Monday, March 12, 2012

Passing through Argentina


There are several replicate buildings in Buenos Aires of famous structures from around the world. On the left, just under the plane, is the Argentine 'Big Ben' of England near the San Martín plaza. San Martín is a very important character to many countries in Latin America as he led liberation efforts in many countries during the Spanish occupation.

Belonging in Buenos Aires:
In transitioning from my internship in Honduras to service in Peru, I was fortunate to visit my aunt's family in Buenos Aires Argentina. Most days, I tried to relax (I'm better at busying myself with a task than resting) in the house, enjoying the company of twin toddlers and my aunt. Several days, we went out as a family into the city and on other days I explored the city on my own. Watching various American movies and shows, as well as the Oscar Academy awards for the first time, I felt that I learned more about American popular culture from a American-Argentine perspective (my aunt is from Kazakstan and her spouse is from Argentina, but they both studied and lived in California enought to identify there). I reconsidered what it means to be an immigrant and foreigner when I saw the city's diversity: there are Italian and Spanish descendents and migrants from Bolivia and China. Being amongst a homogenous population of Hondurans and Peruvians for close to four months, I wonder how I will view the diversity of the States upon my return. I also questioned whether one has to identify (or resist association) with a culture or race or whether several of these can be blended. I have found that some prefer to call me Russian while others adhere on me an American label. I am not eager to correct them either way as I am not sure that I reject or accept one or the other exclusively. I do have to admit, though, the business of city life made me yearn for good ol' country community in semi-rural Virginia, my home, where one is unconditionally (or with little choice otherwise) accepted and it is not necessary to categorize and exclude oneself from the heterogeneous population in a certain in-vs-out group. I kept comparing my experience in Argentina to life as I imagine it in Richmond (my home for at least the next four years). I hope that I can find balance between homogeneous and heterogeneous social existence.

One of the major avenues in the city. Taxi drivers (the black and yellow cars) only have to purchase an expensive lisence once, instal a machine to count miles, and paint their car a certain color to be in business.

The city's obelisk is smaller than the one in Washington, DC and you can't rise up in an elevator to its top, but it is placed in the center of a major avenue and hosts many protests.

This statue, dedicated to the Spanish, is also located in the center of a major avenue.

I think cemetaries are more fancy than those in the Untied States in just about any country, but the cemetary in Buenos Aires is like a city of its own.

I noticed hints of Catholicism and Judaism (among other more subtle professons of faith). I was surprised and intrigued by the signs of life (greenery) emerging from some tombs.

Rust and cobwebs are also a sign of life, I think. They represent the physical, chemical, and natural continuation of things. Although grave yards represent death, it seems that life and its processes cannot be escaped on Earth.

There is something very attractive about that color blue. I also like the vine lining the grave.

I wondered who these folks were visiting...or maybe they enjoy visiting the cementary in anticipation of joining their familial grave.

My aunt, her souse, their twin boys, and I went on a weekend walk on the 'Puerto Madero.' This artsy bridge opens to allow large ships to pass.

There are foreign embassies all throughout the city and Holland is privileged with a fountain and interesting statue of a girl with outstretched arms.

The boys love water! They gravitated towards the Holland embassy's fountain and drove their toy cars in the water.

More splashing on the port's walk.

Buenos Aires lunch: caannelloni with tomato sauce and a peach 'liquado.'

A 'casero' (home-made) 'tarta,' a typical Argentine lunch quiche.

The boys enjoy their daily walks to the plaza and often stop to smell or explore.

I think little boys may explore the world with the wheels of their toy cars. These cars (especially one particular red one with a biege interior) is present for bed, bath, and meal time.

Where one brother has found something new, the other has to join. A wobbly brick in the side walk intrigued them on the way home from the plaza.

Planes and such:
I had a blessed flight from Buenos Aires to Lima, Peru, where I had to wait most of the day for my evening domestic flight to Tarapoto, Peru. Likely because I checked in very early, my ticket was exchanged from economy to business class. I was a bit disillusioned at first but enjoyed the hour flight, where I had more leg room than I could use (I could barely reach my personal screen when buckled in my seat). I was surprised with the 'snack' of a fancy salad, two hot rolls, and chocolate mouse pie--served on real plates and cloth napkins. I think I fared pretty well...my only bother was that I didn't know how to put my seat table away (it turns out that the large seat handle opens to fold the tray inside). The flight attendant's name was Tatyana--a blonde hair, blue eyed lady perhaps in her 40's. Her somewhat sharp facial features suggested Russian or European origin. I wondered what she was doing on a TACA domestic flight in Peru, speaking English and Spanish. What kind of cultural/communal confusion does one in her place experience? Did she wonder about the girly who didn't seem to belong in business class?

As I exited the plane and traveled to Moyobamba (just under two hours away in a taxi), I sensed an eagerness to be amongst a homogeneous mass of short, dark, handsome humans. Their warmth and friendliness (the tone of their voice and willingness to greet unconditionally) made me feel a sense of home. I was delightfully ready to begin the final eight weeks of my internship.

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