… the sweet architecture (this is Salta)
I’ve been back in America for two weeks. I’ve returned to my dear alma mater; enjoyed NYC; narrowly avoided a rattlesnake at the Water Gap; found a home for my next two years in “Boston” (ok ok! Cambridge), hiked in New Hampshire; watched too much Big Bang Theory; marveled at our local Shop Rite, which has an entire corner of the store with fifty different kinds of chips.
Not having time to blog has at least allowed me to reflect on what I miss about Argentina.
The problem with only 10 months is that you’re just figuring stuff out when you leave. It took me a while to learn how to put together an Argentine picada (tapas spread), and only with a little help from my friends (those bold enough to buy meat and dulce de membrillo, this gelatinous dessert). To warm up, in this video I poke fun at the overwrought, ostensibly innuendoed notes on the label of Santa Julia Extra Brut, during a wine tasting we hosted. Because Santa Julia was our house wine, in a way it’s true that Santa Julia es el principio de muchos finales.
Things I miss about Argentina.
1. Speaking Spanish. I’ve noticed which phrases I miss the most. Top of the list by far is onda (see slang post). I stand by my translation of “vibes” but I find it more exact to say someone is buena onda than to use English. I’d have expected to miss quilombo, but turns out, there are fewer quilombos here so I find myself needing that one less. I also miss Spanish because my English is often very bad, and unlike in Argentina I am expected to speak well here. I’ve forgotten certain words – I can get costanera but not waterfront. Direct and indirect object constructions are tough; I’ve been informed that the restaurant she recommended me is not proper English. Intellectually, I believe this, but it still sounds fine to me. And my syntax. Turns out word order is much more fluid in Spanish. “The route you use, how long is it?” “It’s expensive, the flight!” “When is the return of the dogsitter?” None of these are made up. I’m surprised by the extent to which Spanish changed how I formulate thoughts.
2. The social life. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. In Buenos Aires, if you go out at 9 pm, chances are the Argentines are still catching up over coffee. At 1 am on a Monday, the Plaza Armenia will be decently lively. Pretty sure they don’t have the concept “school night.” I love an early morning hike just as much as – probably more than, in fact – the next person, but it was refreshing to live in a place where there’s just less need to check your watch. Or to wear your watch. I still haven’t gotten back in the habit of that one.
3. Peruvian-Asian cuisine, dulce de leche, and Argentine ice cream. Don’t tell my carnivorous half-Peruvian amiga who posts pictures of pan-fried turkey every Sunday – she admonished me to have a “last steak” in Argentina, and I didn’t do it – but I don’t miss the steak much, delicious though it was. I miss other Argentine vices. Ice cream is an obvious one that I’ve addressed in past entries. The dulce de leche – well, I’m glad to have a stash of La Pataia and Cachafaz alfajores here. And I miss Sipán and Osaka, my two Peruvian-Asian standbys. In America it’s harder to order a perfect salmon tiradito (essentially sashimi) alongside a huge arroz con mariscos. And they don’t drink as many pisco sours here. This is a mistake.
4. My nickname. Both the Spaniards and the Argentines – without consulting each other, as far as I can tell – have shortened my name to Eli. Argentina is huge on nicknames – everyone has a moniker that fits in two syllables or less. Nicolás = Nico, Facundo = Facu, Agustina = Agus, Belén = Belu, Patricia/Patricio = Pato, Maximiliano = Maxi (yep), and so on. Americans, too, shorten Elizabeth without permission, but I don’t like the US nicknames as much, at least for me. Eli is pronounced much like Ellie. I kind of enjoyed its spunky cuteness.
5. My people. Is it really necessary to specify that the people you meet during this sort of adventure are what make the adventure? From the buena onda of Endeavor and our little telepathic Search & Selection team; to my fantastic roomie whose recent gchat status was – unironically – “golpe de estado” (coup d’etat), indicating her location in Paraguay while they were ousting their president; to fellow consultants who collaborated on the economic theory of expat transience (“diminishing marginal excitement versus increasing accumulated frustration”) or strategized for the best shoes ever well into the night over margaritas; to the gringa chicas who were always up for photo shoots and chamuyo war stories (definition #2 on this page); to the local kids crazy and welcoming enough to befriend someone they knew would be leaving before long; to the Endeavorites and entrepreneurs from around the globe, even the ones who left me flying solo during a cappella “New York, New York” in Cartagena; to the North Americans who braved the insanity to reconnect on various parts of the continent – putting up with me in exchange for glacial hikes and mud banks in Patagonia, acai smoothies in Rio, steak and Malbec in Buenos Aires, or dusty rides through northern Argentina.
So yes, it’s wonderful to be home, but I couldn’t have asked for a better year away. It’s a fantastic place, Argentina. Muy buena onda, che.
The vida dulce 