Monday, January 15, 2007
I’m back from the Big (pine)Apple! I just thought of that nickname now, since an easy way for me to describe Buenos Aires is as the New York City of South America. (I once called Paraguay the North Dakota of South America, and I still hold to that.) There are about 15 million people in the metropolitan area, anywhere you turn there is a hot dog or newspaper stand, and the people dress fashionably and are serious and in a hurry like in any big city. It even has a subway system, which is kind of scary because it’s so old and creaky. In some ways Buenos Aires is extraordinary because although it’s a big city, it’s not a concrete jungle; it seems there is a park every couple of blocks and big trees lining the streets. The downtown is not giant skyscrapers but rather lots of interesting old buildings. But of course in true South American style there was garbage all over and the buildings, though possessing beautiful exteriors, were often in states of disrepair, such as the apartment that we stayed in with my friend’s aunt. Luckily, I didn’t spend much of my time in the apartment, except when I was tired in the late afternoon and I would happily pass the time watching English news on the television. The friend that I went with, Maria Teresa, grew up in the city, she’s 35 years old and speaks about 5 words in English. One day we went to the zoo though with her brother and sister-in-law and that was really great, mostly though she just wanted to go shopping the whole time or stay at home. So for the last three days I was free to roam the city by myself, and not being permitted to take the bus, I put a lot of miles on my flip-flops. It was great because the aunt lived only 3 blocks away from the central downtown area.
In some ways living in Asunción reminds me of my first two years of college in Saskatchewan: a limited wardrobe, less food options, small living space, no reading lamp, and yet I was very content then, and am now. I don’t think this is just a coincidence. Away at college, I didn’t watch TV and never saw any billboards or newspaper advertisements which would make me want to buy stuff, and besides, there was one only restaurant and our school bookstore where I could spend money if I wanted. When I went home for Christmas after the first semester and saw all the excessive materialism that had been missing from my life, South Edmonton Commons literally made me sick to my stomach. In Buenos Aires for the first couple of days, I was overwhelmed by the urge to buy all kinds of stuff that I never would have thought of while in Paraguay. I wanted white Argentinean slippers, Converse high-tops, a Che Guevara T-shirt, magnets of tango dancers, new dresses, a hot dog at 10 in the morning or dulce de leche cakes after I’d just eaten a big lunch. Then I realized it was just all the “propaganda” (the word for “advertisement” in Spanish) that was working its magic on me, and after buying a pair of Nike running shoes, I only looked to buy books. My favourite place I found was one round room with tall windows and the walls covered bookshelves from floor to ceiling. It was run by an old man who had crazy Albert Einstein hair and met Jorge Luis Borges when he was ten years old. He could speak a little English, and he told me all kinds of things about his city and showed me his special collection of old books, and then as a parting gift he gave me a book of easy Spanish plays. It is nice to have the book, and the new shoes, but I realize that the most valuable things I took back home were my experiences of the city, and memories of the people I met, like the bored security guard at the museum or the little lady next to me on the park bench.
I got along fabulously with Maria Teresa’s family, and got many invitations to come back and visit during winter holidays. Her aunt gave me a little book and I found a poem by the famous Chilean poet Pablo Neruda that I feel sums up my trip quite well. Here is an except from “¿Quién muere?” (“Who dies?”):
“He dies slowly… / that does not revive his memories and continue to move himself with them / as though he were living it at that moment, / who does not travel, nor read, nor hear music, / who does not speak with someone he doesn’t know, / who does not lend himself to help. / Let us avoid death in small shares, remembering always / that to be alive requires and effort much greater / than the simple act of breathing.”
So in some ways it was very difficult to travel with someone I didn’t know that well, and when I didn’t understand the language, and felt lost most of the time, but I am glad that I traveled and read and met new people and saw new things. On a side note, I also invented a joke in Spanish, of which I am quite proud. Do you know those kind of jokes that start with “what do you call a man…?” for example, Q:What do you call a man lying on the floor in front of a door? A: Matt (mat) or Q:What do you call a man standing in a hole with a shovel? A: Doug (dug). My personal favourite is Q: what do you call a woman with one leg shorter than the other? A: Eileen (I lean). (What do you think of that one, Auntie Eileen? I always think of you when I tell it). So mine in Spanish is requires that you know “sin” is the word for “without” and “tía” means “aunt.” Q: what do you call a girl of whom neither of her parents have sisters? A: Cynthia, which in Spanish is spelled Cíntia. The accent is in the wrong place, but it’s funny, trust me, because everyone I told it to so far has laughed. I though of that joke because it is the name of Maria Teresa’s sister-in-law.
It was nice to have a surrogate family in Buenos Aires, but it was also nice to return to my church family here. At the same time, I realized I wasn’t really coming home, and I got quite homesick on the bus ride back. I arrived only half an hour before church started on Sunday morning and was very tired and I barely understood the sermon, so I was even sadder. But then Oscar handed me a handful of Christmas cards from my family that finally made it here, at just the time I really needed the encouragement!! So I gratefully dedicate this blog to my Sabo relatives who I love and miss dearly. Special thanks to Auntie JoAnn, Dean and Teresa and their kids, and Tymen and Caroline’s family, Bella (I can’t believe you’re pregnant!), Ed, Dawn and Aurora, and Auntie Barb and all the rest who were at the Millwoods Christmas Party. Auntie Margret, in regards to your question as to what to do with my candy cane, I think it will be okay to save until next year if you can hold on to it for that long!
In some ways living in Asunción reminds me of my first two years of college in Saskatchewan: a limited wardrobe, less food options, small living space, no reading lamp, and yet I was very content then, and am now. I don’t think this is just a coincidence. Away at college, I didn’t watch TV and never saw any billboards or newspaper advertisements which would make me want to buy stuff, and besides, there was one only restaurant and our school bookstore where I could spend money if I wanted. When I went home for Christmas after the first semester and saw all the excessive materialism that had been missing from my life, South Edmonton Commons literally made me sick to my stomach. In Buenos Aires for the first couple of days, I was overwhelmed by the urge to buy all kinds of stuff that I never would have thought of while in Paraguay. I wanted white Argentinean slippers, Converse high-tops, a Che Guevara T-shirt, magnets of tango dancers, new dresses, a hot dog at 10 in the morning or dulce de leche cakes after I’d just eaten a big lunch. Then I realized it was just all the “propaganda” (the word for “advertisement” in Spanish) that was working its magic on me, and after buying a pair of Nike running shoes, I only looked to buy books. My favourite place I found was one round room with tall windows and the walls covered bookshelves from floor to ceiling. It was run by an old man who had crazy Albert Einstein hair and met Jorge Luis Borges when he was ten years old. He could speak a little English, and he told me all kinds of things about his city and showed me his special collection of old books, and then as a parting gift he gave me a book of easy Spanish plays. It is nice to have the book, and the new shoes, but I realize that the most valuable things I took back home were my experiences of the city, and memories of the people I met, like the bored security guard at the museum or the little lady next to me on the park bench.
I got along fabulously with Maria Teresa’s family, and got many invitations to come back and visit during winter holidays. Her aunt gave me a little book and I found a poem by the famous Chilean poet Pablo Neruda that I feel sums up my trip quite well. Here is an except from “¿Quién muere?” (“Who dies?”):
“He dies slowly… / that does not revive his memories and continue to move himself with them / as though he were living it at that moment, / who does not travel, nor read, nor hear music, / who does not speak with someone he doesn’t know, / who does not lend himself to help. / Let us avoid death in small shares, remembering always / that to be alive requires and effort much greater / than the simple act of breathing.”
So in some ways it was very difficult to travel with someone I didn’t know that well, and when I didn’t understand the language, and felt lost most of the time, but I am glad that I traveled and read and met new people and saw new things. On a side note, I also invented a joke in Spanish, of which I am quite proud. Do you know those kind of jokes that start with “what do you call a man…?” for example, Q:What do you call a man lying on the floor in front of a door? A: Matt (mat) or Q:What do you call a man standing in a hole with a shovel? A: Doug (dug). My personal favourite is Q: what do you call a woman with one leg shorter than the other? A: Eileen (I lean). (What do you think of that one, Auntie Eileen? I always think of you when I tell it). So mine in Spanish is requires that you know “sin” is the word for “without” and “tía” means “aunt.” Q: what do you call a girl of whom neither of her parents have sisters? A: Cynthia, which in Spanish is spelled Cíntia. The accent is in the wrong place, but it’s funny, trust me, because everyone I told it to so far has laughed. I though of that joke because it is the name of Maria Teresa’s sister-in-law.
It was nice to have a surrogate family in Buenos Aires, but it was also nice to return to my church family here. At the same time, I realized I wasn’t really coming home, and I got quite homesick on the bus ride back. I arrived only half an hour before church started on Sunday morning and was very tired and I barely understood the sermon, so I was even sadder. But then Oscar handed me a handful of Christmas cards from my family that finally made it here, at just the time I really needed the encouragement!! So I gratefully dedicate this blog to my Sabo relatives who I love and miss dearly. Special thanks to Auntie JoAnn, Dean and Teresa and their kids, and Tymen and Caroline’s family, Bella (I can’t believe you’re pregnant!), Ed, Dawn and Aurora, and Auntie Barb and all the rest who were at the Millwoods Christmas Party. Auntie Margret, in regards to your question as to what to do with my candy cane, I think it will be okay to save until next year if you can hold on to it for that long!
# posted by Ellen @ 4:26 PM 
