Day 15!
Since my arrival, I've been trying to delete the word 'weird' from my vocabulary. It's very easy to say things are weird when what I mean is that they are just not what I am used to.
I'm finally getting my bearings! I know the subte system, I can direct taxis and tell them when I know they're trying to rip me off, I haven't forgotten to close both elevator doors since my first day in my apartment, I'm not confused when people go for the cheek kisses (but only on one side, Mel!), and I feel like the metric system is beginning to make a little more sense!
Mom does that 'mom thing' even though I'm 8,000 miles away. The last few times she has called have been when I'm dog tired, hacking up a lung and suffering a 10 hour migraine (note: never drink Quilmes beer unless it's free or you've spontaneously combusted and it's the nearest liquid). Somehow she just knows when I'm operating below 70%. But it's important to understand that moving to another country is more than adjusting. It's a process, an evolution if you will.
So, here are some things that are prolonging the process.
Weather. Weather in Buenos Aires is as erratic as spring weather in Alabama. Two days ago it reached almost 70 and I had to carry my pea coat all day and stuff my scarf in my purse. Last night it hit about 40. Today, at 6 p.m., it stopped raining for the first time in at least 14 hours. If our apartment were on the first floor, I'm convinced we would have floated to Patagonia by now.
Language. Argentines don't speak Spanish. They speak Castellano. It's a beautiful blend of Spanish language and Italian inflection with a major pronunciation difference that I can't explain in words because it doesn't have a letter. The other night at tango and salsa lessons, my heart skipped a beat when I heard our salsa instructors speak the Spanish of the Caribbean. I understood everything they said. I went from freezing cold in South America to almost feeling a frosty Medalla in my hand and sand between my toes.
Time. Lili doesn't leave for work until at least 10 every morning and doesn't return until at least 7. We eat dinner at 10 every night (sometimes later) and no one even thinks about heading to the discos and bars until at least midnight. I don't have class until 1 every day and I never have class on Friday. Mix all that in with the copious amounts of free time I have already and my body clock is just now adjusting. Also, I have 2 windows in my room but one looks into the hallway and the other one looks into the 'courtyard' of my building. But the building has 10 floors and I'm on the 3rd floor so I never get sunlight in my room so my brain thinks it's night time all the time.
But I am madly, hopelessly, completely, unbelievably in love with Buenos Aires. Life here is a beautiful challenge. I've been explaining to friends back home that I'm having to learn some of the seemingly most basic parts of life. For example, where in the hell does one go to buy sliced cheese in this city?! I've clearly been taking Kraft singles (okay, Kroger brand) for granted for the last 22 years.
School started this week. Luckily they didn't take attendance this week. I spent one whole school day with a migraine (I swear Natty Light is better than Quilmes.) and then one day I missed my turn and ended up near a highway at least 6 blocks away from my school. But the classes I made it to were fun. Riding the subte to school and sitting in a classroom in a high rise is surreal. How am I supposed to fully concentrate on the history of tango when there is an incredible view of the city behind me and my professor is the epitome of suave?!
My family here is wonderful. The apartment always smells like cinnamon and Lili cranks what I assume to be like NPR (86 opera, sub tango) night and day. Diego works a lot but he's super cute (he has a little purse for his yerba mate for Pete's sake) and, like everyone else in Argentina, is extremely helpful. They like me too from what I can tell. Then again they've told me that their last exchange student was a nightmare. They've told me stories of this girl being passed out in front of the elevator and peeing on herself, losing her keys (major no-no when one of your 2 house keys is the one that lets you into the building), wearing 'layers of make-up' and laughing like Fran Drescher. Lili doesn't speak English but she knows the Fran Drescher laugh. Obviously, an annoying laugh is understood universally.
Side note: people here don't call me Elena even though it is a direct translation and popular Spanish name. They call me Ellen, Asian (that's my name with the Castellano accent, no joke!), Hellen, Helena, Ellie and very rarely Elena. Weird, huh? No, not weird. Just different.
Ciao!
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