Cordóba, Argentina
I lectured my parents the other day about the type of home update I like to receive. I told them that when I’m far away for long periods of time I have very little interest in the timeline version of their lives. Getting and giving updates to people from home can feel a lot like those first days of fall in high school. On those days, friends and acquaintances feel obligated to ask one another about the events of their summer. This conversation generally follows:
I lectured my parents the other day about the type of home update I like to receive. I told them that when I’m far away for long periods of time I have very little interest in the timeline version of their lives. Getting and giving updates to people from home can feel a lot like those first days of fall in high school. On those days, friends and acquaintances feel obligated to ask one another about the events of their summer. This conversation generally follows:
“Well, I went camping in the Grand Canyon with my family for a few days at the beginning of July, but I spent most of the summer working in the Beanery.”
“Wow. I’ve heard it’s really difficult to get a reservation to camp in the Grand Canyon! You must have had that trip planned for a long time.”
“Yep, almost a year.”
“Wow.”
“Well how was it?”
“Great! Really beautiful.”
“Oh really? Cool.”
Then we switch roles…
“Oh fishing? I’ve heard you need a license for that.”
“Yeah we’ve been planning it for a while.”
“Well how was it?”
“Great! Really beautiful.”
“Oh really? Cool.”
What I’ve learned from this trip is that the things I want to know most from home are the mundane details that let me imagine what ya’ll are really experiencing, and feel at some level a little more connected.
An excerpt from one of my favorite emails I received from my father (copied here without his permission):
"I did manage to get the rest of my tomatoes into the ground, plus some cucumbers and eggplant. Now that I'm ready to plant, Lewie's tiller has been abused enough that it's not working again. (OK, in more NVC language, my needs for ease weren't met when I noticed that again this year, when I was ready to till, the tiller wasn't.) So, I got to dig and mix some soil with a long handled spading fork. I was very glad not to have to use a short handled one."
I have no idea if my preference is a universal one, and I know that it was silly for me to spend time philosophizing when I haven’t posted in over three weeks, but I wanted to explain why I’m not trying to cover all the major plot points.
Instead, a typical day on the ranch:
We wake up at 8:00 to a VERY cold room. It some ways it’s definitely better that we don’t have a thermometer, although in reality I don’t know what temperature readings in Celsius really mean anyway. However, before the math and science buffs come to my rescue you should know that my father has already provided me with what I’m sure will be a very convenient conversion method after my tiny math brain puts in some substantial practice time. In response to the cold, we regularly enlist many of the well-practiced frostbite prevention techniques we learned in 8house. We both sleep with our clothes and I occasionally wake up a few minutes early to turn on the space heater.
If we successfully haul ourselves out of our matching twin beds, we change our bottom layers of clothing and replace the now-perpetually worn top layers. Since both Phoebe and I refused to believe that we would voluntarily leave summer for winter, we came ill prepared for the weather. I truly believe that the women at work suspect that we never change clothes since our outer layers make daily appearances.
Our breakfast was originally criollos, a layered biscuit-like pastry, and fruit. However, after a couple of tactful hints (in Spanish, huzzah!) our host mother caught on that we would enjoy plain yogurt to eat for breakfast.
The conversation went something like this:
“What do Argentines usually eat for breakfast?”
“Usually bread, sweet bread, criollos, or pastries. I know that in the US people eat large breakfasts with eggs and toast and other things.”
“Well Phoebe and I aren’t very normal Americans, but we really like to eat plain yogurt with apples and granola for breakfast. I don’t know if they have plain yogurt here, you know yogurt that doesn’t have any sugar, or any flavoring. Just yogurt. Phoebe and I really liked to eat this for breakfast. Just plain yogurt…”
I’m not sure how she got the idea that we might want yogurt for breakfast after I was so tactful and indirect, but this development has greatly improved our spirits and energy in the morning.
We leave for the Colectivo at 9:10 and wait, often shivering and complaining, at the bus stop. The buses in Cordoba do not run on a schedule, so this wait can be anywhere from 30 seconds to 20 minutes. Since neither Phoebe nor I particularly enjoy being cold and bored, this is generally not our favorite time of day. However, as my parents often reminded me as an impatient child, boredom is a great generator of creativity. It has been for us. There have been innumerable times when we have almost missed the bus because of a warmth game or hand puppet story that I, to the chagrin and secret enjoyment of Phoebe, have created.
After a harrowing Coletivo experience, Phoebe and I hurry to catch our second bus, which often arrives only minutes after the first. Generally we can walk briskly towards the stop but occasionally Phoebe, who is generally more aware of these things, sees our bus stopped at the light a block behind us and we run pell-mell through crowds of people getting well deserved looks of -crazy gringos- and indiscriminately plowing through everything in our path.
When we arrive at the hogar de niños we ring the doorbell and wait on the street. I’m generally paranoid about getting mugged, which feels somewhat out of character for me, so I stand with my back to the door and cast dark looks at the motos that speed by.
When I arrive in the morning, there are typically one or two kids that I haven’t met before in my sala. The new ones will, without fail, say something incomprehensible that prompts Laura, one of the hogar mujeres, to say “yes, she is very tall.”
She also uses me as evidence that the kids have the potential to get very large if they eat all of their lunch. I’m very pleased that the words alta, montaña and elefante are in my vocabulary as they allow me to catch a little more of these conversations.
Phoebs and I work for a couple of hours and then eat lunch and the hogar. This food is not usually particularly visually appetizing but is generally well seasoned and plentiful. Last week we had polenta with beef, spaghetti with beef, and Locro (beef stew). Apart from picking around the larger beef hunks that still contained bone, we obediently ate what they put in front of us. Nonetheless, I still wish I could have seen Phoebe’s face when they served it.
After lunch we work for a few more hours, and during this time I often glue together snowmen or decorate cards and drink tea while watching the kids with Vela, a German Volunteer. She has been here five months, came with no Spanish, and is now practically fluent (not only in Spanish but also in English). Last week she found some extra fabric and made a doll for the kids. She finished in one hour hand stitching and with two kids on her lap. When I asked her where she learned to make dolls she said she made it up. Suffice it to say I find her both very impressive and very intimidating.
After work we do the inverse of our bus trip to the hogar (unless we choose the wrong bus in which case our 1 hr journey can quickly become an epic adventure).
When we get home we hang out for a little while, sometimes just huddling by the heater and talking.
Generally our host mother leaves dinner waiting for us in the microwave (Argentines don’t appear to believe too strongly in refrigeration) which we eat in front of the heater unless Phoebe is having one of her all to frequent civilized days during which she forces me to sit down at the table to eat. Sometimes Esther joins us but our 6:00 cena is much to early for most Argentines who don’t generally start dinner until 9:30 or 10 and often don’t finish until after midnight.
Like old ladies the three of us sit at the table after dinner and play SET or simply talk. I love this part of the day. Sometimes Phoebe and I leave the table with whole lists of new words, words for maternity –craving, desire, or vegetables – strawberry, eggplant, peach…
Our favorite is when Esther’s friend Miguel stops by. Our new South American Michael jokes with us and challenges our comprehension of Castilian Spanish with his idioms and sarcasm. It is with our two 60+ friends that we took our first shots in Latin America (dulce de leche liquor…eww).
After our tepid to cold showers, we huddle in front of our space heater or jump straight into bed. Unsurprisingly through our incessant complaining, we have developed an excellent capacity to talk about heat, heaters, and cold in Spanish.
While cultural differences make for entertaining and sometimes hilarious diversions, our trip has largely consisted of the same mix of emotions that generally accompany life. Obviously, in a place without friends or family, these emotions can seem more overwhelming and powerful, but we’re still bored, excited, lonely, and peaceful in the same ways that we are at home. Often our most wonderful moments are very mundane: a long conversation in Spanish, a beautiful mountain, a warm criollo, or even a skype with home…
But like somebody said and now lots of other people say:
often, the beauty is in the details.
Hey Kehala! I loved reading this--I could picture everything! Here is a funny story from my classroom: Last week was professional week at Breakthrough Miami. We had guest speakers from a variety of professions: a lifeguard, FBI agent, Lil Wayne's manager... To thank them I bought some thank-you cards for the kids to sign. I passed them out at the end of the school day with simple directions. "We're doing this to thank our visitors. I just want you to write something along the lines of 'Thank you for coming! Good luck with your career' and sign your name. Does everyone know what to do?" I was reassured by a chorus of "Yes, Mr. Alex!" The cards started to move from table to table around the room and our discussion turned to bigger, more complicated things while the students completed this admittedly mundane task. After school, I was sitting in my empty classroom and googling the nearest post-office when it occurred to me to take a look at the cards before sealing their envelopes. It was a good thing I did, because on each career day thank-you card one student had written "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Sometimes a fifth grade classroom is wonderfully similar to a nursing home.
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