Los Años Que Vienen.

The Monday past we packed our back packs tight with only the essentials, stripping out anything

that would cause extra weight. We filled plastic grocery bags full of toothe brush and dental floss, blow gun, books, power adaptors. The owner of the Alaska Hostel in Barlioche agreed to hold on to our baggage while we made the 2-day trip up Cerro Catedral where aside from selling pizza and ice-cream a wooden cabin offered a refuge from a tie with the busy society and also, beneficially, with a constant outflow of money. We had excitment to set-up camp on top of this icy-peak where we had been told by previous adventurers that after fighting through sheets of frozen pools left over from the glaciers that the view would be one described only at the same time as giving proof to the presence of God.

Our bus broke down 15 minutes in to the gravel road. By the sound of the thumping Trevor

called out that it was a displaced rear drive shaft, but regardless we found our selves in the next moment stranded on the side of this scorching dirt road with our thumbs propped up right.

When hitchhiking I imagine it is easier to get a ride when you are in obvious trouble, such as standing next to a derelict bus, but in this situation the next number 50 on the route was the first to give us any attention more then a hand gesture. The driver was generous and let us finish our ride for free.

The bus came to a stop at a cross roads but rather then making a forward decision it began backing up, and turned around to head in the opposite direction. We recalled the directions that Javi the hostel owner had given us - Take the number 50 bus until the last stop on the route- so in a panic I began hastling the old scarf wearing lady in front of me to tell me if this was the last stop. I don´t know what she was trying to say, but after enough of me pointing back and shouting the same question over and over she finally aggreed that this is where we wanted to get-off, and it was at this moment that we lost all hope of reaching the trail head.

The road went in many directions, but the path didn´t seem that complex in the instructions. - Where is the lake that we are supposed to walk by? Maybe the map wasn´t accurate, I´m sure this is it. - Trial and errors of exploration and return led us to sitting slumped at the bus stop

without hope of success. A young kid in a Boca soccer jersey came running down the road and I jumped out in time to catch his attention. ¨Sabes donde esta Cerro Catedral? Sabes donde esta el trekking a Refugio Frey?¨ He checked the time and told us that it was 15km away on the other side of the lake, but that by now it was the beginning of Siesta and no busses ran for some time. We kicked into gear our high hopes and tied our boots and hit the road by foot. Our singing spirits gave us moral as we poetized about the people we had met and the places we had seen, turning all our bad situations into an enjoyable memory that could be laughed at.

Through the cracks in the forest ahead we saw a bus pull out of a side-street onto the main highway, and back tracking its path we found the place that matched the description of the lakeside road and final bus stop where we had intended to go in the first place. With a final boost of energy we made a kilometers distance up the road until an acceptance of defeat lingered collectively in our minds. We returned to the bus stop and waited for the number 50 back into town where we would pack our bags and move on to El Bolsón.

DETENTE Y DISFRUTA De La VIDA

No sólo te pierdes el paisaje

por ir tan rápido, también

estás perdiendo el sentido de

ADONDE VAS Y POR QUÉ

WAIT AND ENJOY LIFE

You don´t only miss the scenery

by going to fast, but also

you are losing the sense

OF WHERE YOU GO AND WHY

This Grafiti on the concrete back of the bus-stop spoke more life into the every moment of our journey. We didn´t need to go Cerro Catedral any more, it wasn´t apart of this trip. In the most positive sense, it became one more reason for us to return in the years that come. En los años que vienen.

Financial Wisdom

I woke up this morning feeling like I was lying in a bed of stinging neddle and looking like all the

red lines that underline every word I write, because the computers spell check doesn´t understand enlglish. I am terribly burnt.

Trevor told me that as the thought came to his mind to put on sunscreen and a hat, he looked over to see me passed out on the sand shirtless in my hawaian swim suit, reflecting light like a sheet of white paper. The entire beach front population must have been stairing at us, like the little kids that spilled sand on our chests and asked if we were Gringos, and including the seal that breached the surface of the ocean for a second of air.

We reached Valparaiso, Chile yesterday, an antique port-city that is full of color and cobble stone streets. What looked like a 20 minute ride by Subway Train on the map took 2 hours by bus from Santiago but we arrived in Valparaiso with daylight to spare in finding a hostel.

I was at first struck motionless as the lady at the desk entitled Ïnformacion Turista told us the cheapest night would cost us 6,000 pesos. You have to realize that as a backpacker you begin to worry quite a bit as the finances available for your trip are draining faster then your planned budget. You begin to think of situations such as selling your clothes, your books, your drawings or whatever else might be possible to pawn on the street. At what point do I turn to spanging (spare-any-change-ing)?

In reality I don´t plan on having to turn to any of these things, though the thought keeps me entertained on long highways after the mate has run flavorless.

Lets do some math.

100 Chilean peso is equivalent to 1 Argentine.

4 Argentine pesos is $1 U.S.

This means 400 Chilean pesos is $1.00 U.S.

4,000 Chilean pesos is $10

and 1 night in a 6,000 Chilean pesos hostel is $15.00 U.S.

Not bad.

This hostel turned out to be 7,000 after I talked the owner down from 8, but I know that the difference this makes doesn´t have to effect the outcome of this trip. If any thing its the bus tickets we have to be weary of, and all the little trinkets, snacks, and drinks we buy add up fast. We´ve saved our money for a reason and know what it takes to budget. Its a lesson of wisdom, of discernment between what we can and can not do.

I had a friend who told me that the best way to travel is to step out the door without even a backpack. This is a test of human ability, and in a way a test of society. Eventually you will find a backpack, someone will offer you a bed, and you will find a fruit tree, or a baker throwing out all his day old bread, and he might offer it to you in an act of generosity. More then anything I take his advice as a metaphor for how we should treat life. We need a lot less then we want.

"So do not worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.¨

For now, I buy a big bottle of aloe vera and a bag of cold and super creamy milk for a pasta dinner, and cream for my coffee when I wake up; proof that I have a lot to learn about wisdom.

(Like all South American Milk I have encountered along my journey it can be mostly found in a plastic bag, and oh it is so delicous! They say Starbucks down here is better because the creaminess of the milk. That is one thing I won´t fit in my budget... right yet).

Coming to the Edge of the World

"I´m glad I packed an extra jacket" - I think to myself - ¨I hope Trevor didn´t listen to me when I told him to pack light."

I realize that it is better to have a little extra weight then to be cold. It is better to be over prepared then under, and this truth is multiplied a 1000x when you are 10,000 km from home. Imagine driving from Portland to the equator. That trip takes you past Los Angeles, through the borders of Mexico, through the jungles of Costa Rica, and on, not stopping for rest in Honduras. Imagine then continuing south, the same distance and the same time that it took you to get to that point at the center of the Earth from Portland. If you did this journey you might find me. It is at this distance so far from home that getting sick from hypothermia is the last thing I want.

It´s not that cold here, but I like Labs a lot.

Getting off the bus in Barlioche we step into a new world, what seems like a new country - how can this be the same Argentina in which I was only hours before comfortable wearing a tank top and capris. The bitter cold is made worse by a lake front wind that picks up sticks and throws a grey sand that covers the ground. At first we think this grainy light substance is sand but we are told that it is remnants from the June Volcano that spewed smoke and ash into the sky from the Puyehue-Cordon Caulle volcanic range in southern Chile, as if the long lasting, backstage rivalry that exists between the people of these two countries has been absorbed into the emotions of the eternally connected landscapes. This ferocious mountain that is a part of the Andes and has taken the lives of many animals and of much plant-life, and has disrupted the economy that relies on an influx of tourism, has, I have been told, offered a bright future once a process of natural fertilization of the soil that only ash can offer has been completed. And I am told that this will one day bring life to an abundance of new vegetation, nutritious food for many species of animals, and a great crop for farming and a great future to the people of the region.

From the bus stop we walk 4km into town to look for a place to stay. We pass stray dogs fighting in the street and chasing taxis and motorbikes that don´t stop for us when we cross the streets- my blood preassure drops a bit with relief as these instance make me certain that yes, I am still in Argentina and not some unknown universe.

We see folk with dust masks over their nose and mouths trying not to breathe in the ash that still floats in the atmosphere. Each breath I take I wonder the oxygen to sulfur ratio, and I tie my lucky bandana around my face like I have seen the cowboys do in the Westerns. It was a sight to see on the trip here down route 40 through the barren temperate deserts of the provinces of Rio Negro, and Chubut. The bus cruised along the old windy highway splitting through what seemed to be a thick light obscuring fog but in reality it was ash that was concealing the sun. I don´t even know now if it was desert at all, or just a waste land of what used to be vibrant in green valleys and yellow lillies, now covered in a layer of ash.

This Image was taken in June right after the Eruption. This isn´t snow.

I wonder if this is what the locals saw before me. I wonder what the natives might have seen when they traveled these planes and fished these seas.

Supposedly these early Indiginous people have been living here since close to 10,000 B.C.! Rumors exists that these men and women were a people of giants, they are claims of 9 to 12 feet in height. When Magellan first arrived with the European explorations of America these reports spread across the Colonies and back to France and England. They named the region "Patagonia" meaning "The Land of Big Feet." But like a game of telephone these reports were skewed acounts of the truths, and most of the frenzy died down after more accurate documents found described a gentle people who were indeed tall, but only 6 foot 6 at the tallest member.
So now I wonder what these early Patagonians saw, and I wonder what they must have thought when they first saw Magellan and his crew of light skinned, light haired men dressed in strange dress. I wonder if a formal meeting ever even took place - if they had learned from eachother, how would you explain such drastically incorrect rumors?

Back to reality, here I am now in the Alaska Hostel 7.5 kilometers outside of the Barlioche city center. For dinner I cooked for my friend the Spanish Torilla dish that I had learned from my host-mom; potatoes, eggs, spinache, sausage cooked together into a cake- to him it is a breakfast omelete, but to me it is a classic Argentine dinner. This harty meal was needed after a hard, yet gorgeous, 25km bike ride through Barlioche.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rR-tOVm0ywM

At a stove down the kitchen a Swedish couple stir-fried Risotta rice with green olives and mushrooms, while a late arriving group of Israeli girls mixed togther some concotion that included corn, green peas, and brown rice. I tasted a bit of each, and each had a very distinct taste, one was salty, and one had a lemon-zing, and I imagine that these are flavors in which they were taught to cook from their cultures. Every person that I meet while I am traveling, wether it is at the hostel or in the city has an interesting story to tell, like the Hawaian guy who has seen the giant tortouses of The Galopagos Islands, the salt-flats of Bolvia that are so blue you can´t distinguish the sky, and hopes to travel to Tailand where he may be able to help the elephants become reintroduced into their natural enviornment. By traveling I am able to interact and make friends with young people from around the world, who I find are just like myself. I can see myself in them, I can learn what I want to learn. It would be too easy to stick around Oregon and find myself a future that I would be ¨satisfied with.¨ I think for now, until I can know for sure what I want to do with myself, I will keep looking for clues around me that will help tell me my future, clues that can only be found as I travel.

Until Next Time, ¡Que tengan muchos días magnifico!

- Philip Muir

Leaving Buenos Aires for Better Air

Over a cup of Argentine Coffee, bread and jam my friend and I have drawn out the plan for the next step in our Journey. Take the Subway to the bus station, RETIRO, and buy a one ticket south on a 22 hour bus to the most northern major city in Patagonia, Barlioche.

I dreamt of Patagonia nights ago, of the southern Andes Mountain covered in peaks of snow and painted with forests, rivers, lakes and beautiful valleys. It is known for its camping, its hiking, its kayaking, and its skiing. Travelers and adventures from all over

the globe are drawn by the same dream as I.

I am exicted to breath the fresh air in my lungs, cold as it may be, the coldness makes it all the better. It is becoming Summer here where 90 degrees is common, unlike Oregon where Winter is at the doorsteps.

I have one more entry to make in this online journal, one last transmission to be sent before I lose reception with the world back home. Back in my homes- the new and the old.

I have so much to think about during this time. Three months have passed by that have made a forever changed impact in the deepest parts of my life. I have so much to think about, about my homes which I now consider to be many.

Really, this is the first step in the adventure.

Time to Leave, But Not Yet To Home

My arm stetched out to search the satchel hanging above my bunk, searching for my cell phone. I checked the time. I had awoken 10 minutes before my 7 am alarm had gone off to awaken all the young people in the 8 person dorm style room that I was staying in. I had arrived in Buenas Aires on Monday and was now staying in PAX Hostel, awakening 2 days later to meet my friend arriving from Portland.

I stumbled my way through the darkness to get dressed and showered up. Breakfast had not yet been served, and my stomache cringed in angst but a kidnapped Ham and Cheese Empanada from the night before would be the relief. For $8 a night I was still trying to get the most out of what the Hostel offered its guests.
I won´t have the money to be buying breakfast, to be sleeping in hotels, to be taking tours in Taxis in the weeks to come, but now I am glad to be here. I have met girls from Norweigh and Sweden, and guys from Germany and Australia. I have met the hosts who are extraordinarally hospital and friendly.

I met my friend at EZEZA International Airport in Buenos Aires at 9:30 heaving a duffle bag that I imagined was carrying a body. It was carrying a 45lb backpack, full of tent, campstove, eating utensils, clothe, books and a camera; everything he expected to need for a 30 day backpacking adventure through South America..
Over the next month we will be making our west to the Pacific and Chile, and then up North to Peru. On the 23rd of December we have a reservation for Machu Pichu, one of the most historic and most notorious ruins in all of the world. Once home to The Incan people during the 1400´s, this mountain city about 7,950 ft in the sky gets thousands of tourists a day and is in threat of being closed down from foriegners within coming years. The sad side of preservation.


Until then we don´t know where we will go, what we will see, or where we will sleep, but we know that we need to be ready and it will be a blast!

Today we will enjoy the day in Buenos Aires, taking bikes to the old historic sites, to the river, and maybe at night to a Tango Club or Dance show.

This is Caminito, in the neighborhood, La Boca.
These houses that once held up to 60 immigrant Europeans at a time during the 1800´s gave birth to a fabulous culture of Tango, and remains today as vibrant as before.

We are in Argentina, the possiblities are limitless when you are trying to see the world!

An Interview

On Sunday morning I met with a few good friends of mine at their church on Salta Street to grab an interview with a local middle-schooler.

In the midst of this blazing heat and sweating humidity that we are facing right now in this season becoming summer, I broke for a minute from packing my bags to see what I could learn from a youthful Argentine spirit.

Mateas is 11 and in 6th grade.
He goes to Colegio Rosario, a private school that teaches all grades up through highschool.

Below is the translated transcription of the intro to our interview.

Philip - What is your name?

Mateas - Mateas.

Philip - Good To meet you! I need to make a short interview that I would like to present to a middle school class in The United States, if you don't mind I have a few questions for you.

Mateas - Ok

Philip - So what school do you go to?

Mateas - I go to the school Colegio Rosario.

Philip - It's private?

Mateas - Yes, its private.

... and then he surprised me and starting talking in english.

As he talked I began to realize that he wasn't that different then the middle-schoolers of The U.S. He had dreams, ambitions, desires for travel and for college.
But what struck me as unique was his strong desire to learn english, and to continue going to english school after he was graduated. The contrast that it had to my own years growing up in which I dreaded learning another language, a foriegn language, I thought that English was all I would need. Why would I need to learn another language whpen English is the official? I realized that I was talking to a very bright person with big aspirations and a powerful motivation.


Think right now about all the images that come to your mind to when you think about an Argentinian. What do you think they like to do? What do you think they like to eat?
Now, as you watch a few clips from the rest of our interview think about what differences and what similarities you stick out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3R1bRlRlURI

First Date

I went on my first real date last night in Rosario, finally I took the oppurtunity!

Our plan was to go to a free Tango class that I had discovered and circled multiple times in a local events brochure, right after an art exhibit, and right before a screening of Steven Spielberg's Amistad.

I waited at the address of the place under the sign of a Café titled "Londres" or London but no light shone through the bars of the gated windows. As I waited until 30 after, couples dressed in fashionable dress atire came and went dissapointed. It was very closed.

She arrived a bit later. She gave a kiss goodbye to her friend who she came with, and there was a hand shake goodbye to mine, and I explained what was obvious about the Tango class, and we walked.

Her english was little and my spanish remained vague, but we were able to make the best of the night that we had.

We talked about music, our favorite bands and travel. Families and friends, work and school. It was an introduction to understanding the other and discovering our connections, filtering through ourselves as we ate ice-cream sundaes at a parlor called "Buen Humor"; Good Mood.

Later the clock was past 11 and we had to split ways to allow time for rest before my final exam that would come today. (I wait for my turn to enter the class room at this moment as I type, to produce a conversation about Disc-Golf with my profesora.)

We hugged and left with a real kiss on the cheek.

Nos vemos! - She said

Nos vemos! - I said

We talk soon! - she said through a text

A Day in the Life

On a Saturday, what do you like to do?

On a Holiday or Weekend, when there is no school, no obligations?

One of the best perks for me of living in Portland is that you have a mountain on one side, the ocean on the other, and endless wilderness of forests and river and lake everywhere inbetween and beyond. It has created a culture of hikers, bikers, boaters and slope hitters. Local shops are specialized so that people can find anything that they would need. If you are the outdoorsy type then Portland is heaven. The city and the citizens have found how to utilize their environment.

Me looking over the edge of the abyss at Smith Rock

The environment of Rosario is perfect for other activities that the citizens here have set in to the culture. I have failed my role as a Sociologist overlooking the oppurtunity to discover these things, but have surpassed my requirment as a local by participating in double the required amount to become unoficially a "citizen." With the end approaching like a pooch to its food dish (Goodbye Dinner is Thursday!!???) I've decided that it is necesary to set aside hesitation and to go adventure the city as much as I can before I leave.

Saturday morning I woke up around 10:30, way to tiered to be getting up at this time because I had gone to a concert the night before that didn't start until after 12:30 a.m.... my ears still rang.

Rosario is a Culture of Late Nights

I wanted to go to a museum that I had read about: "Guided Visits of the Historial City!!" I thought it was something that would be neat to see before I left. Every trip needs a tour. (Am I a nerd? Yes? No?).

Rosario is a Culture of Education & History

The tours turned out to be private and I got asked to leave the museum as I was taking

pictures over the heads of the tourists. I walked across the street to a park that had been occupied by camping protestors for awhile and my curiosity led me to ask why they were camped out. I discovered that Occupy Rosario had been running for 8 days.

Rosario is a Culture of Political Activism

Down along the river I was looking through the merchandise of the small open-air merchants for a unique hand crafted Mate set to take home before I left. Have you tried searching for Mate sets in The U.S.? It is almost impossible to find one! Just walking along the river here I saw almost every one with drinking Mate, laughing, and chatting with friends and family.

Rosario is a Culture of Family and Relationships

Mate: a traditional Argentine drink similar to a tea. Uses the Yerba plant, drunk out of a dried

gourd with a metal straw, this very energizing drink has a strong taste that takes some getting accustomed to, but it avoids the nasty side-effects of caffiene, using Matetina. Mate is a deep part of the culture.

Rosario is a Culture of Mate

I embarked on the next ferry departing for the Island. In the middle of The Parana River are a group of Islands, one that has a beach stocked with cafes, restaurants, volleyball nets, and water based vehicles. The sand was almost invisible by the layer of people crowding the beach.

Rosario is a Culture of The River

Once the Thunerstorms started tearing up the umbrellas and throwing around our towells we

had to go back to the main land. Waiting for 1,000 people to take a boat set for maximum of 100 kept us posted up under half-exposed cabanas, and reminded me of a horror movie I had once seen.

Rosario is a Culture of The Sun

After a long and hot shower and the dressing up in a sweater and long pants, the rains had

passed and I went out to go meet up with a friend. As I walked the middle-lane side walk I was passed by a pack of rollerbladers, bicyclers, and scateboarders. I didn't know that rollerblades even still existed, but they are everywhere in the city! If you go to the scate park near the river you will find the same people there 5 to 6 hours a day. It's practically full-time job!

Rosario is a Culture of Rollerblades and Wheels

A bit further down I came across a house covered in lights, banners, and an aroma of sauerkraut. People were coming and going through the gated entrance, so I went to check it out. I enjoyed a fine German dinner with traditional polk music at this 2 day festival celebrating German Heritage.

Rosario is a Culture of a Pride in Heritage

I met up with my friend Karr around 11:30. He plays in a Metal band that is influenced by Metallica and Iron Maiden, so he took me to a party of Rock n' Roll that happens once a month. Everyone was delighted to hear the Misfits, Black Sabbath, The Ramones, and even a slice of Blink 182. If you know these bands, excellent, you are a true rocker, but all these bands left their prime a while ago. Asking people what bands they like, I always get a top 3: "U2, Coldplay, Oasis, Guns N' Roses". Yes. That is 4, but when you get that old you begin to lose track of things.

Rosario is a Culture of Older Musical Influence

A night of meeting new friends kept me up until the daylight shined through the windows, but

this is typical of Argentine life. I went home and sunk deep into my pillow and mattress, a fan blowing to distill the sweltering heat a bit to break the barrier that keeps me from sleep, but I know that the heat is also the reason for so much more life during the nights.

Do you think that this is place that you would enjoy to live?

The enviroment that is specific to Rosario has shaped the way in which people spend their time and gain their values in the same manner that Portland has been shaped by its. History and strong roots of heritage influence peoples likes and dislikes, and also influences from the past in the U.S. are discovered to not have died, but to have moved to a new home in which they are loved. Why do you think that is?

Do you notice how other cultures you may know are influenced by a different surrounding?

Rosario, oh Rosario, you give me so much to learn.

A New Form of Discrimination

What exactly is discrimination?

Is it not trusting someone intrinsically based on skin?

Is it not befriending someone because of their gender orientation?

Is it not letting someone play on your team because of their body size?

Is it making fun of someone because they don't have the financial ability to afford certain luxuries.

Discrimination is all of these things.

It is horrendous in all meanings of the word.

Do you think that these things still happen today as much as they used too?

Is it in the school? The workplace?

As a Sociologist we study why these different types of discrimination occur and what kind of effects they can have on people and future generations to come. But Mariano informed me last week during our interview of a new type of discrimination that I had no idea existed!

Political Discrimination.

With this latest Presidency of Cristina Krishner who has just entered her second term, there has been a lot of controversy around her actions and agenda. People ask, "who is she supporting?"

The district of Santa Fe, in which Rosario is located, and in which I live, chose as a majority to not support the Krishner administration, but this choice has left them feeling the reprocussions of choosing not to align with Cristina.

Their income from Federal financing was reduced, while the Cristina's hometown disrict of Santa Cruz gained more then 400%...

That means all those services I talked about last time - education, police, maintenace, health - all those that had been reduced in financing, have been cut back even more to manage the financial crisis. And as quality of services and life goes down crime rates go up. It is no different then any other form of discrimination.

This issue has been in court for the past 3 1/2 years.

A Breath of Fresh Air

Last weekend I was struck by an ill case of Wanderlust again. Wan-der-lust- n - "a strong longing for, or impulse toward wandering."

More or less I had to leave at some point, my passport stamped by Argentina upon my entering limited me to only 90 days in the country - the only ways to extend my stay would be to pay $140 or leave the country and return. I chose the journey to Uruguay.

That's Uruguay back back behind me, past the far River Uruguay.

Looks different doesn't it.

Uruguay neighbors Argentina, bordering it on the Eastern seaboard of South America. I arrived in Concordia Thursday night, the last city in Argentina before the river

in this region.

In the morning I traveled to Salto by ferry, crossing the Uruguay river, and then heading 20km south to camp at the Hotsprings of Dayman.

Salto is in the top left corner of the country, but still about 800 miles south of The Brazillian border.

After a night of soaking, socializing, horseback riding, Uruguayzing (I just made that word up) I caught a bus back to Rosario, along the way achieving the new 90 day stamp that had set out for.

Politics are a kick.

The Tuesday before I was given the remarkable opputunity to sit down talk with one of the local Politicians or Rosario, Argentina. Mariano Roca is The Treasurer of The City Council right now, but has intentions to become a State Congressmen with much patience and sacrifice.

Mariano is the man on the left.

98% of the Cities budget is under the control of City Hall, that means keeping laws enforced, the streets clean, and maintaining the integrity, beauty, and oppurtunity for education of the city. 27% of this is specific for three main areas in providing free Public Health, accesablle transportation, and functioning garbage and sewage desposal.

So why is this something that I would want to write about?

Because that 27% is not an area that is by The Constitution supposed to be provided by the Province. But the province has not stood up to its side of the bargain. It was seen that the job was not being done to provide adequate services in those areas, and about 20 years ago The City agreed to take responsibility. The City had to intervene in behalf of the good of the people, but think about how large a percentage 27% is to be taken out of a total budget for maintaining an entire City?

After hearing this the doubts about leaving fleed my mind. I needed a vacation from my vacation.

And oh, it gets worse.

Utilizing My Skills

Coming into Rosario with a background in Sociology I knew that I was going to have a very exciting time learning how to interact with the locals. You see, sociology is the scientific study of human interations, figuring out what influences the surrounding social sphere has on shaping who we are, and on forming what we may pursue for our future. That part might make it sound kind of boring, and maybe I am just a nerd, but what is so exciting to me is that I knew that coming into Rosario I was going to be the outsider coming in.

One of the best perks to being a Sociologist is that you

have an excuse to go to events that draws in fanatics,

and particpate; all in the name of research and Science.

Would I be treated differently? (Most certainly, yes, I thought). What would people think of me? How would I conform, or distance myself? The term Double Consiousness was coined by W.E.B Du Bois to describe how individuals of a minority think not only about how they percieve themselves, but how the surrounding society percieves them.

These flooding thoughts influence how people interact, how they restrain themselves, and what is considered taboo. Comfortability is found when we don't have to be thinking about how we are perceived as different, and it is part of the reason why the 24 Americans that I study here with prefer to spend evenings and weekends together as a group, eating together, studying together, going to the beaches together.

Now I know what it is like to have Double Consiousness.

I remember when I first arrived I had it set in my mind that I was going to spend this trip avoiding Americans as much as possible. No way was I going to come back home regretting that I missed out on a perfect oppurtunty to immerse myself in an Argentine Culture. Talking with locals from cafes, meeting people at churches, getting connected with friends that I prefered to have little to none background in English. Most people I have found were very excited to meet an American, the girls especially (for some unknown reason). But I remember one day that I went to a nearby grocery store to look for Peanut Butter, (I admit, that is very American, but I wanted to make Cookies for my host family). Looking through the aisles googly eyed and lost in all the translations, I am sure I stook out as a confused and helpless foreigner. When one of the ladys working tried to ask me what I needed I responded in words only resembling an extra-terrestrial dialect of murmurs in my attempt to simply say "I am looking for Peanut butter." Now there were 2 ladys trying to figure out a way to assist me in someone, or at least come to an agreement on what I was trying to commuicate, and be confident that I wasn't lost and stranded and needing immediate return to the other side of the planet. By this time I'm positive all eyes and all jokes in the store were on me.

The second lady spoke - "De donde sos?" Where are you from?

Now I was dumbstruck. My eyes glazed over. What matter did where I am from have on helping me find Crunchy Peanut Butter? I was fine with even taking Creamy by then! Were there different sections of the store designated to accomadating different nationalities and cultures? Was there a Walmart down the road? Slowly, the words "The United States" slipped off the tip of my tounge floating in the air like the Goodyear blimp.

"Aja, es un Gringo!"

I felt like I was walking through a zen garden, then suddenly hit in the face with a rake that someone left lying upside down. The word Gringo sunk in to my memory bank and returned with thoughts of all the racial slurs I had heard back home in the United States. I didn't know what to say, so I agreed. Yes, I am a Gringo. And I left the store.

I later learned upon telling this story that in Argentina it is not a racial slur, nor is it meant to be derogatory by calling someone from the U.S. a Gringo. They also say "Shanky" (the local pronunciation of yankee). The ladies in the store and myself had two seperate processes of socializtion in out past. I was socialized to think that Gringo was a racial slur, and they were socialized to understand terms like these as normal, and unmalitous. These ideas that we are brought up and trained to believe and used to guide our actions are called "Norms," and I realized that our norms surrounding this point are different. My professor later enformed me that there is no idea of Political-Correctness here in Argentina, and I have to begin to change my mentality and understand that this is not an inherent evil. It is different, it is not to be taken offensively, and here right now, it is not my job to tell people what actions are right and which are wrong.

As a sociologists I am forever burdened with lugging around the hefty " Social Lens", a idiom for how we look perspectivelly at our surrounding situtations and try to figure out what certain social interactions signify, and how they came to be. The Social Lens becomes a filter through which we see the world. And also, it becomes a clear proof to me that what you learn in school and do in your future doesn't have to be dreaded - I kind of digg being a Sociologist. The best title to bear in the world.

At least that is what I've been taught.

Hey, that's my textbook!!

- - - - -

What do you imagine are some of the difficulties faced by people coming into foriegn lands and becoming a minority? Do you think limitations are created?

What challenges do you think are faced when having to realign your sense of what is normal and acceptable behavior? Like... pedestrians not having the right of way when crossing traffic? I think it's a lot of confusion.

Whose responsibility do you think it is to try and correct a different cultures practices?

Do you think there is ever time when it is necessary?

Is this a trick question? Maybe...

Viaje en Iguazu

We embarked on our 18 hour (plus or minus) bus ride at 4pm last Wednesday and drove straight through the night.

In the morning we arrived in the city of San Ignacio where we enjoyed a breakfast of coffee and crousiants, and saw ruins of the conquistadores.

On Day 2 we went on a Jungle Excursion, riding an open air vehicle I think I saw in a movie about the war in Vietnam.

We hiked through the jungles and came to a bride crossing to the top of Waterfall. Here, one by one, we repelled down the wet rocks of the cliff, through the rusing waters and down into a small pool below.

Next we saw rare and exotic animals at a local refuge that takes in hurt and abandoned critters, like our friends the monkeys, the tucans, and the warthogs.

SOMEBODY STOP THAT.... MONKEY!

At this corner of Iguazu three countries meet.

It is called "Tres Fronteras"

Where Paraguay, Argentina meet with Brazil.

Day 4 was the Adventure at the Falls themselves.

I hope you have watched the video, at the magnificance of these creations cannot be described in words.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jim3oy24cBA

The closest would be to say that we are very very small.