This morning, while making my way to downtown Buenos Aires – or “El Centro,” – the D Subway was packed so tightly with Argentineans I couldn’t find a spot within reach of a handrail.
I was worried for a moment until I realized there was simply not enough room on the subway car for me to fall down in any direction. Close contact is one of the things that characterize Buenos Aires.
One example is the constant physical contact of the subway, and another was demonstrated when a girl in our program was licked in the face on two separate incidences in the same night by unprovoked strangers. I’ve been here for two weeks, and today was the first time I caught myself not feeling like a tourist.
It took me a while, but I have some excuses for this: first, this is the only time I’ve been outside Louisiana for more than a 10-day streak and my first time outside the continental U.S. Most importantly, the vast majority of my extra-curricular Spanish speaking comes from ordering menu-items from Taco Bell.
So far, my most frequently used Spanish phrase has been “mas despacio, por favor” (more slowly, please) and is usually accompanied with an involuntary and hopeless sigh. In the week before I came to Argentina, I had just finished Gandhi’s autobiography and as a result declared with an angst fist I would try vegetarianism.
Argentinean temptations had already trampled this declaration and made me look foolish.
The first course of my first dinner was fairly usual: some sort of potato salad.
Second course was sausage, third was blood sausage – I’m not sure what animal or animal part this comes from, but it tastes a little like cinnamon.
Fourth course was ribs, and just to make certain there were no misunderstandings at the table, the fifth was a big old-fashioned steak. They like meat here and so do I. The two Argentineans with whom I have become most acquainted are the heads of my host family: Sara and Jorge. Our dinners are long and noisy. They told us their favorite insult: “Boludo” (big testicle), and they laughed hysterically when our group of three from LSU explained one of ours: douche bag. Because Jorge and Sara only speak Spanish, I am learning to understand very quickly.
Next week, I will probably be bored with the English language, so don’t expect to hear from me.