A Broad Abroad!

So you may remember my mentioning a senior capstone project that I have to complete as a theatre major at Gettysburg. For about two years now, I've been planning to write a one-woman show dealing with the themes of women in comedy but this past fall, I started really digging in and it was much more difficult than expected.

I talked to my study abroad advisor and she said that most students who come back from their semesters in foreign countries make some sort of drastic change to their academic careers. So why didn't I do this earlier?!

I think now I'm going to dramatize this journal and make my senior show about my experiences as a foreign exchange student. I like to think I've got some good stories to tell.

Also, I've been looking for jobs in the field of international education. I'd really like to be a recruiter for abroad programs. I think it's really important and maybe I'd even get to travel a little...?

Studying abroad has changed the entire direction I thought I was heading in for the rest of my life. I knew I was growing a lot in England and Argentina, but I feel like I'm still learning how much, even now.

Last Sunday, I woke up to a frantic Sara who came into my room because I'd overslept my alarm. (Come to think of it, this is the same way my first day in 172 Rufino Ortega started.) I ran to meet up with my friends for medialunas (croissants but so much better) and coffee and orange juice a block away from my house at my favorite cafe, La Abuela's (The Grandmother's). It was really nice but stressful because I was supposed to leave a few hours later and my stomach was kind of hurting (warning: recurring theme!).

Luisa showed up and brought me candy. She offered to come to the airport with me, which was the sweetest, nicest thing, but I declined because I didn't know if it would create some weird tension with her and Alberto and Sara, what with the whole class boundaries issue. Kate and Kendra came over while I got ready and packed and called a taxi. Goodbyes to Sara, Alberto, Rocky, Kendra, and Kate.

I got to the airport and Lauren showed up with her family. Saying goodbye to them was harder than saying goodbye to my own. I promised her elderly grandma with cancer that I'd stay friends with Lauren and visit her as often as I could. Then Lauren and I sat in a corner of the airport and cried our eyes out. Flew to BsAs, took a remis (nicer version of a taxi) to the other airport, decided Lauren is the best person to travel with in the entire world, waited around there with other COPA kids, and boarded for Miami.

This is when my stomach cramps go from "kind of hurting" to full-on attack of the killer intestines. I threw up in my little paper bag and stood in the back with all the flight attendants, sipping water and getting my hair smoothed by one of them. It was miserable. I hardly slept at all. When we got to Miami, we went through customs and all that a lot faster than I'd thought we would. Still, it was miserable. Pretty much a day of goodbyes and throwing up.

Finally. FINALLY. Washington Reagan National Airport. My family. Home. It feels so good. So so so good. My stomach is still a little cautious and I'm not really sure what's going on with that, but I'm just so glad to be back. I've been running into friends and other people I haven't seen in years (like my elementary school bus driver?!) everywhere I go, which is really fun. Plus, I can drink legally here now, which doesn't hurt, either.

I miss my friends from Mendoza. Not just my Argentine friends but my American friends especially. We went through so much together that I'm not sure I'll ever really be able to explain to anyone else. I miss the acequias and the trees and Parque San Martin and the peso/dollar exchange rate and living in the city and even the mullets and telenovelas. I miss being a foreigner. I'm sad that this year is over but I just feel so lucky to have gotten to experience it all and lived to tell the tale.

Thank you so very much to the people who read this. If I ever get the chance to go again, well, I'll keep you posted.

Today was a gorgeous, gorgeous day, which doesn't make saying goodbye to Mendoza any easier. The sun was shining and it was t-shirt weather so we had a picnic in the park. (This is winter?!) We ate this delicious bread I brought from the bakery on my block and played cards and laid around on a blanket. I'm really going to miss that park. As far as afternoons go, this one was one of the best.

Then we walked towards the city and it occurred to me again just how terrible Mendoza smells. The exhaust fumes from the buses and cars are atrocious and for some reason, a whiff of rotten eggs comes through every few minutes, no matter where you are. It's overpoweringly gross. It presses in on you sometimes. It's like those boys who go overboard with cologne when they hit puberty so that it's obscenely strong. Except Mendoza doesn't smell like AXE.

Luisa, the maid, is off for the rest of the night and tomorrow and I feel terrible because I forgot to say goodbye. She was probably my favorite part of living here. She left me a note today, saying goodbye and to never lose my sense of humor. I actually hadn't cried very much until that point. Luisa is only my age, but she was always really sweet to me. I just emailed her and invited her out to my farewell brunch with me and my friends tomorrow morning. I hope she makes it.

Anyway, things are coming to a close. I think more than anything, I'm sad that this year as a whole is over. It's been such an adventure. But I've got things to look forward to at home, too. Summer weather. Family. Friends. Homecoming fiesta. Beach.

I don't really know how to end this. Maybe I'll do a last update when I get home. I'm sure the re-entry culture shock is going to hit me a lot harder this time around. Should be interesting...

Life always is.

Recently I've been noticing that we students say a lot of things in Spanish that would sound really awkwardly phrased in English, either because we don't know the words or no real direct translation exists. One of my favorites, which we use all the time, is this:

"Bueno, avisame si queres hacer algo tranquilo esta noche."

"Ok, advise me if you want to do something tranquil tonight."

This morning, my friend Kate and I headed off in the direction of the bus terminal, stopping at a grocery store and an ATM on the way to prepare ourselves for our surely soon-to-be legendary excursion to Uspallata, where we intended to go hiking, or, in Spanish, because I don't know the direct translation for "hike," I've been telling people that "My friend and I are going to scale the mountains." Unfortunately for us, a bus had just left and the next wasn't for another two and a half hours. By the time we would arrive there after the two hour bus ride, we wouldn't have much daylight left, thus making the trip kind of pointless.

I was bummed out but it was alright because we took our tortitas and cheese and things to a nearby plaza and ate them and talked and wandered around the center in our hiking gear. It was actually a really nice morning and I got to finally buy a mate cup and some yerba (which looks a LOT like marijuana... I hope it doesn't cause any trouble when I'm going through airports...). Now we've decided to meet with some other friends for coffee in this beautiful restaurant with probably one of the best views I've ever seen. (Maybe not including the London Eye, but the atmosphere of this place is much better and makes up for it.) Because Mendoza is kind of earthquake prone, most of the buildings are really short, so you don't have to be very high up to see everything.

I'm getting stressed out about the flights. I think as soon as I get to airport #2 in BA, I'll be able to calm down. At least all the hassle is top-heavy in that sense. And Lauren and I don't fly out of here until 4pm so it'll be nice to have the morning to relax and say goodbyes. But because I have a domestic flight first, I'm not supposed to bring as much luggage as I'm clearly going to require, meaning I have to pay for the extra. It's going to be pretty rough on my checking account. I figure this is the brokest I have ever been since I started working. I hope this is the brokest I ever have to be.

Surprisingly, I'm almost done packing and I think everything will fit! I can't believe it! Last semester I was breaking my suitcases with popping zippers! I left a few things behind- Argentine hair dryer, a towel, some clothes I haven't worn in forever. I'm so relieved! I used so many exclamation points in one paragraph!

On the whole, I'm really looking forward to coming home. I'm going to miss here and I'm going to miss these people, but I've got some good plans in the works for this summer and it's not looking half bad.

Happy Fourth of July, Estadounidenses! Enjoy it for me.

Things are getting really sad. All these people are leaving already and it's hard saying goodbye all the time. I'm still here until Sunday with nothing really to do but pack and buy presents and hang out with other sad people.

I really just wish I was going to be home for the 4th of July. I don't think I've ever missed the fireworks before.

Last night, after shopping with a friend, I came into my room to the opening few seconds of Jet's Are You Gonna Be My Girl. For years, I've been thinking about how cool it would be if my life were soundtracked and music followed me, appropriately changing songs to fit each situation. Sometimes I'll be somewhere and think how even more perfect the moment would be if the right song were playing in the background. So when I entered my room to a pretty bangin tune, I wasn't disconcerted in the slightest.

Unfortunately, my wildest dreams had not come true, but our maid, Luisa, had somehow managed to turn on my iTunes while she was cleaning my room the previous afternoon. I don't know if she did this on purpose to help the cleaning go quicker, but I think if she had, she would've turned it off before she left. And something tells me she wouldn't have chosen almost an hour and a half of Girl Talk. Instead, I think it was accidental and she probably spent a good amount of time frantically hunched over my laptop, trying to figure out to stop it, or at least turn down the volume.

It still makes me uncomfortable to have her clean my room. I always try to straighten up before she comes in. She's probably the only person aside from myself to fully comprehend just how much of a pack rat I am. I keep everything, especially here, because I rationalize that I'm collecting souvenirs when really I've just amassed a large quantity of rubbish.

Packing is going to be hell.

We had our farewell dinner, which was really fun but sad and the food was DELICIOUS. The beef here is just incredible. I'm never going to be able to enjoy a steak in the United States ever again.

My cell phone has broken mysteriously, which makes communication with my friends here problematic and also leaves me lacking an alarm clock. Luckily all of my classes are over so I don't have anything in particular to wake up for. It's actually kind of liberating, in a way. I like not having to check it every five seconds.

Most of my grades are in (drum roll, please)...
Tecnicas Vocales: 9
Luminotecnia: 10
Castellano: 7
Tecnicas Corporales: 9

The only one I still haven't heard from is Desarrollo but I feel pretty good about it. My presentation, which basically turned into the development of theater in Argentina, with a slight emphasis on the military dictatorship era, went well and I liked talking about it. (Those are all out of 10, by the way. But it isn't like a percentage; the breakdown is more like 10= A+, 9=A, 8=B+, 7=B, etc.) So really, I'm pretty proud of this semester.

Here's the difference between speaking Spanish and English for me:
In English, words mean things. An "apple" is an apple. But in Spanish, words are just words or concepts at best. A "manzana" doesn't immediately call up the image or taste of an apple, but first I think, "Ok. In English, it's... uh, food... fruit, yes... apple. Ok, in this context..." And in Castellano, "manzana" also means a city block. I'm proud of myself for knowing these two different definitions so every time I hear "manzana," I think "right now, she's talking about the food, but she could've meant..." and in English, I don't have to go through those steps. It's just "apple." Not "manzana=apple." That's what it's like to try to understand a foreign language. It's constant decoding. A perpetual puzzle. I kind of like it. It's fascinating and really rewarding sometimes. But other times, it drives me nuts.

Sometimes I just give up. If I'm having too much trouble understanding someone speaking Spanish, I usually just agree to whatever it is they're saying and hope for the best. Fingers crossed, so far, this hasn't caused any catastrophes. But it's occurring to me that for the amount of the preceding conversation that I usually understand, I give my signature response, a thumbs-up and a wink,  way too often.

I've gained a new appreciation for English. The other day someone told me, "Boy, you're really going to town on those things" and it was so refreshing. I ache for those weird expressions. It's amazing how important language is to me. I never realized. The problem is that I can't control the way I sound in Spanish. I can't change the tone of my words to respectful or casual or joking except by vocal inflection and body language. I only know so many words for "walk," for example. I couldn't easily say strut, saunter, mosey, hurry, stroll, or march. I also don't have voices in Spanish. I have one personality and that is shy, afraid, socially retarded foreign exchange student.

The other day, some COPA friends and I were riding the bus, talking in Spanish, and someone mentioned a bird but they used the wrong pronunciation of the word, so another friend corrected her. (This is a pretty regular occurrence.) Then it turned into all of us trying out the word, sounding it out, seeing if we'd been saying it correctly. To Mendocinos on the bus that night, we were just a bunch of foreign kids saying, very seriously, "Bird?" "Yeah, bird." "Bird." "Bird!" "Bird?" "No, bird." "Like this: bird." "Ohhhh bird!"

Ok, one more, because it's just so perfect...

Today, instead of an anecdote from my adventures in Argentina, I think it's time I introduced you to Argentine television. My family looooooves this show, "Bailando por un Sueno" (Dancing for a Dream) so we watch it every night during dinner.

Enjoy.

I'm in a cafe about two blocks from my house, ostensibly doing homework and writing what will be a 7 page paper about the relationship between theatre and the government in Argentina, with a focus on the Dirty War years. I'm not doing too badly, either, for having a Tuesday due date. It's going well. It's something that I'm really interested in and after the 30 page dissertation last semester, this is a piece of cake, even if it is in my second language.

My Corporales final was weird. All week, I'd been trying to find ways to comfortably "explode" on stage in the sequence I'd designed and I finally decided I'd have to scrap the whole thing altogether and start over. But I was so intimidated by this idea that I was reluctant to work on it very much and I ended up improvising it when I got there. But I think I did okay.

Last night, I went to see Javier Rodriguez (an apparently very famous tango singer) and friends perform at the Teatro Independencia. I really like that theater. It reminds me of the Theatre Royal Bath but smaller and the chandelier has an Argentine flair. Sr. Rodriguez's voice was beautiful but the show was a little boring. Strangely, there were four encores even though the audience wasn't applauding that loudly. These encores were so obviously planned that for one of them, they used an accordion for the first time though it had been on stage all night. Afterwards, we went out to eat around midnight and talked about how culturally unacceptable it would be to eat dinner at midnight in the United States. Restaurants wouldn't even be open, but here, they're still packed and going strong. People aren't just coming for drunk pizza either, but actual, dignified meals.

Two weeks from right now, I will be in Buenos Aires. Plus one day and I will be in Maryland. That sounds so strange and impossible. What a year it's been! Part of me wishes I could go on and on, spending four month segments in every country in the world but then sometimes I feel like maybe it's finally time to just come home.

Today I had two exams so I was muy stressed out but I got a 9/10 in Vocales!!! I don't know how I did in Luminotecnia yet, but I feel pretty good about it. In fact, I'm so happy right now I want to say irrational things like "I love my whole life; every minute of it! The world is perfect!" with such conviction you'd laugh.

But. Three more exams this week. Keeping my nose to the grindstone til Thursday.


Fotografias of our journey to the Potrerillos (in a really complicated album also containing Orientation in BsAs and some pictures of my host family's house and junk):
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2031976&l=d3c4a&id=19302926

This weekend started out being very academic. I wasn't necessarily studying all that much, but I gave serious consideration to the idea of studying, which seemed to be about all I could handle. The weird thing is that I still stress about exams even when I'm procrastinating so I reluctantly worked my way through some notes. Saturday night, I went to a friend's birthday party, which was a grand time. It was during this fiesta that I got talked into joining ten of my American student comrades in an overnight jaunt to the Potrerillos, a touristy scenic spot practically right in the Andes.

Sunday afternoon, we took the hour and fifteen minute bus ride to the cabana we'd rented called Los Troncos. It was rustic but cute and we went outside to enjoy the beautiful day. Some went hiking while the rest of us walked to a local kiosk/market to get food for dinner. When we came back, a man working at the cabanas place offered to take us on a brief trek to see a waterfall. It was mildly dangerous, but I was wearing my xhardcorex hiking boots which means I could tackle anything. We dutifully followed our unintelligible guide up and down some pretty steep inclines, getting dirty and stabbed with thorny bushes and sweating even though it was chilly and the sun was setting. In other words, it was perfect.

We soon learned that this Argentine man not only possessed the agility of a mountain goat, but a resourcefulness not seen since MacGyver. We had to cross several rather wide streams and after he bounded across them, he would go off in search of a tree trunk or boulder and plop it into the water to make it easier for the rest of us to cross. As we were hiking down some particularly vertical parts of the path, he would stand at the bottom with his arms out to catch us, or at least break the fall. Then he eventually realized that we had taken the wrong path and the waterfall he wanted to show us was another three kilometers off but dusk was settling in almost alarmingly quickly so we called it a day and headed back over the streams and up the mountains.

We went home and made dinner, which was delicious. It was a mix of three different kinds of pasta sauce: tomato spaghetti sauce, pizza sauce, and beet sauce (it was bought by mistake... listen, it's harder than you'd think- grocery shopping in Spanish) and chunks of fresh tomato and sausage that we grilled ourselves! I was really impressed with us, actually. Afterwards, we hung out and talked and played the Spanish version of Scrabble, "Cructograma" or something like that, with made up words. I actually- get this- brought my homework and did a little. I was so surprised at myself. But that just goes to show how stressed about these exams I really am.

This morning, we caught a 10:30 bus back to Mendoza. I had been gone for twenty-four hours and spent twenty American dollars. But I had so much fun. I laughed harder last night than I've laughed in a long time. Though I didn't want to bring it up then, it was making me think about how much I'm going to miss these people in a few weeks.

But for now, it's back to the books (or photocopies, rather).
Two finals tomorrow. One the day after. Two the day after that.
Gah.

It's going to be a long weekend in as many senses of the word as I can think of. Monday is a holiday so we're off of school and everything in town is shut down but I've got so many tests and things due between next Tuesday-Thursday that I doubt I'll have the chance to enjoy any of it. Two tests Tuesday, one test Wednesday, one paper and one movement due Thursday. Then a paper and presentation due the following Tuesday. I have a lot of work ahead of me.

I had Tecnicas Corporales today, which is getting to be a little tiring. We keep doing these physical exercises that don't hold any real importance for me. I don't feel myself getting anything out of it. The worst part is when our prof is explaining it and then says "Ok, go!" but I don't understand the directions, so I have to look around to see what everyone else is doing and sort of copy them (which is pretty much how I get by in most situations here) which makes it really difficult to feel like I'm being even in the least bit creative. I'm imitating more than inventing. Very artistically frustrating. I had a long talk with my prof after class and he told me that I had a really good intellectual grasp on the material but that I needed to loosen up. "If you want to be an actress, you have to learn to EXPLODE!" So that's my homework. Explode.


I'm really surprised that I've gone this long without enlightening you, dear readers, on the wonder of Argentina's national addiction: mate. Mate (pronounced MAH-tay) is a type of tea from yerba mate leaves and preparing it is an art. From what I gather, you take your mate cup, which is usually made out of a hollow gourd, or a piece of gourd-shaped wood, and fill it a little over halfway with yerba mate. It can be kind of strong and bitter, so if you're a wimp, you pile on the sugar. Next, you pour in almost boiling water, which is available everywhere. Really. Even gas stations have little machines where you can put in 50 centavos or something and fill your thermos. My host parents always have some really hot water on hand. After it's brimming with scalding hot water and crumbly dried green leaves, you take a metal straw called a "bombilla" and push it into your gourd. The straw has one bulbous end with tiny holes to filter out the chunks so that's the end that goes into the mate and what have you got? Argentina's national drink!

Not only is it a delicious, caffeinated beverage, but also a social tradition. I've never had it with my host parents. I know they drink it after the siesta, but I'm usually at school. I drink it most when I'm in class. A true Argentine never leaves the house without their yerba leaves, gourd, bombilla, and thermos of hot water. A few kids in my classes come equipped and make it for everyone. We take turns drinking a gourd's worth of the brew and then pass it back so that the mate-maker can refill it for the next person. It's kind of fun. I'm not very good at making it- I always seem to get the ratio of water to tea leaves wrong somehow, but I'll get better and make it for everyone when I come home!


Yesterday, I had to go recharge my bus pass and it was a beautiful day so I walked the 14 blocks to the dark, caged, little window where you hand a man your bus card, discount ID, and 20 pesos to put more money on it. I like running errands like this. It makes me feel like I'm really at home in a place. But on the way, I was walking through a residential area and I passed an open garage. There was a man sitting behind a brown card table with massive, sagging bags of dry dog food on the floor, lining the walls. The man, the table, the garage, and the bags of dog food all appeared to have seen better days, and perhaps a very, very long time ago. When I walked by, the balding guy looked up expectantly behind glasses so thick that they magnified his eyes to grossly unhuman proportions. It was such a pathetic looking enterprise that I felt compelled to enter.

Because of my impulsive decision, I had to sort of abruptly stop and turn, which must have seemed strange. I said "hola" to the man behind the table and he gruffly returned my greeting, looking at me suspiciously with his bug-like eyes. When I got closer, I saw that there were eager, homemade paper signs hung up on the walls of the garage, saying things like "DISCOUNT! DISCOUNT!" in wobbly magic marker. He asked what I wanted and I suddenly realized that I had no answer to that question. I didn't need a bag of dog food that weighs more than I do. In fact, I didn't need any dog food at all. I told him that I was just looking, which again, must have looked really strange. A young foreign girl with a thick accent walks into your garage to peruse your stock of dog food which she evidently has no intention of buying. He looked annoyed, which I didn't understand. It wasn't as though the garage was bustling with customers. I was the only person walking down that block, even. It occurred to me that maybe he wasn't actually selling dog food at all but drugs or something instead and the dog food business was a cover. I mean, who sets up a store that solely carries huge bags of kibble in their garage? Eventually I thanked him and left as he continued to glare.

I don't really have a good ending to that story. I still don't know what's going on with that man and his thick glasses and his big bags of Purina or why he seemed to dislike me so much. Just one of those unexplained mysteries of Argentina, I guess.

Ok, so loyal readers of this thing will remember the entry dedicated to Olga, the Mexican foreign exchange student who lived with us for a year when I was in middle school. Well, thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I just found her on facebook and we started talking! It's so funny! I apologized for being such a stupid brat when she knew me and we caught up- she's an architect and now living in a different part of Mexico, on the beach! When I told her Joe is in college, she flipped out about how much time has passed... (Mom, Dad, she sends mucho amor...) Anyway, I feel really good now. I can't believe I just got to have that conversation with her! I've been thinking about her so much lately. I understand a lot more about what she was going through back then. Talking to her was so strangely... cathartic.

On the academic front, I got an extension on two of my finals but now they're both postponed to the same day... gah.
And today in Luminotecnia, we were looking at these tinted color slides. They're called "gels" in "the biz." (...but have you ever noticed that the only people who ever call it "the biz" are either complete tools or have absolutely nothing to do with the business they so long to be a part of? so that would make me....?) Anyway. These colored pieces of plastic all had very specific and creative names for their particular shades in English, so the professor asked me to translate a few.

The first was "Cherry Red." No problem.

The second? "Light Bastard Amber."

I'm FINALLY better and making up for two weeks of having no appetite and being incapable of keeping food in my stomach anyway. Friday night, seven of us went to an Indian restaurant called Karma in Chacras. It was something like a 20-30 minute bus ride, which is pretty far outside of the city, but it's still the closest Indian restaurant we know of. But we've all been craving some sort of spicy ethnic food for ages. In Mendoza, there doesn't seem to be a lot of variety in its restaurants. We eat a lot of pizza, pasta, and meat. We wandered around a bit but eventually found the address and went in the nondescript door.

For one thing, Brad Pitt dined there during the filming of Seven Years in Tibet (for which, by the way, Pitt was voted third of the all-time worst film accents in a poll by the BBC) and there were all these signed "To Karma From Brad" pictures. So based on that fact alone, I knew we were in for a culinary thrill. The menu was small but I got tea and something with spinach and tofu, which was alright. Kind of on the pricey side, but celebrating my consumption of food other than Cerealitas (cookies that taste like Teddy Grahams) was well worth it.


And lately, I've been noticing the way I'm talked about by Argentines and I think they might take offense to the way we refer to ourselves as "Americans." I usually use "estadounidense" (the adjective for someone from the United States... think "United States-ian") when talking about my nationality and they sometimes use "norteamericana" (North American), careful to differentiate between the North and South Americas.

I suppose, to be fair, "American" should really encapsulate both continents. Who are we in the U.S. to call ourselves "Americans"? Technically, aren't Argentines and Brazilians and Chileans "Americans" too? (Haha not that they'd ever like to think of themselves as being associated with the States...) I don't know. It's something to think about. It's quite something to have someone inform you that the country you come from is not what it calls itself.

It was cold outside today. And I mean COLD. Like a scarf, hat, gloves, bust out the overcoat-that-you-felt-stupid-for-bringing-to-Argentina-up-until-today kind of chill. I could see my breath as I was riding the bus home tonight.

Also. Today I found out that my final paper for Desarrollo is due on the same day as my Vocales final. And to top it all off, my Luminotecnia final could very well be on that day too.

Oh boy.

I finally went to the doctor. Even the calling was a hassle. I'd just thrown up and I felt miserable and my host mom said it was high time I called DAMSU, the university health clinic. I didn't want to use my cell phone because it would waste precious minutes and it was a local call, so I used my room phone. I accidentally called various rooms in the house before realizing I needed to press 0 first.

Eventually, I called the number printed on my UNCuyo ID card, which turned out to be the emergency ambulance number. I didn't realize this until after I'd already given them my information and address. The man on the phone said, to my alarm, "We'll see you in 10-15 minutes," to which I said, "Wait wait wait, today?!" (The "wait" part being totally in English.) We sorted things out, he gave me the correct number, and I tried again. Luisa, the maid, came upstairs- I guess she'd heard all the phones in the house ringing and then couldn't get a hold of me because my line was busy- and found me laying on my bed, crying, with the phone to my ear. She helped me out. Sometimes I don't know how I'd get by here without her.

It took awhile to get the call to go through and finally when someone picked up, they couldn't hear me and kept asking me to speak louder. I was all but yelling into the phone "HELLO! MY NAME IS LEE BLASER! I NEED TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT! PLEASE!"
"What?"
"An appointment."
No response.
"An appointment. An appointment? AN APPOINTMENT?" (Sometimes when someone doesn't know what you're saying but you know you have the right word, you're pronouncing it wrong, so I like to just go through and emphasize each syllable in a variety of ways to see which one is finally recognizable.)
"Ohhhhh! Sure! An appointment!"

The next day, when I went to the health clinic, I saw a Dr. Fereyra. I'd looked up all my symptoms in my dictionary and written them down the day before, so I essentially just handed him this wrinkled piece of paper, which also included all my notes from the phone fiasco the day before, like three different DAMSU numbers, his name misspelled, and the time of our appointment. (At least it wasn't tear-stained or vomit-sprinkled.) He diagnosed me within the first two minutes as having "Gastroesteritis agudo" or something like that. He examined me a little bit but stuck to his original decision. He told me I needed to take some pills and drops and sent me on my way. I didn't have to pay for my visit or the medicine that I was prescribed and was being sold in the same building. It was so simple!

Anyway, I'm still feeling kind of crummy today but I'm hoping that goes away soon...? Time will tell.

I have been in Argentina for three whole months, which leaves me with a little over a month and a half left. That's blowing my mind.