Uruguay

 As the sun fell on a peaceful Uruguay Saturday night, I prepared to embark on a three-hour voyage to Buenos Aires. The past three days had been filled with beach induced suntans, landscape photos, and a mountain of juicy empanadas. I was in Uruguay because I went on a trip with the members of my program out of a desire to see the nearby Uruguay culture (not to mention the beaches). On my trip to Uruguay and on the return, I used a plethora of public transportation methods. Each of them unique, I would like to share my experiences with two in particular.

The first part of the return was the bus ride from Montevideo to the Uruguayan city of Colonia. Montevideo is a beautiful beach town with a center that can only be described as quaint. As the bus rolled out of the station that Saturday evening, I was tired from the sun, and already full of a nostalgia for the beach paradise. What surprised me was what I noticed just 20 minutes later.

As the city fell behind us, I looked around and noticed that the bus was surrounded by green. In every direction there were rolling hills of farmland, that resembled the scenery of various Latin American novels I thought were just myths. For miles, I could see nothing, but green, freckled with black and white cows, aimlessly chowing on grass. Little did they know, they were being prepared for their inevitable future home on my plate. As the bus continued down the two-lane road, I found myself feeling as if we were going in circles because the endless farmland repeated over and over. Every once in awhile, this would be interrupted by the “town center,” consisting of a few small homes, and a one or two small stores. After this, it returned to endless farmland. 

This voyage was eye-opening because I saw a world I didn’t think existed. I saw the way people lived in a completely foreign country. On the trip, I saw a woman walking on the side of the road. It was at this moment that I looked around and realized that there was nothing in any direction. I wondered where this woman was going. It was at this moment when I realized that the story of a person walking a mile to borrow butter, was not reserved for ancient life, but continues today.

After falling asleep against the window, I arose to a screech of the breaks, as we pulled into the port of Colonia. After a quick transfer and a couple of Cafés con Leche, I entered into my next part of the trip: The ferry. The boat, which resembled the Titanic, stood tall and powerful. Rocking back and forth, I prepared for departure, and put in my IPod. A few minutes later, my dubstep version of a Don’t Stop Believing was interrupted by a loud smashing noise and a burst of chatter from people on the boat. Everywhere there was chaos. People were yelling, and running to the back of the cabin. I had thought that the boat had made its final transition into actually being the Titanic. That’s when the voice crackled over the speakers in a soft, tranquil Spanish voice. “Calmate” the voice chirped. “Todo está bien!” It was at this point, when I walked over to the other side of the boat, and saw that a window shattered open due to the pressure. Temporary terrified, I made for the exit, along with the hundreds of other passengers. In the terminal, I saw couples holding each other tight, adults calling their loved ones, and a child petting his dog aggressively. The incident was hardly a serious one, and yet it somehow made people, including me, realize what is most important in life.

One coffee, an hour-long boat ride, and one taxi ride later I was back in my home in Buenos Aires. Lying in my bed, my experiences stuck with me. The bus showed me another world, and the boat warned me of the unexpectedness of every day life. I went to sleep that night happy to live in a comfortable home, in a safe city with close friends at home and abroad. Before going to sleep, I skyped those close to me, and felt glad to be alive. 

Antelope

As I drifted across the blue skies in my humongous Delta aircraft, I began to imagine what lay on the other side of my fifteen-hour journey. As the plane rocked gracefully towards Argentina, my home for the next six months, I thought back to everything I had learned about Latin America. I had an image form in my mind: I expected a dusty barrio, full of profound cultural practices and distinct foods as spicy as they were tasty. I envisioned a world as different from the Western world as Narnia or Hogwartz. I signed up for Argentina, because I wanted to learn more about this mystery of a land, which I knew so little about.

That was when I got off the plane. Much to my surprise, it looked like Europe. This was the single most shocking realization I had when I landed. One of the administrators of my program, Marcelo told me that it was that characteristic that made Argentina so interesting.

“They call the US the Melting Pot,” he explained. “Well, Argentina is more like Fondue.”

He said that this analogy is perfect because the culture of Argentina can’t be defined by one culture, or even a few. When you look down a street in Argentina, you see glimpses of French dining and Spanish music. When you walk down the beautiful stone walkways, you can sense the Italian-influenced architecture. When you drive around the city, you can admire clocktowers from England and a pubs from Germany. You can enjoy Latin American Tango dancing, where it all began and you can chow down on a steak from the country ranches, just miles away (Or antelope as I learned at dinner yesterday). All of these cultural factors are present in this country, creating one unique lifestyle unmatched by any country in the world.

In four days, I have gained some perspective, interacted with some people and enjoyed new music, landmarks and food. And yet I realize that I have so much more to learn about this country. I have seen Argentina with my own eyes, and yet it still remains as big of a mystery as it was the day I left for Logan airport one week ago. Six months from now, I hope to understand this country. Until then, all I can do is take that first bite into the Antelope that is travelling, and see where it takes me.