The Journey (And Other Explanations)

Okay. I’ve been sort of lax about this until now (meaning, um, I haven’t done it, period.) But I find myself re-writing the same things over and over again, to put in either my journal or assorted Internet correspondence. So here it is, for all who asked: a definitive summary of my days in Buenos Aires thus far (including the trip here, and the time spent outside city limits). It will be posted in pieces, because it is long, and I haven’t yet written everything up.

The flight left from Indianapolis the afternoon of Thursday, May 29th. After packing [too much] the night before, I headed down to Indy that morning with my parents, two suitcases, and a backpack. The first two items on that list were gone soon enough - the parents back home, the bags on forward, to eventually arrive in Buenos Aires. Armed with Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie, I sat at the gate, waiting patiently for Fate to come. Fate apparently took the form of a Purdue student named Mo, who came and introduced herself as another participant in the COPA Argentina summer program. (Or perhaps she said IFSA. I had never heard the acronym COPA before arriving here: funny that. You’d think they’d mention the name of the organization actually administering the program somewhere in the applications/admissions process.)

Anyway, we ended up boarding the plane, which was small and rather painful to my already cold-ridden sinuses, although only briefly. Regardless, I’m not complaining: piercing headache > vomiting or other airplane-related illness any day. The two of us arrived without much fuss at the Miami airport, where we ate Pizza Hut and waited. This wait was interceded by a creepy man who told Mo he was going to Iraq, asked for her e-mail address, and told her to be safe/careful. Repeatedly. All three. I feel like in this instance (unlike most others) my “youthful” looks were a good thing - he probably thought I was twelve and therefore left me alone.

The wait was also made easier by the airport’s WiFi, which allowed me to check my email and watch episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer online (after I had paid the $10 necessary to access it). I’m still on the second season - no spoilers, por favor. Anyway, the hours passed. Soon enough there was a large group of people waiting to board the plane. This transpired as expected, so the large group of people moved themselves on board and into their seats, and waited once more, this time for takeoff. This did not transpire as expected: a passenger was missing, but (unfortunately) her two checked bags were not. These had to be extricated from the plane before we could leave, and there was therefore a significant delay, during which I read more of the Rushdie novel. It’s fantastic. After takeoff, however, I slept for most of the flight (as I am luckily able to do).

Friday morning found us in Buenos Aires, and I my bags on the conveyor belt - pretty easily, although I wished I had packed less. Each student was then shipped to his/her respective host family’s home via taxi, and I was soon standing nervously outside the apartment. It was at this moment that I had an epiphany: the bizarre “10° C” in the address referred to the tenth (décimo) floor, apartment C, and not (as previously suspected) to some obscure portal outside the space-time continuum that opened into a home only when the outside air reached a specific temperature.

Anyway, I called up and was let into the apartment by my “host mother,” Estela, who is old, blond (probably fake?), and lives alone. She showed me elevator B and tried to learn my name (initially she went with “shoe-see,” but seems to now have switched to “roo-tee.”) We ascended to the tenth floor, entered the apartment … and were in my room. This weirded me out - would she have to pass through my room every time she entered and left? Would a burglar, finding himself unexpectedly in a bedroom, feel the need to silence the potential (though unlikely - I can sleep through anything) witness before continuing to whatever valuables lay within the house? Three days later, I realized there was another door out of the apartment (which I have no idea how to find from the outside). The first night, however, I ha difficulty falling asleep: Who knew who could enter and, driven to a startled panic by my presence, pull out the weapon concealed in his or her pocket and painfully take my life? Quick disclaimer - if you haven’t yet noticed, I’m a pessimist.

The rest of the first day was more or less uneventful: I unpacked, showered, lunched, orientated, tested, walked, dinnered, returned, slept, and thus ended my first day in Buenos Aires.