Friday, February 8, 2008

Lost in (South) America [for michael: name that reference]

Hoy. Hoy, jueves, was very interesting. I have officially been here for one week, and every day is a new adventure. Soy, I awake a couple minutes before my alarm went off at 7:15 and as I’m lying there half-asleep, I realize that the aquatic noise that I hear is not my bathroom faucet or one of those creepy house sounds but in fact rain. It took me a few minutes to catch on before I realized that it actually does rain here. Damn. It turned out that this shower was in fact a tsunami-esque downpour. I had already decided that I was going to conquer the public transportation system and take the bus (collectivo). So, in order to do so, I left at 7:45, small pink American umbrella in hand. The bus stop wasn’t so far, but this rain hailed straight from the gods, or from the devil. I can’t tell you if they have a bad drainage system here because it was coming down so hard that the roads would have flooded regardless. So here I am in my blue jeans and small pink umbrella and lightweight bag with all of my homework and important papers. Walking in the flooded streets. With the crazy Argentine drivers. And this was only the first ten-fifteen minutes, or first eighteenth, of this adventure. I get to the bus stop, and I am soaked. Literally, my jeans were drenched up to just below my knees. So there I was, being an American on this crowded South American street, and as I look around, I see that every other person—female and otherwise—looks their bests. I had decided not to do the self-pity “oh no I got wet in the rain” thing but then I watched as gorgeous bronze women crossed the highway in their heels and elegant umbrellas as if they had just walked out of a professional stylists’ and it was 75 and sunny. How DO they do it?! Anyway, the bus routes are designated by letter and number. The main ones start with N and then there are others, E, etc, that go to very specific neighborhoods. All N busses are orange, and I knew that I wanted one of those. All N busses also go to the Central, and since I was able to take any N bus the other day towards Central from school, I figured I could take any orange bus back to school from my house, which is in between the two. Right? Wrong. I got on simply “N” and wound up making a complete circle around this residential community that took at least 40 minutes. Crap. It was just after 9 at this point, and class started at 9. And I had planned on getting a coffee beforehand. So it dons on me that yesterday, when my friend was going to Arguello, the town that our school is in, she took the N3. Well, the towns here are small, so I decided that that was where I went wrong. I would have to take an N3. I got off the bus at about the same place as I had gotten on, except on the other side of the busy highway, and commenced to set out and find my N3 bus. I was pretty frustrated at this point, as I hate to be late, and I hate to be lost, and as I made it only to the median, I see an N3 pass going in the direction I need. Great, it would be at least another 10-15 until one passed. So I cross the street, and wait. As it was pouring, and my eyes suck, I had a hard time reading the little signs that read which bus each was, and the next time that an N3 passed, I waved it down right as it approached, and alas, not in time. As I watched it pass me, a little scruffy ugly dog comes right up to my bus stop and nudges my leg as it starts to yip at me. I almost stepped on it but in truth I’m scared of all stray dogs a little so I just stood there with my little pink umbrella and my thin backpack with all my now wet work and important things like wallet and digital camera and new phone (don’t worry dad- nothing got damaged) and held back tears. I considered hailing down every orange bus so as not to miss mine but then I realized that I had already taken the wrong one once, so I would just have to stand on the curb where the water was collecting and the cars were passing dangerous close to splashing it all over my already grungy (for Argentines) clothing and stare real hard at every passing vehicle for another 15 min. At 9:34 I got on the N3 bus, thinking about how I would enter class, what I would tell my professor, etc. Well. I wouldn’t have to worry about that just yet. As I strained to look through the fogged-up window for the familiar building near my bus stop, I noticed that we were getting closer and closer to the mountains. Eventually we ended up on a dirt road, making a circle to turn around at the end of the route, and I was the only passenger still riding. Sweet. Luckily, the bus driver was sweet behind his scruffy demeanor and voice and he asked me where I was going. After repeating the name of the street I needed and the University about five times he said “OHHH Bla Paca” (Blas Pascal? Yes.) He informed me that I needed N1 or N2. You’re kidding. Apparently Arguello is not so small after all. So, I got my second cititur in three days. I also got to see some gauchos who got on the bus near the end/beginning of the route. At this point, it was almost funny. Kind of. 20, 25 minutes later, the bus driver gestured at me and reminded me N1 or N2, across the street. Yep, I knew the routine. I got off at just about the small spot on the same street as before and went to the busstop after almost getting run over for the umpteenth time and got followed by a bigger stray who scared the crap out of me but who at this point I was completely unconcerned with. I knew that my options were 1. Walk home, where I would have to explain to my family why I wasn’t in school, and get five points off my final grade; 2. Go to the nearby McDonalds or bakery and eat my sorrows until the closest bar opened and thus begin to drown them, and get five points off my final grade; or, 3. Wait for N1 or N2. I flagged down the next N2 ten minutes later. I walked into school during our break time, at about 10:40, looking worse than the wet strays. Remember that I left my house at 7:45 and that it takes me 45 minutes to walk to school, or 10-15 on a bike.
The rest of my day was fortunately anticlimactic. My professor felt bad for me and was glad that I finally made it. At lunch I went to an amazing restaurant nearby and had an Argentine hamburger, which means that it had friend egg and cheese inside and that the carne was fresh, almost of a steak consistency, and with delicious bread, with an imported Budweiser. Sidenote: the French fries here are absolutely divine.
Then we watched The Mission, in English with Spanish subtitles, for school and I walked home since it was no longer raining and hence much cooler than it has been for the past week.
Quick synopsis of horseback riding yesterday: I love horsies. LOVE them. We cantered a bit around a loop.
Without even touching on the lessons from this morning, today’s lessons on Argentina and life are: There is no such thing as bad words. They told us this in culture class, but I also learned it at home on about my second day when one of my sisters called the cat a hijo de puta when all of us were present, and the dad just helped explain it because I couldn’t understand the pronunciation. Leading to lesson 2. Cordobeses have a very distinct language. It’s fast and they cut off a lot of words and they don’t use future tense. 3. If you’re going to be walking in torrential downpours, take an extra pair of shoes with you. And Lastly: If you don’t want to look American in South America, don’t wear jeans and teeshirts and basketball shorts and carry little pink umbrellas. For the past two days, I have been hit on my the same traffic guard, in English. Today it was “Hello. I know you. Your eyes are beautiful! I like your eyes. I love the United States!” and Yesterday was, “Hello Hermosa!” Before he got to the Hermosa part, and before I realized that he was the same guy who had said “hey lady” and “how are you girl” on previous days, I responded “Hola,” to which he latched on immediately. As I walked further and further away, he yelled “I have only one question. What is your name?” (this part in Spanish) I wonder if I had answered if it would have been a pick-up line. I was thinking “Oh, well it should be linda” or something.

Ok, that’s all for now. More than anyone cares to read I’m sure. I’m uploading a few pictures (not many), so be sure to check those occasionally as well. If you want to see things like pretty horses. www.picasaweb.google.com/juliegerdesargentina

Nos vemos! (or, here, “No vemo”)

1 comment:

Jim said...

haha! Lost on an Argentinian bus headed for the andes with gouchos getting on!! You will definitely laugh at that some day in the future. pics came out great. I like your cat - but Maple doesn't like the looks of him at all. Luv your blog. keep writing some more.
luv...dad