madmadmad's blog

the city I'm not ready to leave

With still about a month left of the program, it is strange to have to consider my “final thoughts” about the semester. As I sit here reflecting on which aspects of the experience were rewarding or problematic or how I may have changed because of my experiences, I am becoming more and more anxious and stressed. But if anything, I am glad that this assignment has come too early for me. The process of considering what I have gained from my experiences first makes me feel sad that I am leaving so soon, then it makes me feel guilty for the days I slept til 4 PM, and then, thankfully, it inspires me to cherish my remaining days here. I am reminded that although I still have a few weeks to go, my precious time abroad really is coming to an end. With so many places still left to visit, I can’t help but wonder if I have failed to make the best of my time. In general, one of the biggest struggles for me while abroad was balancing my life as a student/resident and as a tourist. A semester seems like a long time but it wasn’t long enough. In the week I visited Rio de Janeiro, I felt like I saw more than I have in all my time in Buenos Aires. As a tourist on vacation, my time is dedicated to hitting up every museum, every park, or every famous monument or neighborhood. But in Buenos Aires, I function much differently as a student living here. It seems like only yesterday that I was sitting in my dorm in NYC obsessing over my travel guides with my roommate. But more than half of the museums, sites, and daytrips I bookmarked with anticipation are places in or around Buenos Aires that I still haven’t visited. Hopefully I will accomplish some of these activities within the next month.

For me, studying abroad was like running away from everything and everyone that I knew. Somehow, living without any of my friends or family in a city that I lack the cultural skills to navigate has been a breath of fresh air. Since I arrived here I felt free…no one knew me and I knew no one, which left no space for preconceptions or strings attached. I have had many bad times in Buenos Aires but for some reason I love this city more than anywhere else. I have learned quite a lot about myself throughout this semester and I have changed in many ways, mostly in personal ways. I am most satisfied with the different people I have met…the friends I have made both inside and outside of the program.

this is me posting my blog

I think that having a class abroad from NYC is tricky. Throughout the semester I felt a bit distanced from the course because for me, it was challenging to have a class without a set class time and without a professor that I physically see and speak to on a weekly basis. I found that the distance made committing to the class far more difficult. I had trouble remembering to keep up with my posts and for some reason, even though I enjoy the assignments, it was always a chore for me to sit down and actually get to work. Regardless, I don’t think there is any way to avoid the feeling of disconnect I felt with the class…I’m not sure what else I could have expected. I think I found it especially difficult to adjust to because I had taken the “Abroad at Home” course last semester in NYC which was very similar to this course, but having a physical class and a professor and a great class dynamic made a huge difference.

In reference to the assignments, I liked the open topics the best. Sometimes I found the more specific topics frustrating because I felt like I had to desperately weed through my experiences here in Buenos Aires in order to find something that applied to the assigned topic. Often I felt I was turning my experiences into something they were not by attempting to analyze them in a specific way. Still, I really enjoyed this class because it forced me to take a step back from the fast pace of my life and my experiences abroad; the process of blogging grounded me in a sense. My time in Buenos Aires has passed so quickly, but these assignments were able to briefly remove me from many moments that may have just flown by if I hadn’t stopped to look for them. I am happy I took this class and I would choose to take it again if I were reliving my semester in BA.

Giant Hummus?: I found this picture of the largest amount of hummus ever. Recently I have been missing the hummus from back home because in Buenos Aires the hummus is not what I am used to...if you can even find it, it tastes strange and is kind of fluffy. So if you re Studying abroad in Buenos Aires has definitely had its ups and downs. For me, the downs have been mainly in terms of the academic program. This semester, the size of the NYU in Buenos Aires program doubled in size—a change that despite the administrations’ warnings that they were still working to adapt to, too often resulted in disorganization and frustration. Also, I felt that the attendance policy was far too strict…students loose a huge portion of their final grade for each class they miss. I was expecting the opposite—that attendance abroad would be more lenient as many intend to spend their weekends traveling/etc. NYU in Buenos Aires seemed to be on a mission to disprove the myth that the academic aspect of studying abroad is relaxed. I have enjoyed most of my classes, but I have learned from friends in the program that although many of the classes offered here are worthwhile, just as many of them are not. Still, I’m not sure that the negatives of the program outweigh the positives. The faculty here is amazing and always approachable. They couldn’t be more helpful. The academic center is beautiful and the program hosts many guest speakers and performers. But the most amazing thing about studying here is the city itself! Live in a home stay! Before I came here I was torn between choosing a residence and a home stay because I worried that living in a home stay meant I would sacrifice a social life. This is definitely not the case as the majority of the program is staying in home stays. Most of my friends staying in dorms regret their decisions as the locations aren’t all that favorable and the food is horrible. I feel as if my experience in Buenos Aires would have been so much less if I were dorming. I love my host mom, but even the friends I have that despise their hosts are still happy with their decision to avoid the residences. One of the most difficult things for me to adapt to in Buenos Aires was the food. The diet consists of meat, cheese, and carbohydrates. Some people wouldn’t mind eating empanadas every day for the rest of their lives, but within a week I was already tired of the limited Argentine diet of pizza, empanadas, and milanesas. I recommend Pure Vida, Natural Deli and Artesano—three food options relatively close to the academic center that have more natural/fresh/organic foods and juices. Also, the gum here is awful so bring your Oribit gum and there isn’t much for peanut butter. A few more random things if you are coming to BA… spend time at the Botanical Gardens or any of the great green spaces in Buenos Aires, got to La Bomba Del Tiempo (a drum band that plays every Monday night at Konex), and make sure you remember to take your credit card out of the ATM machine.

Welcome to Hopkinton (hometown)
By the time I read Alain de Batton’s piece “On Habit” I had already read many of the other Art of Travel students’ blog responses for this assignment. Everyone’s reaction to this chapter seemed very similar; most people easily relate to Batton’s writing about growing too accustomed to a place, whether in their hometown or New York City or wherever they are studying. Likewise, Batton’s stories reminded me of my own habitual lifestyles and I can only agree with what everyone else has written about the piece. But even though this reading succeeded to increase my awareness of my own unfavorable habitual behaviors, I am not inspired enough to return to my hometown with a new attitude. I don’t anticipate myself attempting to find a new beauty in the minute details of suburbia because I think that habit is too natural and too unavoidable. I have tried before to experience my hometown in a new light…to appreciate how it is unique and to actually see the everyday things that I have grown blind to over the years of my childhood. But this only lasts for so long; my efforts always fade with time and once again I become too accustomed. Naturally, time away from my hometown is the only thing that allows me to notice and to appreciate some of the everyday details that I was once too habituated with. Still, after time passes I become once again blind by my familiarization.

I actually found myself intrigued by a different idea that Batton mentioned about travel in “On Habit”: the theory that it is advantageous to travel alone because “our responses to the world are crucially moulded by the company we keep, for we temper our curiosity to fit in with the expectations of others”. Batton’s ideas resonated with me because it is true that when I travel alone, I feel like I am able to experience place in a unique way, but I had never considered how or why the company of others may be responsible for the shape of my experiences. Remembering times when I have traveled with friends and family, it is difficult for me to label exactly how people are able to influence me. Batton contends that others may have a particular vision of who we are and hence may subtly prevent certain sides of us from emerging. Many of the people I have traveled with are people that I feel so comfortable with, that I don’t think they could have prevented a particular side of me from emerging. Still, there is no relationship like the one I have with myself. No matter how comfortable I am with whom I travel, there is something very different about traveling alone. Maybe it has less to do with the influence of the others you travel with and more to do with the unique experience of being entirely alone. Usually, experiences are moments to be shared. Maybe it is when there is no one else to share your experiences, the things that you see and you feel, that you grow closest to yourself and to your surroundings.

My friend Becky conversing with two Argentines
I met Matias at an Argentine bar that my friends and I frequent many Thursday nights. That my first encounter with Matias was at this bar says plenty about his persona. Undeniably the most authentic Argentine bar I’ve ever visited, every time I go here with friends we have fun and meet plenty of people, but we always get sexually groped in the process. By the end of the night we are frustrated and fed up and we always falsely declare that we are never returning again. The boys here are simply too aggressive and too unfamiliar with the concept of personal space and Matias was no exception.

I was dancing with friends when I first saw him. He noticed I was looking at him which was my mistake, because seconds later he was too close. He was short like most Argentine boys, and although this is something my superficiality typically refuses to let me overlook, it was an especially fuzzy night and at 5 a.m. my soft spot for boys with dark hair, scruff, and piercings was all that mattered. We exchanged names and then he spoke to me in English, detecting my inability to speak fluent Spanish before I had to tell him. Long story short, when my friends and I left the bar about an hour later, Matias had my number and he had told me that he would call me the following day. Since I have learned to accept the stereotype that most Argentine boys are full of themselves and assholes, I honestly wasn’t expecting Matias to call me. But as he promised, the next day I missed a call from him when I had been away from my phone. After that, Matias proceeded to call me at least, without exaggeration, 20 times throughout the day. The first time he had called me I hadn’t answered because I was busy. But after that, the compulsivity of his calls simply freaked me out. Soon enough I was receiving phone calls from private callers and from other numbers that I had never seen before. Two days later, the phone calls were still obsessive and I still had yet to answer a single call. So Matias was a freak…he was strange, obsessive, and unable to grasp that my neglect of his phone calls meant I was not interested. Thanks to my unfortunate luck in Buenos Aires, I am no longer dealing with his phone calls because I left my phone in a taxicab one night.

Since I haven’t spent much time with Matias, my account of him may fall short of describing a person from Argentina in depth. Still, I chose to write about Matias because my experience with him says a lot about the people that I have met here on more general terms. The boys in particular are of some kind of species I can’t understand. The language barrier is strange to begin with, but the behaviors and the approaches of the boys in Buenos Aires are so different than I am used to at home; I feel I am too foreign to accurately analyze them or to describe them because I can’t decipher their meanings. I just wonder how Argentine females cope…or perhaps if any American boys here have had similarly strange/different/unknown experiences with the Argentine females as I have had with the males.

Caminito
Calle Caminito, a street in the barrio of La Boca, is the most popularly used image on postcards from Buenos Aires. A photo of Caminito, whether of the cobblestone streets, the colorful buildings or the live tango shows, is always picturesque. Visuals of the street, which is one of the most touristic attractions in the city, typically suggest it is a place with a unique history, rich with culture and vibrant arts. Walking down Calle Caminito on a Tuesday afternoon, mid-Argentine fall, I am surprised to find that the street is only sparsely occupied by tourists photographing the colorfully painted buildings. On weekends and during the months of Spring and Summer the street must attract many more visitors. Regardless, the realization that this attraction--one the few popular tourist destinations in Buenos Aires--still has "offtimes" during which it draws little attention, seems to say a lot about the city and the country.

A stroll down Caminito feels ironic and artificial. Overpriced restaurants line the street and each one is identical to the previous, consistently offering the same mediocre-quality Italian influenced foods and cheesy decor. As you pass, men approach you with no concept of personal space to stubbornly push flyers into your hands. They aggressively speak into your face insisting that "they have the best food, the best deals, the best shows". They are relentless and their persistence is annoying, suggesting that they are likely paid by how many tourists they successfully lure into their employer's trap.
Tables for outdoor dining line the cobblestone streets, the seating organized around various elevated stages where couples perform La Boca's famous open air tango shows. Melodies of traditional milonga music radiate from scratchy speakers intending to transport listeners to the time and place of tango's birth. Since each tango show is only storefronts away from the next, one show's music inevitably becomes part of another . Thus a walk through Caminito is like walking through a tunnel of sound. The drifting tunes of traditional, time-specific tango conflict with one another and Caminito becomes confusing.

On this Tuesday afternoon, the outdoor dining spaces are barely occupied. Of the few there, there is a lonely couple sipping cafe, ignoring the live tango dancers with their noses buried in their Buenos Aires tour guides. At another tango show, all but one of the surrounding tables are empty. Still, men in kitschy suits and women in cheap fishnets continue to dance on their stages, performing the same routines over and over again despite the lack of an audience. The dancers are not the only aspects that seem staged. The famous brightly painted houses made of wood and metal that line the streets are difficult to grasp-- they begin and end abruptly and walking amidst them you feel as if you are living inside the artistic set of play. A close look at the buildings reveals pealing paint and poor quality construction; the street is aged. The artificiality makes it feel timeless and surreal, as if the entire street is incapsulated, frozen in time. Calle Caminito is like a broken record. The music keeps playing, the dancers keep dancing, and the buildings, the souvenir shops, the restaurants, will never change. It is depressing and backwards. Few would expect that an attraction like Caminito, frequented by crowds of of tourists, is actually located just steps away from some of the poorest and most neglected areas of the city. Beyond Caminito, the streets become dirt and the buildings become increasingly deteriorated. On a quiet Tuesday afternoon, the surrounding poverty of La Boca seems evident through an underlying sadness of Caminito. I assume that the entertainers that spend their days dancing relentlessly and that the people that work the souvenir shops and the restaurants are likely local inhabitants. To me, there is something very twisted and ironic about this and about Caminito in general. It is the most artificial of places, but it is located right in the middle of reality.

tango
I imagined my first tango show in Buenos Aires to be a very humble yet romantic experience. I pictured myself with a glass of Argentine wine in a dark, small and aging venue in San Telmo. I expected that the dancers would be beautiful and passionate and that the music would swallow the room. I imagined a timeless experience that would transport me to the Buenos Aires milongas I had read about.

But my first tango show in Buenos Aires proved slightly different from my hopes and my expectations. Instead of the cozy, hole in the wall tango venue I had anticipated, I found myself in a room larger than two of my high school’s gymnasiums put together. The ceilings were high and a large glitzy stage with red curtains was elevated above the floor space. The floor space was dense with rows of rectangular tables, reminding me of the Hogwarts dining hall in Harry Potter. Hundreds of people sat awaiting the show as waiters dressed in matching uniforms served them steak dinners and cheese platters. In addition to the red wine I had expected at the show, the waiters also offered cheesy “tango-themed” cocktails and “sex on the beaches”.

When a very eccentric tango dancing couple tapped me on my shoulder and insisted that I smile as the venue’s photographer captured them sexually posing “mid-tango-move” behind me, I knew I had entirely failed at finding an authentic tango show. I also knew that I would not be paying for that picture…(or the CD, or the DVD, which were also offered at the end of the performance).

The show itself consisted of multiple performers dancing and singing and sexually wrapping legs at high speeds. A band, which included a bandoneon player, was elevated to the right of the stage. I was pleased that despite the modern twist given to most aspects of the performance there was still some degree of live music. I say “some degree” because the live band was also accompanied by electronic, techno-infused rhythms of milonga. Despite how glitzy and touristy and unlike my ideal tango show the experience was, at the end of the day, the show was still entertaining. The performers were talented and deserve much credit for their impressive high-speed dancing. Although I complain that it was not the tango experience of Buenos Aires that I had desired, to some extent I still experienced an authentic showing of culture. It is true that the tango can still be found in a more historically accurate “authentic” form, but tango, still a huge part of the culture and the pride of Buenos Aires, has inevitably evolved with the city over time.

Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo
“Imagining Argentina” by Lawrence Thornton is a novel set in the 1970s in Buenos Aires. This was the time of the Dirty War when thousands of Argentines disappeared into prison cells and detention centers under the dictatorship. Representing the traumatic stories of many Argentines in the 1970s, the protagonist, Carlos Rueda, experiences the disappearance of a loved one—his wife. Although the story is based on the dark realities of the past, it is a novel with a fictional twist; Carlos Rueda discovers he has a magical power to see visions of the fates of those who have disappeared from their families, but the only fate that he cannot see through his visions is the fate of his own wife.

I really enjoyed this novel because it is very well written, powerful and inspirational. I was impressed by how Thornton managed to create a story thatemphasized the hopeful and the magical even despite all of the human evil within the Dirty War (the disappearances, the torturings, the killings). The novel highlighted the power of the human spirit and I felt that it very well captured my perception of Buenos Aires today. Living here, I am reminded every day about the disappearances that happened in the 1970s. I have noticed that the painful events of the Dirty War still linger within the city of Buenos Aires in so many ways. For example, The ESMA, which is one of the detention centers where the “disappeared” were tortured and imprisoned, literally exists amidst the city life of Buenos Aires. When I visited the ESMA, I expected it to be isolated and was shocked to see that is surrounded by apartments and main roads. Clearly visible, it is a constant reminder of the tragedies.

In many other ways I have witnessed how Argentina is still feeling the effects of its dark past. Relatives of those who disappeared are always telling their stories through the media, and the newspapers still publish stories concerning the injustices. Every Thursday, an organization of mothers whose children “disappeared” symbolically gather at the Plaza de Mayo to protest. For over three decades, these mothers have fought for the right to re-unite with their abducted children. As I read “Imagining Argentina”, the hope and the inspiration of Carlos Ruedo’s story reminded me of the persistence of these mothers, as well as the numerous other organizations and advocates in Buenos Aires still demanding justice. To me, the struggles and the magic of Carlos captured the essence of Buenos Aires. In terms of human rights, Buenos Aires has a tainted past and a difficult present. Yet Buenos Aires is special because the people who live here seem to have an enduring, powerful, and inspirational spirit.

A kind Brazilian man that gave me a free piece of pineapple. 

I am skipping to the next “Open Topic” to write about my spring break in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. I traveled with two of my friends, Becky and Akeesh. Our week was full of stressful mishaps that evolved into hilarious adventures and in the end, despite our last minute plans and numerous semi-disasters, we came out alive and with memories to cherish.

I loved Brazil because I loved the Brazilians! There are many special things about Brazilians. For example, they are notoriously preoccupied with beauty, they tend to drink their coffee with more sugar than coffee, and the boys roam the streets in speedos. Still, what I found most unique about Brazilians was their kindness. Brazilians must be the kindest, friendliest people in the world. Whether I was walking along the beach, the streets of Rio, or the less fortunate favelas (slums) of the city, it seemed as if everyone was smiling. Happy eyes, toothy grins and carefree mannerisms all welcomed me to Brazil. Perhaps Rio de Janeiro—with its abundant sun, beautiful beaches, breathtaking landscapes, delicious tropical fruits and constant live music—is simply something to smile about.

Yet the Brazilians that we met in Rio were so ridiculously kind that at first, my friends and I had trouble deciphering and accepting their overly friendly behavior. For example, one day we were riding the bus to “Santa Teresa”, which is a specific area within Rio. We were having trouble navigating the bus system in Portuguese when the kindest Brazilian chica quickly stepped in to help us out. To us, it was kind of her to direct us, and even kinder of her to amiably welcome us to Brazil with her conversation throughout the rest of the bus ride. But to our surprise, when we arrived at our bus stop, the girl insisted on exiting the bus with us. She proceeded to take us to her apartment where she gave us her umbrella for the rainy weather, and then she personally guided us throughout the city to our destination. I must emphasize that this was no easy destination; she took us on a trek up a mountain, in the rain, in the dark, to Santa Teresa. My friends and I could not grasp why this girl was willing to entirely rid her day plans to help three Americans. Naturally, as Americans, the three of us were convinced that the girl had a team of killers at the top of the mountain waiting to pounce. Since we rarely encounter people exhibiting kindness without incentive, we were convinced that she had ulterior motives. As we followed the girl, we shot each other desperate glances that read “WHAT are we getting ourselves into????”
When we finally arrived at Santa Teresa, the girl refused to leave us. Despite our sly attempts to abandon her, she simply wasn’t going anywhere. She preferred to show us around all evening and was, in her own words, “treating herself to our company”. Thus, we decided that this girl’s fatal flaw was her kindness; kindness to the point of annoyance!

The rest of our trip was full of characters similar to the previous girl. The people in Brazil were not hesitant to make conversation and they refused to let the language barrier stop them from attempting to communicate with us. Although we only spent a week in Brazil, my friends and I managed to become regulars at a few burger joints and juice bars near our hostel. The employees at these places were so kind that we couldn’t resist returning. The employees would recognize us, greet us, and then we would smile and compulsively wave at each other as we couldn’t communicate any other way. (Understanding Spanish will not help your comprehension of Portuguese).

One last encounter seems to sum up what I learned about Brazilians during my visit:
My friends and I were at a restaurant when a lady asked us if she could join our table. She said that she had overheard us speaking in English and that she spoke English as well. Apparently, for her this was enough reason to desire our friendship. Before she even sat down, she offered to buy all of us a round of caparinhas (a Brazilian drink). She said: “I know this is weird to you, but in Brazil this is what we do. We make friends!”

Is this pack of Americans at an AUTHENTIC Argentine soccer game?? or is it.... STAGED?!
Since reading the MacCannell piece on “Staged Authenticity” and other travel theories last semester, there is nothing that makes me more frustrated than attempting to define tourists, travelers, and the differences between the two. Before reading any of these pieces, I had little problem identifying with tourists. But after reading the consistent negative connotations associated with tourists, despite my hesitation to agree with or accept these “tourist-bashing theories”, I still knew that I did not want to be the kind of “tourist” they described.

As a result, I struggled to formulate an opinion on tourists, travelers, and authenticity. I was unable to determine if as a student in New York I was still a tourist because I enjoy both native or “authentic” experiences as well as more touristy attractions. Soon enough, I began to feel completely hopeless for my upcoming trip to Buenos Aires because I was bothered by the theory that all tourists are ignorant and simply unable to find authenticity. I was worried that when I studied abroad there would be no way for me to escape such negativities and that like all other tourists, it was inevitable that I would never really be seeing or experiencing the things that I thought I was.

In Buenos Aires I have done my best to avoid analyzing my day-to-day experiences in terms of authenticity. Although I have partaken in obvious tourist/staged attractions and admittedly enjoyed them, I am still hesitant to accept the idea that as a foreigner I am never “truly seeing or experiencing”. Despite my visits to cheesy tango shows, American bars, and blatant tourist traps in San Telmo, I feel that that I have been truly immersed within the culture and lifestyle of Buenos Aires several times throughout my stay. Still, as MacCannell points out, I can’t help but ponder if what seems or appears authentic to me may in fact be staged. Fortunately, most of the time I figure it is impossible for my “authentic” experiences to be staged… this is because I consider authenticity in Buenos Aires to be the Argentine friends that I have made, the get-togethers that they have invited me to, the cat calls I get on the street from police men, and the stores that I have shopped in that only sell jeans for size negative two thousand. How can these things be staged? Regardless, I appreciate how MacCannell explains these kinds of complexities within social spaces (how something that appears staged may be authentic and vice versa) because ultimately, I believe that the lines between tourist/traveler and authentic/staged are un-definable as they are far too blurry and complex.

On a final note, the picture I posted is of the Argentina vs. Venezuela world cup qualifying futbol match this past Saturday. As we walked to the stadium, the fake Argentine jerseys and other kinds of cheap fan merchandise (that we all went crazy over) could definitely be considered the “staged/touristy” region of the game. I’m sure that a lot of the venders intend to target tourists. Still, I don’t think that it is so black and white considering that I’m from Boston and when I go to a Red Sox game, I likewise go crazy over the cheap and unofficial merchandise. Maybe this region only becomes unauthentic when you aren’t an authentic fan?