On Tuesday morning, the day of my departure, I woke up incredibly anxious. In fact, I think there may have been a small black hole developing somewhere between my kidneys; I thought to myself, "How is is POSSIBLE that I could have looked forward to this day for more than a year? There is NOTHING that can come out of this trip but bad things." For the better part of three days I had been feeling sick to my stomach... but I decided to put one foot in front of the other, to walk through my fears. As the things I was (and am) scared of floated up in front of my eyes, I told them, "You're not real. And if you are-- well, we'll figure that out later. But I'M DOING THIS."
So, footstep by scary footstep, I found myself traveling from the Grand Rapids airport through Chicago, to Miami, and then to BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA.
(Don't get excited yet, this is just Chicago)
(That dimple tho)
One of the highlights of my viaje:
By the time I flew into Miami it was already dark, so I got to see the city lit up from above. It looked 10000% like a game of Pac Man-- the streetlights were the little yellow dots he eats, and they were all arranged in weird rows and angles. This is the best picture I got, though:
P.S. the Starbucks barista in Miami did some wild interpreting of my name:
WUT
When I landed at Ezeiza Airport in Buenos Aires, I was attacked by muggy, warm air. I say attacked because I was wearing flannel pajama pants (Gotta be comf in dose airports donchaknow). I stood at the wrong luggage carousel for about fifteen minutes before finding my suitcase and had to ask the young, attractive immigrations officer to repeat himself a jillion times, but at least customs was easy. Here's how it went (but in Spanish):
Me: Do I put everything on the coneyor belt?
Customs Officer: Yes.
Me: *puts purse, backpack, suitcase, jackets on belt*
Scanner: *scan scan scan*
Me: *walks around to other side of scanner*
Me: *picks up purse, backpack, suitcase, jackets*
Me: Do I, like, have to talk to someone?
Customs Officer: *gives me a vaguely suspicios look* Why?
Me: Uh, I mean, I thought, uh..... am I just... done?
Customs Officer: Yes. Welcome to Argentina. You'll enjoy yourself.
My official, pre-arranged pickup person never came to get me at the airport. Long story short: hitched a ride. Yusssssss.
My dorm, or residencia, is a mystery in itself. Rachel spent most of the first day indoors because-- get this-- she didn't know how to leave the building. Laugh, go ahead, but you would also get lost... Mostly because it is LITERALLY a secret hideout-- you enter through a parking garage. There is no sign for the dorm. Just this:
NO ONE KNOWS
Since it's such a mystery, many of the exchange students entered through the wrong place. One girl went through the elementary school; one through the church; I came in through the old folks' home. (Can I say that? Is that Politically Correct?) All the buildings on this side of the block are connected and affiliated and it seems like they're used to getting confused foreigners knocking on their doors, because we all got escorted to the right place in the end.
And what a place it is! The words! I have none! That's a lie! I have a few!
For the most part, the rooms are arranged around one of two courtyards. There is a first floor and a second floor, and on both the courtyard is surrounded by windows. Much of the time the windows are open, so it's kind of like being outside while you're inside. It's hard to describe, hence, PICTURES.
The hallways between our rooms and the courtyard
Rachel's attractive courtyard
Slaughter goats?
The ceiling in my room is at least fifteen feet tall, and the doors are pretty sizeable too. Not to mention, my key is, like, OLD-SCHOOL, YO.
For some reason it makes me feel French
A housekeeper cleans my room every day. Thus, this will undoubtedly be the most clean period of my entire life. The dorm serves me breakfast (chunks of bread) but I receive a stipend of about 250 U.S. dollars for the rest of my meals. You think that's a lot? Well:
$26???? For a burger meal????
JUST KIDDING I TRICKED ALL OF YOU HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I'M LAUGHING UPROARIOUSLY AND JUST GENERALLY HAVING A GOOD TIME AT YOUR EXPENSE
I was terribly frightened about the "ridiculously high prices" for a bit too, but it turns out that Argentines use the same dollar sign we do, just to signify their peso. Right now, a U.S. dollar is about 8 pesos. I'll let someone do the math to figure out how much that burger costs because my brain is dumb. (Mr. Huggins? I know you're reading this. This one's on you.)
OMGGGGG THIS POST IS GETTING SO LONG I'M SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME BUT KEEP READING
So anyway, this food stipend means that I will likely be eating out A LOT. I've been in Argentina for less that 72 hours, and I've already dined at five different restaurants. BOUT TO BE RUL
Also, a final cultural note: Argentines don't usually eat dinner until 8 at night. And if they go out to par-tay, the day might not end until 3 or 4 in the morning. I'm all for staying up late, but I usually just lurk around in my room on the interwebs... vat a homebody I am.
Also there's a cat here and I named her Baskin because she always lays in the sun (GET IT DO YOU GET IT)
The end. I will post again vurry soon because I have had many adventures already. Go ahead and block me if my plethora of posts is annoying, but I will never forgive you. LOLZ JK SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN
Well, technically, I can't answer the question of how much a *burger* costs, because the picture you posted says that it's 26 pesos for the whole combo meal, not just the burger.
ReplyDeleteSo I will simply note that since 1 peso is 1/8 of a US dollar, then 26 pesos is 26/8 US dollars ... or, more conventionally, $3.25.
that's why we keep you around.
ReplyDelete