Wow.

………….

I am tempted to leave this page at that. I think my writing is not refined, nor eloquent, nor beautiful enough to do justice to my experience in Buenos Aires. If I was telling you about it in person, I’d be bouncing on the balls of my feet with a stupid-wide grin on my face. Even now, as I think about my time there, my shoulders feel a little lighter, and my worries a little more manageable. Buenos Aires is not a city to me, it’s a fantastic mix of palm trees and baroque buildings, crowded squares and quiet side streets, sunshine and dancing.

I grew up in one house. My family never moved, and although I was fortunate to travel internationally when I was younger, I’d never been immersed in another culture or language before. Buenos Aires was like a dive off the deep end, and if I do say so myself, I think I hit all the flips and the finish.

I went into the trip with a goal: immerse myself in the Spanish language and Argentinian culture as much as I could. I lived with a host mom in a large apartment building half a block from the nearest fruit stand, one and a half blocks from both the closest cafe and bar, two blocks from the closest gelateria, three blocks from the nearest park, five blocks from the closest subway stop, and approximately 16 city blocks from my university. I walked to uni everyday, even though there was a school bus stop near my apartment. I loved watching the city wake up, and marveled at the greenery and varying architectures, and listened to snippets of conversations.

I’m quite certain after those three paragraphs that writing cannot do it justice. It was a dream to live in Buenos Aires. I will go back. I’m not sure what else to say, or what to leave out or what to include, so I’ll say this: the men’s futsal team at my university was wonderfully welcoming, if slightly hesitant at first about playing with a woman. My favorite cafe, Salvaje (which translates to “Savage”), made the best food I’ve ever had, and was a beautiful 45 minute walk from my apartment. I went there thirteen times in eight weeks. On Sundays, in el Rosedal, one of the large parks in the city, public, free, group dance exercise classes blasted music inviting everyone to join. The sidewalks changed from tile to concrete to cobblestone with the fluidity of a river. The Argentinian accent is extremely distinct, and although I wrinkled my nose at its strangeness when I first arrived, I am proud that I now speak with it. And best of all, whenever you met anyone, or saw someone you knew, it was customary to kiss them on each cheek; even if it was a big group, you were expected to acknowledge each person’s presence individually, and everyone else was expected to welcome you.

Living in Buenos Aires opened my eyes to the world. It was the first time I was able to see how a government can impact individuals’ lives– a precursor to my activism. It was the first time the cultural diversity of our world really hit home. It made me question my own culture and also made me grateful for things I’d never thought to be thankful for before, like a stable economy. And it made me more aware than ever of the cultures and privileges I embody.

I didn’t take nearly enough photos, but I can still walk the streets in my mind.