The last post (cue crying emoji)

I know it’s been way too much time since my last post. But I had to prioritize. And I chose to do as much as I could to ignore the ever- approaching return date, and in general the existence of my home country. Instead, I focused on my life in Argentina and tried to soak up every second.

Coming back has been hard but at least I know that I have nothing to regret; I lived my exchange to the fullest and didn’t let the sadness of leaving ruin any experiences.

That said, I now have some time on my hands, and in kind of a medium between wanting to be distracted and not wanting to move on, I’ve decided to write my last post.

Picking up from the last post-

A few weeks after returning from the North Trip, I switched back to my first host family. It was hard to explain to my second family that I wanted to leave, but they were very understanding of the relationship I share with my first family.

The first weekend back, I went to Tandil with my host mom and her friend. We didn’t have much time, but it was enough to see all the quintessential touristy spots and take pictures. And in Tandil, that includes a bit of hiking. It felt so great to get out on a trail again, and have a bit of time to get my heart pumping (because trust me, before that, it had been awhile).

A few weeks later, I was able to spend a few days in Buenos Aires with my host sister. She worked until noon, so i had a few hour every day to explore the city (by foot, of course) and go to CrossFit. Then every afternoon we did something different- I bought gifts to bring back for family and friends, met up with a friend at University and an exchange friend to drink mates, and got to see a former exchange student who went to my district last year. It was really cool to have the freedom to explore my favorite part of the city and see some of my favorite people.

Maybe two weeks later, we had a final Rotary event in Mercedes. And let me tell ya, I capitalized on that. On Friday, Zoe (the Californian) came from Buenos Aires, and Lindsay (the Canadian) came from Chivilcoy. They got to meet all of my friends and we all went out together. Lindsay had to leave the next day, but Zoe and I went out again, and without sleeping, left early Sunday morning to go to the Rotary event. I brought my mate and it was the only thing keeping me awake, I think. Hannah, who at that point only had a week left in her exchange, invited us to stay with her that night, and, reluctant to go home, I went with her. So after finally napping, I found myself hanging out with Hannah (Austria), Benny (Germany), and Lindsay, in Mercedes. We were going to watch a movie but elected to just sit and talk with each other. The next afternoon, Lindsay and I shared a bus back to our towns. Seeing as I had ditched Monday, I had to go to school on Tuesday. But Wednesday was a holiday, and my host mom (the doll she is) drove me to Chivilcoy, to meet up again with Lindsay and Benny. Benny left in the evening, but I ended up staying the night- Lindsay and I knew it was our last chance to spend time together before I left. We were pretty sleep deprived at that point, though, so a lot of what we did was sleep or stare at Netflix in a half- awake state. Which, to be honest, sums up a lot of our friendship, and that's just fine.

Leaving that Thursday felt weird, because it was a goodbye but didn’t feel like one. Despite not being able to see each other, I would still be living a mere 30 minutes away from her, and we would still be talking to each other every day. But when Lindsay teared up, I couldn’t help but tear up too.

Friday I went to school (for a grand total of two days that week), but by that afternoon I was on the road again with my host parents and sister. My host dad finally finished the harvest, and just in time to take me on a weekend trip to Mendoza. We made it to San Luis Friday night, and by midday on Saturday, we arrived in the city of Mendoza. To be clear: I was always picked out of the crowd for looking like a foreigner. But man, in Mendoza, I stepped it up. While everyone else was in winter jackets and boots, I was in a plaid shirt, leggings, and Chacos. I can’t help myself- when in the mountains, my inner Coloradoan comes out.

The rest of the day, and on Sunday throughout our tour, I couldn’t help but think that being on vacation with them really made me feel like time was frozen. My leaving was a common topic at that point, and yet I felt as if my final day would never come. Not only that, but my exchange felt much longer than 9 months long. It seemed to me that my life was split in half: half in the United States, in English, spending my weekends hiking. And half in Argentina, in Castellano, spending my weekends with my friends or family. I couldn’t imagine that in reality, all the experiences I’d had had fit into such a short amount of time.

That mindset allowed me to enjoy the trip to the fullest- the snowball fight with my host dad, the first snowman I ever built because the snow in Colorado is lame, the scenic views, the wine we shared at lunch (Mendoza is Argentina’s wine country).

On Monday, when we arrived home, I had to face the music. I started packing the few things I could, so that I could have some time later in the week when I wanted it. And I handled that alright. But when I had to start writing letters to my friends and family- that’s when things got tough. I just couldn’t find the words to express everything I wanted to, and thinking back to all the things we shared and all the things I wouldn’t be able to do again was hard.

Besides those things, it was a normal week till Friday. I wasn’t expecting anything, but my classmates put a breakfast together to celebrate my host brother’s birthday and my leaving. It was really sweet.

That night, I went out with my host sister and a friend after going to my host brother’s party. We got home relatively early (about 5.30), and I woke up, weirdly enough, at 10. Then I really got going with the packing, and the struggle was real. I basically crossed my fingers and hoped my suitcases weren’t overweight, and closed them up with everything I didn’t need for the last day.

Then I went to my goodbye party, and the turnout was pretty spectacular, if I do say so myself. Both of my families, some extended family, kids from my class, and those of my friends who could come home for the weekend all crowded into my host grandma’s quincho. We had choripans, and ice cream, two foods which I already miss dearly. My families surprised me with a book they had made- it documented my year in photos, and everyone wrote notes to me. I didn’t actually read it till recently, because I despise crying in public and knew if I cracked it open it would be inevitable.

Then I went out for the last time, and tried to enjoy every second. Which was a little hard, since i had to say some of my last goodbyes at 5 AM to the tune of cumbia.

The original idea was to not sleep that day, but no luck- after eating breakfast with a friend and showering, I absolutely crashed. 2 hours of sleep later, I woke up to go eat lunch with my family. Sunday lunch was one of my favorite traditions on my exchange, and I’m glad I got to end it with one. My grandma made cannellonis, which I love, and I got another surprise- a slideshow of photos made by my host family.

I packed the rest of my things, we picked up my friend, and I left Alberti behind for the last time (at least for a few years). We stopped by Chivilcoy for a few minutes- I couldn’t leave without saying a final goodbye to my best exchange friend, Lindsay. And that was the first time I cried, when she showed me a slideshow she’d made of all of our horrible selfies from the year. Luckily, it ended in me laughing, and we promised to talk every day, and hugged a thousand times, and then we were on the road again.

I don’t remember much of the car ride, honestly. It was all a blur until we pulled into the parking lot of the airport; from the moment we pulled in, until we got out of the car, Esme (my friend who also had picked me up from the airport on the first day) grabbed my hand and held it tight.

She gave me my last gift- a photo album of our group of friends

My host brother hauled both of my bags in for me, the doll. Turns out the bigger one was overweight, but after asking me about my blazer, the employee put the overweight tag on and didn’t say a word (#rotaryperks). Unwilling to part ways, I sat for as long as possible with the family until I had to leave. Like I said, I hate crying in public, but I couldn’t hold it all in- those goodbyes, to family and a best friend, were all the hardest and all the realest and all at the same time.

I arrived at the gate when they had already started boarding, so I didn’t have much time to process what I was feeling. There was a distinct moment, right as we were taking off, that I looked out the window and remember thinking “that’s it, it’s over.” I tried to distract myself after that, so as not to annoy people with my sniffling, so I caught up on some movies that I hadn’t been able to see during my exchange. Despite my exhaustion, I only slept 2 hours or so.

That said, in my layover in Atlanta, things were a bit rough. Due to habit and tiredness, I accidentally spoke Spanish on various occasions. Which in a way was cool, if not a little bit weird. The reverse culture shock was definitely also getting to me- from the portion size of my breakfast, to seeing boy scouts and listening to English, I felt kind of off balance.

On the flight to Denver, I finally got some sleep. I woke up in time to see the mountains through the window as we landed. I thought that seeing something I’d missed so much would get rid of a little bit of my melancholy, but it didn’t do anything. And that’s when I knew that being home was going to be harder than anticipated.

Writing this next part is a little harsh, but I think it’s important- not only for any future exchange students to see, but for people who will soon see their own kids or friends return from exchange.

Coming home sucks. These past few days have been some of the hardest I’ve ever had to live in a long time. Seeing my family and best friend, who picked me up from the airport, was just the beginning. I didn’t know what to say or do -I wanted to at least look happy and make sure they knew I was happy to see them. But I had so much on my mind that I couldn’t muster a genuine smile.

As we drove home, and my hometown came into view, I expected something to be different somehow. Besides new store or my family’s new washing machine, everything was exactly the same. All day, little things would throw me for a loop- the smell of the flowers in my front yard, the hot weather, the sight of my old school. Little details I hadn’t thought about for 9 months were suddenly replacing everything I’d come to love in Argentina. Of course, this happened to me upon arrival in Argentina last August. But then, everything has a veneer of adventure, and new opportunities. Going home means a layer of boredom at being right back where you before- at least for me.

Distractions are good, but it takes awhile to move on. It doesn’t matter how great or terrible exchange was, or how much love the student goes home to. The end of exchange calls for a mourning process, and it goes better when the people at home know to respect what the student is going through.

I’m lucky enough to have a good support system here, and plenty of distraction. Between leaving for a trip in 2 days, a sister who also went on exchange, and talking with my exchange friends, I’ve been ok. So I’m not writing this to insult anyone from my life here- I know that they’re trying their best. I just want to help students who don’t have as much luck as I do.

My exchange was more than I could have ever hoped it to be. I’m a different person now- and for the better. I have true family on two continents, and friends from all over the world. And all those new experiences, all the joy I experienced, is worth the pain I’m feeling now.

Tandil

Matching sweatshirts with my class at school

Playing dirty in the snowball fight

My host family in Mendoza

Zoe, Lindsay, and I at the last Rotary event. 

The North Trip! (Also, Eggs)

When I came back from the trip to Patagonia in December, I would have doubtless told you that it was the best trip of my life. That might be an actual quote from my post- I’d check if I had WiFi at school.

Now, though, I can’t say that at all. Actually, in comparison with the North Trip, the South Trip could be described as “sub- par” or “mediocre.”

The North Trip started off with a bang. My host sister and my best Argentine friend (who both now live in the city) brought me to the hotel, and stuck around for a bit. As the students from the other district (who had started the trip a week earlier in Mendoza) came to greet us, they were surprised to find that they were, indeed, talking to real Argentines.

As soon as they left, we were told to get ready for the Tango show we were to see last night.  Turns out by “get ready” they really meant that; someone forgot to tell our district that we should bring nice clothes for the occasion. So, my Californian pal and I showed up to a nice dinner- and- a- show in matching outfits, cute but not fit for dinner- and- a- show (blue jeans, t- shirts, and plaid button- ups tied around our waists). ‘Merica.

Our choice of clothing did nothing to dampen our spirits, however. After dinner, we gave it our all in our tango lessons. 

Of course we were put to shame by the real tango dancers that night, but we still felt like winners at heart.

The culmination of the 30 minute class

If you thought we went to bed after arriving to the hotel at midnight, you’d be wrong. Most of us ended up in a bedroom, getting to know the other group of students. I, and a few others, tapped out at 3 AM, not willing to go for the gold (not sleeping at all). Instead, we woke up at 6, and left the hotel at 7.

My exhaustion made the 7- hour bus ride to Federacion, Entre Rios easy as pie. I slept the whole way, and… well.. the next 14 hours as well. I don’t know what happened to me but I started off the trip with a bug. I was fine, but beyond exhausted. I think I was awake that day for collectively 3 hours. In that time, I tried to enjoy the gorgeous hotel we were in. So I went to the heated pool, and to the riverside with my room mates.

I went to bed feeling so bad that I planned to go to the doctor the next day- only to wake up feeling absolutely perfect. Weird as heck? Yes. But at least it happened on a day when my only responsibility was to relax.

When we left that hotel the next morning, we had a lot less free time off of the bus.

Our next stop was in the north of the province Misiones. This meant almost an entire day of driving, broken up by a stop for lunch and tour at a yerba mate plantation. Pretty fascinating for me, the mate addict that I am, to see how it’s done.

Geography nerds, if there are any among my readers, who knows which popular tourist spot is located in the North- East of Argentina?

Las cataratas! Or waterfalls, for those of you who aren’t bilingual.

For the next three nights, we stayed in a hotel a short drive from the Iguazu Falls.

First off, about the hotel: it was amazing. The rooms were all little cabins, set off from a trail, surrounded by the sub- tropical rainforest. This was quite the treat for me. Just walking to and from meals or to the pool, I saw things I’d never seen before. Like real banana trees, slugs as big as my hand, toads as big as my face, and a real tarantula that wasn’t named Rosie. This was all due to the 100% humidity that we had those days. Did you read that? ONE HUNDRED PERCENT HUMIDITY. I put my waterfall- soaked clothes out to dry for TWO DAYS and they didn’t dry.

Also, we decided to mix up the room assignments, so that our two districts would get to know each other better. That meant that I was in a room with three girls who I’d had my first conversation with that day, on the bus, when we decided room assignments. That could have gone quite badly, but instead I ended up becoming friends with them for the rest of the trip.

The first full day we had in Iguazu, we went to the National Park for a tour. I was honestly awe- struck the whole day. The falls were absolutely gorgeous, and I’d never seen anything like it before. I still can’t wrap my mind around just how much water there was flowing over the falls every second.

One of my favorite games to play when I’m being a tourist is “Spot the American.”

And spot them we did. They were obvious. If we hadn’t heard them speaking English (but let’s be real, Americans are loud- of course we heard them), we would have spotted them easily anyways. Here, it’s easy to forget how people at home dress since I’m not seeing them every day. So when I saw some Nike socks and baseball caps, I knew that these were my people.  We ended up taking a selfie with them at the top of the Garganta del Diablo.

To wrap up the day, we went on a boat ride that basically consisted of repeatedly circling around to go under the waterfalls for 30 minutes. From far enough away, the view from that low angle was breathtaking. But once you got too close, the view was generally obscured by my hands, fighting to keep my face from being pelted by the water. The falls were deafeningly loud, but I still knew that all around were the laughs and screams of the other students (and random people who got stuck on the same boat as us, hah.)

Once we got back to the hotel, I went to the pool with some other students to enjoy some mate from my new equipo, courtesy of the host mom. It was too cold to swim (I mean if you’re used to Colorado weather it was fine, but not for me anymore), but it was fine that way. Because the next day I spent all day there. Why? Well. The American government decided to crush my dreams.

See, all of the students who weren’t from the US or Canada (also one guy who forgot his passport, whoops), went to Brazil for the day. Unfortunately, we North Americans couldn’t enter without a Visa thanks to a reciprocity rule. So we just chilled poolside and tried not to act jealous when looking at the photos everyone else took. Honestly the saddest part was that we didn’t get to eat lunch with them at the all- you- can- eat buffet with food from all over the world.

Shame.

Anyways. That night, we went to the Tres Fronteras between Argentina, Paraguay, and Brazil. Seeing as it was 10 PM we couldn’t see the other countries, but it’s fine, at least I can say I was there! Also, I bought a fanny pack. Best investment of my life thus far.

The next day got back on the bus to drive to the city of Corrientes, which is the capital of the province of Corrientes.  It was basically just a stop on the way, so we had a lot of free time in the city. That night, we all went out together to share a few drinks and enjoy each other’s company.

We left late the next day, in the early afternoon. Since we couldn’t occupy the hotel (or we would have just slept, to be honest), I went with a small group to find the river. That was something I really appreciated during the trip- we had far more freedom than before. We could set out as a group, ask a local for directions, and just go try to find cool stuff. That day, we found the remainder of what was once a giant tree, that I’m pretty sure burned down at some point. For some reason I climbed it, and nearly died trying to climb down. Worth it. 

It was a good thing we walked so much that day. For the next 20 hours, we were on the bus- the longest stretch of the trip- to take us from Corrientes all the way to the province of Jujuy. Surprisingly, the time flew by. We passed it playing Werewolf, which is basically Belgian “Mafia,” various card games (of which I won approx. .01% of the time), and talking about everything under the sun. I never thought I’d say this but I actually had fun while stuck on a bus for almost a full day.

At 9 AM, we got off the bus at a little stop that marked an elevation of 4,170 meters above sea level. The number is irrelevant as far as I know. I was just jacked to be breathing thin air for the first time in months. I couldn’t breathe, but I felt like I could breathe again.

An hour of driving higher and we arrived at the Salt Flats. It’s really just a lake in the middle of nowhere, where people to go take cool pictures and leave.

And take cool pictures we did.

I don’t know how many of you are aware of this, but a common thing for exchange students to do is, at some point on their exchange, take half- naked pictures together. That was weird to type, but it’s the truth. What can I say? We’re a bizarre group. That said, if you don’t want to see some bare backs (I swear that’s all that’s visible), keep scrolling.

The boys were off doing their own version of the picture (it does not involve pants but it does involve flags), so a random couple (from Pennsylvania!) literally ran over to take the camera so that all of the girls could join in. It was probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done, and man it was fun.

We even got posted on an exchange student Instagram, and the photo got over a thousand likes. Which is a dang accomplishment.

Maybe it was the relief of finally getting off of the bus. Maybe it was the thin air making us delirious. Probably both. Despite a not- so- restful night, we were ridiculously jolly, and after we had our shirts back on we jumped around in circles like 6 year olds on a sugar high at Disneyland, chanting and laughing and overall celebrating how marvelous our lives are.

Sample Below:

Featured: Juan, the Rotarian who made it all happen. He was the bomb.

Down the mountain a few hundred meters was our next long- term stop on the trip. We stayed in the town of Tilcara, and I took advantage of the thin air to wash and dry some clothes (including the outfit that was still damp from the falls).

That afternoon, once we were settled in and showered, we went to the town plaza, which was lined with vendor booths. Oh man, was I a sucker for all of it. Everything I saw, I thought “I would use this. This is a good investment piece.” I may have spent more money in those few days (there were booths at practically every tourist stop we went to) than I have in the entire exchange. I also bought gifts for people at home, so, ya know… at least I wasn’t entirely selfish.

One of the nights in that hotel, we got a little surprise. Some of the natives of the area came in and played their traditional music for us. It was really incredible. Impossible not to feel the spirit and rhythm of the music. As the main musician pointed out, you can trace how modern reggaeton evolved from the native’s music.

That night, we went to a local bar, overflowing it, to listen to the same style of music and really enjoy the culture. For me, it was important to really appreciate the atmosphere. It wasn’t just another night in a bar with the same music we always listen to. Being in Northern Argentina really is like being in a different country. Their culture was greatly uninfluenced by the wave of Italian and Spanish immigrants who flooded Buenos Aires. I knew it was maybe the only time in my life I’d be able to listen to their music, and I’m glad I got into it.

Over the next two days, before we left the region, we saw a string of little tourist towns, all scenic, explored the ruins of Pucara, and passed the line of the tropic of Capricorn.

The ruins

Out exploring, ft. fanny pack

We said our goodbyes and headed south again, to Salta. In Salta, I crossed something off my bucket list: Rafting! Yes, I did indeed live in Colorado for almost 18 years without going rafting. Everyone had a ball making jokes about my lack of swimming ability. (“Hey Jill, you may want to tighten your life jacket a bit, you’re probably going to need it!”) But it’s okay, I made it out alive- and had a great time. Bonus- I wore my Chacos while everyone else had to put on some nasty neoprene boots that had been touched by like a million sets of damp feet before.

Post- Rafting. From left to right: Holland, Faroe Islands, USA (duh), Canada, Denmark

The next day was a long one full of driving through the mountains. It would have gone faster save for the fact that we were in a double decker bus navigating mountain passes, and broke down at one point.

We also stopped at a few scenic points along the way. It was so weird; at some points, I could have really been in Colorado again. Besides a lack of pine trees, the mountains were remarkably similar- red rocks and everything. I happened to be wearing Birks that day, not conducive to climbing rocks. But I couldn’t resist, so I went barefoot a few times. Felt good to get out there again.

I thought that being somewhere like that would make me homesick. But it actually did the opposite. Seeing something so similar to home made me realize that I can find happiness anywhere in the world. So I bought an anklet to remind me of that, holding up the bus from leaving to do so. Worth it.

This was also called the Garganta del Diablo, like the waterfall

We arrived late to the hotel near Tafi del Valle, which according to a Czeck girl on exchange in Tucuman, is really pretty. But we didn’t see it at all, since we left the next day at 6 :30 or something ridiculous.

We woke up to some hard news: The terror attacks in Brussels.

Unfortunately, we live in times when these events aren’t uncommon. And they never become easier to hear about. In this case, it became harder. It was the first time that I knew people personally affected- there were 5 Belgians on the trip with us.

Throughout the day, waiting to get updates, hoping everything was okay, I truly realized what it means to be an exchange student. This horrific event was no longer abstract. The world got smaller; Belgium suddenly seemed closer to home. Now, whenever something makes the news- good or bad- in any of the countries represented on the trip, I’ll wonder. I’ll have a reason to think, not just click on to the next article. That’s one of the many beautiful, powerful things about exchange.

The next stop was our last- The city of Cordoba.

In the few days we were there, we did classic tourist things- a few city tours, a gondola to an overlook, going to like 10 banks to find an ATM that worked to refresh our depleted cash and go shopping.

My district at the scenic overlook in Cordoba

On our final night all together, Juan, the Rotary rep on the trip, gave us the best gift of all: he said we could go out together. Our hotel wasn’t in the optimal position, so we had to walk about 15 blocks both ways. But it was so worth it. We had an amazing time, everyone dancing with everyone else, singing along to all the songs until the boliche closed.

I got in maybe three hours of sleep. We had until 4 in the afternoon free- but we had to check out of the hotel. So we walked again, to a mall we’d seen the night before. I ate Subway for the first time, and freaked everyone out by ordering McDonald’s fries and ice cream. And afterwards, we did nothing. It was actually pretty strategic. We bounced between shoe stores, sitting on the chairs or benches or whatever, until we thought the staff was judging us, then we moved on to the next. At one point we stared at a picture of models for 10 minutes, saying things like “She has long legs. I bet she does high jump,” and “My stomach used to look like that, before exchange.” It was only stupid conversations like that that kept us awake, honestly. It’s alright though- I’m sure now every time I go into a shoe store I’ll think of the amazing friends I was with that day.

At four, we loaded up the bus for the last time, and drove to the bus terminal. The two buses left a few hours apart. We said our goodbyes to the first group, which was surprisingly hard. And afterwards, we set out despite our exhaustion (or maybe because of it) to find a Starbucks. The barista wrote my name as Chill, which at least is better than Sheel, and gave us all a laugh. As we drank, we watched a fountain show in a busy plaza, and headed back for dinner.

Everyone from my district left all together, leaving the rest of the group to drive one more night on our group bus to Mendoza.

I think a got a bit of a taste of what saying goodbye will be like at the end of exchange: really, really hard. There’s something terrifying about not being sure if you’ll ever see someone again. Though we had met only two weeks before, I felt like I’d been lifelong friends with some of them.

I couldn’t really be sad, though- almost as soon as I sat down I fell asleep. Even in an uncomfortable bus seat, I slept the whole night through.

At 6AM, we got home to Buenos Aires. My host family picked me up. But instead of going home, they drove me and another student to Mercedes. We were formally there to celebrate one of the student’s birthdays, but I think we were mostly there because none of us wanted the trip to end quite yet.

Zoe (the girl from California) and I stayed at a Rotary counselor’s house, and between meals we did a whole lot of nothing. It was great.

That night, we went to dinner with the rest of the students, at a restaurant that reminded me a lot of Old Town Fort Collins. And right at midnight, we rung in Candice’s (she’s French) 18^th birthday with a homemade cake. Also marks the first time all exchange that I had tacos, which was exciting in its own right.

The next day was more of the same, just catching up on sleep until the afternoon. Zoe and I again went on a search for an ATM, found an ATM, then an ice cream shop, then got lost on the way back home. By the time we finally got home, we had to leave again to go to the real party. Pretty standard Argentine party- we just talked and ate and played cards for a few hours.

Then came dinner. Candice had plans with her host family, so the other five of us left to go to another student’s house. We ate frickin delicious pizza and, through a game of “Truth or Truth,” we got to know each other even better than before.

The next day, after going out and only sleeping two hours, I got on a bus again to take me to Alberti.

Unfortunately, it left me at the entrance to the town. My host mom was waiting for me where we thought the bus would stop. And I, lacking cell service, had to hide my stuff behind a sign and walk a quarter mile to the gas station. Cool.

Now we’re at Sunday, which was Easter! And even though I was tired, I was excited to learn about the traditions that they have here.

My current family had already celebrated since my host brother had to go back to the city. So I went around the corner to my first host grandma’s house. We had a classic Sunday lunch with them, nothing out of the ordinary. And afterwards, they brought out the best Easter tradition ever: Giant chocolate eggs. I was given two smaller ones for myself, and so were my host siblings. Then my host brother broke the big egg, and we all shared it (and the candy inside) for dessert.

I went home to change and drop off my stuff, then we went to my host cousin’s house to do it again- and they let me break the egg this time.

Full of chocolate, my first host sister, mom, and I set out to the campo. It’s fall here, which means it’s harvest time, and my host dad was busy at work. My host mom, who grew up in the middle of nowhere, flawlessly navigated the dirt roads till we reached a random field, where my host dad was working. They showed me all the basics: the little trailer they stay in to not miss harvest time, the various machines, the different types of crops (I’d never seen soy before.) And the best part: I got to ride in the cosechador (don’t have a clue what the word is in English) for a few rounds with my host dad.

Before heading home, my host mom drove us to the house where she grew up. It’s a classic abandoned farmhouse: half- furnished, the floorboards bend, even complete with a creepy basement only accessible with a ladder. But still, it was charming, and I really wish I’d brought the camera.

I got home and unpacked, added all the new pins to the blazer, and went to sleep early to try to rest up for school the next day.

So, that’s a wrap for now. Until the next post, besos!

Corsos & Murgos & Motos

Guys, February has been one hell of a month.

Really, shout out to this entire summer. Exchange students are told that summer (for those of us in the south, anyways) is the hardest part. But for me, it was by far the best. There were days when I was bored, sure. But it was the same type of bored that I am in any given summer at home. Here, I could be bored next to a pool, which was a step up.

I did a good job of keeping busy. Or I guess I should say my host families (shout out to them too) did a good job of keeping me busy. Trips to Buenos Aires and to the beach, asados, inviting me everywhere. Not to mention my amazing friends, who I met up with at least a few times a week for dinner, pool time, even just a ronda of mate.

Exchange, of course, is filled with amazing, unforgettable moments. I guess you could say that around this time, I’ve just felt the most content across the board. I’ve finally gotten through the hard stuff, and I’ve started indulging in everything Argentina- savoring every moment because I know my return date will come all too soon.

Throughout the amazing day- to- day routine that I’ve come to love, there’s been some things that pop out to me that are definitely blog- worthy.

First off, Carnaval!

It was absolutely incredible. It was (is) an ongoing thing. Though I’m pretty sure it’s stopped here in Alberti, I think it’s still going on in bigger cities. If it’s not a full street- blocked- off, whole- town- watching event, then a local club will have corsos.

Pause- I think I need to clear something up. There were a few new words that I learned, and they’re probably pretty important to understanding all of this. Corsos are courses- each pass down the main street done by a group of dancers. And murgos- well, I don’t know if there is a translation. But it entails a group of drummers making their way along the route, banging out some super catchy tunes.

Pre- foam Jill

The main weekend of Carnaval, a four day stretch before Lent, I went twice. The first time, I went with my first host family (the second family having gone on vacation). I didn’t see much- my friends and I went to a party instead.

But the second night. Oh man, was that fun.

Everyone lines a two- block section of town (I imagine it’s substantially longer in bigger cities). The restaurants put all of their tables on the street, the pochoclo guy and the choripan vendors make a killing. The real money- maker is the foam. Sure, everyone is watching the dances and listening to the music. But they’re also slathering each other up with this fake snow stuff. Between corsos, kids run into the street, chasing each other. Moms stand at the ready with clean rags to wipe eyes off (because let me tell ya, that stuff burns), but they don’t hesitate to grab a can and join in on the fun.

The basic guide is: if you’re holding a can, you are a target. Regardless of what else you may be holding. I found that out when I tried to walk down the street with a can in one hand and my camera hanging from my neck. That was a bit tense till I found someone willing to hold it for me.

The main event is, obviously, the corsos and murgos. And for me, it was amazing to see, since I never had before. But off to the sides, there were full- out wars. Sibling rivalries, friends turning on friends, truces made and broken.

When the corsos ended, about 1 AM, things don’t slow down. On a stage in the middle of it all, a band starts playing, and everyone spills into the streets, dancing and drinking foam- sprinkled beer, trying to keep the various body parts free to do their jobs uninhibited (foam in the ears is a unique sensation).

I started out strong, my hair (yay, humidity) blocking my face from the worst of it. Before long, however, it looked about like I went home and took a shower and didn’t rinse the shampoo out. Clothes get soaked, your fingers might just be pruny, you don’t even bother trying to wipe it off anymore.

Now, there’s a strategy to all of this. Most of the time, if you see a friend in the crowd you give em a quick spray, just enough to make yourself known and have a good laugh. However, depending on the dynamics of your relationship with said “friend,” you may end up in the middle of an ambush. If you and your group are instigators, it’s smooth sailing. Make a circle, go for the eyes. Basic warfare, you know. But man, being on the receiving end is rough. You can’t see, so you can’t defend yourself- really the only way out is to run away (blindly, in a crowd, concrete on all sides), or for them to take mercy. Revenge, at that point, becomes an all consuming passion. In the long run, everyone ends up appearing more or less like a drowned rat, so it’s all good.

I was on the receiving end of an ambush more times than I’d like to admit, but I guess I deserved it; My friends and I went through about 10 cans of foam collectively, spraying with abandon.

You'll notice the positioning of my host brother's (far left) can of foam; I got sprayed approx. .3 seconds after this photo was taken. For some reason I did not see this coming.

Run out of foam? Just wipe it off of your face and onto another person!

Post- foam Jill & pals

At 4AM, things were winding down. We went to a nearby restaurant and shared an order of fries, and my friends told me that it was the best Carnaval of their lives. I'm glad they felt the same way I didn.

A downside to all of those shenanigans is that you can’t fall into bed the moment you get home. You gotta shower, which meant I went to bed at 5… and woke up at 8.

My host family and I were headed to Buenos Aires that day, to move my host sister into her new apartment. I of course fell asleep in the car. Didn’t get too long of a nap, though. About halfway to the city, the car broke down. We were #blessed, in a way, though- it rolled to a stop right next to a tollway, which meant shade, bathrooms, and chairs. What did we do while waiting for the tow truck (and host aunt with replacement car) for three hours? Drank mate, obviously.

A few hours and signed papers and new keys later, we were packing the last few things my host sister had into my host dad’s truck (another reason we were #blessed, her “last few things” filled the entire truck bed). Then we took about 10 trips up to the 9th floor in her new building.  And drank more mate. I know most of you don’t understand the mate culture (shoutout to my Argentine readers), so allow me to explain. Sharing a ronda of mate is relaxing; it’s almost impossible to angrily sip tea from a gourd. It was the perfect way to unwind from a long, stressful day.

Fast forward two weeks.

My host family and I were headed to the beach again. This time, it wasn’t just to go to the beach. This time, it was to compete. The Enduro Del Verano competition is a motocross and 4- Wheeler competition in the sand dunes, boasting the longest course in the world (12 kilometers). And it was rad.

Thursday, we drove to Villa Gesell, and spent the rest of the day just relaxing on the beach with the other families that we knew. There were a lot of shenanigans, like the kids taking turns being pulled behind a dune buggy on a boogie board, and unnecessary tackling in beach rugby.

Friday was spent at the race track. The competition had two parts: short course and long course. Friday was short course. So, our long course tickets not gaining us entrance to the bleachers, we hiked around to  a convenient sand dune and made ourselves comfortable.

Between races, we wandered around the vendor aisles. Probably would have been a lot more interesting for me if I knew anything about motocross. But it was fun anyways- there was a palpable energy in the air, an excitement from all of these people out there to support friends and family in an intense competition.

Me, clearly breaking the Rotary rules.

On Saturday, we went to the track again, but only for half the day. It was practice day for long course, a chance for the competitors to get a feel for the sand course. My host mom and I took pictures from the sand dunes, my host dad played pit- crew, and my host brother, of course, got his chance at the full course.

After eating lunch, packing everything up, and fighting the traffic back to town, I got a short siesta, and headed to the beach. We’d had a total catastrophe trying to plan it, but finally got solid plans to meet up with another exchange student. Margaret and I are from the same district at home, and have had pretty similar experiences with exchange, so it was good to have someone to talk to. I think we confused everyone in our vicinity on the beach- we drank mate and wore Argentine- style clothes, but spoke English.

She invited me out to a local club, and I of course accepted. So I showered, changed, and went out to eat with the fam, then met up with her and a friend. We went to a huge boliche, which was a treat compared to the small ones in my town.

We didn’t stay long, though; we both wanted to see the sunrise on the beach. So we caught a bus around 5, and due to being terrible at estimating sunrise times, froze our butts off at the beach for awhile. It was worth it though; absolutely stunning. At 7 we said our goodbyes, hugged three times, and I went back to the hotel.

My host brother and dad were already awake and headed to the track for race day. Thank goodness they were going early just for set- up- it afforded me two hours of sleep. By 9:30, my host mom and I were headed to the track as well.

That was a long day, but amazing. I’d never seen anything like it. Since the course was so long, they didn’t bother breaking the group up much. Everyone takes off at the same time- you can barely see through the cloud of sand they kick up. There were two heats, upwards of 300 motorcycles in each, and they go around the track 4 times. The noise is incredible. Seeing so many cyclists all go off jumps or around tight curves at the same time is like waiting for a time bomb to go off- you just know that someone’s going to fall, but you don’t know when. I made good use of my long- zoom camera (thanks, Ma!) from the stands, and got some cool shots of our little group of cyclists.

At the start

Lining up

Afterwards came the 4- wheelers, which was also ridiculously loud. Doubly so, actually, since there was only one heat. We ended up leaving that race early since we had no one to cheer for, and I could barely keep my eyes open at that point. Back at the tent, we packed up everything we could, but didn’t get to leave quite yet. Which was actually a super good thing- we had to stick around for the awards ceremony. My host brother placed 2nd out of 60 in his category, because he’s talented AF.

All of the motorcycles and 4- wheelers lined up before the race- yeah, I used panorama to fit it all.

Though I normally can’t sleep in my host dad’s truck, I was exhausted enough that I eventually faded out- with the help of a pillow stolen from my host brother. We got home at midnight, and I basically woke up long enough to walk inside the house before crashing again.

Now, I’m back with the second host family. The days are getting increasingly colder (that’s relative, it’s more like 80 degrees instead of 90), so I’m trying to soak up the last days of pool time that I have. Also gearing up for a potential trip to Mar del Plata, the first day of school, and the Rotary North Trip, all of which will happen in the next 10 days. So look forward to that in the next post!

Besos!

Bonus: A literal representation of how much mate I'm taking home with me.

Oh God It's Halfway Over :(

Seriously guys, I'm the worst at having a blog. Maybe not the worst but it's pretty bad and I'm sorry.

This one is late because I had it half written but then I lost it. I lost a file. On my own computer. Then I had no motivation to do it all again for a week, then when I looked again I ended up finding it. So basically it's a week late for no good reason. Without further ado:

After the South Trip, something happened. I have no idea why- it doesn’t make any sense- but I’m so glad it did.

The chaperones told us collectively at least a million times a day that we should be speaking Spanish; otherwise when we went back, we would be worse off than before. Not to say that the Rotarians didn’t have our best interest at heart, but that was an absolute lie (at least for me.) See, I spoke English. A lot of English. And I believed that coming back would be hard- that I’d regret those 10 easy days. Instead, it was like some switch flipped. The day I got back, I felt refreshed, rather than bogged down. Confident in my Spanish, more willing to join conversations. Maybe it was the trip itself; maybe it was taking a break from Spanish; maybe it was being around other students who spoke better and inspired me. Whatever it was, it got me out of a rut I didn’t know I had been stuck in.

From there, a lot of things just clicked for me. My (already great) relationship with my host family started to improve, I became more outgoing with my friends. And so far, it doesn’t seem to be fading away.

In the week before Christmas, I stayed busy. Spent a lot of time catching up on my tanning, since I lost 10 days. Snuck behind my family’s back to buy them Christmas presents. Picked out my Christmas present (more on that later.) Invited my friends over for dinner, American style, since I’m too broke to buy them actual gifts.

That night was pretty amazing. I decided to make grilled cheese sandwiches, because it’s simple and delicious and most of all, so fattening that you can’t deny the American- ness. I scared everyone by putting bacon on them (it’s seen as almost taboo because it’s so fatty, which breaks my heart to be entirely honest.) But the scaring wasn’t only one- way. I nearly had a heart attack when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my host mom casually pick up a raw piece of bacon and put the whole slice into her mouth. I thought it was a joke, but was swiftly assured by everyone in attendance that I was the weird one. I guess I never thought about it before, but it is edible- not that I’ll be throwing the frying pan out any time soon.

Everyone loved it, and for dessert we shared a box of Patagonian chocolates. Safe to say we were quite content. To top off the night, we did one of my favorite things ever: drive around. Yeah, ok, I know it doesn’t sound exciting in any way. But there’s really not all that much to do in this town, so we do what we can. And driving around with all the windows down, singing along to songs that I’ve finally learned the words to- that’s not a shabby way to kill an hour.

Flash forward to the 23rd. Since here celebrations happen on the 24th, the 23rd became my Christmas Eve. So I stayed in, turned on the tree’s lights, whipped up some egg nog, pulled out some American candy from my stash, and put on my favorite Christmas movie. It was a nice little moment, and the first time I’d felt “Christmassy.” See, for us up north, the Christmas feeling kind of permeates everything for the entire month of December. Here, it’s not that way. The traditions are more relaxed. Everyone puts up their decorations on December 8th. But decorations, as far as I saw in my house and others, are really just a tiny tree and maybe some lights. Besides that, it’s business as usual all month.

The 24th started out normally- I woke up, ate lunch with my host grandparents, took a dip in the pool, and siesta’d. Things only got ~festive~ around 10, when we loaded up all of the gifts and joined the rest of the family at my host grandparent’s house.

We ate dinner, which was really an assortment of appetizers- nothing special or unusual for Christmas like we have. Then we went out on the patio, and my host brother hooked up some music to the big speakers that he'd lugged over from our house for the following previa (pre- party, basically). It wasn't cumbia or reggaeton like I expected. Instead, it was more traditional couple music. Cousins danced with cousins, moms with sons, daughters with dads- you get the point- until midnight. Argentine fashion we started pouring the champagne at 12 instead of drinking it because no one noticed what time it was.

Then came time for presents. Here, the tradition is that a dad will dress up as Santa (Papa Noel), and show up on the roof at midnight, dropping the gifts down to the kids. But since my host cousins already figured that gig out long ago, my host mom just carried a mountain of presents out to us.

I got platforms from my host family (!!!) that I'd chosen out because I'm picky, and immediately switched out of my Birks, feeling very Argentine and very fashionable. My host aunt gave me a journal which I will definitely use because I'm already halfway through my third journal of the year which is crazy, and my host grandma gave me a necklace. I was really beyond blessed with all of it- I wasn't expecting anything (besides the shoes, of course). Not to be outdone, I brought out my gifts: pajamas! In my family, every year on Christmas Eve we get pajamas. So I thought it would be a great way to share my traditions with them. Also bought some Patagonian chocolates for my amazing host grandma.

Soon afterwards, I left to meet up with my friends. We stayed with one of the girls' families for about an hour, but ended up going back to my host brother's previa. And those were the only people we saw all night, basically. There were two venues open on Christmas. And in a town this small, that's kind of an issue. I think somewhere around 2,000 people went to the other event center; my friends and I were some of the 40 people in the pub. Sounds kind of awkward (was kind of awkward) but it ended up being really cool. We had space to actually dance, however we wanted, without worrying about everyone's drinks spilling on our cute outfits. And, we got in for free, which is always always worth it.

It's rare to wrap gifts here; normally they're left in the bag they were bought in.

Cousin Pauli, sister Camila, and me (obviously)

My amazing host family, all dolled up for the night.

Fast forward 5 days to New Years Eve. It was really more of the same- eat dinner all together, dance, toast. But my favorite thing of the night came probably 15 minutes after midnight. From what I gather, this is only a thing in Alberti, maybe a few other places- but it's unique.  The volunteer firefighters lead the line, followed by blocks and blocks of cars filled with families (some piled into the back of pickup trucks). When we heard the sound of car horns, we knew it was time to run out to the car. All you have to do is drive till you find the end, pull in behind the last car, and lay on the horn. If you don't join in, you can always just wait outside your house and wave- just like parades at home. We did this for about half an hour, then I asked to be dropped off at the same friend's house as Christmas.

This time we went to the busy venue, which blessedly has a huge outdoor area where we were able to not only watch a firework show,  but also not die of heatstroke. It was cool.

That's definitely an energy drink, by the way.

I started walking home around 7, and was asleep an hour later. Three hours, maybe four, later, I was peeling my eyes open again. My next host family had invited me to eat lunch with them, and of course I wanted to- it was worth the lack of sleep. By 12, I was chilling poolside. By two, eating asado. By 4, chilling poolside some more. I finally went home around 7, still tired but sporting a sweet tan.

New host cousin (who does CrossFit!), new host sister, and new host mom, who asked me to squat down so we would be at the same height (she was on her tiptoes already).

The next morning I left on the first of my summer vacations. Armed with my swimsuit and not much else, we set off on the three hour drive to Villa Gesell. I didn't get much sleep- road trips are a lot more fun when there aren't 3 basically- adults in the backseat of a truck on bumpy roads. When we got there, I took a power nap, then we went to this really cool beach. It's a bit out of the way, but you can drive onto the sand with your truck or car or whatever, and park wherever you want. Most people who go there bring their 4x4s or motorcycles to ride in the dunes. Since my host brother does competitive motocross, he practiced while we sat under a tent and drank mate and listened to music from the open doors of the truck.

The next 5 days fell into a tranquil little pattern: wake up, walk a block to the beach, walk to lunch, sleep a bit more, go to the other beach, walk to dinner, explore the main street, go to sleep, repeat. I never considered myself a beach- vacation type person; I prefer to do things that don't involve swimming, an activity at which I am inept. But just talking, drinking mate, relaxing- it was way nicer than I thought it would be. At night, we did a bit of shopping ( I caved and bought a new swimsuit), went mini- bowling, and enjoyed the occasional ice cream.

Also, it was a great way to spend my last week with my first family. Kind of a drawn- out goodbye. A few days after coming home, I changed families. It was really an anti- climactic event; my host mom and I brought my bags (all 100 of them) inside, then we sat at the pool (yay for families with pools!) and shared mate and just enjoyed the day.

I spent a week with them, unpacking and learning the ropes and whatnot. Then, last Sunday, I left again for Vacation Number Two, in Buenos Aires. My new host brother has an apartment there, so we just had to bring sheets and a tupperware full of milanesa to tide us over for the week. Every day in the afternoons, we met up with two of his friends- one who also lives in the city, and one girl from France. They all exchanged the same year, to my district in the US, so we had tons to talk about. I swear I’ve never walked so much in my life- but it was worth it. I can really say that I fell in love with the city.

For my dedicated readers: I mentioned a neighborhood of the city that I really liked, but couldn’t remember the name of. Well, we went back and now I do remember- it’s called Palermo SoHo. Other areas we saw: San Telmo, La Costanera, Caminito (the third time for me), more of Palermo, Recoleta… I’m probably forgetting some. We also went to a festival- thing (I’m at this point where I forget random words in English. I don’t know if there is a word for this but if there is, I don’t know what it is anymore.) Anyways, there, I found *American Food*. A pulled pork barbeque sandwich, to be exact, and it was GLORIOUS. But I’m getting ahead of myself- it was held at the horse tracks, and was absolutely full of people lining up for the various food trucks, listening to music and just hanging out.

Another thing to mention- I finally got to go to CrossFit again! I had seen a gym before, near where my first host sister lived. So I looked up their information, and walked there one morning. It was actually really scary because as much as I like to pretend that I’m still in tip- top shape, I’m not. But it went better than I thought it would. It's hard to describe, but I felt like I could breathe again, despite the fact that I could barely breathe (irony!).

Afterwards, I bought a shirt, and got talking to the trainer. When I told her my whole situation, she said I could come in for free as long as I was visiting- which was amazing and unexpected. I could have gone in two more times, but the crippling soreness convinced me to only go the next morning.

I got home a few days ago and finally feel like I have time to catch up on writing. Barely, though- tomorrow I leave for Staycation Number Three, a 5 day trip to Chivilcoy. Man oh man am I glad I chose South America. Hope all that snow and early mornings in school feel nice :)

Because I’m feeling depressed, I will not be ending this blog on a positive note.

I am officially halfway through my exchange, and I can’t believe it.

I didn’t really see it coming, because I only just confirmed my return date. It’s earlier than most students, too, because I have a trip to go on in June. Yeah, yeah, I know some of you are saying “wow life is so hard she has to go from a trip to a trip.” But it was a hard decision, and it’s been hard to come to terms with the fact that half of my memories have already been made.

I’ll try to update a little more frequently!

Besos