Spaniards, South Americans do everything they can to get out of work, so they moved it to this Monday so they could have a long weekend. No wonder most people outside the U.S. hate the U.S. Not only do we have a poor reputation of being obese, obnoxious and inconsiderate, we also live by the mantra “we live to work” instead of “we work to live.” I wonder which one I follow more often.
Before taking taxis though, I felt lunch might be nice and walked down the street where my hotel is. After having walked down 4 blocks, I was offered four different menus from restaurants, I passed a McDonald’s, a Burger King, a Chinese restaurant, and a few McDonald’s wanna-be’s who butchered their own amazing Argentinean food to make it look like (and I’m sure taste like) the greasy concoctions created in America. I ended up in a Parisian café, which appeared to have the most Spanish like cuisine in all the places I’d passed (who woulda thunk). However, the Paris/American influence did come forth when I ordered a sandwich with Spanish ham, and received a double-decker ham sandwich on white bread with a huge plate of fries. I guess they are a little more generous in their servings here…
My first stop was the bus station. My goal was to buy my bus ticket to Salta for tomorrow, but all I had was a reservation number and my passport—I had no idea what the name of the bus company was. This presented itself as a problem, and I wandered around asking stupid questions in mediocre Spanish, such as “I don’t know what bus company I’m using, this is my reservation number, where do I go?” Third time was a charm, and I finally tracked down the correct company and now successfully have my ticket for tomorrow!
The final stop was La Recoleta. Named after the Recoleto monks who settled in this area in the 18th century, it was first a cemetery (and still is), but now also includes fancy stores, restaurants, museums, and la feria artisanal (craft fair) held every Sunday. Since today happened to be Sunday, I thought I’d stop by. It was an endless circle of little huts set up by artists selling tons of jewelry and leather, among other things (although I have heard leather here is very good quality and cheap).
One quick sidenote, tomorrow is a holiday called El Dia de la Bandera, celebrating the creator of the Argentinean flag (I can’t recall his name, but I think he’s French). Jorge told me that the holiday date is actually the 20th, but just like the Spaniards, South Americans do everything they can to get out of work, so they moved it to this Monday so they could have a long weekend. No wonder most people outside the U.S. hate the U.S. Not only do we have a poor reputation of being obese, obnoxious and inconsiderate, we also live by the mantra “we live to work” instead of “we work to live.” I wonder which one I follow more often.
Mas Tradicional
Running on five hours of airplane sleep, I successfully made it to Buenos Aires. With a slight delay in arrival and mix-up with the meeting place with Jorge, I was driven around Buenos Aires and shown the basic sites, learning quite a few facts about this city. It is 90% Catholic (not all too surprising), is very modern and European with French (mostly in architecture), Italian, German, English and of course, Spanish influence. A huge percentage of this city’s population is immigrants, most coming from Peru, but there are large numbers of people from Bolivia, Paraguay, Chile, Costa Rica, etc, and I was told the chilenos are the best pick pocketers…
On the other hand, I was told Salta is the MOST (Jorge emphasized “mas”) traditional and cultural city in all of Argentina. Its colonial influence is so extensive, that it regularly attracts tourists. It is also known for its hilly terrain—I guess I’ll have to see it for myself in a few days…
On the other hand, I was told Salta is the MOST (Jorge emphasized “mas”) traditional and cultural city in all of Argentina. Its colonial influence is so extensive, that it regularly attracts tourists. It is also known for its hilly terrain—I guess I’ll have to see it for myself in a few days…
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