Andean Adventures

Dear Friends,

First allow me to apologize for my lackadaisical posture toward on-line journaling. To express my deep regret, I would like to borrow from the profound lyrics of one Ms. Britney S. :

"It's been a while. I know I shouldn't have kept you waiting. But I'm here now!"

At start of life-changing sojourn (Córdoba Airport)

Following a prolonged sojourn across the rugged and often melancholy face of Argentina, I am finally back in Rafaela, where life is rolling along its usual, relaxed pace. I'm returning to my home away from home with batteries recharged, outlook refreshed, and a level of enthusiasm comparable to that of an entire cheer-leading camp on s'mores night. Aside from getting acquainted with a few new corners of this vast and rugged country (the 8th biggest on earth in fact), my July odyssey gave me the chance to bond with my superlative friend and savvy traveler, Emily Miller. Those who know Emily might remember that she also spent a year in Argentina through the Fulbright Program, and it was her encouragement that got me to apply in the first place.

Shout out: Thank you Emily for your infectious enthusiasm, side-splitting humor, and saintly patience! It was such a treat to have you here!

Emily, bowling in the desert.

For those of you feeling barfed out by my ode to friendship, I will have you know that our trip also had many practical applications:

A precipitous Andean road

1) We figured out how to operate a motor vehicle through the unique Andean stew of precipitous roads, tempestuous weather, and maniacal drivers.

2) Emily discovered that, when feeling warm inside a moving car, one potential response is to scream in panic about the temperature, although simply taking off your jacket often yields equally pleasant results.

3) We had a crash course in The Art of Bribery 101: South American Roadway Officials and luckily passed the test (after some heavy negotiating). Although corrupt to his core, our young police officer treated us with a surprising level of courteousness while emptying our pockets.

Traversing new parts of Argentina was a great way to give my camera a workout and enjoy breathtaking vistas (imagine the 2002 hit music video of a certain Colombian sweetheart...well, minus herds of wild horses and writhing in the mud). It was also an important personal reminder to keep exploring new places and getting to know different facets of this country. Seeing Argentine communities so different from my own, I was struck by the extent to which our experiences shape our understanding of the world (sounds like a no-brainer but just stick with me).

The northwest, where we spent most of our time is extremely arid and mountainous. The most important cities (Salta, Jujuy, Tucumán) were founded by Jesuits in the 16th century, and many of the people living there are of indigenous (Andean) descent. In contrast, my corner of the country is verdant and flat-as-a-pancake. The towns were settled as agricultural colonies in the 19th century and most people are of Italian descent, with a few Spaniards, Swiss and Germans thrown in for good measure. The point is, these are two utterly different worlds that both call themselves Argentina. Had I not visited the enchanting Andean side of the country, I would have returned to the USA with a skewed and pallid understanding of day-to-day reality for many Argentines!

The following are just a few of the highlights from our trip:

1) The Quilmes Ruins

The Quilmes Ruins, Tucumán

An intriguing testament to the Quilmes people and the settlements they built in the Calchaquí Valleys, this archaeological treasure was one of my favorite stops along our route. Our spectacular tour guide, David Vargas, led us through the site, explaining (in miraculously foreigner-friendly Spanish) the history of this captivating capital, which dates back to at least the10th Century A.D. He pointed out how the city winds its way up a mountain cleft, probably in a defensive posture against the ever-expanding Incan empire, which by the 15th century was leering at the Quilmes in a way that made them kind of uncomfortable. David also explained that although the Quilmes managed to withstand the colonialist designs of their northern neighbors, successive waves of Spanish conquistadors proved impossible to repel. Using the very same routes developed by the Incas, the conquistadors swept southward from Peru, intent on snatching up as many resources as possible, thereby augmenting their brownie points with Iberian VIPS.

The Quilmes were ultimately conquered in 1667, after 130 years of resisting Spanish occupation. As retribution for their continued defiance, the Quilmes suffered the Spaniards' succinctly-named policy of reducción de indios (yes that's really what it was called); a forced relocation march to a settlement on the other side of the country. Sadly, this policy bears a disquieting resemblance to Andrew Jackson's Indian Removal Act of 1830, so if you're familiar with the Cherokees' Trail of Tears, you have a pretty good idea how the rest of the story goes. Nowadays there's a city called Quilmes in Buenos Aires Province, some 1500 kilometers (932 miles) away from the ruins where, on an aside, they produce a wildly popular beer by the same name. What's left in the Calchaquí Valley are the ruins and a coalition of descendants of various indigenous groups, who nowadays are known collectively as the Diaguita.

Emily hiking above the ruins.

Recent historical events in a nutshell: the ruins were excavated and restored by an archaeological team in the late 1970's. In the 1990's the provincial government signed a 10-year-lease to a private developer, Héctor Cruz who plunked down a hotel, restaurant and swimming pool on the site. A 2002 government ruling forbade the renewal of the the land lease, and Cruz was forcibly removed in 2007. A Diaguita community organization is now demanding restitution of the ruins, which are currently administered by the Tucumán Tourism Department.

2) Salta, La Linda

The Church of Saint Francis, Salta

The most aesthetically arresting of the northern cities (in my humble opinion), Salta is nestled in a desert valley at the foot of the Andes. Since it's founding in 1582 the city has acquired an enchanting assemblage of colonial structures, most of which are tidily arranged around the central plaza. Its unique historical endowment coupled with it's auspicious location near a renowned wine region (yum, yum) has made the city an important tourist magnet. Strolling down La Balcarce, a convivial pedestrian mall packed with places to chow down, get down, or just wind down after a long day of sightseeing, we learned that if Salta is eye-candy during the day, it's aural enchantment at night. Argentina's Andean Northwest is the cradle of folk music, and in Salta, the plenitude of pubs where it's popularly performed are called peñas! All alliterations aside, the songs heard in peñas, at turns baleful and boastful, tend to tug on the heartstrings (see clips below). With it's folksy roots, and musical-inclination, Salta in many ways feels like Nashville's long lost cousin. After a delicious bottle of Malbec wine I was less inhibited about filming songs and dances, so I hope you enjoy!

Typical instrumentation and all-male harmonies

Gaucho style folk dancing

3) Quebrada de Cafayate

Scenic View in the Quebrada of Cafayate

A spirit-quest-worthy route if ever one existed, the Quebrada de Cafayate (Cafayate Pass) is a captivating fantasia of geological formations. Thanks to dumb luck, Emily and I got to see the Quebrada frosted in snow for the first time in over a decade. The colorful rock formations are awe-inspiring enough on their own, but the reds, purples, and browns of the valley capped with brilliant white snow is the stuff poets dream of. Route 68, which stretches through 111 miles of craggy wonderland, reels out ribbons, testing the reaction time of hapless motorists, most of whom are thoroughly hexed by the surrounding peaks and buttes. Along the way, curious rock formations with imaginative names such as the toad, the monk and devil's throat serve as pit-stops, providing travelers with terrestrial playgrounds and fine photo-ops.

Garganta del Diablo

Just as the laws of gravity start to take effect toward the southern end of the route, travelers enter Cafayate, a charming village and launchpad for visits into the surrounding sea of vines. It seems grapes just love the incongruous micro-climate created by the Cafayate valley's extremely high altitudes and relatively mild temperatures. In fact, at 6,000 feet above sea level, these are some of the highest vineyards in the world. I don't really know what that means in epicurean terms, but Emily and I surely enjoyed the popular Argentine reds (Malbec and Cabernet Sauvignon) produced by Quara Wines, and got to visit several other bodegas or wine cellars where we learned about the fragrant white Torrontés wines this region is famous for.

After several informative and well-packaged tours at large commercial wineries, we hit a steep learning curve in the diminutive backyard/vineyard of Don Antonio Cabezas. Located in the dusty settlement of Tolombón, Don Antonio's is easily missed, marked by little more than a rickety wooden board on the side of the road. In fact, we had to rely on a good-spirited traffic officer to point us in the right direction (Yes, that little house over there. Yes, that one. Yes, he makes wine there).

Brian, Don Antonio, and Emily

We whiled away a good part of the afternoon at Don Antonio's, uninterrupted by a single other guest. As the sole proprietor of the business, Señor Cabezas works several acres of land with a crew of about 10 hired hands, and he doesn't really bother with exporting, domestic shipping or any marketing, really. He has been producing wines in Tolombón for his entire life and currently specializes in 2 or 3 different types (including a sweet torrontés) plus a grape liquor, all of which were SCRUMPTIOUS! Yakking away with Don Antonio was a pleasant way to learn about local agriculture, the wine-making process, and small business management in the Cafayate Valley. Gazing into my crystal ball, I can foresee a logical and lucrative business partnership with Tauzel's Farm Fresh Sweet Corn somewhere down the road!

4) Grand Salinas

Salinas Grandes, Jujuy

Another famous mountain pass is the Quebrada de Humahuaca, which connects the northernmost city of Jujuy with the Bolivian border. It has served as a critical commercial artery since at least the colonial era, when Spanish administrative laws required that the resources from Argentina be hauled northward to Peru, rather than southward to Buenos Aires. Along the route visitors cross the Tropic of Capricorn and pass through a succession of tiny desert villages. In each pueblo, swarms of shutterbugs vie for space inside tiny chapels, admiring the insouciant angels and haunting saints that have adorned the walls since they were dreamed up by local folk artists some 500 years ago. Outside in the plazas, artisans (and capitalists) make a killing with bric-a-brac laden blankets. 

Cerro de Siete Colores

At some point along the route you will pass through Purmamarca, home to the Technicolor Cerro de Siete Colores (Hill of 7 colors) where, if you take a sharp turn onto Route 52, you can leave behind Humahuaca's hordes, and ascend into the Andes. The day we took this serpentine road, we found a caravan of empty trucks dictating the speed limit, ensuring a low-velocity climb. After several miles of twists and turns, akin to those normally found in an amusement park, we reached the summit and were rewarded with an overview of the entire earth. A certain sereneness started to sink in, caused either by the profound peace on top of the world, or a light case of altitude sickness. 

On top of the world

Zipping down the western side of the mountains, we encountered herds of llamas, fierce winds, and the eerie moonscape of the Grand Salinas, nearly 82 square miles of flats covered by nothing but salt. In fact, the crusty white plains conceal a network of subterranean pools and springs, saturated with minerals. Using that great old science trick, evaporation, patient workers were harvesting the water's grainy treasures and topping off the tractor trailers we had just convoyed with. Heavy with a load of french-fry seasoning, the trucks turned around to make the return trip over the mountains.

I am so grateful to Emily for visiting me and helping me explore a new part of the planet; I appreciated all of the new experiences we had, as well as the many echoes from our trip to New Mexico last August. I'm gaga to get back to the Andean Northwest someday, so if anybody wants a guided tour of this enchanted region, just let me know!

My next project? Delving into the tropical northeastern reaches of Argentina. I've recently enjoyed reading an enchanting collection of anthropomorphic children's tales written by the famous author Horacio Quiroga. He spent most of his life in the jungles and plantations near the colossal cascades of Iguaza Falls. I'm also itching to see the ruins of the Jesuit settlements in the categorically-named province of Misiones. They have captivated my imagination ever since watching the Oscar-winning 1986 historical drama, The Mission, in high school global studies class. Plus lately I've been having vivid dreams about an affable, lap-swimming yacaré; a species of crocodile that makes its home in the eastern rivers of Argentina - it's a sign!

Thanks for reading and see you soon!
Brian José

Video Clip from Chorale

Dear reader:

A video clip from Sunday's Autumn Chorale here in Rafaela! It was great to hear all the different groups and the neighborhood center we sang in was PACKED to the brim. Although the visual is blurry, you can hear the Rafaela Chamber Choir singing one of the Argentine folk songs from our repetoire, Una Pena Nuevamente. Gracias to Sergio (and his wife) for filming and sharing the clip!

I hope you enjoy it!

Here's the text, for those Spanishly-inclined and my roughshod translation:

Una pena nuevamente me está quitando la vida.
Sorrow is once again taking my life.

El remedio es olvidar... y el remedio se me olvida.
The cure is to forget... and I've forgotten the cure.

A mi todos me aconsejan y me obligan que te diga,
Everyone advises me and obliges me to tell you,

que tu mucha ingratitud, me está quitando la vida, ay la vida!
that all of your ungratefulness is taking my life, oh my life!

Si quiero querer y olvidar que pasión será la mía,
If I wanted to love and forget, what kind of passion would mine be?

te quisiera aborrecer... y el remedio se me olvida.
I would like to loathe you... and I've forgotten the cure.

May Update

Dear reader:

I hope you're still here because after much vagabondage, I've decided to put my nose to the grindstone once again and get writing!  The million dollar question is where to start?

It's been smooth sailing here in Rafaela. I'm glad I have routines, patterns, and friendships now, because when living (abroad), one needs stabilizers like these. There are ups and downs, and having places to go, things to do and people to see helps keep me chugging along on the rainy days. Almost every day I'm engaged in some kind of music activity. Recently I arranged and started teaching my choir the song Shenandoah. The pronunciation of the word Missouri has caused some brow-wrinkling and head-scratching but luckily they love the song! Today I have my first concert with the choir. We're participating in the 4th annual Autumn Chorale, a musical get-together featuring all of Rafaela's singing groups. Of course I've been tootling along with the municipal band as well. Thanks to other Fulbright ETA Christina Franzese, who came to visit a few weeks back for the pics!

 Rehearsal with the Rafaela Chamber Choir

Concert in the Plaza 25 de Mayo with the Rafaela Municipal Band

Friendly Argentines - Me, Edu, Agos, Liche, Christina

 More Friendly Argentines - Me, Marina, Mauricio, Christina

So far, teaching has been a breeze. Every week I hold individual chats with the senior students so they can practice English with a native speaker and get some pronunciation feedback and other language tips. I love this activity because it helps me get to know my students on an individual level. Several of them have invited me over to their house for dinner or mate (rhymes with LATTE - I'll explain soon). In my junior class, we're working with the Barbara Streisand movie, The Mirror Has Two Faces, bit by bit. The students have to listen to the movie ¡without subtitles! and do special writing and discussion activities designed around each scene. We're also playing an ingenious version of the game TABOO that the students developed to review vocabulary:

It's a phrasal verb! The second word is a preposition and the opposite of up! When you are stuck in a tree, you have to ___ _____! When you dance like a crazy person you know how to ___ _____!
Can you guess what the answer is?

In my sophomore class we started working with the movie Gran Torino starring Clint Eastwood. If you haven't seen this movie, YOU SHOULD! It focuses on Walt Kowalski, recent widower and grumpy Korean War Vet who, although living in a Detroit neighborhood characterized by dramatic demographic changes and social friction, is still fond of slinging racial epithets. And guns. Although he carries some heavy baggage from his years in the service, he becomes the accidental savior and role model for the young Hmong refugees living next door who, despite an omnipresent gang of seriously bad apples, are really just struggling to keep their noses clean.  Imagine trying to work through this cultural pea soup with fresh-faced youngsters from another country!

Bueno, 3 o'clock is tiptoeing near, which means it's almost my favorite time of day - NAP TIME! Thanks for reading and keep your eyes peeled for upcoming posts!

The House of Ricotti

Hi curious readers!

Before diving in, I'd like to send out a THANK YOU to everyone who helped me brainstorm great American folk songs to share with the Rafaela chamber choir. Many peeps suggested beautiful songs like Shenandoah, This Land is Your Land, Simple Gifts, and Oh, Susanna! If inspiration (or NPR) strikes again, let me know!

Now welcome to the House of Ricotti, a place where doggies are venerated, words are constantly tinkered with, and boys named Brian are fed mountains of delicious foods. Raul and Lelia are two free spirits who have welcomed me into their family and helped make my transition into Rafaela extra smooth. GRACIAS A DIOS that I ended up with them! There have already been many times that their affection and humor has spared me from a barrel of homesickness and feeling-sorry-for-oneself-ness.

Raul is a dean at the Tech University here in Rafaela, and Lelia teaches English (and, since the arrival of a certain Yankee boy in her home, Spanish too). They are, to mutilate a nice Spanish term, semi-jubilated or semi-retired and they have two beautiful daughters. Carola is a 30-year-old cardiologist who lives literally around the corner with her boyfriend Gabi, a graphic designer. Sonia, who is my age, studies bioengineering in Santa Fé, the provincial capital, which is about 2 hours from here by bus.

What can I tell you about the marvelous Ricottis? We bonded immediately over puppy doggies because they share their home with three clownish canines, Dulce, Grisa and Cookie, who provide a lot of comic relief and are just shooooo cute, yesh they are - jusht the most precious shweetie-pie doggy woggies in the whole wide world, except for when they... NNNNNÓ! BAD! no jumping on people! Cookie, get off the table! Stop, Grisa, Dulce, NO! Do NOT eat the pigeon! 

Well, I think you get the picture. But if you don't here are some more.

Cookie hamming it up for the cam, Dulce just chillin' out, 

D&G taking a siesta (or contemplating potential afternoon shenanigans)

Music provided another connection, as Raul used to wail on the trumpet and piano back in his days as a shaggy-haired student. They have been encouraging me to play the clarinet and were psyched when I started practicing with the municipal band. The family also spent some time in State College, PA back in the 80's so we have a do a lot of idea swapping on language and culture in the Americas. 

I appreciate most that the R fam has incorporated me into simple routines and rituals. For example: Sunday evenings we always take the poochies for a walk in the country. And by the country I mean one of Rafaela's newest housing developments on the brink of construction. We run and play and learn nature-related vocabulary there.

 

Lelia, Raul, Sonia and the 3 stooges after a Sunday walk.

Sunday afternoons are spent eating with the extended fam: Lelia's bro, sister-in-law and nieces and nephew, and Grandma Belgica. Most Argentines have some kind of corny nickname, most commonly gordo (fatty) or flaco (skinny) and although Grandma Belgica has passed the notable milestone of 90 years on earth, everyone still just refers to her as Coca (as in Coca-Cola).

One week Lelia made a special request that I cook some typical US food for the Sunday dinner, so I spent the weekend whipping up a big steamy cauldron of Chili con Carne and a pan of crumbly cornbread. Eat your heart out Martha S. The Argentines were curious indeed, and their first reaction was Oh, it looks like feijoada! which is a Brazilian bean stew made out of the reject meats. I was nervous about cooking for a crowd of strangers and questions raced through my mind; Is this enough salt to satisfy the Argentine palate? Will the spices seem unusual to them? Will this make everyone incredibly farty later on? But out of 11 dinner guests, 10 asked for second helpings. Whether they did so for yumminess, or out of sheer politeness is something that I'm not going to question too thoroughly. Bottom line - they ate it - RELIEF!

 A witch stirs the pot 

(a witch = an English professor in profesorado parlance.)

The Ricotti fam after a hearty meal of chili con carne!

They deserved their siesta that day! 

Family R. also invited me along with them on Easter vacation. We went to a gorgeous region called Traslasierras in Córdoba province. It's a picturesque region with rocky, semi-arid hills that reminded me a lot of parts of California. I took many beautiful photos to share with you, but someone robbed me, so you'll have to use your imagination and make do with this:

Here's the deal - we went to dinner in the pueblo and came back to our little house 4 hours later. I thought I should brush my teeth before going to bed but couldn't seem find my toothbrush anywhere! In fact, I couldn't find anything except some of my socks and my day planner.  My backpack, clothes, camera, sunglasses, iPod and photo-album were all gone! A quick inventory showed us that although the windows and doors were tightly secured, most of the small bags had wandered off in the night. The Po-Po came to do a little investigatory work but despite abundant clues, their devil-may-care attitude communicated that our case would rot at the bottom of a filing cabinet. I am doubtful that I shall ever see those dirty undies of mine again.

Anyway, as Norma Gonzalez said, Nowadays, people want stories and pictures, pictures and stories. So just FYI, my upcoming dispatches might be a little light on the pictures until I can find a replacement cam.

Much love, and thanks for reading!

XOXOXO
B

Welcome to Rafaela!

At the behest of dear Paw Tauzel, I'm attempting to paddle this entry away from the highfalutin end of the language pool...here goes!

After many hours in airport limbo, I hit the ground running in Buenos Aires. Our two-day orientation introduced us to many important, informative, and helpful VIP-types at the Fulbright Commission, the US Embassy, and the Argentina Ministry of Education. Norma Gonzalez, the executive director of the Fulbright Commission was a real treasure; she's the kind of person whose enthusiasm beams through in every smile, and there's no doubt that cultural exchange is her joie de vivre. If I'm ever reincarnated as a highly influential Argentine woman with a penchant for polka-dots, I hope to be just like her! 

The orientation gave Fulbright Fellows and referentes (our institutional contact people) the chance to meet. It also served as a forum for discussion about our roles in the colleges and universities that are hosting us this year. Norma explained that, along with assisting in English classes, our primary objective is to meet as many people as possible. Basically we're supposed to spread the good word of Fulbright as cultural exchange missionaries (my words, not hers). That's part of the reason they scattered us all around the country or "in the provinces" as they say, and assigned most of us to small or medium-sized cities; so that we could help promote the program and connect with people who might not otherwise meet very many Yankees in their day-to-day wheelings and dealings.

Liliana (my Referente), Norma (Fulbright Exec. Director) and yours truly

Following the orientation, my referente, Liliana, and I took a luxy overnight bus (with a "bus attendant" who serves you meals and drinks, no joke) back to Rafaela, arriving in the wee hours of the morning. A word about Liliana - I think she may be the one of the most competent human beings I have ever met. Her organizational skills would put most computers, robots, and Martha Stewart to shame. Within a matter of days she has helped me to secure a cell phone, bicycle and host family. Thank you Liliana!

Now, to picture Rafaela, close your eyes and imagine you are transported to a parallel universe, which very loosely resembles Florida circa 1950...well, except that everyone has cell phones, wifi, and mopeds. Anyway, there are about 100,000 people in this affluent little city and the population keeps growing and growing, partly because of the strong agricultural and manufacturing base here, and partly because several universities have opened satellite campuses here in recent years. 

Houses are mostly small, one-story affairs built on postage-stamp lots, but now 4- or 5-story apartment buildings are starting to pop up all around town. If you want to engage in any form of commerce you need to mozy over toward the town square, which is always bustling with activity...unless of course it's siesta time (12pm to 4pm) in which case you won't encounter another living soul. From the central plaza, the city spreads out about 20 blocks in each direction, so walking or biking around is a breeze. This town is adorable, comfortable to live in, and bursting with civic pride. Check out Rafaela's fancy website here.

While living here in Rafaela, my assignment is to assist the English professors at a wonderful college with the somewhat unwieldy name of Instituto Superior del Profesorado Numero Dos, Doctor Joaquin V. Gonzalez; basically a training college for future teachers. Classes don't actually start until the 5th of April but I've been helping out with some orientation programming for first year students.

Freshman class at the profesorado

Otherwise I've been bopping around town, looking for other ways to get involved in the community and pass the time. One day I visited Rafaela's most well-known bilingual school, La Plaza, where a class of eight-year-olds asked me poignant questions, such as: Are you 46? Are there trees in New York? and I know a girl who plays soccer, while climbing over any and all furniture in sight. Their frenetic energy and curiosity made my day! I also visited one of the high school level English classes and was impressed by the students' proficiency. Their task was to listen to a song by U2 and decode Bono's mumbly lyrics, a demanding task even for us native speakers! Liliana, multitasker extraordinaire, not only teaches at the profesorado, but is also an administrator at La Plaza school, and has fostered an incredible exchange program between La Plaza and high schools in New York City and Atlanta, allowing teens to meet peers from another culture, practice speaking another language, and just generally have a TOTES RAD experience International facebook friend request... ACCEPTED! lol bff c u L8r in So. Amrika! XOXOXO

My quest to get integrated in Rafaela has also led me to the Remo Pignoni municipal school of music! Thank heavens for this gem of a resource. I've already signed up for clarinet and piano lessons, and am rehearsing with a little orchestra, the municipal band, and the Rafaela chamber choir, which as luck would have it, is practicing a repertoire of Argentine folk songs this year - SCORE!

***ALERT, ALERT! INCOMING FAVOR REQUEST!***

Dear readers, I would be much obliged if you would kindly send me your ideas about beautiful North American folk songs that I could share with my chamber choir. If you have scores of music, great, but I could also just use your thoughts or opinions on great traditional American songs.

That's all for now - keep your eyes peeled for upcoming posts about my charming host family, yummy food, and one-on-one Spanish classes with Tuky, the queen of Rafaela!

...and don't forgot to send me your favorite folksongs - or just post a comment about them below...

An Auspicious Beginning

Esteemed friends, family, and dance partners:

It is with immense pride and pleasure that I announce to you an engrossing new channel for internet-based procrastination, namely my blog!

I should mention from the outset that I'm taking this plunge into 21st-century voyeuristic journaling at the behest of my Momz, who until now has tended more toward fear-mongering than enthusiasm when it comes to the internet (and other dark arts).

Let me set the scene for you.

MOMZ: We'll miss you so much when you're in Argentina!
ME: I'm going to miss you too!
MOMZ: Then you should make a "blog!"
ME: ...now where on earth did you learn that word?

So the principal goal of this writing exercise is to share my experiences in Argentina with all my treasured friends and family, who I'm sad to be leaving while I chase my poncho dream. Now seems like an appropriate time to extend a big fat THANK YOU to everyone who helped see me off this week - thank you coworkers for organizing the surprise party, thank you family and Sam for helping me vacate the apartment, and thank you friends for keeping the atmosphere so festive on my last day in Manhattan.

While my fingers are at the ready, poised to document every calamity and triumph I may encounter in Argentina, actually getting my person there has proven surprisingly problematic. You see, today marked the beginning of monsoon season here in New York, causing a rash of delays and cancellations. At LaGuardia airport most flights, including mine, were grounded, which led to a severe spike in abrasive passenger antics. I admired the pluck demonstrated by Kristi the Delta representative. She did a commendable job fending off the pitchforks and torches (although how they got through security is beyond me) while finding me an alternate route to Buenos Aires. A few graceful key strokes and a discreet phone call, and voila! I had a seat on a later flight... operated by another airline... departing from another airport. Immediately after crossing New York and checking in at said airport, my new flight was delayed for 8 hours. Someplace, where the dulcet notes of a steel drum band float on a coconut sea-breeze, Saint Christopher is sound asleep, snoring in his hammock.

Wish me a safe flight this morning and keep your eyes peeled for upcoming dispatches, hopefully from Argentina!

XOXOXO
B