As part of the program, we had a weeklong excursion in a region of Patagonia, more specifically the towns of Bariloche in the Rio Negro Province and Esquel in the Chubut Province. Argentina is a much larger country than many people in the United States realize. For reference, when I first traveled to Argentina at the start of my program, it was a 10-hour flight from Dallas, Texas to Buenos Aires, which is located in the upper middle portion of Argentina. At the start of our excursion, we flew to Bariloche, and our flight ended up being about 2 ½ hours. Perhaps the seemingly large size of Argentina made it easier to comprehend the drastic change in climate as soon as we stepped off the plane. Buenos Aires is relatively flat (topographically speaking), hot, and humid. Bariloche in comparison was like a balm to my Pacific Northwest soul. Mountains on every horizon with snowmelt draining into lake basins, cool winds bringing fresh air, and far less people.

During my trip to Patagonia and in general, I have really come to appreciate the novelty of stumbling upon things by happenstance. I do not think this is unique to studying abroad, or even traveling more often than not, but I think when occupying an environment vastly different than the one you are used to, defying routine-like behaviors, and possessing, at almost all times, an underlying desire for some type of adventure, stumbling upon remarkable things becomes increasingly probable.

In this instance, we had the first morning free in Bariloche, and a group of students wanted to go hiking around Cerro Campanario. After some minor difficulties with the bus schedule, we found ourselves at the foot of a mountain forty minutes from Bariloche. Upon walking up to the trailhead, what should we discover but a chairlift that went directly to the top of the mountain. My group of three split off and took the chairlift to the top. The view was incredible and there was an outlook with a small restaurant at the top. What made it most amazing for me was not planning to discover this at all. I thought we were going to hike a few miles up some admittedly beautiful mountain terrain and get to admire the view from a slightly elevated perspective, so happening upon this strange little chairlift in a remote part of Patagonia was quite incredible.

We were fortunate to have the opportunity to meet with a number of incredible organizations/communities during our trip. Several of these communities were Mapuche, who are a group of indigenous tribes that historically populated regions of southwest Argentina and south-central Chile. We visited three different lofs (distinct Mapuche communities), two in Bariloche and one around Esquel, to learn about the history of the Mapuche people and their current struggles to preserve their culture, land, and language. The Mapuche people have a long history of resistance against colonialism and oppression. During our visits, I found that many Mapuche perspectives shed light on issues of social justice and inequality, including economic disparities, discrimination, and marginalization, and that their traditions, language, and worldview offer alternative ways of understanding the world outside the pervasive white hegemonic Westernized perspective.

Another organization we visited was called Piuke, after the Mapuche word piuké which means heart. Piuke is an environmental organization in Bariloche, dedicated to conserving Patagonia’s natural environment through initiatives such as forest protection, reforestation, environmental education, scientific research, and advocacy for sustainable development. Though the organization was not largely Mapuche themselves, they worked closely with local Mapuche lofs and other schools, community groups, and government agencies to raise awareness about environmental issues and promote sustainable lifestyles.

During our visit, members of Piuke cooked a curanto dinner for us. The process entails lighting a fire and gradually adding rocks until only the heated stones remain, then covering them with leaves and branches. Next, meat, vegetables, and fruit are placed on top of the branches, followed by more layers of branches. Finally, the entire setup is covered with a burlap tarp and buried underground for several hours, allowing the heat from the stones to cook the food slowly.

While we were waiting for the food to cook, my friend Romita and I befriended a young girl and her brother who were running around Piuke. There are no children in my immediate host family, so it was a delight to play around with some kids. The most rewarding part of the whole interaction for me was that we were speaking to these kids entirely in Spanish. I have to give Romita a lot of credit for carrying most of our conversations with them, but it was so cool to be able to talk to these kids in another language.

My language acquisition at this point in the semester has undoubtedly improved. I have only ever spoken English at home and in all aspects of my life, so having to speak Spanish constantly has been formative for my abilities to communicate. I feel so fortunate to have the opportunity to practice with so many native speakers who are usually very kind and very patient when I struggle with instantaneously conjugating verbs or formulating sentences. To anyone thinking about studying abroad in a program where they are required to speak another language, I cannot recommend it enough. It is not something easy to undertake, you will definitely face obstacles and feel frustrated at times, but there is nothing I have experienced that has been as rewarding. Having these small moments everyday contribute to this profound sense of growth and accomplishment. Until next time, chau!

Hola! I feel as though I have blinked, and weeks have passed. I was told many times by many people before I left that the time spent abroad would pass quickly, but I did not anticipate how rapidly that time has flown by. I suppose that is more to do with the busyness of my days and sheer number of things to do. I want to provide a brief summary of the things I have done these past few weeks.

March 1st – after Spanish class, I walked to this incredible bookstore/old theater called El Ateneo Grand Splendid with some of the other students on my program.

March 2nd – went on an excursion with my program to Ex ESMA

“As part of a national strategy to destroy armed and nonviolent opposition to the military regime, the Officers’ Quarters building at ESMA (Escuela Superior de Mecánica de la Armada) was used for holding captive opponents who had been abducted in Buenos Aires and interrogating, torturing and eventually killing them.” – UNESCO World Heritage Center

We were taken on a tour of Ex ESMA by a local expert, and I cannot quite articulate how profoundly disturbed I was to be taken through the space where all these horrific incidents occurred, to walk in the dark recesses of prisons, of torture chambers, to stand in a room specifically for the imprisonment of pregnant mothers. I believe it absolutely paramount to have candid and critical discussions about history, but that does not mean it is possible to sanitize these types of topics with academic rhetoric.

I have felt increasingly curious about the Argentinian perception of the United States, especially as a study abroad student who functions as a representative of her country. My experience as a U.S. citizen seems to be taken by those I have talked to as a universal experience, and I worry at times that my lack of knowledge about historical Argentine/U.S. relations reflects poorly on my understanding of Argentine culture. This ties back to some of my shared sentiments I posted earlier about a lack of Latin American history included in U.S. public school curriculum. There are quite a few countries in South and Central America that have similar histories of dictatorships, as well as a suspicious trail of U.S. intelligence involvement in processes of destabilization. My program is centered around social movements and human rights, and the more I have experienced here in Argentina, the more it feels that social movements are usually a direct response to a severe lack of human rights.

After the visit to Ex ESMA and in need of some conviviality, I accompanied some of my friends to El barrio chino – the Chinatown district of Buenos Aires. The lunch and boba acquired there were much needed and well appreciated.

Some other highlights of March include:

– My first night out at a bar with some lovely friends and a subsequent trip to one of the local boliches (dance/nightclubs) in Palermo. A night out in Buenos Aires has a somewhat later timeframe than what I have experienced in the U.S. Dinner usually starts at 9 pm, so a bar crawl tends to begin closer to 10:30-11 pm. The boliches don’t tend to have a good crowd until around 1:30 am. I’ve now been to a good number of boliches (only on weekends) and though the genre of music differs from place to place but is always something you can dance to.

– The discovery of a delicious plate called a tortilla, but not the kind we are familiar with in the U.S. Tortillas here are giant circular egg bakes that usually have potatoes, onions, and plenty of cheese (and are also a good vegetarian option).

– The familiarization with several “para llevar” buffet restaurants that have become a staple for us students as we try to squeeze in lunch between classes and our commute across the city.

– Ferías! Buenos Aires is well known for its collection of artisanal markets that line streets with vendors of all varieties every weekend. San Telmo is one of the largest and most famous ferías and seems as though it goes on forever. I did not even make it to the end after easily spending three hours exploring one Sunday afternoon. The quality of the wares is quite impressive, and I have had to reign in my purchasing urges very consciously.

– Rain, thunder, and lighting have been consistent visitors to Buenos Aires this past week. The storms here are torrential and the drainage infrastructure was easily overwhelmed after several consecutive days and nights of constant rain. One morning on my way to classes, the street where my bus station was located flooded, so I had to wade through water up to my knees that very quickly proved the limits of any waterproofing my shoes had. My jeans were soaked and I spent a very uncomfortable morning wringing out my socks and stuffing paper towels in my boots.

March 14th – Our group visited a farm on the outskirts of La Plata that is partnered with UTT (Unión de Trabajadores y Trabajadoras de la Tierra). The organization is dedicated to promoting practices of agroecology and fighting for food sovereignty. It was incredible to see the practices in person and the amount of work it takes to maintain one small acreage farm.

March 15th – With our Spanish professors, we took a tour of Fábrica Teatro Colon. The museum/warehouse held costumes and sets from the myriad of ballet and opera productions put on by Teatro Colon. The intricacy of the costumes and meticulousness of the sets was mind boggling. We had a fun time trying to translate Spanish theater vocabulary into their English counterparts.

I promise (loosely agree) to be more proactive about writing blog posts. Stay tuned for a subsequent post detailing more about events that occurred in March and our first excursion to Patagonia! Chau for now!

¡Hola todes! I have been in Argentina for a total of seven days, siete días, and I can’t stop thinking about all the adjustments. The gran ajuste (grand adjustment) has been like many things I have experienced before, but completely different at the same time. I have been thinking lately about why orientations are necessary. Not in a sarcastic, I’m-sick-of-being-shown/told-what-to-do, but why we as people find it so necessary to reorient ourselves to places and people. Adaptation and adjustment are natural but not instantaneous.

Unsurprisingly, the most dramatic change for me since coming to Buenos Aires has been the complete switch to Spanish (or Rioplastense as the porteñxs might say). My conversations are in Spanish, any question I ask has to make sense in Spanish, information I receive is in Spanish, I have even started to dream in Spanish. The regional accent, more specifically the way in which Argentines pronounce the ll sound, means I have been focusing much more to understand what is being said. For those unfamiliar with the sounds, the type of Spanish we are more accustomed to hearing in the United States would pronounce a word like quesadilla as kay-sah-diya whereas in Argentina, quesadilla would sound more like kay-sah-disha.

My host family is absolutely wonderful. I am living with an older couple in a quiet house some distance outside Palermo. My Spanish speaking abilities have withered over long summers and winter breaks, but my family is very considerate and is more than happy to speak slowly, repeat many things, and explain different parts of Argentinian culture. I was very anxious to move in with complete strangers, but my host family has lived with other study abroad students before and they have been so proactive when it comes to helping me acclimate.

Another major form of acclimation has arisen from the shift to big city life. I have visited my share of big cities in the past – New York, Barcelona, Athens, but my travels do not quite compare to what is feels like to live in these spaces for longer than a week. Buenos Aires is a big city. Admittedly, I have barely been here for more than a week, but the sense of inhabitation, of prolonged permanence, is tinged with a feeling of being more than a tourist, but far less than a local. I am here to stay for a while. City life is daunting and loud, bustling and humid, full of people stacked on top of each other. Existentialism lurks. There are times I truly struggle to comprehend the vastness of the world, and that vastness seems exacerbated in the city.

I have heard from other Whitman students that when they have gone on other OCS programs, the academics did not quite match Whitman’s academic intensity. I do not believe that is true for my program. We have already been assigned many readings and homework assignments for multiple classes each day and I have classes 5-6 times a week, with long commute times. Combined with very late dinners and very early mornings, my schedule is nothing if not packed. I am hoping to make some time soon to engage in typical tourist activities – visiting famous landmarks, taking free walking tours around the city, finding preferred cafes, and perhaps even attending un partido de fútbol (soccer match). I see it as necessary to familiarize myself with the major sites so I can transition from a completely clueless foreigner to someone who has a better sense of people and place. Until my next entry…chao!

Though I had an additional month to prepare, the morning I walked out the door, I felt far from ready. My lovely family deposited me at the airport and suddenly months of planning began to take effect. I was suspiciously clad (sweatshirts are apparently a no-go for the TSA) but after a quick pat down, I was on my way. I had a little less than a four-hour flight to Dallas/Fort Worth followed by a ten-hour flight to Buenos Aires. I felt excited if not slightly apprehensive on the flight to Argentina when about four and a half hours down, I was suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion.

I expected my general nervousness and homesickness to rear its head eventually, but I did not expect it to happen before I even landed in Argentina. The main cabin was dark, my fellow passengers all mostly asleep. I was quite thankful the two men sitting next to me saw it fit to bring eye masks and ear plugs. I was listening to one of my playlists when the song, “All My Loving,” by the Beatles started to play.

I tried to muffle my soft sobs as tears began to run down my cheek. I was still so excited to get to Argentina and meet all the other people on my program. I think though, after months of waiting, flying high somewhere over the tip of South America, it finally sunk in that I already was, and was going to be, very far away.

That song is my parents’ song. They played it at their wedding, they sing it to each other all the time, I once even watched them stand on top of a bar table in a local Spokane pub and sing it to the other patrons. Upon completion of a song, the singers are allowed to sign and staple dollar bills to any free space on the walls. (In this economy, most of the bills are ones). Both my parents were pilots in the Air Force and felt that certain lyrics crooned by the Beatles matched the emotions felt when one of them was deployed, so far out of contact and halfway across the Earth. When this song began to play, I felt myself relating to it in a way I could never before.

Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you
Tomorrow, I’ll miss you
Remember I’ll always be true
And then while I’m away
I’ll write home every day
And I’ll send all my lovin’ to you

When considering the content for my first blog post, I thought topics would range from my preparations for a semester abroad to the combined nervousness/excitement that accompanied the days leading up to my departure. How shocking that I find the theme to be a massive change mere weeks before my flight to Ecuador. For those unaware, the country I had initially chosen for a semester abroad was Ecuador, where I would study development, politics, and language. In light of the political turmoil that has been brewing within the country, a decision was made to withdraw approval for participation in the program.

Honestly, I was less surprised than I thought when I got word of the decision. Though I had been preparing for Ecuador for months on end, the local newspapers I would peruse and articles posted online suggested a burgeoning undercurrent of political tension and, at times, violence. When a story about a Guayaquil television station being taken over by a group of armed men made national news in the United States, I knew it was unlikely all my planning would come to fruition.

I can’t help but ponder over the situation in Ecuador (I am a politics major, after all). There is a complex relationship between power, violence, and the conditions that drive people to fight. The fear that replaces whatever sense of safety is maintained through legitimized sovereignty creates an environment where history rears its head as citizens look toward the future. Looking back on my public school education, I find myself disappointed at the abysmal exclusion of South American history within the curriculum. During middle school and high school, my understanding of South American history started and essentially ended with the arrival of Columbus and the conquistadors. Why does the United States have such a penchant for relegating evolving histories of other (non-Western) countries to a few lines in a history textbook?

With that being said, I was fortunate enough to secure a spot in a different SIT South American program. This spring, I will be in Argentina studying social movements and human rights issues, primarily in Buenos Aires. My departure date has shifted dramatically as I am now scheduled to leave for Argentina in mid February. I am quite relieved to have a chance to readjust to the massive change and prepare to temporarily inhabit an entirely different country. Though I am reeling at all the seemingly last minute changes, I am thrilled to still have the privilege of spending a semester abroad. ¡Estoy muy emocionada por mi nuevo viaje!