Going South for the Winter

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Not knowing that this class had already begun I spent the last week of my time in the states thinking about other things besides my impending trip to Buenos Aires. I was trying to rewrite a paper about a syncretic religion in Brazil and its relation to the concepts of mestizaje and racial democracy. Besides being a mouth/mindfull which no reader would care to see here the topic took much of my time. After spending six days or so thinking about Latin-American issues I finally faced the task of packing on Saturday night before I left on Sunday afternoon. I brought a frame-pack, my laptop, and a backpack. Mostly clothes, a few electronic necessities, and several books.

The clothes I brought were a projection of what I expected. Here’s an unnecessarily detailed account of my shirts; hopefully it’ll give you an idea of the somewhat-nervous young traveler’s mindset as to their image abroad.

4 sweaters

Nice sweaters too, by which I mean thin and stylish-looking; one even had a knitted turtleneck that could be unzipped to form a nice collar. I imagined brisk spring weather and wearing sweaters outside cafes.

Several t-shirts

In the back of my mind I was no doubt thinking of the power of the t-shirt as a self-advertisement. Our generation (especially the males) expresses itself through the designs on t-shirts more than our baby boomer parents did. As for me I brought two (not all) of my Simpsons shirts, a few plain white Hanes t-shirts, and anything else I wanted to be identified with. One with records spinning, another that said “laugh riot”, one of two tie-die shirts—the brighter an pinker of the two. It wasn’t all so masterfully planned out but thought went into it. What would Argentines, and yes, fellow students, think of me wearing on the street or in bars and clubs?

2 collared short sleeved shirts

One polo I never wear and another collared shirt from Times-Up which I suppose labels me as one of those environmentalist biker types which I never was but wanted to be in freshman year. These were for going out.

3 button-down dress shirts

Green and white checker plaid, light blue with dark blue pinstripes, and black with a tie to match. I also never wear clothes like this but thought these would be good for clubs or bars, tucked into H&M denim or American Apparel dark grey slim fit pants.

The flights were uneventful. I had some trouble sleeping and decided to read the free book that we were given titled Eternal Curse on the Reader of These Pages. It was entirely dialogue between an old paranoid Argentinean man who’d left the country in the 1980s (during the dictatorship responsible for making 30,000 intellectuals, labor leaders and other vocal citizens disappear) and a 35 year-old NYU graduate at a nadir in his life and job prospects as a history-major. The book begins with the younger man wheeling the older around Washington Square Park. The older man talks about a dream in which the park had an enormous tree in the middle that only had one fruitful branch. The story ends sadly though the younger man learns something which is never clearly defined in his last words.

I arrived at seven thirty in the morning (it was hot and would be for a while; I don’t think Spring will be so brisk after all) waited in line to get my passport stamped and saw three beautiful women (were they all blond?) handing out coupons for the duty-free shop as I walked to baggage claim. I knew that Argentine women were supposed to be beautiful as well as that any such claim is always a myth which often covers up disturbing ideas about body image and race which I’ll hope to understand better before I leave. I went through customs and, after wandering in and out of the airport for twenty minutes, was flagged-down by Pedro who was picking up lost students for NYU as they arrived. I met the first few students who had come on my same flight and soon there were ten of us sitting in the airport surrounded by our bags. Everyone was tired. Some had previously been signed on to go to Tel-Aviv before fighting broke out. They were nice and we just joked and stared into space until the mini-bus was ready to take us to the city.

We arrived at the student center and met a few more kids who had come a little early. There was a really nice breakfast. One by one students got picked up by their host parents. Mine did not show up so an NYU staff member got in a taxi with me and my bags. We sped down the Avenida de Sante Fe, kind of like Broadway with a lot of shopping and traffic. Soon we approached what I thought was a river judging by the distance of the buildings in the next block. This turned out to be the Avenida del Nueve de Julio, one of the widest streets in the world. Whereas most city streets become dark as the sun moves behind the buildings this street is lit up all day. It is beautiful.

My host mother answered to door of her apartment in Retiro, an old upscale neighborhood close to the water. She is an artist and the apartment is large and beautiful, with art on every wall, much of it hers. I slept and then took a map she gave me for a walk around the neighborhood. I ended up in a park full of trees with flowers in bloom. In the middle of the park (the Plaza de San Martin) was an enormous tree. For the circumference of its trunk—I imagine over thirty feet—it was not very tall but its low branches, which must have measured at least fifteen feet around, stretched fifty and sixty feet out as if trying to reach all the corners of the park at once. When I saw it I stopped short and wondered if this was the tree that the character had seen in his dream about Washington Square Park. This place is beautiful and I can’t wait to discover more.

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