my experience with tango (cultural proof #1)

Tango was born in Buenos Aires. It was created by European immigrants, longing for home and women, and practiced in the tenement houses of working class neighborhoods like La Boca. However, since I arrived in Argentina, my impression has been that the Tango has gone on to become a symbol of national identity and pride. Many cultures and a sense of alienation gave birth to Tango, but it is now ultimately and inescapably Argentine. I believe this resonates with many Argentines in their mezcla of genetic heritage and their search for cultural identity. Additionally, Tango’s huge explosion in Europe in the late 19^th century and subsequent global popularity has made the music and dance representative of Argentina’s time in the international limelight – a period in the country’s history when they were the 10^th richest country in the world. Given the difficult economic situation in Argentina today, memories of the past have a special allure. I think is shown by how ubiquitous the culture of Tango is (posters, cultural essays, billboards, concerts on every street corner), even though many Argentines have never learned the dance.

I was privileged to see three very different Tango performances in Buenos Aires. I experienced the heavy legendary atmosphere of a couple and a band in Café Tortoni, and then stumbled by accident on a fabulous display of physical skill and beauty given by company dancers on the street of Calle Florida. My favorite, though, was the first one I saw, in Plaza Derrago, San Telmo.

The plaza hosts a giant artisan and antique fair that spreads over twenty blocks and is a bastion of the celebration of the Buenos Aires that was. At the very southernmost tip of the fair, the crowds thin out, and I discovered an old couple dancing slowly to the crooning of elderly man with a clown nose and a tiny guitar. The old man in his faded suit, with wrinkles drooping off of his face, held tightly to the woman. She was a little heavier set, now, than she might have been, and carrying the weight of age, but still step by step, firmly placing her stiletto heels around and between the legs of her aged partner. The dance was slow, and somewhat jerky, but I kept standing there for a long time, unable to stop watching the threesome perform their past on a dirty, windy, famous street corner, for all of the world to see.

When I leave Argentina, I hope to take with me the memory of the physical awe I felt for the beautiful dancers on Calle Florida, and the longing I felt from the passionate lyrics of the singer in Café Tortoni, but I know I will take with me the picture of self-contained, dignified loss I found in Plaza Derrago.

to kit

You seemed so vulnerable

the first time I saw you.

Small, and almost hairless - mewling for your mom

and the night we took you home to stay

I worried

hoping the cold night air wouldn't be too much -

It wasn't.

Within a month you had taken control of the neighborhood pet life

every cat and dog under your sharp claws.

you stopped being 'kit' and became 'Cortez the Killer,'

dancing across our sidewalk in a vicious swirl of life and color.

There were days, and sometimes years, after our first weeks spent together

where I would see you hardly at all.

But I always knew you were there - still in control,

still the John Wayne of suburban-orchard frontier.

On hot summer days

when you deigned to descend from your wilderness throne

we would sit together. Me with my camera, you on my lap,

soft claws just shy of piercing my skin,

enjoying the heat.

And then, one day

I came home from college

and you had changed.

Softer, kinder, sweeter, more

old.

But beautiful, still, in your age.

I miss you now, Kit who was a boy,

I'm sorry I insisted you were a girl.

But I'm grateful you were there

while I grew up.

I'm grateful you grew up too.

I hope, that when I am old

people will be as grateful to have me around

as they were to have you.

late at night and happy.

I am grateful to be alive. I have too many things to say right now to fit them into a blog post, and is 2:14 in the morning, so I will be posting again tomorrow at a decent hour. However, I would like to point out that there are a lot of things to be grateful for in this world, not the least of which is that if you are reading this post, you have internet access adna connection to hte rest of the world. 

There are also things to be grateful for like sunsets, and people who are patient and brave, and black high heels, and friends who speak your language (either literally or figuratively), and people of the opposite gender, and the ability to learn, and the opportunity to learn, and the reality of learning everything one tiny step at a very slow time. 

I love this country (I will explain how I figured that out tomorrow), and I am grateful to be living in it. 

Love (to the world), Jessie.

new pictures and a list of gratefuls

Walking home.
While we were taking a tour on a real English bus. 
this is a picture of the stick that went into my foot. (yes, the long one.)
I should be in bed, but I really need to say how grateful I am for today. ( :

- I found out I might be getting a really, really cool job this summer, and yesterday I had one-and-a-half other job offers

-I am on a list of potential people for a random, amazing job this fall

- I get to edit

- I went running (albeit not very far.)

- I really like my spanish teacher. She told me what argentine candy has peanut butter in it. (that's not the only reason I like her. I promise. ( :  )

-I randomly met a girl in the bathroom at the university today who speaks english and is married to a guy who is from minnesota and lived in colorado, and she gave me her e-mail address and told me to send her an e-mail if I ever needed anything.

- Aubrey and I went to institute and I saw my friend there and he introduced to all kinds of people, including a boy named Ariel who lived in New York, and a guy who served a mission in Nevada that loves Kurt Cobain. (he dug the fact that Aubrey was from Seattle.) We are making friends!

- I found a new favorite Argentine food.

- I talked to my mom and got an e-mail from my Dad.

-My internet works.

- I love life!

The end.  

how to (not) look argentine

Last night, Aubrey and I had the good luck to go out on the town with our Argentine friend Leo. We went to dinner at "Johnny B.Good," watched english music videos, walked around town, and ate amazing ice cream. ("Granizado.") Besides the walking around late at night part and maybe the ice cream, probably not the best way to increase our argentine-ness. Really, really fun, though. 

In our conversation over dinner, I was told that the reason I look like I'm from the states is partially because of my skin, clothes and hair, but mostly because of my face! That's not something I can really fix. But, then do I need try and fix it? It occurs to me that when people in the states look like they're from another country I like it. And if they told me they were upset because they wanted their features to look more north american, I would be a little confused.

Por eso, although I do feel somewhat of an urge to go buy an entire new wardrobe and get a haircut, I am going to settle for working on my castellano until it becomes beautiful and only minimally accented. I can do that without plastic surgery. 

Side note - did you know that clubs and bars in Argentina only start to get busy at 2 or 3 in the morning? 

Why I'm grateful for cell phones.

So, I wanted to finish this post and post it later, but it turns out you can't really finish a post when half of it is about where you are at that exact moment. So enjoy. ( :

Buenas! 

 

I'm sorry I haven't had a regular posting schedule for my blog yet. But tonight is different. So here goes.

 

 

Here I am, sitting on the upstairs back patio of our apartment, watching it rain as I eat pasta noodles and oil-fried, chopped vegetables. And the sky is a big dark purple cloud occasionally illuminated by a bright white light, and I don't really mind the sprinkling drops on my bare skin and laptop. I'm not thinking about how I was totally stressed today, or about all of things I don't know starting tomorrow morning. I am trying to think about all of the people I have met on this trip so far.

 

 

Before I came to Argentina, I felt meeting and getting to know other people would be the most important part of my stay. That has proved true, although (like everything else) not exactly how I thought it would. It turns out that I can be fine on my own. I can stand on a mountain by myself in the driving wind and rain and be happy. I can sit by the side of a lake and ponder the dark blue water and feel profoundly peaceful. I can wake up, read my scriptures, get dressed, eat too much sugar because I'm nervous, and walk into the lab to work on my own project completely independently. And I can walk home alone in the rain without an umbrella, and jump through ever puddle from here to Jujuy. And I can even go to bed before midnight with no one saying I should.

 

 

On the other hand, I miss my family a lot. And when I talked to my Grandma on the phone last night, and when my friend wrote on my facebook wall saying she need me back home, and when my brother called me tonight to say that he got a 31 on the ACT, my heart got a whole bigger to hold all of the joy I was feeling.