A close friend from my program in Argentina is currently studying in Aix, France. Even as she writes so beautifully about her sightseeing adventures in and around France, there is always an insertion here and there about Argentina and the quilombos in Buenos Aires that made for a chaotic half year of living, but a city that in the end, resoundingly stole our hearts. So, how did I explain all this-which I can't even explain to myself sometimes-to others curious about my experience in the Paris of the South? Honestly, I don't explain much, besides the general and expected-I ate soo much meat and yes, it was mouth-watering delicious...I sampled an incredible spectrum of smooth Argentine wine....I traveled around the country and region until my bank account nearly busted. In the process of doing so, however, I don't just simply recount what I did, what I saw or what I thought; I relive flashes from those 5 months each time and 'experience' Argentina anew.
Just the other day, I was recounting a particular scene to someone, but what we eventually came to discuss at greater length was not really the scene itself (the Rio de la Plata, the sloping plaza and the rain), but rather, the experience of experiencing that scene. Then, I realized that the point of sharing an experience with someone is not to evoke awe or envy; as I described that particular day--the almost supernatural sensation of standing at the edge of the plaza, my feet only centimeters from being swept away by the powerful currents ebbing and ripping through the river, a feeling of renewal as I stood drenched from head to toe under the steady downpour of rain, the grand city of Buenos Aires, expansive and proud, behind a gray curtain of fog and rain across the river, the time spent with a friend who I unfortunately, did not get to see again before I left the country--I realized that that experience, along with many others, weren't fabrications, weren't dreams. Even as I am far, far away from the Rio de la Plata and Maine winters know no rain, I'm still ebbing and floating on waves of memories that continue to wash me farther away from the origin of experience, but still, into a clearer reality.
