Rejuvenation.

Just two days ago, I was in the Grand Canyon of Argentina. It was absolutely spectacular, to say the least. Never in my life had I been enveloped by such massive mountains, crystal clear blue sky, and cacti as tall as myself. The journey to northern Argentina (Tilcara in the province of Jujuy) began on a rough early Thursday morning. After flying into Jujuy's sister province, Salta, all I could think about was food but helpless, as a 3 hour bus ride and 4 more hours of waiting separated me from rejuvenation. In fact, rejuvenation defined this weekend in every possible way.

The open vastness of this foreign world left me bare and exposed alongside Mother Nature and her children. But that is precisely why I love these settings. Only in such places am I able to clearly hear my own thoughts; silent is the formidably early morning honking 11 stories below, silent is the incessant tapping of the computer keyboard, and silent is the city of Buenos Aires. Alive is the free sprit, rejuvenated, unchained and ready to soar to conquer new and treacherous heights (literally). On Saturday, a mini bus (pretty much a van), meticulously weaved through stretches and stretches of mountains, ascending higher and higher with each turn of the steering wheel, until we rested 4,170 meters above sea level. That's 13,681 feet above the earth, half the altitude of the world's highest peak (29,028 feet). Thank goodness for the coca leaves which without, I probably would have colored the floor of the bus and left a mildly unpleasant odor. Initially skeptical about coca leaves' ability to cure altitude sickness-the act of chewing (but not swallowing) the leaves releases alkaloids, which widen the veins and allow for an increased flow of oxygen-they became the most prized possession among us travelers.

Just like our previous trip to San Antonio de Areco, breaking away from the city does wonders. I returned late Sunday night, exhausted and hungry (shouldn't be a surprise by now), but REJUVENATED and ready to tackle a formidable three weeks of academia.

Here are a few samples from the weekend scenery:








Mountains in Purmamarca. During this hike, I pretended I was Frodo.

Taken.

An interesting fact about UBA--the university is free for all. Regardless your social or religious background, as long as you possess an intermediate level of Spanish, UBA is your gateway to intellectual enlightenment. Wonderful, isn't it? Well actually, that's heavily influenced by two factors, as I've discovered in these past two weeks--one is politics and the other, politics. U.S. politics is a jumbled mess in and of itself and ultimately, inaction IS American politics. I don't know as much about Argentine national politics to make as assertive a statement, but based on my knowledge about Argentine local politics, I can tell you one thing: the UBA students are unfamiliar with the term 'inaction'.

We've all had cancelled classes due to snow days, yes? However, because snow doesn't exist in Buenos Aires, the city's ingenious students have discovered (for years now) another way to ensure cancelled classes. Here's the low down on the UBA strike, which is into its third week now. If you recall my earlier entry about the condition of the UBA facilities and its student demographic, the fact that the students have 'taken' all the academic buildings shouldn't be a shocker. At least from what I've heard/read from the news and been told by my Argentine classmates, the students are striking against the poor conditions at the academic facilities, which includes the absence of doors in the bathroom stalls, insufficient desks and chairs, and graffitied(?) mirrors. Moreover, the complaints extend to the the quality of the professors. I can tell you from firsthand experience that my UBA professors come to class sometimes half an hour late and unprepared. As such, the students are often left to conduct the class-more power to the students-and now, conduct a city-wide strike. The strike also carries deep political undertones, dissatisfaction with the Kirchner administration, but I don't know much more than that. Below, you'll find physical evidence from the recent weeks (sorry for stealing your pictures Sarah!)






Yes, some classes were conducted in hallways.


I have a midterm scheduled for October 7th. I haven't had class for the past two and a half weeks. Good luck?

The students just took the streets an hour ago, armed with their spray painted flags, signs and pamphlets, each condemning the Kirchner administration in some way or form. The television stations have rolled their trucks out, the steady beat of drums echoes throughout the city, and the only talk on the streets is the student's talk. Pictures below.



Blocking the street...


....street blocked.....


.......and they're off. This, this is the fight for public education.

Ludicrousness.

The weather gods finally decided to bestow the city with a beautiful and sunny day. Where was I? Shamefully, indoors. Although I successfully conquered some 50 pages about the various definitions and factions of Latin American populism, I should have been outside, or at least studying with a friend in a street corner cafe. Why I opted for the less attractive option, I don't know, really. It's not even the case that I'm in over my head with reading. Moreover, I denied an invitation to attend an asado (a wood fired barbecue) at a friend's house outside the city. What is this ludicrousness?

City Beneath My Feet.

Change.

It induces revolution, conflict and challenges. For me, it has always signified independence. Last weekend, I finally realized the change in host family and moved into my new home. I now share a cozy little apartment with a 56 year old tango professor. The space is decorated with antiques, porcelain dancer figurines and dust-coated books, all of which relate to Alicia (my host mother)'s dying passion for tango. Despite her debil appearance, Alicia's energy-laden 20 year old radiates through her wrinkled skin. In fact, this entire city is young at heart.

So much has happened during my two week absence from blogging (apologies), that I don't even know where to begin. Classes are growing denser and denser, with parciales (midterm exams) hovering around the corner. I have yet to find a within-budget gym (the 100 meter long blocks and excessive traffic lights couldn't make for a more choppier run), that'll trim the calories resting so comfortably inside me. This past month of August was the 'Festival y Mundial de Tango 2010', in which renowned tango dancers from all corners of the globe flocked to Buenos Aires. Aside from the city's claim to asado (carne), occasionally soccer (Argentina creamed Spain today, 4:1), and the Europe of the South, it bleeds tango. I had slight tango fever this past weekend; a group of students from the program attended a tango class at La Catedral, an underground milonga (tango dance hall). 'Underground' because it is located outside the 'central circuit' of milongas, and more interestingly (according to Alicia), because the 20 year olds sell porro (pot) as well as their tango skills. However, the class taught me little more than how to take long strides forward and backward across the floor. And it finally seems like the city has caught spring fever; chilly winds and puffy coats can retire, until I meet Maine winter again.

Yesterday morning, I had the city of Buenos Aires beneath my feet. Alone on the 16th floor terrace, I savored my 360 degree view of the expansive city. Had there been a few tall buildings within 100 meters of me, and had I been endowed Spiderman's powers, I would have soared through the air. No intention of ever coming down.


Ever.




Ever.