Change of Plans

As I walked through the front door to the apartment, Antonietta gasped and began laughing histerically. It was only 9 a.m. and I wasn’t expected home until 2 o’clock, but the sudden turn of events caused me to sprint back home during my morning walk to the hospital. I had just experienced my first monsoon-like downpour in Buenos Aires. I was completely soaked from head to toe and raindrops fell from of forehead onto my eyelashes like I was in mid-shower. My dark grey scrubs were the most indicative of how wet I was – every square inch was suctioned to my body with the rain.

The morning began similar to many others. My alarm went off at 7:36, I made myself 2 eggs and a piece of toast for breakfast, thought about what I was going to do after I got off work at the hospital and crossed my fingers that I wouldn’t see anything too gruesome during today’s appointments. I was a little more tired than usual thanks to the incessant cough I was dealing with all through the night, but I stepped into my scrubs one leg at a time and made my way out the door.
I crossed Avenida Callao, and taking a look up at the grey morning clouds I thought to myself that it looked like rain was on the way. Past the quiosks and the cab drivers, through the clouds of car exhaust and over potholes and cracked sidewalks, I hung a right at Avenida Gran Las Heras. Walking three more blocks it felt like someone had just hit the dimmer switch, making the city appear as if the sun had just gone down. I glanced above me and saw the clouds I had seen two minutes ago were now dark gray and ready to rain. I continued walking down the busy street and began to feel small drops on my shoulders. Their sporadic presence made me believe they were just drips from the air coniditioners operating 100 percent of the time, and then they became more frequent.
The morning streets of Buenos Aires are littered with street vendors competing for who gets to sell so and so their morning pastry. The swift competition has created an atmosphere of ruthless vendors and prices being offered that leave them with a miniscule profit margin. Needless to say, throwing in the towel for a little bit of rain took me by surprise. It was only a light rain, a mist if you will, but everyone was packing up their breakfast goods into their 1970’s coolers and retreating home. The newspaper stands took down everything that could be in harm’s way, a look above street level revealed the local apartment-dwellers shutting their windows and getting buckets ready for leaks.
Psh. I couldn’t believe that they were all getting worked up over what us Northwest natives would call drizzle. I disregarded their preparations and continued walking to the hospital, silently wishing that they could see what a real rainstorm looks like.

It’s a funny thing: having to pay what you wish for. It’s never really bit me in the butt quite as hard as this before. I hoped that I would make it to the hospital before my wish came true but I unfortunately was not that lucky. The drizzle quickly turned into rain, and then into downpour. The thunder rolled across the sky from one side of the city to the other and lightening was the only thing that brought a split second of light to the streets overflowing with rainwater. Suddenly the lady packing up her croissant stand didn’t seem like such a big wimp, and somehow I was now the one who now looked like an idiot.

Everyone else in the streets was equipped with raincoats and umbrellas while I had nothing but my scrubs. The wind quickly picked up and the rain was being blown in every which direction. No place was left untouched by the rain and left me with the decision of showing up to work soaking wet or not. I still had 15 more blocks to go and the rain didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon so I had to make a decision: either go to work soaking wet and leave a trail of puddles behind me or let the rain get the best of me and head back home.

The vision of me showing up to the hospital soaking wet was enough to make me choose the latter and I began my 10 block walk back to our apartment. At this point I was literally the only person without rain gear. I had nothing but my extensive Northwest rain experience to cope with the great flood that appeared to be happening.

Many people’s first instinct in this situation would be to get undercover and minimize direct contact with the rain, but I chose otherwise. I stood in the middle of the sidewalk waiting for the cars to stop with the rain coming down all around me. There was cover five feet away but I didn’t want it. Entrances to coffee shops and quiosks were crammed with people seeking cover; already soaking wet and loving the rain, I didn’t even think to take a step in their direction. As I walked on the air became filled with “Dios mio!” and “Aye Mamí!”, each person I passed being shocked that I was so wet. I couldn’t help but laugh at what I must have looked like but I didn’t care. Every drop that hit me was a reminder of home and I loved it.

No rain story would be complete without the cliché “step in the puddle” story, but I must apologize that this did not happen to me. I stepped in a river instead. I had no other way to get onto the sidewalk, and getting hit by a bus didn’t sound particularly enticing so I decided to jump it. The rainwater lined the sidewalk for 100m both directions, was five feet across, a foot deep, and covered most of the walkway.

Anyone in my immediate family will be the first to let everyone know that I’m not the most talented person when it comes to anything that involves jumping. Jump rope, jumping pictures, jumping up to reach things. You name it, and if it involves my body having to leave the ground I am probably terrible at it. For example, there’s this pull-up bar in my dad’s shop that I have only been able to reach on few occasions. I’m a little under 5’9”, the bar is about at eight and a half feet. With full extension of my arms,  I have about 6” of clearance between the tips of my fingers and the bar, maybe less. Yet, the whole idea of jumping from a standstill does not sit well with me, and I cannot reach it. I just shrug and say “that’s why I play soccer” but it has not stopped me from being the butt of every joke that involves jumping. “What??? Erica took a jumping picture???” “I didn’t even know you could jump high enough to jump rope!” “I’ll give you $5 if you can reach the pull-up bar right now.” Yeah, yeah… haha…. very funny family….

With all of these comments rattling around in my head I took a few seconds to pump myself up for my big jump, all the while I had a smile on my face and wished there as someone here to see me right now. Rain everywhere, soaking wet, dressed in scrubs, about to jump a river. I checked for cars and took a few steps into the street to give me room to take a few running steps, looked to make sure there was no one around and jumped. I was so sure I was going to cross that darn thing. My right leg landing in the water proved otherwise. Yep. Didn’t quite make that one. Up to this point my shoes were the only thing that were semi-dry but they quickly joined the rest of my wardrobe in the “just took a shower with my clothes on” category.

I can’t say I’m surprised that I didn’t make it across the 5’ stream of water, but I would say that I gave it a valid attempt. Had I been wearing any other shoes I would have been outraged that I just soaked my sneakers in 3 weeks of accumulated city pollution, cigarette butts, and fernet; but those ugly things are hitting the trash within seconds of me walking out of the hospital for the last time. Not only did I intentionally buy them so I could throw them away down here, but they are heinous. Seriously. They’re almost amusingly ugly.

The rest of my walk back to the apartment was met with more and more rain. Walking alone, I was laughing to myself at how much I had missed the rain and at how it didn’t even cross my mind to seek shelter. I had wished that these people would see a real rainstorm, but I think I got more than I bargained for.

Despite the wet clothes, not enough money on me for a cab ride, and shoes that will most likely be wet when I need to wear them tomorrow, I would still disagree with someone who tried to convince me that today was going to be a bad day.

This is really happening.

I am currently sitting in the entry way of our hostel in Mendoza..... and it's 4 thirty six in the morning. The semi colon button isn't working on the keyboard and we're locked out of our room because the lock broke. I'm really tired and have nothing to do other than to update you on my current situation. I hope that this does not happen in the future. Good night.

Twenty and Impulsive

Today I woke up in a tent in Patagonia for the first time. Eager to step out of the tent into the warm morning sun I slowly opened the zipper. After being greeted with the fresh mountain air and the sight of 30 tents scattered around the footsteps of Cerro Torre, I walked to the river. Barefoot and well-rested I sat on the banks of Rio Blanco and admired the colors of the landscape. Not yet fully lit, they were shades of brown and grey that would later turn in to purples, blues and reds that I had only before seen in paintings.

It was going to be a great day.

A morning breakfast of dry cereal and an orange was all I needed to give me energy to take on the rugged terrain. Nick, (my travel companion) was operating on a different wavelength. We ended up splitting up for the day and he went back to town to get a new pack while I hiked ahead to the campsite to wait for him. That day of solo hiking ended up being one of my favorites on the trip and the number of pages it takes up in my journal are indicative of how much I loved it. It took up 15 pages. The hike was excruciating but the scenary made it a place that no picture could do justice. 

Walking through my last 1/4 mile of trail to C.B. Poincenot in El Chalten, I had nothing on my mind except trying to remember what it was like to sit down. I walked into the campsite around 6:30 with the sun still high in the sky and began searching for a desirable tent spot. The popularity of Los Glacieres National Park in the summer leads to more of a group camping experience rather than one of solitude so strategic tenting is always beneficial: not to close to the old guys but still far enough away from the crazies.

I had just set up my tent when a guy came to ask me about Lago de los Tres. I told him it was about an hour and a half each way and continued laying out my sleeping bag. When they asked me to come along with them I enthusiastically replied, "Yeah! That would be awesome!" Their little smiles accompanied by the "Are you American?" response told me that this was going to be an adventure. I hate to admit it, but sadly I fell into the American stereotype - everyone does it once in a while, right? Before I knew it I was back on the trail with my two new friends from Israel: Roy and Yotem. An hour and a half hike? Eh. No problem...

The hike up to Lago de Los Tres was one of the hardest treks I had ever done. Each 15" stair that had been blasted into the rockface seemed like a mountain. The five hour hike I did before this made my thighs shake with exhaustion but I refused to walk down something that I know I can climb, so I kept going. We were ten minutes into the hike when I learned that these two guys were in the military and had just finished their service. In other words, they were in shape. And I was not.. My competitive nature was the only thing keeping me going... there was no way I was going to be the last one to reach the top. I transferred as much weight as I could onto my poles but my quads a gluts were really feeling those extra ice cream cones that I had a few days before. Doing this with my full 40 pound backpack would have been impossible.  The conversation stopped at about 30 minutes when we were all panting like dogs. At one point Roy jokingly called the mountain Mt. Olympus. This climb was the second part of the one-two punch Los Glaciares threw at me that day. Reaching the top and seeing for miles in every direction made it all worth while. We were 100m from the base of the Fitz Roy massif, 50m from the glacier and 1m from Lago de los Tres. I took two pictures before my camera died but I worried not. Both the guys had cameras and were very enthusiastic to take pictures with me.

At school some people have told me that I am an instigator and tend to initiate mischief... I don't believe them. I think that everyone is thinking it but I'm just the one who says it out loud. I figured that here it should be no different. I looked at Roy and Yotem, looked at the water, looked back at them and told them that we were going swimming. Five seconds later Roy was lakeside and ready to jump in. Wow. I didn't actually think they would listen, but here we go!

Yotem only got in until his belly button and then turned back because he was too cold, but there was no way that I was going to lilly-dip my way into the glacier water. Knowing that increased thinking time results in decreased probability of doing said activity, I dove into the water. My core body temperature plummeted to just above freezing and I hoped that the blue-skin/smurf look was one that I could pull off. With the two boys fighting over whose coat I would wear to keep warm all I could think about was hiking back down the mountain, and the fat icicles that would soon be made out of my pudgy fingers. This might be a good point to tell you that the sun had been down for about 45 minutes and the summer winds of Patagonia weren't helping us warm up.

Small talk and chit chat of our favorite colors and bands ensued on the way down, and every opportunity to take a picture of the three of us was seized. And then... I started to itch. All over. It started on my stomach and worked its way over my whole body. Being an idiotic 20-year-old I scratched the itch just to find out that my skin was not only red, but I was covered in little white bumps. Given the fact that I had just met these guys I tried to suffer in silence. From my experience, as noble of a cause as it may be, it usually ends in me drawing the most abusrd conculsions about my current condition, whatever it may be. For this particular case I was convinced that I had just gotten Herpes. Why I landed at that conclusion I cannot tell you. The only thing I could think of was a quote from the movie The Hangover: "Whatever happens inVegas stays in Vegas. Except for Herpes. That shit will come back with you." Great. Similar to many other people hiking I tend to jump to the worst case scenario and then work my way back to rationalization from there. It wasn't until I worked back far enough that I realized that I probably didn't just get the Herp from the lake. My justification? Well, if the water is good enough to drink without a filter then it probably isn't overrun and infested with STDs. Ending at this conclusion, though, didn't seem to slow the annoying rash from spreading. Commanding myself not to scratch it and then commending myself for obeying, the rash then spread to my butt. This was going to be a problem.

Not to bring the story to an anticlimactic ending or anything, I took some benadryl and went to bed. Woke up the next morning rash-free and cool as a cucumber.

Looking back on times I've jumped into really cold water I realized that I awlays get a weird rash afterward. Maybe it's some weird disease that only affects one in 2 million people. I would feel honored to be that one person. Especially since the biggest inconvenience is trying to to scratch my butt like a monkey.

This morning I woke up in patagonia. Not knowing the events the day would bring me I seized every moment that I could. After a day like today I think that there is something to be said about the importance of impulsivity in a situation that can only end in a good story. More simply put, don't hesitate and say "maybe" to something you know you won't regret.

Until next time folks.

You Seriously Want Me To Eat That???

After I took two weeks of intensive Spanish classes in Buenos Aires I had a three week break before my hospital internship started. I had toyed with the idea of going to Easter Island instead, but before I left the good ol USA I knew that mountains of southern Patagonia were calling my name. All that was left to do was to get there.

The forty hour bus ride from Buenos Aires to El Calafate would make some people cringe just at the thought, but Nick and I (my travel buddy that I met four days before leaving) took it head on. As much as I wanted to see Southern Patagonia, there was no way I was going to fork over $600 for a plane ticket when I could get a tour of Argentina by bus for a third of the cost. Little did I know that the pampas extend over a majority of the landscape, leaving us with the lovely sight of thick sagebrush that stretched to the horizon in both directions.

The food on the bus was... deliciously unique. By that I mean that I would rather have eaten a brick of cheese than eat that food. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not a fan of the queso, so that's saying something. The first meal (dinner) was by far the most memorable, and for that I will share a little anecdote:

It started when the bus people came around and gave everyone a plastic lunch tray for their food. Another plastic tray sealed with our dinner inside quickly followed - and this is where the fun began. Before the ride we were joking that they were only going to give us a roll for dinner... well.. they gave us a roll, a slice of ham, and a slice of cheese. Starving, I massacared the food on the tray until the warm food was brought out. The mysterious tin foil container had me guessing what was inside, but nothing could have prepared me for the greased-soaked steak that I was about to discover. Apprehensively I finished it and moved on to what I thought was dessert. My choice of eating in the dark led me to believe that what I had saved for last was an individual sized pie - like the ones that you get in elementary school for the grand Thanksgiving Dinner that the school district kindly provides. To me, it looked like it was chocolate cream pie with frosting on top. I asked Nick if he had eaten his yet and he said, "No, but the meat here is supposed to be pretty good so go for it." ....uh... whaaaat? It didn't look like meat to me. I thought he was a little consfused so I asked the question again and he said he thought it was an empanada thing. Slowly, I reached for the light above my seat and pressed that little red button that would determine the fate of my dinner. click... click. click. click.... oops. That's the fan switch. Click. The light lit up my dinner tray with as much light as the recycled bus air would let through. The verdict? We were both wrong in our guesses. Unless Dr. Seuss was in the kitchen, this wasn't meat or dessert. It was green and chunky and looked like a pile of cow dung strategically placed in a mini pie crust to appear appetizing. Epic FAIL. Running the risk of being sick for the next 30 hours on the bus, I took a bite. My only reasoning was that since I paid for it I'd might as well try it. Bad decision. As I took a bite of the soggy crust filled with this mysterious flavor I began to sort through the many foods of my past to match it with a taste that seemed familiar. It didn't take long for me to land at a taste that all children know and few adults care to admit they've tried: grass. Yes. Grass. or weeds. Whichever you prefer, that's what it was. And the white stuff on top that I thought was whipped cream? It was rock hard cheese.

I've tried many foods since I've been here but I don't think this one is going to make it into the list of "Argentine Recipes to Remember."

My adventurous taste buds seem to have backfired on me in this particular instant, but worry not. I'll still be the one trying the mussels at the Shenanigan's Mother's Day brunch.

No. I have still not been to Tango class....

I don't have a ton of time right now to write every detail of my trip, so here's a quick list of things I have done the past couple of days:

Numero uno: Spanish classes. I moved up from intermediate to advanced, and now my brain hurts every time class gets out. It's pretty intense.
2. After feeling super lonely for the first couple of days, I got over it and made some friends. A few from Brazil, Holland, Ireland, London, Seattle, Switzerland and other places as well. They're awesome.
3. Went to dinner with my Spanish teacher and a few of the other students in the class.
4. I found a HUGE park bench.

5. Saw a lady walking 11 dogs at once. She's got skill. 

6. Got lost for an hour and a half but didn't get too worried. I figured the more lost I was the more I would learn about the city.

7. Thought I found myself on the map, hence the picture. But I ended up walking 5 blocks in the wrong direction. Whoops..

8. Actually found where I was and walked to an awesome park.

9. Went on a bike tour of Buenos Aires with my friend Vanessa from Germany. The pictures wouldn't load so my suggestion is to google "Puerto Madero, Buenos Aires" and that's where we were all day. Pretty cool spot.

10. Knocked the socks off Maria Antonietta when I told her chocolate chip banana bread is a real thing.

11. Found the emo population of Buenos Aires.

12. Still have not been able to figure out why half the teenage population here listens to Slip-Knot.

13. Missed everyone from back home and at school.

I'll load the pictures later if my computer is working. Now I'm off to a boliche with my friends.
Laterzzzzzz :)

Finally HERE

My journey has officially begun and I'm ready to take on Argentina one barrio at a time! (Mom - barrio means neighborhood :) ). All three of my flights were pretty good and there were only 20 people on the flight from San Francisco to DC, so I decided to start chattin up with the girl infront of me who also is going to be here for a while. She was also on my next flight and while we were waiting at the gate we met five more kids that are going to be down here. Unfortunately I didn't sit with them on the plane and was instead awarded with the ultimate flight companion. He was hefty, 75, talked in the most monotonous voice ever at .015 words per second, and.. oh yeah... he was drunk!!! hahaha on top of that, I could only hear about every fifth word he said because his voice was the exact pitch of the humming noise that airplanes make. We had  a nice conversation about his travels, which frequently ended in "I'd tell you more, but I'm just too drunk!' and then I slept for a good chunk of the flight.

I got to the house around one-ish and met Maria Antonieta - I have to say I am more than pleased with the family. She's super nice and doesn't speak a lick of english so my spanish is probably going to improve a TON. Tonight at dinner I taught her how to say "spoon" and she got a kick out of it and kept saying it to her husband, Martin. He speaks pretty good english so he just thought it was funny that she was trying. haha I haven't met their three kids yet though. They're all away on vacation for the next few weeks so it will just be us three for a while. To sum of the rest of my first day here in Argentina: I moved into my room, took a nap, walked around the parks, helped make dinner and then went to bed. Here are a few of my pictures:

This is the Recoleta Cemetary and it is five blocks away from the apartment. It's where anyone who is anyone is buried. Each tomb/burial chamber was at least ten feet tall and many of them had entire families in them. It's really incredible that all of the tombs are still intact and no one has broken into them - especially since there were a few with a billions of pesos of gold in them. Ok. Maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but there was enough for me to pay my entire college tuition in one lump payment......... aaaaaannnd right about here is where I give an ol shout out the parentals for the financial assistance for college. love you guys :) 

Nice Argentinian men playing music. Five seconds before I took this picture the guy that's second from the right was sleeping with his mouth wide open. The man in red nudged him so hard that he almost fell out of his chair. Gotta love it.

Downside to traveling alone: I had no one to tell me that I had the "100% UV Protected" sticker still on the outside of my sunglasses ALL DAY.

The center of the public market was this church. Just to the right is where I sat down and read for a little bit in the sun. So far I'm not really missing the rain!

Last but not least.. my room! I can stand in the middle and be five inches short of both fingertips touching the walls haha it's a cozy one alright!

At dinner Martin offered to take me to their friend's ranch next weekend to go horseback riding and have a true Argentine barbeque. Woohoo! I'm definately looking forward to that, but this whole horseback riding thing may turn out to be more interesting to watch than Martin thinks.

You all better enjoy reading this because I've been bit six times from mosquitoes since I started writing this. Time to start ampin up on the Vitamin B1!

Hasta Luego!