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Buenos Aires vs. Nashville
{This is a trip journal I wrote, revisited. Originally written on August 4, 2008}
Buenos Aires vs. Nashville...Da dunnnn.........
Who could have known that I'd have to eat my own words regarding a comparison I'd hastily voiced in relation to Argentina when I was confronted with the ACTUAL comparison itself?
The dutty south!
I flew to Buenos Aires with Air Canada by way of Toronto YYZ Airport and Santiago, Chile arriving a full 24 hrs later at the bottom of the world.
It was May 18th, 2008 and I had picked ECELA, a Latin Immersion class, as my language program a few weeks prior to celebrate my quarter life hood.
I had my Family Guy dvds to keep me busy and the movie selection aboard was not too shabby.
Luckily, I chose a night flight. The Toronto-Santiago leg was glossed over while I slumbered.
The connecting Santiago-Buenos Aires flight was its own story.
My gosh, I couldn't stay awake for the LIFE of me.
I'd be sitting up calmly watching the virtual map on my screen and, next thing I know, I was rescuing my forehead from the pull-out tray!
Ayyyyy......
When I arrived at Ezeiza Airport, I felt a bit like I did in the Dubai airport.
Swarms of people every which-a-way, predominantly male and, unlike the Dubai airport, decidedly lecherous.
I struggled for a bit to find the car which was to transport me to my accomodations.
Mercifully, a young, twenty something porteno had heard of my program and helped me to be on my way.
Sitting in the chartered taxi, I vainly attempted to make small talk with the driver but it proved futile.
My Spanish was very rusty and I had never quite learned how to speak in more than present and preterit(o).
As we approached the city center, I saw a lot of beautiful statues and parks, places I'd made a mental note to check out once I'd settled in. But then...oh, but then, wait for it..wait for it....
We drive a few more blocks and the streets become a little less clean, the graffiti a little too prominent, the store fronts a little too rundown.
Well, hey, whatever, no big deal, right?
Um...so we find the apartment building I would call home for the next two weeks and the driver offers to ring up to the tenant to make sure there were no communication problems.
"Quien es la chica? Es la maiate?"
I'm all, wtf?
The only time I'd heard that term regularly was in middle school and it was meant to be taken pejoratively, so I was a bit like, Oh, ok, I guess this isn't So Cal....or something.
The tenant was actually a pretty nice woman in her mid to late thirties and a local fashion designer.
Just my luck!
The very first night, I bought a light windbreaker jacket from her before we all headed out to dinner.
All: me, she, her design partner, her guy friend, an Australian dude who had been in my language program and was sticking around taking private classes, and.....her mother and the other designer's mom.
We headed out to eat at about 11pm which is typical of portenos and of latin culture in general.
The meal, and resulting conversation, lasted nearly three hours until I could barely stifle my exhaustion.
I was looking forward to having much more than a catnap!
My room was charmingly decorated with a twin bed, a bureau, night stand, television, and the two kitties, Salvador and G-----, who invaded at every given opportunity.
Those cats were, hands down, the most energetic, dog-like pussies I've ever, ever met.
Salvador, in particular, would just jump on my laptop or crawl all over my back with little warning.
Oh, but the tiger in him did indeed come out!
A few days in, he jumped on my bed after I'd come home from checking out the mall in Palermo.
I leaned forward in front of him, softly cooing, "Salvadorrrrrrrrrr...."
And what does he do?
He proceeds to leap off the bed in one single bound directly aiming his tiny, wiry body towards my face like a starfish.
Only a starfish with CLAWS. From hell.
I jumped back in just enough time to save my face from reconstructive surgery and, um, the wall collided with HIS face.
Serves him right.
Is that mean?
Well, he ran out of the door and nevr tried that shit again!
Although he did like biting me. Feisty critter!
But, I digress.
So, I missed my first day of class due to my overwhelming case of the sleepies but I made it to the language center the next day.
I placed into the intermediate level and was due to come back later that evening and from then on from 2-6pm, 5 days a week.
I walked to and from class nearly every day over the two week program. I was so very happy to have some sort of routine I could count on.
The center was situated in Recoleta, which is an upscale district about a 20 minute walk from the apartment.
The shift in architecture, pollution, noise, and the temperament of the locals was such a jarring contrast.
My apartment was in the San Nicolas district which is an area which just borders the main downtown area and has an abundance of restaurants, although predominantly Italian.
A lot of small family-owned businesses appeared to dominate, although there were plenty of mass-market looking shops as well.
Being on foot, I encountered waaay more than my fair share of pollution, dirt, and exhaust coming from the cars and buses at every single stop light.
I don't know how many times I had to blink and tear up and dab at my eyes because of dirt getting beneath my contact lenses!
Recoleta had a lot less through traffic and, thus, less pollution, and the streets were better maintained.
The people much more aloof and deep in their own thoughts than my hood in San Nic.
Aside from there, and small pockets of Palermo and Palermo Soho, I just couldn't be left to myself.
I was given outright hostile stares from a lot of the local women and weird smiles from the men.
If I may be so bold to make this assumption, I would wager that I was mistaken for a Portuguese-speaking Brazilian more often than not, rather than a Brown Anglophone Americana and thus I had to deal with whatever came along with it.
I had armed myself beforehand with plenty of knowledge about the 'ethnic' experience in South America and purchased cultural guides and books with specific reference of Argentina.
Yet, I'm not sure if anything could have prepared me for the often icy reception I would attract.
It was awful difficult attempting to blend in and 'just be a tourist.'
Didn't happen there.
Buenos Aires was the one nut I couldn't crack.
I had read plenty about portenos being a proud people and priding themselves on their "european-ness.....ness" (lol).
I was prepared for that and I felt that having lived in Paris would be the best primer for this kind of thing, non?
Heck no.
The level to which a lot of the locals I encountered were mistrustful of darker skinned foreigners was downright distressing at times.
I've been to many countries,although admittedly the majority are in Western Europe, and I've dealt with feeling 'out of sorts'.
However, unfortunately, I truly felt like I had entered the twilight zone circa 'antebellum south' here!
Americans and Europeans who visit who are Caucasian or Latin in appearance will most definitely fare better than I did.
I would not discourage anyone with interest from going but it took a stiff upper lip to deal with people there at times.
I mean, perhaps it was a tip off to you readers that I was more interested in the apartment cats than people while there from my earlier descriptions.
And I rarely ever find cats amusing, with few exceptions! (***note: Surprisingly, I've been converted into an all-around cat lover since late 2008!).
I hesitated to write my travel experience in Bs As because I wanted to find something really awesome about my trip to redeem it and negate the less than spectacular aspects.
I can normally overlook a lot of things that go wrong, especially in the name of travel but this one was...whew...
In closing, I will summarize what was actually pretty neat about being there. And I'll try and curtail the cringe-worthy factors:
Pros
->The US dollar is actually worth something there! The ratio is about 3:1 to the Argentine peso.
->The food was incredible (and cheap).
Every single meal I had was worth remembering and I savored every bite.
It was right up there with the quality of cuisine in Paris and New York, although I had to take a few points off for lack of variety.
->It is close to Montevideo, Uruguay, Iguazzu Falls, and Bariloche is a well-reknowned ski resort town in northern Argentina.
->The language program was the best one I've ever participated in..and I got a 94/100 on my final exam!
There were only 5 people in my class and the instructor,a local portena, was extremely effective.
She certainly made Spanish lessons something to look forward to.
A lot of the trivia games brought forth my competitive side with gusto!
Como quieres esos manzanas?
CONS
->Lots of grafitti and trash in a bunch of areas.
->The rich/poor dichotomy is extremely apparent.
->Unwelcoming, suspicious locals.
->Pollution
->This was the very first time when travelling by myself actually sucked.
All in all, I'd return to Argentina, although not by myself.
I'm actually more keen on checking out Brazil or other nearby South American countries (with or without a travel partner).
Now, Nashville....woohoo! Oh, my stars!
It exceeded my expectations and then some.
I flew with Southwest and spent a long weekend immersed in near non-stop country music, southern cuisine, palatial estates, friendly smiles, and the genre of hot, humid weather you can only get back East/SouthEast.
Aside from Carrie Underwood, Shania, and Faith Hill, I am none too familiar with the country music genre.
Dare I say I became the biggest new fan of country/folksy singer Marshall Chapman?
She was performing at the Bluebird Cafe along with 3 other singer/songwriters.
I was taken away instantly with her magnetic story-telling and soulful, spirited baritone voice.
A scenic drive through the Bellemeade section of the city showcased the grand homes which instantly evoke images of Tara in Gone With the Wind.
Do they still name houses these days?
I was told no, but, dammit, I'll name 'em if they won't.
These homes were like people!
Home is a dirty four letter word that just ain't fittin'.
The following night, a visit to the Grand Ole Opry was a novel experience, as we were able to stand on the stage while the performers cranked out their tunes, rhinestones glittering, boots a-shining, toes a-tapping.
I know I'm corny, but, ya kinda had to be there!
I enjoyed myself immensely.
I am hankering to return and check out more of Music City and all that it has to offer.
A big kiss to the citizens of Nashville for being so sweet and kind, progressive, and welcoming during my way-too-short visit.
Originally published May 2011.
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