I have been waiting for some significant downtime all week in order to write out my "Mendoza Death Trip" experience (a la Michael Lesy), but now that I find myself in front of the computer with nowhere to go I realize that it will have to wait. Because at the moment, there is only one thing on my mind...
I am a smoker. I am a nicotine addict. For last 4 years, I have been avoiding this concession. I have been checking the little "no" box at doctor's offices, hiding cigarettes in my underwear drawer, and spouting all sorts of excuses to myself and others about why I need "just this one." Compared to many smokers, I am a lightweight: I have never smoked more than 3 cigarettes in a single day. But since I started smoking the occasional cigarette over 4 years ago, I have had thousands and quite frankly, it is time to stop lying to myself. So there it is: I am a smoker and its finally time to quit.
I know that reading this blog entry will make many people in my life very disappointed in me. Yet I believe that in order to be successful, I need to start this difficult journey from an honest place.
In an effort to gird myself against the tragic difficulties of quitting, I have prepared some visual aids: a calendar where I can track when and how much I smoke everyday; 3 copies of a picture of a damaged lung- oozing black tar- for my mirror, ashtray, and calendar; a list of 101 stress-relieving activities; about.com's article on triggers and craving-kickers; and my own personal list of reasons to quit (on 16 post-its stuck all over the house). Yet I know that all this is only a crutch for my enfeebled mind, which will crave cigarettes regardless of my most intellectual efforts to dissuade it.
Now, the real catch is my location. I am choosing to quit smoking in South America, where 11 year olds buy cigarettes to smoke with their pudding cups, where butts litter the ground even in the most remote mountains, where the antiquated practice of smoking indoors is still roundly embraced and many people offer you a cigarette upon introduction, just as a social nicety. I often feel like I've been thrown into an episode of Mad Men . Forget avoiding smokers while you ween yourself off, here it is impossible to go one minute without cigarettes crowding your consciousness.
Ironically, it is the ubiquitousness of cigarettes in Argentina that has made me determined to quit. In nice, clean, organized United States, there is something about joining the elite determination of the smokers outside on a winter day, that makes smoking feel satisfyingly subversive. But here, where smoking is so openly accepted and indiscriminately encouraged, the sinister realities of smoking are incredibly in-your-face.
As I light up on my balcony, I can look down into the courtyard and witness the sea of butts littering the grass amid the vibrant rose bushes. From an unseen balcony in my neighborhood, I can hear the rattling hack of a long-time smoker. On the corner, I can see the listless group of teenagers, barely old enough to have breasts to fill out their tank tops, casually sharing a smoke. In every park, plaza, and promenade smokers stroll with cigarette in hand and carelessly toss their butts into the classical fountains, manicured lawns, and elaborate street murals. Medical clinics teem with withered grandmothers leaning on their portable oxygen tanks. And the young always look old beyond their years- heart-breakingly gorgeous girls of 16 or 18 with deep lines already carved around their mouths, wrinkling the corners of their wide, innocent eyes.
Confronted with smoking on such a large scale, amid the daily tragedies, there can be no doubt: I cannot justify this any longer. So I've decided to examine the reasons behind my addiction, both in an effort to channel my energy into a more healthy response to triggers and also perhaps in order to better understand the psyche of smoke-obsessed Argentina.
I smoke because:
I think it calms me down when I am upset. I have trained myself to stop crying, stop fighting, and stop panicking when I have a cigarette. Whenever I feel out of control, I automatically turn to smoking.
I think it helps me be creative. In university, when I routinely wrote 2-4 analytical treatises per week, I started smoking cigarettes to concentrate and clarify my thought process. This was partially a self-fulfilling prophecy: when I first declared my major an upperclassmen told me that all English majors start smoking by the end of their second year.
Many of my friends smoke, and all of my boyfriends. I have never dated a man who didn't smoke. I never had a list of "deal-breakers" and so I accepted my partner's smoking as part of the man. But spending so much intimate time with a smoker desensitizes you to the unseemly effects of smoking- bad breath, smelly clothes etc. I don't know why so many of my friends smoke, but I have noticed a disproportionate tendency towards smoking in my friends who work or study in the arts. And I have always been attracted to artists.
Smoking makes me feel more confident. This is an old excuse that I have never admitted to before. But I often feel that my hands reveal my insecurity more than any other part of my anatomy. When I feel uncomfortable, my hands have an embarrassing tendency to fidget or (too often) knock things over.
Finally, I am self-destructive. I often feel that I deserve to be hurt because I am a bad person, or I have failed in some way. Smoking is that little bit of daily destruction that makes me feel like I have punished myself for my failures and I can now try again. Yes, this is supremely messed up.
In all of these illuminating and deeply personal reasons for smoking, I can see something of the Argentine mindset reflected:
In my experience, it is difficult to get things done here, and often the frustration of many small failures or endless waiting feels overwhelming. I see more people smoking outside of government offices, the post office, and at bus stops for example. The endless waiting is just one big excuse for a smoke break.
Argentinians love to talk. They love to discuss difficult issues and stay up until the wee hours of the morning espousing about art, music, politics, and more. They idealize the word pasion and almost everyone I've met has asked me: what is your passion in life? In their hearts, they are incredibly creative and smoking cigarettes seems to feed this endless discussion and make everyone more willing to speak their mind; reveal their pasion.
Everyone smokes. Parents, children, lovers, friends, bosses, delivery drivers. It is constantly around you, and so the stigma is removed.
Finally, Argentinians harbor a spirit of competition with more developed countries. They despise the phrase "third-world" and they believe that they have a lot to offer the international community. Yet the ongoing economic instability, government upheaval, and geographical isolation of Argentina make many feel a little insecure about their country's place in the world. Perhaps this national insecurity contributes to a nation of smokers who just need something to do with their hands?
While I may feel some affinity with the huge Marlboro ad that is Argentina, I recognize that like so many bad habits in the world at large, change can only come one person at a time. And so I am giving up my cigarettes and challenging myself to face my triggers with a new heart. Hopefully, in the process of quitting I have started to gain a new understanding of myself and the hazy world around me.
** I want to quit naturally, which is, of course, the hardest path. But I would welcome any suggestions for natural aids that you have tried, heard of, or come across while randomly searching online. I also welcome condemnation from any local friends who catch me smoking from this point on.
September 19, 2010
September 13, 2010
Lessons For a Teacher
If not for my overwhelming penchant for procrastination, I would definitely postpone this entry until later in the week. However, I have recently discovered that part of being a teacher is: homework. That is, teachers must spend a lot of time outside of the classroom preparing lesson plans, researching new learning tools, and finding inspiration for fun, engaging, and ultimately effective lessons. Ugh. Homework! Never my strong suit and always a catalyst for my "manana syndrome", I really, really don't like doing my homework. So here I am, blogging early on in my so-far uneventful week instead of buckling down and planning the rest of my lessons. Oh well, I'm a creative person and I believe I work best under pressure. (that's my story, and I'm sticking to it!)
Last week was a nice change of pace. Pursuing my new found goal to finally make some friends, I went out almost every night last week. Thursday night drinks at the Irish Pub with Martin, my "park friend" as he will henceforth be known. Cheesecake and cafe on Wednesday with Alfre, the couchsurfer (exclusively in spanish). A stroll in the Park with Ana Friday afternoon, discussing education and the overwhelming stupidity of too many tourists (also in spanish). Lunch at Patrona on Saturday with my love to meet a nice expat couple from Austin, TX. A bottle of wine, the most delicious open-faced sandwiches with white wine and honey dipping sauce, and tiramisu for desert. Delicious! And finally, cream stout at the region's only microbrewery with Pat on Saturday night. Poor little Pat- he is clearly so deprived of good beer that he just couldn't stop drinking! I believe he woke up with his first hangover in Argentina on Sunday.
All of this activity was more stimulation than my social life has seen in months. Living with loneliness is often a part of the expat life, at least in the beginning. But I am hopeful that with the coming of the spring (at last!) I can finally stop asking: "Am I really going to be here for a year without making a single friend?" (a la Jess). It does require effort, and a little perseverance, but I feel like I am also beginning to blossom here. I hope that this can be the beginning of a more open-minded and positive chapter of our Mendocinian adventure.
Through all the isolation, I have learned that I should never take for granted the ease of making friends at home. It is truly remarkable to be able to establish an easy and ongoing connection with coworkers, friends of friends, and random strangers by striking up a simple conversation in an unexpected place. Here, it is a treat to speak in english now and then, and a ongoing challenge to try to communicate in spanish. But often, something is lost in both these exchanges. In english, I sometimes find myself talking simply to talk- forgetting my own view of the world in favor of actually having a conversation. In spanish, I always feel dull, uneducated, and timid because it is difficult to communicate complex ideas. Whenever we do make it "home", I vow to cherish the friendships I have and revel in the moments of happy serendipity when I can "click" with a new acquaintance. I want to be better, more open about allowing these casual acquaintances to blossom into friendships instead of allowing the moment to pass unnoticed.
In addition to discovering that teachers have to do homework and friendships should never be taken for granted, I have also been re-learning not to take things personally. The one book I begged my mother to send me was the one I have never left behind before: The Four Agreements. If you haven't read it, do so. If you have, then you know why it sits next to my bible on the bookshelf. The no-nonsense wisdom of this little book always comes as a revelation to me- no matter how many times I read it. And the lesson that always hits home the most is: Don't take it personally!
For me, this is especially important when traveling. There are a lot of stupid things that can really make you feel like crap when you are in a foreign place. For example, the shop girls here almost always laugh and make nasty comments about me. For a long time, this made me want to throw their clothes in their snotty faces and walk out. Or how my students laugh at my spanish, even though I routinely sit through hours of their crappy english every week with a benevolent (and sincere!) smile of encouragement on my face. Or the way that so many Argentine drivers try to run you over, while unapologetically flipping the bird/cursing/making vulgar suggestions- all for simply crossing the road when you have the right of way. Right of way? Now that is a foreign word in South America...
But ultimately, none of this behavior has anything to do with me. I didn't walk into the clothing store naked; I never make fun of my students; and I always look both ways (3-4 times) before attempting to cross the street. This kind of behavior, along with so many other things I don't like about Argentina, are completely detached from me, as a person. All I can do is strive to develop myself as a strong, unique, and independent individual and let the poor behavior of others slide off my back like I bathed in teflon. As much as I want to change the world for the better, the only person I really have control over is me. I am learning (again) that people always learn best by example, not by instruction. I strive to carry this philosophy into my classroom, into my friendships, and into my many less-than-ideal interactions with others every day. It's not me, it's you Argentina. But I still value our friendship.
Last week was a nice change of pace. Pursuing my new found goal to finally make some friends, I went out almost every night last week. Thursday night drinks at the Irish Pub with Martin, my "park friend" as he will henceforth be known. Cheesecake and cafe on Wednesday with Alfre, the couchsurfer (exclusively in spanish). A stroll in the Park with Ana Friday afternoon, discussing education and the overwhelming stupidity of too many tourists (also in spanish). Lunch at Patrona on Saturday with my love to meet a nice expat couple from Austin, TX. A bottle of wine, the most delicious open-faced sandwiches with white wine and honey dipping sauce, and tiramisu for desert. Delicious! And finally, cream stout at the region's only microbrewery with Pat on Saturday night. Poor little Pat- he is clearly so deprived of good beer that he just couldn't stop drinking! I believe he woke up with his first hangover in Argentina on Sunday.
All of this activity was more stimulation than my social life has seen in months. Living with loneliness is often a part of the expat life, at least in the beginning. But I am hopeful that with the coming of the spring (at last!) I can finally stop asking: "Am I really going to be here for a year without making a single friend?" (a la Jess). It does require effort, and a little perseverance, but I feel like I am also beginning to blossom here. I hope that this can be the beginning of a more open-minded and positive chapter of our Mendocinian adventure.
Through all the isolation, I have learned that I should never take for granted the ease of making friends at home. It is truly remarkable to be able to establish an easy and ongoing connection with coworkers, friends of friends, and random strangers by striking up a simple conversation in an unexpected place. Here, it is a treat to speak in english now and then, and a ongoing challenge to try to communicate in spanish. But often, something is lost in both these exchanges. In english, I sometimes find myself talking simply to talk- forgetting my own view of the world in favor of actually having a conversation. In spanish, I always feel dull, uneducated, and timid because it is difficult to communicate complex ideas. Whenever we do make it "home", I vow to cherish the friendships I have and revel in the moments of happy serendipity when I can "click" with a new acquaintance. I want to be better, more open about allowing these casual acquaintances to blossom into friendships instead of allowing the moment to pass unnoticed.
In addition to discovering that teachers have to do homework and friendships should never be taken for granted, I have also been re-learning not to take things personally. The one book I begged my mother to send me was the one I have never left behind before: The Four Agreements. If you haven't read it, do so. If you have, then you know why it sits next to my bible on the bookshelf. The no-nonsense wisdom of this little book always comes as a revelation to me- no matter how many times I read it. And the lesson that always hits home the most is: Don't take it personally!
For me, this is especially important when traveling. There are a lot of stupid things that can really make you feel like crap when you are in a foreign place. For example, the shop girls here almost always laugh and make nasty comments about me. For a long time, this made me want to throw their clothes in their snotty faces and walk out. Or how my students laugh at my spanish, even though I routinely sit through hours of their crappy english every week with a benevolent (and sincere!) smile of encouragement on my face. Or the way that so many Argentine drivers try to run you over, while unapologetically flipping the bird/cursing/making vulgar suggestions- all for simply crossing the road when you have the right of way. Right of way? Now that is a foreign word in South America...
But ultimately, none of this behavior has anything to do with me. I didn't walk into the clothing store naked; I never make fun of my students; and I always look both ways (3-4 times) before attempting to cross the street. This kind of behavior, along with so many other things I don't like about Argentina, are completely detached from me, as a person. All I can do is strive to develop myself as a strong, unique, and independent individual and let the poor behavior of others slide off my back like I bathed in teflon. As much as I want to change the world for the better, the only person I really have control over is me. I am learning (again) that people always learn best by example, not by instruction. I strive to carry this philosophy into my classroom, into my friendships, and into my many less-than-ideal interactions with others every day. It's not me, it's you Argentina. But I still value our friendship.
September 9, 2010
Progress
For the past couple of weeks, I've really been struggling with being alone. With Pat working tons of hours at the hostel while his boss enjoys a pseudo maternity leave, I've been spending a lot of time on my own. Since we got together, Pat and I have been fairly inseparable and this has only been compounded by the move down here. My shaky grasp on Spanish and the general insularity of the Mendocinians has made me even more shy and reluctant to seek out friendships here. But I think I may finally be making some progress on dragging myself out of my shell.
Like many expats living abroad, I realized that I really have to seek out connections and make myself more open to meeting people every day. To this end, I've been making a concerted effort to spend more of my free time outside- in the park, in a cafe, or just taking a stroll. Of course, this is made infinitely easier by the long-awaited arrival of warmer weather and it is really pleasant to recline in the park with a good book now. Last weekend, while I was doing just that, I heard the familiar pick-up line: "Hey, where are you from?" It's not very creative, but it's popular. Instead of ignoring it altogether I smiled and responded in kind, which led to a surprisingly pleasant conversation with an interesting and well-traveled Mendocinian in spanglish. When I told him I was here with my boyfriend, he didn't immediately mumble an excuse and walk away as I have come to expect, but shrugged and said "bad for me, but good for you!" An unlikely start but a new connection that I hope will prove beneficial for us both. Plus, he has a super cute puppy, which never hurts...
I also decided to use the couchsurfing network to better advantage, and joined the "Mendoza group," where I met a few friendly locals who were willing to indulge me in a little Spanish practice. Last week, I met Ana, a lawyer and native portena who now lives in Mendoza with her sweet family. We had a short but friendly conversation in Spanish and agreed to meet up every Friday evening when she takes dance classes in my neighborhood. Last night, I met another couchsurfer, a nice guy who owns a small taxi company and a big house in Godoy Cruz, a district on the north side of Mendoza. We talked for two hours in Spanish, until my brain started to get a little fuzzy and my vocabulary began to slip in a decidedly negative direction. Although we parted on friendly terms, I can't help but feel that the poor guy was a little bored, since I can still only discuss basic themes in Spanish and he speaks absolutely no English. Still, it was nice to sit outside and have a chat.
Since my Spanish is still a bit shaky for any sort of philosophical discussion and I feel hopelessly overwhelmed by the large gatherings of friends and family that are the norm here, I think I also need to seek out some friendly expats. When we first moved to Mendoza, Pat connected with a nice American guy who hosts an expat meet-up on Wednesday nights. Somehow, between my work schedule and my timidity, I never went. I think I will try and reconnect with him however, and see if I can find a friendly group of English-speakers who might like to indulge in a little face time with this lonesome American.
Weeks ago, I met a great American guy on the packed 5pm trole bus from downtown and I am still kicking myself for not exchanging contact info with him. The trole was packed, we got off at different stops, and I had a lesson to get home for. But now that I am feeling a little more extroverted, I wish I had made more of an effort to connect. I guess I was just hoping that given the small size of Mendoza, we might run into each other again someday. Here's to hoping that day still comes!
All in all, I feel like I need to make some connections here before I will feel anything close to contentment. A huge part of me wishes that we had opted to settle in Buenos Aires, where the big city environment would yield more chances to make connections, and the huge group of expats is exponentially easier to integrate with than the scattered group here in Mendoza. Another huge part of me wishes that I had studied Spanish (at all, or more ardently) before arriving, since I continue to feel that the language barrier is a huge disadvantage in making friends. In addition, teaching english all day affords me precious little chance for true interaction in Spanish, as I rush from one lesson to another and strive to make my students engage in meaningful, interesting conversations. I want nothing more than to sit on the other side of one of my lessons someday, and learn Spanish from a dedicated and (hopefully) engaging native speaker.
I opted to discontinue my lessons with Intercultural after the first month- worn down by the difficult, rush-hour bus commute across the city twice a week, only to be scolded by my professor for not squeezing in AT LEAST 4 hours of grammar study every week. None of the other students in my class worked, and I already felt inferior to their 4-7 years of previous study. I found myself feeling more reluctant to speak in Spanish after every class, convinced of my ineptitude in a language I never formally studied. So I'm trying a more non-traditional route and hoping that someone will have enough patience to hang out with my bad Spanish as it (hopefully) improves slowly. Although I did get a promising lead on a affordable private tutor in my neighborhood this week.
Finally, I wish I had committed to attending "teacher's day" at the new institute where I started teaching twice a week. Even though it costs money and most of the teachers are Argentines, it would have been a good opportunity to mingle on a day when I have no where else to be. I have learned many things about myself since I moved here, but coming to terms with my own natural introversion has been one of the hardest to accept. I have been blessed with many great friends in my life, but I realize now that most of them are the result of happy circumstance and not my own effort. After almost 5 lonely months, its time that I learned to step out of my comfort zone and take a chance. Maybe I am a more engaging person than I realize. Maybe we all are.
Like many expats living abroad, I realized that I really have to seek out connections and make myself more open to meeting people every day. To this end, I've been making a concerted effort to spend more of my free time outside- in the park, in a cafe, or just taking a stroll. Of course, this is made infinitely easier by the long-awaited arrival of warmer weather and it is really pleasant to recline in the park with a good book now. Last weekend, while I was doing just that, I heard the familiar pick-up line: "Hey, where are you from?" It's not very creative, but it's popular. Instead of ignoring it altogether I smiled and responded in kind, which led to a surprisingly pleasant conversation with an interesting and well-traveled Mendocinian in spanglish. When I told him I was here with my boyfriend, he didn't immediately mumble an excuse and walk away as I have come to expect, but shrugged and said "bad for me, but good for you!" An unlikely start but a new connection that I hope will prove beneficial for us both. Plus, he has a super cute puppy, which never hurts...
I also decided to use the couchsurfing network to better advantage, and joined the "Mendoza group," where I met a few friendly locals who were willing to indulge me in a little Spanish practice. Last week, I met Ana, a lawyer and native portena who now lives in Mendoza with her sweet family. We had a short but friendly conversation in Spanish and agreed to meet up every Friday evening when she takes dance classes in my neighborhood. Last night, I met another couchsurfer, a nice guy who owns a small taxi company and a big house in Godoy Cruz, a district on the north side of Mendoza. We talked for two hours in Spanish, until my brain started to get a little fuzzy and my vocabulary began to slip in a decidedly negative direction. Although we parted on friendly terms, I can't help but feel that the poor guy was a little bored, since I can still only discuss basic themes in Spanish and he speaks absolutely no English. Still, it was nice to sit outside and have a chat.
Since my Spanish is still a bit shaky for any sort of philosophical discussion and I feel hopelessly overwhelmed by the large gatherings of friends and family that are the norm here, I think I also need to seek out some friendly expats. When we first moved to Mendoza, Pat connected with a nice American guy who hosts an expat meet-up on Wednesday nights. Somehow, between my work schedule and my timidity, I never went. I think I will try and reconnect with him however, and see if I can find a friendly group of English-speakers who might like to indulge in a little face time with this lonesome American.
Weeks ago, I met a great American guy on the packed 5pm trole bus from downtown and I am still kicking myself for not exchanging contact info with him. The trole was packed, we got off at different stops, and I had a lesson to get home for. But now that I am feeling a little more extroverted, I wish I had made more of an effort to connect. I guess I was just hoping that given the small size of Mendoza, we might run into each other again someday. Here's to hoping that day still comes!
All in all, I feel like I need to make some connections here before I will feel anything close to contentment. A huge part of me wishes that we had opted to settle in Buenos Aires, where the big city environment would yield more chances to make connections, and the huge group of expats is exponentially easier to integrate with than the scattered group here in Mendoza. Another huge part of me wishes that I had studied Spanish (at all, or more ardently) before arriving, since I continue to feel that the language barrier is a huge disadvantage in making friends. In addition, teaching english all day affords me precious little chance for true interaction in Spanish, as I rush from one lesson to another and strive to make my students engage in meaningful, interesting conversations. I want nothing more than to sit on the other side of one of my lessons someday, and learn Spanish from a dedicated and (hopefully) engaging native speaker.
I opted to discontinue my lessons with Intercultural after the first month- worn down by the difficult, rush-hour bus commute across the city twice a week, only to be scolded by my professor for not squeezing in AT LEAST 4 hours of grammar study every week. None of the other students in my class worked, and I already felt inferior to their 4-7 years of previous study. I found myself feeling more reluctant to speak in Spanish after every class, convinced of my ineptitude in a language I never formally studied. So I'm trying a more non-traditional route and hoping that someone will have enough patience to hang out with my bad Spanish as it (hopefully) improves slowly. Although I did get a promising lead on a affordable private tutor in my neighborhood this week.
Finally, I wish I had committed to attending "teacher's day" at the new institute where I started teaching twice a week. Even though it costs money and most of the teachers are Argentines, it would have been a good opportunity to mingle on a day when I have no where else to be. I have learned many things about myself since I moved here, but coming to terms with my own natural introversion has been one of the hardest to accept. I have been blessed with many great friends in my life, but I realize now that most of them are the result of happy circumstance and not my own effort. After almost 5 lonely months, its time that I learned to step out of my comfort zone and take a chance. Maybe I am a more engaging person than I realize. Maybe we all are.
September 3, 2010
Snow, Sacrifice and Sweet Reward
Another cold, gray, windswept winter day stretches out before me. After such a tantalizing taste of spring, this harsh return to winter desolation makes me feel apathetic at best, hopeless at the most critical moments. It also makes me feel introspective, as I am once again shuttered up inside four walls, unable to tolerate the cold, dry wind as it whips up little piles of trash into desperate, South American dirt devils that dance forlornly in the streets. Even my language tends toward the literary and obtuse on a day like this, as you can see. And so it is with resignation and regret that I sit down to write this afternoon, while my newly acquired bicycle remains depressingly inert on the back balcony. No sunny rides through the park for me today, alas.
So the winter is back with a cruel vengeance made all the more acute after a blissful week of sun that made me momentarily giddy and optimistic. Just three days ago, I was telling Patrick how much I enjoyed my long walking commutes across Mendoza now that I can linger in the numerous parks and plazas that dot this city. Not long ago, the first blossoms began to emerge from the stubbornly skeletal trees and I picked a handful of fragrant lavender outside the bleak industrial office complex where I teach every Tuesday afternoon. In a spontaneous fit of spring fever, Pat bought me two dozen fresh daffodils from a corner vendor outside our local panaderia. Their vibrant yellow color now looks almost grotesque against the bleak gray color of the sky. Oh, how long I could wax morose about this never-ending winter! How many endless dark entries I could compose in honor of this unique and slow-suffering form of torture! But in the end, there is nothing I can do except offer up words of frustration to the unfeeling gods of weather and wonder at the irony of a winter storm blanketing Mendoza with deep cold just a few short weeks after our last-ditch effort to embrace the winter at a balding ski resort.
In my almost feverish desperation about the return of winter, I had fitful dreams all night about returning to Santa Barbara, where we resolutely unpacked our boxes and went to live indefinitely in a Bedouin tent by the sea. Amongst the comically stereotypical embroidered walls of our elaborate new shelter, we placed Pat's thick memory foam mattress topper on the sand and laid down together to listen to the ocean lap gently at our feet. The California sun was shining in a particularly golden way, and everything felt warm and cozy. When I opened my eyes I could only see the harsh red glow of my electric heater and feel the weight of my thick pile of blankets, pulled all the way up over my cold little head. When Pat made it home this morning at 9 am, I simply refused to emerge from my restless delirium, and peacefully dreamt on until noon.
Despite this mournful soliloquy about the winter, I know that spring is coming. I know that soon, the weather really will be warm and golden (probably even excessively so) and that this means the conclusion of a full season here in Argentina. Since we continue to struggle to earn enough money to live sustainably here, our projected time-frame for living in Argentina has been progressively shrinking. Although our official plan was "indefinite," we internally maintained a more definite goal of staying here for about one year. During this year, we intended to see the many worthy attractions of Argentina, as well as travel to some neighboring countries for a more comprehensive taste of South America.
Unfortunately, our expansive travel plans have encountered two serious obstacles: money (as mentioned above) and distance. For most seasoned (or novice) travelers, South America presents a unique challenge: the immense size and the scattered sparsity of major areas of habitation (and thus home to the various necessities of travel such as: hostels, food, and transportation) make it incredibly time consuming to travel around to various destinations. To illustrate this point, I offer this example: from Mendoza to Bariloche, the next major destination to the south (as in, not just empty desert) is a grueling 17 hour bus ride. And if you entertain hopes of seeing the far south (Patagonia!), you best prepare yourself for a 40 hour ride in seats that recline just enough to hint at comfort but rarely enough to encourage actual sleep. To the north is the same story: 31 hours to Salta and Jujuy, over 40 to the outer stretches of Igauzu. Mendoza to Santiago, Chile, just a mere hop on any map of the region, is a 8-10 hour bus ride.
In India, I solved the problem of distance by buying cheap, one-way airline tickets on small charter services, often not securing my return passage until my day of departure. But air travel in South America is expensive, usually reserved only for the most affluent and a one-time expense for the budget traveler at best. Like most major industries in Argentina, air travel is a joint venture of the government and private business, making it a more or less a monopoly that doesn't bother with competition. Thus, flights are more expensive during times of high traffic and there are no cheap deals to be found. In addition, only the largest cities in Argentina have an airport, and these all form a belt girdling the center of the country. There are airports in the far north and south, but they are a little complex. You can fly to Igazu, for example, but you have to land on the Brazilian side, and then wrestle your way through customs in order to see the park.
Expensive air travel doesn't make ground transportation any cheaper or more convenient, either. A round trip ticket from Mendoza to Calfate, in Patagonia, is just slightly over $400 USD per person, or roughly 2 months wages for this poor teacher. That is transportation only, making our planned December trip to Patagonia not only an incredible feat of endurance but also hopelessly out of our price range. At this rate, we will be lucky to take just two or three major trips to all the incredible sights in Argentina, with both of us working grueling hours in the intervening weeks to earn enough to keep us afloat.
Thus, our "grand adventure" is slowly turning into a more modest undertaking, our ambitious plans scaled down to just a few incredible experiences. We are forced to choose our few "must-see" destinations and pursue them with dogged determination and yet still embrace the realization that getting to Patagonia will probably leave us in debt. All of my visions for "weekend getaways", modeled after my sister's enviable weekly excursions to different countries in Europe last year (while she was working in The Netherlands) are unfortunately dashed by the constraints of time and distance. To pay the bills, Pat works an opposite schedule from me, and even with two free days a week, most destinations are too far away to be a feasible weekend destination.
For our friends who have expressed an interest in visiting us while we are here, I would suggest you start planning more seriously for a trip in the near future. Already, our plans to stay a full year have been scaled back two months, and the unfortunate realization we have come to recently is: every trip we take costs us in time: the time we get to stay down here. So Patagonia in December also means that we forfeit the month of May. Iguazu in February means that our return tickets are now scheduled for March 1. This is a sad trade, but our joint monetary practicality (considerably less as individuals) forbids us from sinking too far into debt in the service of an extended adventure.
Psychologists say that the emotional reward for a task that you work hard to earn is exponentially greater than the emotional payoff for something that comes easily. But I have learned through this experience that sometimes working toward a goal requires you to sacrifice many other, equally satisfying goals. Perhaps in this heartbreaking act of pruning we learn to value what is most important and we manage to find our true destinies. Or perhaps we just experience our emotional payoff for the goals we do reach so much more sweetly because it is washed in the sourness of sacrifice.
So the winter is back with a cruel vengeance made all the more acute after a blissful week of sun that made me momentarily giddy and optimistic. Just three days ago, I was telling Patrick how much I enjoyed my long walking commutes across Mendoza now that I can linger in the numerous parks and plazas that dot this city. Not long ago, the first blossoms began to emerge from the stubbornly skeletal trees and I picked a handful of fragrant lavender outside the bleak industrial office complex where I teach every Tuesday afternoon. In a spontaneous fit of spring fever, Pat bought me two dozen fresh daffodils from a corner vendor outside our local panaderia. Their vibrant yellow color now looks almost grotesque against the bleak gray color of the sky. Oh, how long I could wax morose about this never-ending winter! How many endless dark entries I could compose in honor of this unique and slow-suffering form of torture! But in the end, there is nothing I can do except offer up words of frustration to the unfeeling gods of weather and wonder at the irony of a winter storm blanketing Mendoza with deep cold just a few short weeks after our last-ditch effort to embrace the winter at a balding ski resort.
In my almost feverish desperation about the return of winter, I had fitful dreams all night about returning to Santa Barbara, where we resolutely unpacked our boxes and went to live indefinitely in a Bedouin tent by the sea. Amongst the comically stereotypical embroidered walls of our elaborate new shelter, we placed Pat's thick memory foam mattress topper on the sand and laid down together to listen to the ocean lap gently at our feet. The California sun was shining in a particularly golden way, and everything felt warm and cozy. When I opened my eyes I could only see the harsh red glow of my electric heater and feel the weight of my thick pile of blankets, pulled all the way up over my cold little head. When Pat made it home this morning at 9 am, I simply refused to emerge from my restless delirium, and peacefully dreamt on until noon.
Despite this mournful soliloquy about the winter, I know that spring is coming. I know that soon, the weather really will be warm and golden (probably even excessively so) and that this means the conclusion of a full season here in Argentina. Since we continue to struggle to earn enough money to live sustainably here, our projected time-frame for living in Argentina has been progressively shrinking. Although our official plan was "indefinite," we internally maintained a more definite goal of staying here for about one year. During this year, we intended to see the many worthy attractions of Argentina, as well as travel to some neighboring countries for a more comprehensive taste of South America.
Unfortunately, our expansive travel plans have encountered two serious obstacles: money (as mentioned above) and distance. For most seasoned (or novice) travelers, South America presents a unique challenge: the immense size and the scattered sparsity of major areas of habitation (and thus home to the various necessities of travel such as: hostels, food, and transportation) make it incredibly time consuming to travel around to various destinations. To illustrate this point, I offer this example: from Mendoza to Bariloche, the next major destination to the south (as in, not just empty desert) is a grueling 17 hour bus ride. And if you entertain hopes of seeing the far south (Patagonia!), you best prepare yourself for a 40 hour ride in seats that recline just enough to hint at comfort but rarely enough to encourage actual sleep. To the north is the same story: 31 hours to Salta and Jujuy, over 40 to the outer stretches of Igauzu. Mendoza to Santiago, Chile, just a mere hop on any map of the region, is a 8-10 hour bus ride.
In India, I solved the problem of distance by buying cheap, one-way airline tickets on small charter services, often not securing my return passage until my day of departure. But air travel in South America is expensive, usually reserved only for the most affluent and a one-time expense for the budget traveler at best. Like most major industries in Argentina, air travel is a joint venture of the government and private business, making it a more or less a monopoly that doesn't bother with competition. Thus, flights are more expensive during times of high traffic and there are no cheap deals to be found. In addition, only the largest cities in Argentina have an airport, and these all form a belt girdling the center of the country. There are airports in the far north and south, but they are a little complex. You can fly to Igazu, for example, but you have to land on the Brazilian side, and then wrestle your way through customs in order to see the park.
Expensive air travel doesn't make ground transportation any cheaper or more convenient, either. A round trip ticket from Mendoza to Calfate, in Patagonia, is just slightly over $400 USD per person, or roughly 2 months wages for this poor teacher. That is transportation only, making our planned December trip to Patagonia not only an incredible feat of endurance but also hopelessly out of our price range. At this rate, we will be lucky to take just two or three major trips to all the incredible sights in Argentina, with both of us working grueling hours in the intervening weeks to earn enough to keep us afloat.
Thus, our "grand adventure" is slowly turning into a more modest undertaking, our ambitious plans scaled down to just a few incredible experiences. We are forced to choose our few "must-see" destinations and pursue them with dogged determination and yet still embrace the realization that getting to Patagonia will probably leave us in debt. All of my visions for "weekend getaways", modeled after my sister's enviable weekly excursions to different countries in Europe last year (while she was working in The Netherlands) are unfortunately dashed by the constraints of time and distance. To pay the bills, Pat works an opposite schedule from me, and even with two free days a week, most destinations are too far away to be a feasible weekend destination.
For our friends who have expressed an interest in visiting us while we are here, I would suggest you start planning more seriously for a trip in the near future. Already, our plans to stay a full year have been scaled back two months, and the unfortunate realization we have come to recently is: every trip we take costs us in time: the time we get to stay down here. So Patagonia in December also means that we forfeit the month of May. Iguazu in February means that our return tickets are now scheduled for March 1. This is a sad trade, but our joint monetary practicality (considerably less as individuals) forbids us from sinking too far into debt in the service of an extended adventure.
Psychologists say that the emotional reward for a task that you work hard to earn is exponentially greater than the emotional payoff for something that comes easily. But I have learned through this experience that sometimes working toward a goal requires you to sacrifice many other, equally satisfying goals. Perhaps in this heartbreaking act of pruning we learn to value what is most important and we manage to find our true destinies. Or perhaps we just experience our emotional payoff for the goals we do reach so much more sweetly because it is washed in the sourness of sacrifice.
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