Well, I arrived in Buenos Aires yesterday. Nothing super eventful en route, with the exception that, as a result of my transfer experience in Sao Paulo, Brazil, I am once more determined to learn Portuguese. Really, it's basically Spanish. Except that Spanish does almost nothing to help me communicate with someone who speaks Portuguese. It allows me to understand most of what he or she is saying... IF he or she speaks slowly enough and not over a crackly airport speaker... but leaves me with no real recourse but an amusing game of charades and short phrases, such as, for example "Buenos Aires" (spoken in the heaviest non-North American accent I could muster), should I want to make myself at all understood.
Oh, and also, there was an Orthdox Jew, a man, seated next to me on the second leg of the flight. Or at least he was supposed to be. I had run into him a few times in various lines, starting in New York, and I had tried to speak with him once or twice. The first time he tried to motion me ahead of him, as he had a TON of suitcases to check and I only had my two, but I shook my head, said I was in no hurry. I asked, "Long trip?" in English, and he asked if I spoke Spanish, and I nodded and repeated the question with my best Argentine accent. He responded with a short, "No." I tried again with some other basic query and received a one word answer again. Finally, I left him alone - until we were getting on this plane in Sao Paulo and I smiled and asked to be excused as I put my things on the window seat next to him. He fled. I sat down.
A stewardess came by a while later and asked if I needed the window seat. She was hoping I would move to accommodate him, and of course, I did, though I was very confused by the whole thing. She offered me a much better seat, with more leg room and "comfort seats" but there were plenty of normal ones free and I had already settled myself in one of those before she told me I had other options, and I didn't feel like moving.
Frankly, I was confused by the whole thing. The only explanation I received was "Es ortodoxo," meaning "He's Orthodox." But why wouldn't he have just switched to one of the empty seats? Some were aisle seats, just like his own, though they were in the center rather than near the windows. I sat with both seats next to me empty. He could have been totally isolated from everyone if he had wanted! Also, I really know very little about Orthodox Jews, but I had never realized before that they can't even SIT DOWN next to a woman on an airplane. It might be a bit insensitive of me, but really, I couldn't help but feel that he was rude. He could have told me himself... I think... assuming he is allowed to TALK to females.
I am usually so understanding of and open minded to religious and cultural differences, but this whole event really irked me somehow. What right did he have to ask - no, hide in the back of the plane avoiding eye contact with me while the stewardess asked - that I move? There were SO MANY other seats - far from all members of the opposite sex. And really, free seats aside, I walked away feeling insulted. I AM Jewish, at least partly. I was dressed conservatively enough - long sleeved simple blouse, not at all low-cut, with jeans. I spent half the flight sitting there thinking, "Maybe it's the pants that bug him. Maybe he thinks I should be wearing a long skirt? He has no right to care what I wear! Nothing about me is offensive!"
I could go on, but really, I'm most fascinated by my own feelings in the midst of the whole situation. My response, as recounted here, was primarily visceral in nature and not particularly well tempered by intellect. I know that, and I discount it accordingly, but it doesn't change how I felt and how I feel about the whole thing - which is, apparently: this guy needs to grow up. Of course I'd never SAY that, and a large part of me assumes his reasons were, well, quite reasonable, but I suppose that I will continue feeling the same way, voluntarily or not, until someone explains it to me and I can start to better understand it, and him.
But anyway - you probably did not start reading this with the expectation that you'd have to endure a tangent as long as that, so I'll end it there and return to my arrival.
There was a strike outside the airport, though it didn't really make life any more complicated for us. We had the bus parked pretty far from it all, near a different entrance.
The ride to Recoleta was a real nostalgia trip for me. I could not believe I was back, that I was doing this again! It felt like returning home.
I had run into Pedro at the airport and given him a big hug. At the Academic Center I saw Silvia, Alejandra, and Rob, hugged them before they got a chance to give me the far more Argentina greeting, a kiss on the right cheek, and smiled so hugely at Álvaro as he started to give his standard greeting, before recognizing me, that he broke off and asked me how I was. Moments later, he introduced himself to two other new students who looked a bit confused as to exactly who he was, and I piped up with, "Álvaro is one of the best deans ever,¨probably convincing them for sure that he was NOT the dean, especially as I was still smiling kind of goofily and using his first name. To be fair, he was already randomly standing there in the lounge individually greeting all of these travel-worn and sweaty 18- to 21- year olds without ever using any description beyond his first name, not the most common dean behavior in the world.
There was good food as always, served by these adorable Grandmother-like caterers who pushed yummy treats on us - and beamed and produced yet more food whenever I remarked that something was particularly "rico," or delicious. I eventually made my way upstairs, paid my first month's rent and was whisked back down the stairs, handed to a lady working for the homestay agency, introduced to my new homestay mother, Emma Cotella, and bustled over to my luggage and then out of the building. It all happened so fast that when I saw María today, at the first orientation session (and gave her and Florencia hugs), she scolded me for not actually ever checking in with NYU - I had completely forgotten. In my case, it was no big deal, since they had all seen me. (Rob had even helped Emma and me outside with all my things and grabbed a taxi for us.) But I should have known better, as they were all very quick to remind me. No big deal, though. I picked up all my information packets this morning, gave Florencia everything she needed to start my student visa paperwork, got caught up with Alejandra some, and generally just ran all over the place, usually stopping to help read maps, tell someone where a certain room was located, and track down whichever member of the student life staff was needed to solve this or that problem for another student or group of students. Sometime between my first orientation session in Buenos Aires - in August of 2010 -and now, I somehow mastered the Guía T, the city's overly complex and not always very informative system of mapping the bus routes, and was actually pretty surprised by how confident I sounded explaining it to my group during the official Guía T activity that took place just before lunch in the orientation. Lunch was more good food - with those same adorable caterers - and then free time to figure out cell phones, get passport photos taken to give to Florencia for the visas, withdraw from ATMs, exchange U.S. dollars for pesos, etc.
I did the city tour again and this time stayed awake for all of it, though somehow I was a complete dolt and didn't have my camera on me. Maria (one of the friends I made studying abroad at NYU in Spain) forgot hers, too, though, so we will probably return to all the major landmarks at least once, and I'll have my second shot at photographing all of them.
Afterwards, Maria and I resumed the cell phone quest that we began earlier in the day. We walked all along Santa Fé to the big Movistar store, one of the major prepaid cell phone carriers, found it closed, and realized it must already be past 6:30, which is still quite early for anything on Santa Fé to close. We passed by Volta, the BEST heladería in all of Buenos Aires, and I was completely blown away by a sign on the window advertising their current specials - a small cone of any flavor for 5 pesos or an entire 1/4-kilo of Dulce de Leche for 10 pesos. I ordered the 1/4-kilo, Maria went with a cone of some sort of creamy nut flavor, and we both agreed I made the better choice. It was even better than I remembered - and definitely a little more delicious due to its unexpectedly reasonable cost. During the winter and spring months of Buenos Aires, the time I was here last, there were no promotions like this. Cones started at 18 pesos, and you had to pay at least 26 pesos for anything of adequate size - roughly $4.5 and $6.5 USD respectively, which is insanely expensive for Buenos Aires. Here, I had just purchased 0.55 pounds of the amazing stuff for $2.31 USD.
Of course, during all of this, we're both pretty much drenched. The humidity was incredibly thick, the temperature way too high, and even with all the shade on the side walks provided by the city's multitude of trees, there was no escape from the heat. By the time I came home, settled myself in, plugged in my computers with a new power adapter, and checked the weather report out of curiosity, I had to post the following:
"Not to sound complainy... but I do feel the need to observe, for the benefit of all you people freezing up north, that right now, at 7 something in the evening, quite a while after the sun has set, it is 84 degrees Fahrenheit with an 89% humidity that makes it FEEL like 97 degrees out. Imagine how hot [and damp] it was earlier today. With the sun beating down. Really. Just TRY to imagine. It'll warm you up. :)"
And THEN, I got the good news that my brother Rob is coming to visit me in March! Who else is up? Come on! The weather will freshen up in a just a week or two, and then it will be nothing but lovely here. You know you miss me already...
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