Montevideo

I’d like to describe my living arrangement for those of you who haven’t caught glimpses of it in the background as we chat on Skype. My first couple months in Buenos Aires were spent in a quaint, one-bedroom apartment with my friend Kelly. The roughly 600 square feet could easily be considered a downgrade from my three-bedroom house in Tampa, but I loved it just the same.

Kelly and I learned to laugh at the daily annoyances our apartment provided. There were nights when it would take us hours to light the gas oven while our uncooked, seasoned fish taunted us on the counter. Our thin walls were constantly penetrated by the obnoxious buzzer alerting us of an open elevator door floors below us. My Skype conversations consisted mostly of "you're frozen" and "are you there?" due to our weak ("borrowed") Internet connection. I tried to convince myself I was saving the environment during each of my two-minute showers in subzero water. I eventually learned to cohabitate with the small bugs that traversed my counters, sinks and trash. I even found a comfortable sleeping position on my mattress that must have been previously occupied by a sumo wrestler. But I had to wonder each time I handed over the stack of pesos for rent if the price fit the accommodations.

One night I was sitting at my friend Samm’s apartment discussing how Kelly and I were looking for a new place to live when one sentence changed everything: “You should move in here!” A few days later Kelly and I repacked our suitcases and small collection of belongings passed down from fellow expats returning home and moved into our new apartment…next door! We literally moved into the building next door.

Our new two-bedroom apartment is bigger, cleaner and much nicer. It’s ideal for entertaining guests and comes with an oven that works, hot water, a doorman downstairs and lifelong friends. We moved in with Samm (from Chicago), Denise (from Ecuador) and our honorary roommate, Jake (from Wisconsin). Samm and Jake have since moved back home, but Kelly and I shared our new apartment and our lives with them for six unforgettable, indescribable weeks!

This apartment doesn't come without its own little quirks though. Our room only has one bed, the Internet can be fickle and I burned my hand trying to relight the gas water heater for the shower. Most of you are probably stuck on the one bed comment (shame on you for not caring about my burned hand). Well...Samm, Kelly and I shared one massive bed. Some might view that as an inconvenience, but for us it meant cheaper rent, closer friendships, entertaining bedtime stories and a non-stop slumber party!

living room of our first apartment on Montevideo

left: old building / right: new building (photo taken from my friend Pachu's balcony across the street)

roommates celebrating Samm's birthday (left-right: Kelly, Samm, Jake, Me)

...I'll add a picture of the new apartment when it's clean :)

Can you hear me now?

I have a running list of subjects that I want to blog about and keep telling myself I'll get to eventually. There are details of trips, International friends and random observations that I want to share with my friends and family back home. Soon I will find the time to sit down and craft the stories with the perfect combination of words to create the mental images I want to convey for you all.

While I realize I should write about the above things first, something happened this moment that I felt compelled to document. I'm sitting in Starbucks attempting to write my articles for the day. Writing my articles usually consists of hours of surfing the web, gchatting and Facebooking with clusters of uninterrupted writing dispersed throughout. I was concentrating heavily on one of my very important Facebook posts when a couple girls came and sat across from me. The common courtesy before sitting across from someone on the couches in Starbucks seems to be eye contact with a quizzical nod toward the chairs and perhaps even an "ocupado?" I noticed these girls right away as they sat without extending the common courtesy. Then they started speaking English!

I was stunned by how odd it felt to hear an English conversation taking place right in front of me. I speak English with my friends down here, but I don't hear the language used around me very often. I sat here listening to them talk and thought about how awkward it was. Then I realized something interesting - yes, it was awkward listening to the English language but what was most uncomfortable was the way it was being used. These girls were speaking about Argentina and their experiences as if those around them didn't exist. They clearly assumed I couldn't understand English and felt comfortable filling the quiet atmosphere with their boisterous gossip about techno dance clubs, rude Argentines and things the US "does better." I was immediately annoyed with their ignorance and complete disregard for the ears surrounding them. I found myself irritated with the rude Americans and defensive of the country I now call home, the people I've grown to love and the language I so desperately want to learn.

Suddenly I realized something that I've probably been guilty of myself: one should always speak as if someone around you is listening (and can understand you) - if not to spare the feelings of others, then at least to spare the image of yourself...and your country!

As they were discussing the interesting fashion trends in Argentina, I gently placed my computer on the table between us and kindly asked them in my sweet southern dialect if they could watch my things while I got a coffee. A look of shock spread across their faces and embarrassment colored their cheeks as I turned and walked to the counter.

Northern Argentina

On June 2, 2010, I boarded another bus for an adventure in northern Argentina. It is remarkable how many beautiful places there are in South America that I was clueless about before I moved here. Salta is one of those places.

I refer to this trip as my trip to Salta but that’s not completely accurate. Salta is a city in northern Argentina that is commonly used as a base for exploring the surrounding villages, mountains and salt flat. Kelly, Samm (from Chicago) and I took the 24-hour bus from Buenos Aires to Salta and met our friends Damien (from France) and Ashley (from Chicago). We rented a car and immediately set out for Purmamarca.

After stopping excessively to take pictures, relieve our bladders and trade seats, we arrived in Purmamarca after dark and drove to the first hostel we could find. The town felt small and empty as we unloaded our bags and sat down for dinner at the hostel restaurant. We decided to forgo wandering the empty dirt roads of the cold, dark town and played card games instead as we enjoyed the live music, wine and llama empanadas.

I woke up the next morning in Purmamarca and couldn’t believe the beauty outside of my window. We drove into a town with no streetlights after dark and consequently missed how beautifully place the little village was. Just outside of my window was the famous Cerro de los Siete Colores (Hill of Seven Colors). We spent the morning wandering the quaint, pleasant market streets of a town that felt cold and eerie the night before and then walked up the multicolored mountain – taking pictures each step of the way.

Purmamarca

Cerro de los Siete Colores

After we counted the colors of the mountain and Damien saw and touched (while not without warning) his first cactus, we continued north to the salt flat. Damien drove us through winding mountains as his American passengers sang Disney songs and old childhood favorites to pass the time. The large white land was designed like honeycombs of rough, hard, dirty salt that stretch all the way to the mountains on every side. I wish I could describe it better, but I’ll have to let the pictures help me here. Once we grew tired of slicing our hands, elbows and knees on the salt while taking funny pictures, we piled back in the car and continued north again to Humahuaca.

approaching the salt flat

(left-right: Me, Ashley, Samm, Kelly, Damien)

It is said that Humahuaca is the most populated settlement in the historical Quebrada de Humahuaca. To give you an idea of what “most populated” means – there was one bar (though we never found it), one hostel, one grocery store and a couple restaurants. We went out in search of the phantom Humahuaca bar but quickly returned to our hostel to be close to our sacred heater. The nights were cold in northern Argentina and it was almost unbearable to be outside – especially when there wasn’t anything to do.

The next morning we woke up, got on a freezing cold bus and began what was one of the longest, most difficult days of our northern Argentina trip. We spent five agonizing hours getting to and from Iruya, a small town hidden deep in the middle of the mountains outside of Humahuaca. My hands clenched the seat in front of me as the bus took sharp turns at dangerously high speeds. I pretended I didn’t notice that the only thing between the bus tire and a steep drop down the side of the mountain was less than a foot of loose rocks. We were jolted from our seats as the old, metal freezer we were sitting in bounced around on top of boulders and forged small rivers. Occasionally the bus would stop to pick up a local gaucho, and I would look out over the grassy mountains as far as the eye could see and wonder where the hell that person came from and where they were going! My knuckles were white, my legs were weak and my faith was stronger when we arrived safely in the hidden town of Iruya.

As with many of the places we visited on this trip, there wasn’t a lot to do in Iruya. We took pictures, enjoyed a playground with local children, ate lunch in a house disguised as a restaurant and watched a futbol match on a field wedged between two mountains. The people were friendly - if not completely oblivious to our presence. There was something beautiful about the culture of a village that can survive alone in the middle of nowhere… and yet simultaneously endure the quizzical eyes of foreign visitors.

driving through the mountains to Iruya

Iruya

little boy in Iruya

We spent our last day and night in Salta, exploring the base for our travels and singing along with the hostel band. During this trip I saw colors combined by nature in ways I’d never imagined and mountains that looked like jawbreakers. I stood on salt AND the Tropic of Capricorn! I met locals in hidden villages and played with children who rarely see their pictures on digital cameras. But if asked what my favorite part of the journey was – I’d have to say the company. Kelly, Samm, Ashley, Damien and I had a dynamic that made the trip everything it was. It just wouldn’t have been the same without Ashley’s hostel research and music, Damien’s driving and planning skills, Samm’s humor and impeccable memory of Disney songs and Kelly’s allergic reaction to altitude and salt (it’s sad but funny…she looked like the Michelin man the whole trip).