When I flew out of Nashville in the early morning of June 30, I had little idea that I was embarking on one of the greatest experiences of my life. In all honesty, I was feeling a little sulky. I didn't want to leave Nashville, my friends, or my family; not to mention I wasn't looking forward to the awkward first encounters with sixteen strangers or the 10-hour flight from Miami to Buenos Aires, Argentina. My negative disposition that morning wasn't helped by the hours of time I spent in the Miami airport waiting for the time we were told to meet the group near the American Airlines check-in.
Hours before I had even met my fellow Experimenters in International Living, my Spanish was put to the test. An elderly Hispanic woman and her grandson sitting next to me began talking to me in Spanish, asking me about myself and my journey. I noticed then how uncomfortable I felt with the Spanish language. In the classroom, you never get the chance to have a conversation with a real native Spanish-speaker. The possibility of making a mistake made me feel self-conscious and thus I backed off from the conversation as much as I could. I didn't realize at the time that in order for this experience to bring about the best results in terms of improving my Spanish, it was better to be sorry than safe.
Finally, I was greeted by two young adults whom I presumed were my group leaders. They led me to the group, a mix of people from all over the country. It was then that I realized one of the coolest aspects of the program: it teaches you to be tolerant, respectful, attentive to, and interested in the differences between not only American and Argentine cultures but also the different cultures in America. The cultural immersion was Argentine, but the cultural learning was universal.
Now the trip really began. Upon landing in Buenos Aires, we greeted our guide, Martin, who introduced us to the city on the bus ride to lunch: empanadas with a side of World Cup soccer. The next four days were filled with an overload of tours, visits, information, history lessons, and so forth. We visited La Boca, the southernmost neighborhood in the city known for its colorful buildings and personality. In the north, we visited a cemetery; unique in that the dead are housed in stone or marble mausoleums above ground rather than underground. There we visited the grave of Eva Peron, the Argentine woman on whom Evita! is based. Each night, the group leaders led reflections in which we commented on the difficulties of speaking the language, getting around, and other cultural differences. After four days of orientation to this new land, we were on our way to Salta.
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| Members of my group in the center of Buenos Aires
Salta lies in the Northwest region of Argentina in the province of Salta. Although it lies in the mountains at a relatively high altitude, the temperatures were significantly warmer than in Buenos Aires because of its proximity to the equator. There, each group member was scheduled to stay with an Argentina family for two weeks. As we waited for our luggage in the airport, we could see the host families awaiting us through the glass doors. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of nervousness. I was supposed to be in a home-stay with another student, but I was still nervous to meet the family and attack the differences in culture: their customs, their personalities, their house, and their food. The situation became even more nerve-racking when I was told that the other student wouldn't be staying with me and instead I would be alone.
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I had plenty of time to calm down on the hour-long bus ride to my host family’s house. I put myself at ease watching my fellow Americans meet their new families and knowing that they were going through the same thing that I was. Finally, I was the last one left on the bus. I became puzzled as the bus left the city and traveled into the country. My hopes for a nice house dwindled as we passed a sign that read “Vaqueros,” crossed a bridge over a dried up river, and continued onto a dirt road. Four dirt roads later, I arrived at my home for the next two weeks. As I got off the bus, a boy approached me and we exchanged the typical Argentine greeting: cheek-to-cheek with a kissing noise. His name was Ignacio, and he was my new brother. His mother, Patricia, greeted me on my way to the front door and his father did so as I entered. Lourdes, his sister, came from the hallway and welcomed me to her home. I looked around at the house and was surprised by its nicety and modern aspects. In a neighborhood marked by dirt roads and livestock roaming around, such a house was unexpected. Ignacio gave me a tour of the house and then we settled into our shared room.
I noticed a lot of cultural differences very early. Of course the language had changed, something that I quickly got used to. But there were other things as well. They offered next to nothing for breakfast (bread and coffee) and somehow managed to last until late afternoon for their next meal followed by dinner at just before midnight. Although they owned and used a washer, they had no drier and drying clothes strictly depended on the weather. The family had only one computer in the whole house, located in Ignacio’s bedroom and shared by everyone. The house was really quite small but never seemed to be so.
On my first full day in the life of an Argentine family, Ignacio took me for a drive in his “camioneta,” a small truck. It was twenty years old and seemed older, but I loved every second of being in it. Driving down dirt roads through one of the most rural areas I’d ever seen in a car I’d never heard of was so cool to me. We arrived at a small opening next to the road and got out of the car. This place, he told me, was where he and his friends came in the summer to get away from the city and relax. We walked away from the car, following streams, passing wild and abandoned cattle and horses, until arriving at a dried-up riverbed. In the summer, he said, this river was filled with flowing water, but since it was winter in Argentina, the area was dry. Looking around at the mountains that surrounded us and the trees that bordered the rocky bed, I knew then that I was going to enjoy the next two weeks.
The week started and I found myself back with the group. This time we were in Spanish class at a local language center where Ignacio took English classes. I realized throughout the week that there is no better Spanish class than living in a Spanish-speaking home. Most of the time in class was spent learning the culture of Argentina rather than the language, which is really called Castellano. We visited a museum and learned about Salta’s history, toured the city and learned about its architecture and famous monuments, and were visited by a “gaucho,” an Argentine cowboy to learn about the importance of their job.
We were also able to focus on more fun activities. With my host family, I experienced what Ignacio called “tryke,” a sort of biking in which we raced down mountain roads on a tricycle low to the ground. We hiked up San Fernando, a mountain from which you can see the entire city and its surroundings. A lot of people from the group played local Argentines in soccer and basketball after class. The group leaders also led white-water rafting and trekking excursions.
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| Paula, a local Argentine, and I admire Salta from San Fernando |
The following week we dropped out of classes and focused our time on community service, a big aspect of the trip. On Monday, we stopped by an institute for children with learning disabilities and brightened the place up by painting nearly every room with unique designs and pictures. From Wednesday to Friday we worked in a church near the town square, clearing out, painting, and preparing an old hallway for a new museum the church was looking to open. But as the week drew to an end, we prepared ourselves for the next leg of the trip.
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| My Argentine family and I |
We took a bus to a small town by the name of Chicoana. This place was so small that we could easily walk from our hostel to the edge of the town in no more than 10 minutes. It was here that I began to really bond with the whole group. The boys all stayed in one room and we were able to talk and reflect on our experiences there. This town offered some of the coolest cultural experiences. We worked in a small playground for the local children by day, painting and renewing its equipment and landscaping it. But outside of work we were allowed to roam the town, talking with locals and engaging in day-to-day activities such as playing soccer with the local kids and buying food from the markets.
In Chicoana, too, we were able to experience the cultural importance of the Gaucho. We watched a parade one day that showed the history of the region and town, glorifying the gauchos and their importance to the establishment of the way things are there today. After, we visited a festival in which the people of the town celebrated the Gauchos with a rodeo, music, and food. We also visited one’s house, learning how to mount and ride horses and listening to typical music.
The final leg of the trip was also one of the most fun and enriching. We departed from Chicoana by horse for a three day excursion into the wilderness. The first day we rode for about half the day before arriving at our campsite. There we ate an amazing meal of “asado,” Argentine barbecue. We then left again for the afternoon, traveling through some of the most rural and remote places I’d ever seen. That night, we became fully immersed in the life of a Gaucho. The leaders of our excursion, modern gauchos, worked with no modern technology or light to cook dinner over a fire. The night was pitch black and the only light came from the fire itself. Being winter in Argentina, it was freezing. But we were able to make it through the night and we picked back up with the horses in the morning. Our excursions from then on led us to mountain tops where we were able to see the entire valley in which Salta and Chicoana lie.
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| The guys from the group at pre-Inca ruins |
The trip benefited me in so many more ways than simply improving my Spanish. I was able to meet life-long friends, both American and Argentine. I learned a lot about not only Argentine but also American culture and how we’re viewed by the rest of the world. I’d like to thank the Wilson family, Mr. Paolicchi, Mr. Gaither, Sr. Kamm, and everyone else who made this trip possible. I believe I’ll be a better student and better person because of it. - Wes Richardson
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