Phew, it’s been a while, no?
My blog is lonely and begging for some attention. So, I’m blocking out an hour or so to fill in my whopping 14 (but dedicated) blog followers about my life in the big ol’ city.
First off, let’s get one thing clear. I will turn 21 years old in something like…9 days. Which is at first, very exciting. But also downplayed and a bit boring as 1. None of my crazy girlfriends are with me and 2. I’ve been taking tequila shots legally since I arrived in South America ten months ago.
Even then, being able to legally down a mojito in front of my alcohol-frigid mother will be quite the satisfying venture.
Okay, so not boring at all.
I’m looking back and am realizing I haven’t updated this since I was with Sarah Abel the Kiwi in early January.
We have a lot to talk about. Pardon the headings. They are the only thing that will keep this (somewhat) organized.
ON THE LAST DAYS
After Cartagena, Colombia (which still stands as the best city I’ve been to) we made a pit stop in Ecuador, to see the famous Sara Randolph, who graced us with her everlasting stories about her explosive diahhrea an lack of friends. Cute, Sara. We are all wondering why you’re still single.
We celebrated Sarah’s (the kiwi) 23rd birthday with too many booze and not enough boys, and had a blast of a time.
Then we headed to Peru, to see the magical Macchu Pichhu, which is just too good for my blog.
I’ll post a picture, and you can form the words yourself.
Told you. Speechless, right?
Peru was where we parted ways. It was sad and stressful, as we were both pulled into a private room in the Cusco airport, offered cigarettes from creepy Peruvian men in no official uniform whatsoever, and , searched for drugs. Lovely.
I miss her.
ON BOLIVIA
Then came Bolivia.
Bolivia was the place where I was strip searched twice, charged 140USD for a layover, kicked out of the airport and forced to pay ungodly amounts for a hotel, couldn’t breathe because of the altitude, ran out of food money (I am sadly lacking a debit card of any kind, so mama has to wire me money), got hopelessly screwed (and lost my bag.
Needess to say, I hate Bolivia.
Enough of that.
ON RETURNING TO BUENOS AIRES
I’ll never forget the feeling that gnawed at my stomach the first time I flew into Buenos Aires in July of 2011. It was like something was sitting on my chest and crushing my stomach. I wasn’t sure what it was—was it excitement? I hoped so. Nerves? Probably. Fear? Definitely. I’d studied Spanish but had taken two years off to study beer pong and frat boys instead, and knew communication would be rough. For anyone who thinks that language is something you can easily learn from a text book, you are so wrong. Point aside, I was completely out of my comfort zone and wished, as the passengers applauded the safe landing, that we were still up in the air.
However, The second time I flew into Buenos Aires, my stomach turned for totally different reasons. One was because I was recovering from my burning hatred for Bolivia. And the second? Because I was home. I knew exactly what to do, where to go, how to say, “Che, I need something from you. Can you help?” in perfect Spanish etc. It was a new, beautful experience. One of excitement, of new beginnings, of comfort.
Borges (my recent obsession) explains his return to Buenos Aires after a decade away in An Autobiographical Essay, published in the New Yorker sometime before my lifetime. He so eloquently states, “It was more than a homecoming, it was a rediscovery. I was able to see Buenos Aires keenly and eagerly because I had been away from it for a long time. Had I never gone abroad, I wonder whether I would ever have seen it with the peculiar shock and glow that it now gave me.” I couldn’t have said it better myself. Peculiar shock. Crazy excitement. In a new light. Borges was brilliant.
For me, this is how every place is. The second (or twentieth) time is always better. When you leave it, you become nostalgic. Which is why going home gets better every time.
So.
Update on my life here in Buenos Aires, currently.
As for money, I landed an oddly good gig writing horoscopes. Don’t ask me how. The story goes something like: I applied for anything and everything on Craigslist, walked out writing horoscopes and getting a good chunk of money each week.
AND! I have been tour guiding. I started my own little company called Bry’s BA Tours which is half vacation planning, half tour guiding. The cash is tremendous. And what better way to learn more about the most lovely city on earth?
As for living arrangements, I am on the 14th floor on the most lively street in the city, with two fabulous boys called Cain and Alex. This 14th floor is (thankfully) full of good friends, good food, and good dinner table conversations.
I can’t think of much else. Classes are good. Hunger games comes out today. I am taking a short story literature class at a little English bookstore. You should read Flannery O’Connor if you get the chance.
Other than this, I’m living the good life, with a promise of Mexican food and snickerdoodle cookies in the evening.
The family and little brown boy arrive Sunday. Yay!
More to come.
xoxo, B
