Conocer

It's been a long time since I've written here in my blog. I can't lie and say that I've been too busy to write, because while I have been busy, I've mostly just been uninspired. My journals continue filling but recently I haven't felt the urge to share what has been going on because mostly it's just petty thoughts and worries. In three days will mark the on month point until I touch down on United States soil and my adventure ends. I remember telling people "I'll be down there for a year" and always hearing "Oh my gosh! Won't you get homesick?!" My response was always, "I've never really been homesick." And let me tell you, while homesickness is no fun at all, nothing feels better than knowing that I'm returning home without that nagging "need-to-get-out-and-travel" ache. I feel so satisfied with what I've accomplished here. I'm proud of who I've met, what I've seen, and what I've learned.

Any regrets? Just a few:
1. I didn't go to Patagonia. But honestly, I feel like Patagonia deserves its own trip. it deserves a full month of my attention.
2. I wish I could have travelled around more of Argentina. I'd like to go to the north: Jujuy, Salta. etc because the culture up there is so different! Maybe that'll have to wait for when I return to WWOOF around South America :)
3. I wish I could have gone to Brazil. Visas to Brazil are only obtainable by winning a Capoeira dance fighting match and then by single-handedly taming a pit full of anacondas. Or something to that degree of difficulty.

But all of that can wait. Right now I am filled with the excitement that I get to finish the year and a half of college and see where life takes me from there. Hopefully it'll take me in and out of our 50 states. People who have traveled to the USA always ask me, "Have you been to the Grand Canyon? Have you been to Vegas? etc etc" indicating the many natural wonders and tourist attractions that my expansive country holds. And shamefully My answers are always "No." When I think about the paces I did have the fortune to go to as a child, I remember not appreciating them. I wish I could have gone to Yosemite National Park more recently rather than as a disinterested 12-year-old.

In Castellano, instead of asking "Have you been to Florida" they ask "Do you know Florida?" It seems so much more personal. So my next goal is to know my country. Because honestly, how can I complain (something I did frequently about the USA before leaving) about a country that I don't even know?

Adrienne and I in Buenos Aires on her 21st birthday. 

Sharing

Everytime I write about my family I feel like I´m speaking for some small part of myself. My family is an example of one of those cases where you can look at a person and glance up the tree to see where his or her traits came from. I´m not only talking about physical traits; I mean emotional, psychological traits. Interests. And right now I want to look over to the other branch of our tree to honor my sister, Haley.

Haley and I are 18 months apart, but as we grow older it becomes more and moer apparent to me how little time separates our ages. I believe that to be a sister is to share. Haley and I toddled through our childhood going from sharing a bedroom, to sharing clothes, to sharing cars, and now to sharing only a brief Skype phone call every once in a while. The other day my mom told me something (verifying a quality that I believe many close sisters to have.) She said that when two girls are born so close in age, their relationship will be very close, but also competitive for the spotlight. With that said, I think that some of the hardest things for two sisters to share are expectations for what life will bring.

Haley, I know that you (probably) feel like you´ve grown up behind a shadow. I don´t say this in a "woo-woo-look-at-me" way, but as a simple acknowledgment of the role that many younger sisters take. The older sister has to go out testing the waters while the younger one waits around to get permission from the parents to enter into only that same ocean. Kind of like some cruel Chinese buffet where you´re only allowed to sample only what big sis has already tried. But you know what? There are some foods that are way too spicey for me, while you eat them with no problem. (That salsa at La Carreta? I mean, I was 17 before I could eat it!) So, like I said, to be in the shadow of your older sister must be hard, whether the shadow be in good or bad light. I can imagine that it would make independence and identity frustrating. Especially because there is an older Haley-look-alike running around out there, a year and a half ahead. Life becomes a question of how to be different from this aged model of yourself.

And you know what? It´s hard for me too. All I want to do is share my experiences with you, but I know that for the sole reason that I´ve done them, you must by obligation take a different path. And because our relationship is so close, it doesn´t help that every year we´re pushed just a little bit farther from each other. I know it might feel like I abandonded you. I left home to live at boarding school before the average teenager leaves. Then I went off to college and wasn´t there for you when you were sad or lonely. I wasn´t the supportive sister that I wanted to be. I was gone all year at college and all summer at camp for two years consecutively. Then I thought I would take myself abraod for my own well-being. But you know what? I´ve really missed you.

I didn´t like not being able to help move you into your first dorm room. I didn´t like not being home for your (or ANYONE´S) birthday. And most of all I hated that our family was split up on Christmas. It´s not Christmas until we´ve gotten our coffee and climbed into Mom and Dad´s bed to eat biscotti cookies. In fact, it isn´t any special occasion until we´ve done that. It´s sad to me that although I´m coming home at the beginning of July, I won´t be able to see you until August.

But you know what Haley-bug? You go do your own thing and find your place in life, under the spotlight and out of the shadows. And as we grow older and spread ourselves over the world, let´s not forget all of those things we shared. Let´s not forget those nights of sumo wrestling, clad only in panties. Let´s not forget that tradition we tried to start of always sleeping in the same twin bed on Christmas Eve. Or of the games we invented with our "stuffed-up" animals. Or of the game where we´d pile each other with Mom and Dad´s pillows from their bed and then body slam each other. Always asking afterwards, "Did that huuuurt?" "Nooo." Or of our fanatical (and goal oriented) roller-blade sessions around Carolina Circle. Let´s not forget how we used to repeat scenes from movies over and over ("Little Women") or play with Barbies in the bathtub. And do you remember how we´d chase each other around the house leaving greasy handprints always on the same part of the hallway? Let´s not forget the dances we choreographed (Think Pink!) nor the Mad Tiger game on the rug.

Essentially when I think of my relationship with you, Haley, I remember how easy it was to play and to laugh. It was so easy to amuse ourselves with our imaginations for hours on end. And now that creativity is expressed only through Skype chats and sharing humorous YouTube videos. I know that a lot of times I am judgmental and close-minded about some things. But I admire that you don´t seem to share those qualities. You always get me (even if you don´t agree where I´m coming from.) I feel like sometimes our minds are just so in sync, whether that means wearing the exact same outfit when we´re in different cities or just by having a very similar sense of humor. And that´s sisterhood, isn´t it? From sharing a bedroom to sharing mindwaves.

So this summer I´ll be sending all of the positive mindwaves and good thoughts that I have in the direction of Chicago. That will at least have to do until August when I can move you into your sophomore dormroom (RA! Geez we´re both so old!) and go back to being your big sister again.

I love you bug-bug,

your Gillibean

"Teacher"

Get settled, this is more than your 30 minute Barney episode.

3/19/10

            I owe it to myself and to at least my devoted readers (Aunt Erin) to write a bit about my most recent experiences. I moved to Laboulaye (a very small city in the south of the province of Córdoba) to work as an English teacher and to “got mitzvah” myself into adulthood. Laboulaye is one of those cities (would probably be considered a “town” in the States) where you can’t walk downtown without seeing absolutely everyone you know. With that being said, my second day here I was interviewed for the local news channel (Channel 2.) I stumbled through the interview (all the while grinning and nodding with an upset stomach) and then thought nothing of it. The next day I was lunching with Claudia and her mother when my bite of chicken was interrupted by my face appearing on the TV screen. My eyes rolled around in my head as I nodded too frequently to what the news anchor was saying (“Ella es Jeelian EsScrum.”) A grin was stretched almost painfully across my face as I was jabbering in terrible Spanish, and to my horror, mimicking a typical “American Southern accent.” I could have died. But what’s worse is that in a tiny town full of people who ALL watch News Channel 2 during their lunch at 1pm, everybody saw it. I am recognized by all, yet I know no one. People pass me on the street on motorbikes and actual bikes and saw loudly “That’s her!! That’s that girl!” I was recognized and blessed by a nun a few days ago. But when you’re the ONLY North American in a town of 20,000 Argentineans, I guess it’s hard to hide.

Teaching English has been like giving your toddler big girl pants just a little bit before she knows what big girl pants are all about. All of a sudden my days are full of lesson plans and games; all the while I’m not really certain how to teach. It’s one thing to teach something that you’ve been taught. When I teach someone to tie a climbing knot, I visualize the method that Mr. Hartley (my 6^th grade theater teacher) taught me. (He also taught rock climbing. Where can I score that job?) But language is one of those things that you are learning before you can even walk. Imagine trying to explain to someone how to not just pee one’s pants. You just don’t. You know not to. And if you do, you suffer the consequences. We grow without learning complicated (man-created) structures for basic, conversational language. We don’t learn rules for when you’d use “I’ll” vs “I’m going to.” To ask the question “Why do you put ‘does’ at the beginning of a sentence?” means nothing to us (to native English speakers.) But then, when you declare that “to do” is an action and “to have” implies ownership, it becomes difficult to explain the following sentence to a non-English speaker:

“Do you think if you had had more things to do that you would have gotten them done, had you more time to have done them?

Oh, and one other odd thing about teaching. In Chile they called me “Miss Gillian” (pronounced “Mees Sheelian” or sometimes just Tía (aunty.) Here in Argentina they don’t call me by my name at all. They call me “Teacher.” Now THAT I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. That’s just a little bit too apple-on-the-desk-paddle-in-the-drawer for me.

The class levels I’m teaching are mixed. Here’s my schedule:

-Monday and Wednesdays: 2:30-4pm I teach two men who are very advanced in their English. Their names are Marcelino and Marcelo, believe it or not.

-Monday and Thursday from 6:30-8pm is a group of 6 11-year-old beginners. Right now we’re reviewing numbers.

-Tuesdays and Thursdays: 3pm-4:30pm I teach a group of 6 intermediate students (ages ranging from 16 to 26.)

-Tuesdays and Wednesdays from 8:15-9:45pm is my favorite group. It’s a group of 8 13-year-olds, mostly girls, who love games and are very motivated. Even the girl who sometimes refuses to play the games told me today excitedly that she was writing a murder mystery in English. It’s nice to know that even if students are not exactly engaged in EVERYTHING you’re doing, that they still have a personal interest and are willing to share part of it with you.

I WAS teaching a 5 year old beginners class, but that has recently be unleashed upon a different teacher. Here’s how the second day of this class went:

We spent 10 minutes copying the date on the board. (I blame myself, never underestimate the excitement of a 5 year old to actually be able to copy something off a board. Also never underestimate the amount of time that activity can take. And then after it’s all said and done, they’ve written “Viernes” instead of Friday (what the board says.)) Then we spent 30 minutes of me saying “Findddddd red!” and various other colors, and then all of us thundering around the tiny room, knocking over metal pencil boxes, jumping up and down on chairs, and searching for yellow (when we were supposed to be looking for red.) But that was a fun game! Then, a note came through that we needed to copy down the new schedule (Copying off the board again!) and it took another 30 minutes to write “Miércoles y Jueves, 6:15-7:15pm. Man was that hard. Especially when we didn’t like how it was written and erased it every time our hand managed to scrawl out the letters. And then we got our foot stuck in the chair. Three times. And then we knocked over our pencil case again. And then someone else’s pencil case. And then we made our grandmother (and the taxi downstairs) wait for us for 15 minutes while we ferociously colored a picture of a pear orange -- What? It’s wasn’t a pumpkin? (I couldn’t be talking about a certain hyperactive little kid!)

Thus far my Fridays are free, but they are soon to be filled with adult conversational classes. I’m told that in April I’ll start tutoring (making monnnneyyy) for several people around the city. So that’s my schedule!

I do have one humorous (and eerie) story from one of my classes. Marcelo, Marcelino and I were reading a ghost story to go over the past perfect tenses (I had been, he had been, etc.). At the end of the story I asked the men (simply to relate to the text) if either of them knew a ghost story from Laboulaye. Marcelo then proceeded to nonchalantly recount (as most non-English speakers do in broken English) the one ghost story he knew of Laboulaye. It went like this:

“Yes, so there was a girl from the United States who came to Laboulaye and then disappeared. People say that she was murdered by this man and then buried in his backyard. We think that she’s dead because people have claimed to see her in front of store windows or sometimes on the side of the highway. Yes, and his family lives across from this Institute.”

As the story continued I began to kick myself more and more for asking such a simple, yet revealing discussion question. I thought (hoped) he was perhaps making it up to scare me considering that he was talking to the ONLY female American currently residing in Laboulaye. But no, it’s been confirmed as true. Virginia (an Argentinean English teacher) explained to me that the woman had been in the wrong crowd, was pregnant, and into hard drugs, so no way would anything like this ever happen to me. But it’s not like I’m a secret anyway. Everyone knows I’m here, thanks to News Channel 2. What a coincidence that an innocent ghost story should affect me so much! But I have nothing to worry about, apparently, seeing as I am neither a drug addict, pregnant, nor poorly seen in the city, yet.

Uruguay

Sorry it's been so long! here's a journal entry from 3/14/10

And now I’m back in Argentina having just gone to Uruguay for the weekend (because you can do that from Buenos Aires) with Adrienne and her friend Nichole. I really liked Montevideo. I’m trying to think of the best strategies of convincing Haley to study abroad there. I just loved that it was so small, with such a similar culture as Argentina, except there’s this special difference: Carnival. And I’m sure if I were there for Carnival I’d think even more strongly about this, but I felt the city’s love of dressing up, drumming, and dancing just from my weekend of being there and from my 15 minutes in the Carnival Museum. I imagine that it’s very much like Mardi Gras in New Orleans, except with a South American twist. (Carnival happens in Brazil, Uruguay, and in northern Argentina as a last hooray just before lent.) Even though Carnival is now over, we still ran into parades of drummers and dancers snaking spiritedly through the streets (in a residential area, not one that was intended for tourists). We also watched a group of face-painted Uruguayans sing and drum their hearts out in the downtown plaza.

(Picture snapped of Carnivalers preparing for the festivities)

Also, I really liked the diversity I saw through Uruguay’s beachy streets. Due to (I’m assuming) the large Brazilian population, the streets are full of people of all colors. Those of darker hues aren’t stared as nearly as much as they are in Chile or in Argentina. And coming from a county that tries so hard to preach its acceptance of diversity (of skin, that is…), my white guilt seemed to heave a sigh of relief.

 It’s funny to actually visit a place for once. I’ve always had such different relationships with the places I visit versus the places I live in. To live in a place, I like to scuff the blankets around a dozen times with my feet and then turn around and around in one place for about 8 hours until I feel comfortable, smoothing out knots and fluffing rumples. (Viña del Mar, Mar del Plata, Laboulaye – in permanent dwellings I’m always criticizing and taking small details into deep account.) But the second I know that nothing is permanent (such as in Perú, south of Chile, Montevideo, places I spend less than a week in), I can easily make myself as comfortable as a cat snoozing precariously balanced atop a set of wobbly clothes hangers. (Do any of you know Scout?)

Reasons I liked Uruguay:

-       feels small and close-knit

-       culture – like Argentinean except with Carnival and with a seemingly greater love for drinking mate (they walk around with their mates and thermoses in hand all day long)

-       beauty – the beaches on the river that seem like the ocean

-       tourism – definitely available but distant. Doesn’t scream at you like in Buenos Aires

-       good wine (who’da thunk it!?) and tasty (huge) sandwiches called “chivitas”

One set back: I had to immediately learn how to quickly divide by 20 (1 dollar is essentially 20 Uruguayan pesos).

 (Uruguayan sunset.)

So I head home to Laboulaye today (I’ve been living there for a week with Claudia, the director of my institute) and tomorrow I stat teaching, officially. OOOOH boy. We’ll see how it goes. It looks like I’ll have little kids and young teens. I’m definitely nervous. I’m not exactly sure at what level everyone is, or really even which book we’ll be using. The book I have right now is VERY British and emphasizes learning British culture as well as the UK geography. I’m not really sure what to do with that. I mean, I’ll teach it. But it’s kind of like an Argentinean being told to teach the culture of Spain. It’s kind of embarrassing how little I know of our “motherland,” excluding the crude accents I’ve been known to flaunt. But if I am supposed to know my mother country, I suppose I should update myself on England, Germany, Ireland, Scotland, Holland, and who knows where else in order to give an accurate depiction of “De dónde soy.”

Destination

So I've been spending the past few weeks doing an English teacher training course here in Buenos Aires (the capital of Argentina) and have just recently found out in exactly which tiny town I'll be stationed. So on March 15th I'll start teaching at a language academy in Laboulaye, Cordoba.

Laboulaye: located in southeast Cordoba
Population: 19,908 (about the size of Carrboro, NC)

I'll be living with a family with two teenagers? I'll be teaching children, teenagers, and adults. That's all I know. Right now I'm up to my neck in past perfect-participle-simple-perfect progressive/continuous-gerund-stative and modal verbs. I'll swear on my grammar books that we never learned this jibber-jabber.

The Master Cleanse

So considering that I´m nearing the end of my stay here in the lovely Capilla del Monte and hence ending another portion of my Argentinian journey,  I decided to do a 3 day juice fast to clear out my body (like detox...). and MAN is it hard. Right now I´m nearing the end of day three (my final day) and my body is really looking foward to eating again.

There´s this fast called "The Master Cleanse" which consists of drinking lemon juice, maple syrup, and cayenne pepper for several days (it´s supposed to be 10 days but I just did it for a few to try it out) to help remove toxins from the body. It was hard to get used to but now I feel like I could probably continue it for a few more days if I didn´t feel so weak. Here are excerpts from my journal during the 3 days that I´ve fasted:

Day 1: So this is juice fasting. I miss eating. It´s amazing how big of a part eating plays in our lives, I mean like 3 hours every day we either eat or prepare to eat! All of a sudden I´m filling these empty hours trying not to think about food (I live right next to the kitchen.) The concoction I´ve made doesn´t taste terrible but I wish I hadn´t associated it with vomit earlier. Plus you´re supposed to drink lots of laxative and digestive teas (THAT´S been fun) as well as the juice and water. But other than that I feel fine. Chammomile tea is a treat for me now (something I never really drank before.)So the lemons are supposed to provide vitamins and minerals as well as making the body more alkaline and helping the body cleanse. I don´t have maple syrup so I´m using a healthy sugar substitute syrup that´s hard to get used to. It´s supposed to give unprocessed good sugars that provide micronutrients, calories, and to keep the blood sugar and energy level up. The cayenne pepper acts as a cleanser for the digestive, circulatory, and respiratory systems.

Today I came back from a special ceremony in San Marcos de las Sierras where a man from Texas (Daniel) headed up a group playing crystal bowls and meditating on our intentions. It really is refeshing to have found people in Argentina who share my view of the importance of being healthy and respecting the Earth. This sis so reassuring that coming to Capilla has been like a recleansing of the mind, body, and soul before I go out and begin teaching. I really felt unhealthy in Chile, like I wasn´t caring for myself as I should have. It´s funny that now that I´m not eating food, food is ALL I think about. And I thought it was bad before! HAH!

Day 2: My whole body feels tired. I´ve been doing silly things all day like forgetting which plants I watered and starting to water other plants again. It´s clear that my body functions better with food. Or perhaps I am not adding enough syrup to my juice. All I know is, I feel fuzzy and dumb. (These are side effects of the first few days.) Today Margarita and I distracted ourselves with some backwalking (a form of massage) and giving bones to stray dogs. We pretty much talked about food all day.

Day 3: It´s funny that I went from learning to cook exciting meals to eating nothing at all and living the boring life of lemons. The hunger pains eventually do subside though. You learn to just wait them out and to listen to real things: dizziness and fatigue. Today I´m better than yeterday but I definitely feel week. It´s a similar feeling to when you´ve been caving for the past 5 hours and you´re about to start the final stretch to the exit. Life is pretty boring here when you´re not eating. I´m always either working with food in the garden, preparing food, eating food, or researching what to make next. Otherwise there´s not really much else to do. I can´t really go exploring because my body feels so heavy. This morning Margarita and I made the would-be easy hike up to the swimming holes and we were exhauuuuusted when we got back. I came home and took a 3 hour nap. It makes me wonder about other countries that incorporate fasting into a part of their daily lives. For example, Tibetan monks eat nothing but "tsampa", a mix of black tea with barley and yak´s milk. It´s so basic, it keeps them alive and able to seek enlightenment! It´s incredible what some people live on; what some people have to live on. [Here I wrote a HUGE rant on farms and corporations and how little we know about the food we put into our mouths. Coming later.]

Tomorrow I start again with food. It´s good to really honor the body when you´re coming off a fast, even if it´s just for a few days. The plan is to just eat fruit and veggie soup with really cooked down leafy greens while still drinking juice. The idea is to NOT go on a rampage. But when I´m ready, I´m eating ice cream.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I lost a bet to my mom a few months ago and instead of betting money I was instructed to make a list of the reasons why I love her. I didn´t do it right away, because I feel like these things are better when I miss a person and when I´m in a rational state of mind. I wrote this surrounded by willow trees.

I wrote about this in an essay in freshman year of college but let´s just revisit it. I was talking with Margarita the other day and she was telling me about how she had such a rough childhood. Of course that makes me think about my mom and how I can´t even imagine what it would have been like to live her childhood. She worked so hard while I was growing up (still, as I am still growing) to make up for every mistake her mother made.

The reasons why I love my mom:

1. Mom, I love how you delight in treats. In going out for coffee at Ollie´s bakery, going out to eat, in getting ice cream and watching your favorite tv show.

2. I love how you make little songs that represent joy (Daddy coming home from Charlotte on Wednesdays and how that meant we could go out to La Carreta, songs about our animals, songs about the beginning of summer)

3. I love how much you love animals and how they love you. It seems like if there´s ever a problem with one of our pets the solution is to always have you present.

4. I love how excited you get when your plants start growing. I love how proud you are of your garden and how you delight in taking the long way home that goes by the backyard so we can drive "Slooooooowly!" by it and Oooh and Aah over your hardwork.

5. I love that you try so hard to listen to whatever Haley and I are upset about, if we´re crying or sad or simply menstruating.

6. I love how you rub my back when I cry.

7. I love how you and Dad made sure that Haley and I experienced literally every extracurricular sport or activity no matter what our money situation was. Honestly that is very impressive.

8. I love it when you get excited about snow days and you leap around the house so that your sandals fly off your feet as you scuffle, dance, clap and sing.

9. I love how when you´re laughing you cross your legs and slap your knee for emphasis (I get this from you.)

10. I love that you´ve had the tenacity not to make an ultimate plan for yourself. You see this as a weakness, perhaps: how you changed majors in college and then did a bunch of jobs that haven´t affected your rediscovered Spanish career. But I don´t think that´s a weakness at all. That´s living. You do what you want to do and then when things don´t work out anymore you change. I´m so glad to have inherited this value in life from you.

11. I love how similar we are. I love that I can see some of my strong strengths coming directly from you: my love of animals and nature.

I know we argue a lot, but there´s a notion out there that we choose our parents for the lessons our souls need to learn. Our idea is that we argue so much because we´re both so stubborn and refuse to give up control. Maybe our souls have just needed to learn similar things from different people, and I´m glad my soul chose you.