Basketball

Disclaimer, this posting is about basketball. If you are not a fan, you might want to skip this excerpt.

When I first got on the plane for Buenos Aires, I expected to find basketball courts on every corner. With players like Manu Ginóbili, Luis Scola and Carlos Delfino and one of the best national teams, I was sure that the country would be full of basketball fever. Much to my surprise though, that was not the case. Landing in Buenos Aires, it took me a month to find a suitable court.

Everywhere I went, I would be met by confused grimaces when I would ask for directions to a basketball court.

“Fútbol” my host mom would ask. “You wants find Fútbol?”

This was a common reaction. Nearly every park, road, dirt patch and school was filled with goals made of flag posts, backpacks, shoes and cones. It seemed like everywhere I’d look, I’d see an Argentina jersey of Messi or Higuaín. This country loves soccer. And yet, basketball was nearly impossible to find in Buenos Aires.

Curious about this, I asked the head of my program where all the ballers were. I asked him why it was that there were so few courts in Buenos Aires. He said that the answer was mostly due to social aspects. 

He said that basketball was entirely based on clubs in Argentina. Unlike the United States, where local courts were the norm, in Argentina, they were mostly indoor arenas, where you had to be on a club to play.

These clubs are most prevalent outside of Buenos Aires, he said. In the smaller neighborhoods where the community can rally around the clubs, basketball becomes a way of life. Meanwhile, the immense size of Buenos Aires makes community commitment to a team more difficult. There are clubs in Buenos Aires, but these clubs are typically less able to mobilize the community around them.

I searched the city, and found only one outdoor court, all the way on the other side of the city in an area called La Boca. This area, which was more than an hour away by bus, was simply too far to travel to consistently. It looked like basketball was going to have to wait until I got back to the United States.

That’s when I became a varsity athlete. Not quite sure what we were signing up for, my friend and I decided to put our names down for my university basketball team. In my eyes there were three options. Option one was that the skill level was similar to U.S. schools, in which case I would find myself a permanent spot on the bench. Option two was that the team would be of varied skill levels, where some would be much better than me, but I’d still be able to play. And three was that it would be a league of soccer players, dabbling in basketball, where I would be the Michael Jordan of the league.

Much to my disappointment, it was not option three and I am not the Argentine MJ. Luckily though, it wasn’t option one either. When I walked in for my first practice, I was met by a terrifying man with a stern face and a thick accent. This mammoth of a man, Trainer Horacio, was our head coach.  When I went to introduce myself, he gave me a grunt, and sent me on my way to warm up.

The first thing I noticed when I stepped on the court was the size of the hoop. It was a full half-foot shorter than a real hoop. Trying to set a good impression, I grabbed the provided ball, and dribbled towards the hoop. I took a jumper, and of course it was over shot, banging against the back of the tiny rim. Looking around, nobody was looking, so I grabbed the ball and tried again. This time I took a layup, and used the small hoop to my advantage. I slammed my hand against the backboard as I laid it in. 

Practices since that layup have gone well. Usually, we do a series of drills, followed by a relaxed scrimmage at the end of practice. This team that meets every Monday and Wednesday for two hours, already seems like a great experience. I recommend it to any future students at UCA. It’s laid-back, it’s good practice for basketball and Spanish, and it’s a great way to meet Argentine students. Not to mention, I get to say that I am a varsity athlete.

Next stop is the GW Basketball team.

Iguazú

“You might get a little wet,” a stout Argentinian tour guide yelled in broken English, over the roar of a boat engine. “These waves get a little crazy!” As the tour boat flew down the canyon filled steam in Iguazú, the water glistened and rose into the faces of the passengers. On either side of the river were two humongous walls of tropical green moss and bright red rocks. On the left side was Brazil. On the right was Argentina.

“Everybody get ready!” the man yelled as the boat neared a corner. Suddenly, as the boat turned the corner, a humongous waterfall jumped into sight. As the boat set course and headed straight for the momentous falls, tourists started yelling in excitement and grabbed their cameras to take some pictures.

“You might wanna cover your cameras,” he yelled. The boat neared closer and closer to the forceful waterfall. 300 feet. 200 feet. 100 feet. 50 feet. Much to our surprise, the boat just continued on towards the waterfall without stopping. As we stopped nearly under the fall, the boat got drenched with water, as pounds of water fell upon our heads. We were immersed in the fall. Hidden under the forceful hand of nature, everyone started laughing in nervous excitement.

We then pulled out of the fall, and looked back at it as it gracefully and beautifully fell in the distance. As we got off of the boat, in the small trail nearby, we were drenched in water and ecstatic from the adrenaline-filled boat ride. After rinsing our clothes and taking a quick breath, we then began our voyage to the top of the waterfall. After about 20 minutes of zig-zagging through the Jurassic park – like trail, we reached the top of the waterfall.

I recall looking down at the wilderness from this high viewpoint. I imagined what it must have been like for the indigenous explorers who first saw this place centuries ago. I could imagine them walking upon this paradise, before it had built in walkways and fat tourists with cameras. I could imagine the way they looked down the waterfall, and saw the abundant power of nature’s streams. Standing above the waterfall, in the same place as they once stood, I could understand why people believed and still do believe in god.

After taking in the beauty, we then took a trolley to the most famous waterfall in Iguazú, called la Garganta del Diablo. This site was astonishing. This waterfall was a large oval canyon where water fell down from every direction. The entire area was full of rising white mist, due to the pressure of the water. Looking at the magnificent hole in the ground, I felt as if humans were very small weak.

The next day, my group ventured out to the sub-tropical jungle. The characteristic of this trip that jumped out at me first was the bright red soil that lined all the paths in this area. As we drove down the path towards the jungle, we passed various Indigenous communities. Outside of the small, impoverished homes were families sitting outside in the warm weather, eating, drinking, and fighting off the heat.

Once we reached the woods, the first stop was a Zip Lining course. As I walked up the wooden stairwell and stood under the metallic line, I felt my hear pounding and my nerves growing. I looked down at the large drop to the ground, and felt my head start to shake. I suddenly felt as if I had forgotten how to stand, and thought I would undoubtedly fall over myself if I tried to walk. But my legs stood strong. Suddenly it was my turn. The guide took my harness and attached it the line.

“Estás listo,” he said.

“Pienso que sí,” I responded.

“OK,” he nodded. And then he pushed me off. A wave of excitement hit me as I started to glide across the wire.

“HOOOOLLLLLLYYYYY SHIIIIIITTTTT,” I yelled as I passed over hundreds of trees. “I AM THE CHAMPION!”

After stopping after the first round of zip lining, I then began the second. On this trip, I took a moment to look out at the wilderness that surrounded me. As far as my eyes could see was the jungle. I felt like I was on the island in “Lost.” It was amazing to be in such a different place than I had ever seen.

When the zip lining was finished, we continued on the trail towards a running river, which lead to a small waterfall in the jungle. It was in this environment, where we did some propelling. Connected to a harness, we slowly climbed down the waterfall, jumping from rock to rock, trying not to slip on the smooth, wet rocks, and avoiding the water as best as we could. Not surprisingly, we all got pretty wet, and the guide holding us up with the rope got a good work out.

We then headed home, tired from a long voyage, and content with the new experience. As I sat down in the van to go home, I closed my eyes and thought back to the great sites I had seen. I put in my headphones, and relaxed as “Welcome to the Jungle” played in my ears.

Being an American in Argentina

            I can speak with my thickest Argentine accent, I can wear tight designer jeans and a futból jersey, and I can keep my maps locked away at home, but no matter what I do, it will always be obvious that I am an American.

            When I first came to Buenos Aires, my friends and I went to a diner. Tired from orientation, our group of 10 was excited to chow down on some food and relax. It was at this point when an Argentine man at the table next to us, turned to our group and with an eager smile and a condescending voice spoke to us: “Americans??” he asked. “Like you the Lakers? Kobe Bryant!! Caliiifornia!”

            We nodded and smiled until he went away. This is just one of the many ways Argentinians treat people from the United States. We’ll call this the “Condescending-you-are-a-stupid-tourist-treatment”. This type of treatment can be initiated by a number of behaviors such as taking pictures of statues in public, holding large maps in the air, asking questions in broken Spanish or by wearing hats, something that I’ve found is very foreign here.

            Once you get past this initial condescension though, a very complicated relation develops between United States visitors and Argentine locals. The way Argentineans perceive Americans is very unique because it is drastically different from the anti-western vibe found in some neighboring countries, but it also is far from a fully supportive nation.

            When I left for Argentina, I figured that it would be all anti-United States. Afterall, the two countries are far from close allies. Argentina President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner is a Socialist leader, who openly supports Hugo Chávez. In response, Obama gave her government the cold shoulder on his trip to Latin America. On this trip, he visited every major country in the region, except for Venezuela and Argentina.

            This anti-American sentiment didn’t dominate the public opinion though. In fact, one of the first things I noticed about Argentina was that America had a surprisingly large influence on the country. When I got to the Buenos Aires airport, I was welcomed by a chubby chauffer, wearing Levys and holding an IPhone. I stepped into his Ford van, and heard some terrible Katy Perry song, followed by an ad for Coca-Cola. As we drove, we passed 2 McDonalds, 2 Burger Kings, one Fridays and an uncountable amount of Starbucks coffees. That night, my host mother flicked through the channels passing over Los Simpsons, Transporter 2 and various American news stations. I quickly realized that in Argentina, people were far from separated from the United States.

            My host mother explained to me in a thick Argentine accent that America’s power was thus a double-edged sword. The typical Argentine was simultaneously aspiring to live the same comfortable lifestyle and hostile towards it at the same time. It was common amongst Argentines to consider people from the United States to be arrogant.

            She thought it was arrogant for example, that the majority of Americans could probably not place the countries of Latin America on a map. She credited this to the fact that most U.S. schools teach history in a Western-centric format (United States and Europe). When I thought back at my experience in school, I realized that this is undoubtedly true. For example, I learned about Cuba, when covering the Bay of Pigs. I learned about Argentina, when focusing on the British war over the Falklands. I learned about Panama, in regards to their heavily American influenced canal. Never was the focus completely separated from the American point of view.

            As an aspiring journalist, I can’t help but think about how the media might be partially to blame as well. It has been well documented that many countries around the world are conceptualized into a certain script that is hard to break. For example, the news will rarely do a story on an African country that doesn’t have to do with poverty or disease. Similarly, the news will rarely cover a story on Latin America that doesn’t have to do with crazed socialist dictators or violent drug cartels. This leads to an ignorance amongst Americans, that many Latin Americans see as arrogance.

            In my first month here though, I’ve never had someone be rude to me. I’ve had Taxi drivers announce how much they wished to travel to the States, I’ve had students in my class tell me how much they loved the NBA and I even met one Bolivian tourist who said that is was our stubborn dedication to freedom that made us so admirable. 

Top Five Characterisitcs of Buenos Aires

When asked to write a blog on the top five aspects of studying abroad in Buenos Aires, I found it very difficult to limit my thoughts to just five things. In the short three weeks that I’ve been here, I’ve seen so many amazing things, and grown attached to this city in a plethora of ways. Of all these reasons, none stand out more than the food, the coffee, the weather, the music and the nightlife.

People that know me would not be surprised to hear that food is on this list. In my life, I’ve always been the eat-first, ask-later type of person, and for this reason, my time in Buenos Aires has been both interesting and filling. To begin, I’ve had some of the greatest, juiciest meat I’ve ever had, while studying abroad here. If you are a vegetarian, maybe you should rethink visiting Buenos Aires because you might be converted by visiting. (Although we have one vegan in the program who hasn’t broke yet.)

While here I’ve eaten chorizos, chicken, beef, pork, lamb and even antelope (see blog 1). Although I’ve found one item I detest (blood sausage), I have found countless of other foods that have been amazing. On Saturday, our group travelled to El Campo, and had an amazing meal of chicken and beef. The tender chewy pieces of beef, that were probably moo-ing not that long before I ate, were the best I’ve ever had in my life. Also worth visiting are the ice cream shops that sell at minimum 30 flavors. The ice cream in even the smallest of shops put US ice cream stores to shame.

Although I could make this blog entirely about food, I will move on to another part of Buenos Aires that I love, although it still focuses on the kitchen. The coffee here is amazing. Although, I am sometimes frustrated with the small portions they give here, the quality is significantly better. Even the Starbucks coffee, which can be found all over the city, is better. To begin, Starbuck’s Dulce de Leche is the greatest cup of coffee I’ve ever had. Dulce de leche is basically caramel, sugar and milk, although it has something else that I can’t place, but enjoy nonetheless. Even the Starbucks food is better here. The crumbling cookies and tiny donuts of the states fall weak in comparison to the various cakes, pies and monstrous pastries on display in Buenos Aires. They even have bagels that are literally the size of a medium-sized child’s face.

Enough about food and drinks though! The third aspect of Buenos Aires that I love has been the weather. When I left Boston, I sported a long sleeve shirt, a blazer, and a jacket to try and protect myself against the frigid, cold air. When I arrived to Buenos Aires though, the first thing I noticed was the heat. As I walked out of the airport, a sign glared the number 30 degrees Celsius. Unaware of what this temperature equaled, I looked up the conversion to Fahrenheit: 85 degrees. This I could get used to. As I stuffed my jackets and blazers back into my suitcase, I got excited for pinnie weather again. For the three weeks that have followed, the temperature has remained at a pleasant temperature of 70 to 80 degrees. During this time, I’ve gone to the beaches of Uruguay, listened to music in the centers of Buenos Aires, and have played futból in the parks of Recoletta (my neighborhood). People in the US: Don’t be too jealous though. Although it is summer now, come July, it will be winter and I will be wearing jackets and studying for exams, while you are out enjoying the heat of summer. I asked my host mom what the winter weather was like here. Mournfully, she told me it fell to between 0 and 5 degrees Celsius. Dreading what I was going to find, I plugged it into the converter: 30 – 40 degrees. I’m from Boston. That’s nothing.

The fourth aspect I love about Buenos Aires, has been the music. It all started on the second night I was here. I sat down for some dinner, which as explained in the first paragraph, was characteristically delicious. As I started to bite in, I noticed the sound of drums, booming over the Spanish chatter on the television. Interested, I headed outside after dinner. As I walked down the street, the banging got louder and louder with each step. All around me, children were running around, shooting shaving cream at each other and laughing. Couples were bursting into dancing, and restaurant owners sold cold Quilmes Cervezas for cheap.

Two blocks later, I found the source of the music. There were approximately 15 people, wearing colorful, purple and gold uniforms banging on the drums in unison. Each doing simple repetitive movements, the drummers did so in an organized way so that together, they made a clean beat. It reminded me of the opening ceremony for the Olympics in Beijing. In both situations, small individual actions contributed to a massive collective product. Standing in front was the leader, whistle in mouth, blowing in beat to signal what the next rhythm would be.

Meanwhile, the group was surrounded by nearly 30 men, women and children, wearing the same uniforms. All of them walked down the street doing the same uniform movements to the beat. In front was one boy holding a huge flag with their colors displayed on it. Despite being way too small to hold a flag of such a large size, he waved it in the air proudly. The dancing of the group was unlike anything I had ever seen. To put it directly, they had swag. For my readers over 30, this basically means they were “cool,” “hip,” “groovy,” and simply awesome. Even better about this whole spectacle, was that it continued every single night for the next week. Each night, a new group, rocking different uniforms and flags, would bang on the drums until 1:00 in the morning while the whole community came to the streets to celebrate. It was fun to watch.

The fifth thing that I have loved about Buenos Aires has been the nightlife. What’s great about this city is that it has something for everyone. There are countless Boliches (clubs) and bars all around the city. There are late-night clubs with loud music and large outdoor dance floors for single party animals looking for a date. There are sports bars, with glaring futból scores on flashing television screens. And there are even funky bars that have bizarre activities such as board games and archery. This city has everything.

All of these characteristics have made my trip great so far. The food has been mouthwatering, the coffee, unmatched, the weather, beautiful, the music, new and enjoyable and the nightlife, exciting. All I can do now is soak it all in and look for more activities to add to the list.