The end of January, and thus the beginning of the end of summer, is upon us here in Montevideo. We´ve started up work at La Obra again, and (as always), my duties-as-assigned here have a tendency to take me in unexpected directions.
Take, for example, the past few days in the Centro de Estudios. Certain extremely unlucky secondary schoolers in Uruguay end up with exams for the previous school year scheduled during February – to help out those familiar with the U.S. school year, this would be the same as having to come back to school at some point in late July or early August to take an exam. I´m honestly not sure if this is an every student sort of occurance, or a luck of the draw affair, or a re-take schedule, or quite how it works, but regardless, they exist. A few of the regulars at CdE have such exams, and have been coming in for pre-test reviews. Sounds pretty pro-forma, right – just like during the school year!
Of course not; this is my life, and there´s always a twist. The twist this go-round is the absence of Virginia, my co-worker and our science expert of the three of us who are in the CdE on a near-daily basis. She won´t be back until school starts up officially in March, and in the meantime, Claudio and I get to be the resident experts in every academic field, including the sciences.
The only problem with this is that I haven´t taken a science class since freshman bio at TLU in 2003. Claudio is in the same boat – the natural sciences just aren´t his principal area of interest. Of course, Ximena (one of our regulars) has her chemistry exam in about two weeks. I haven´t taken chemistry since the 2001-2002 school year, and I would lying if I said it was my favorite subject when I was a junior at Brazosport Christian School (no offense, Mrs. Beatty).
However, my preference for biology and physics over chemistry and my lack of recent quality time with a chemistry textbook aside, I have become Kevin Patrick Baker, chemistry teacher…o, más accurado, Kevin Patricio Panadero, maestro de química. I have been explaining chemistry for two days now in Spanish – everything from the basics of atomic structure (“los protones y neutrones están en el núcleo, pero los electrones están afuera del núcleo en niveles se llaman “orbitos.” El primer científico para hablar sobre los orbitos fue Niehls Bohr en 1913…”) to what happens in a “reacción de combustión” (I probably can´t explain this well in English, but fortunately, Ximena´s chemistry class is more about fundamental concepts than fine details of the reaction process and complex hydrocarbons and whatnot, so we landed on our feet).
Of course, for someone like me who loves to learn, this has been a heck of an adventure. I´ve re-learned the basics of high school chemistry in two days, and (maybe it´s just the momentary excitement getting to me) am actually ENJOYING talking about chemistry. I´m also learning all kinds of new words…when we work with the periodic table, the most common phrase out of my mouth is “este elemento se llama en inglés “chlorine”…¿puede ser que es algo cómo clorino en español?” For the record, “chlorine” is “cloro” in Spanish. It´s been fun, Ximena´s been learning (and has been very patient with my butchery of elemental names and scientific terms), I´ve been learning, and it´s all a part of the adventure of life…not to mention proof that the typical “ugh, I´m never gonna need to know this crap” line uttered by about every high school student at one point or another is, at least when you´re an ELCA mission volunteer, not true!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Large-ish Photo Update
1. Ximena, Emilia, Romina, and Florencia playing in La Obra.
2. Fabrizia, Roman, and Natalia taking a mate break at La Obra.
3. The kids from Escuelita II were asked to act out some brief skits illustrating the Golden Rule, basically. This group´s scene involves a pregnant woman, an old man, and a couple of kids getting on a crowded bus - who´ll give up their seats for them???
4. We drank mate on the ferry from Buenos Aires to Colonia for group retreat in November. However, it was windy on deck, and to avoid a yerba storm, Kristina wrapped her hands around the mate while James drank.
5. Buenos Aires skyline from the ferry.
6. My wonderful fellow YAGMs at Centro Emanuel during our retreat.
7. This is what happens when you give a kid the camera and they want to take a photo of you...
8. Thanksgiving at Nuestro Salvador - We had a big church potluck, and Stella made pizza. It was good, too.
9. Pastor Wilma (in black) talking with Beatriz, the church organist, at the Thanksgiving lunch.
10. We all ate our fill, and then some. I brought deviled eggs - it´s not a church lunch without them! The long-haired guy in the blue shirt is Sebastian, Wilma´s son, and his dad, Álvaro, is in the yellow shirt.
11. Montevideo in the late spring and early summer - a riot of colors as the jacarandas bloom!
12. Candombe project at La Obra - the older youth helped the kids learn their parts.
13. Meanwhile, the girls worked on a dance to go with the candombe.
14. Guards inside the Mausoleo de Artigas (Artigas´ Mausoleum) at Plaza Independencia. Artigas led the struggle that resulted in Uruguayan independence.
15. Plaza Zabala in the Ciudad Vieja; Zabala was the founder of Montevideo. Interesting trivia bit: The name Montevideo comes from the lookout in Magellan´s flagship who, when he saw El Cerro (the big hill on the other side of the bay from the main part of the city), said in Portuguese "Monte vide eu" - I see a hill. The name stuck.
16. The cross at La Obra at the Christmas celebration.
17. Claudio versus the oncoming storm - we were driven inside once the rain started!
Franklin Rides Again: January Newsletter Article
A little closer to the end of the month than normal for my Franklin´s Choice entry, but this is a big one: “Do we matter?” How do individual lives matter in the context of community, of the world? Now THERE´S a question.
Of course, the answer of nearly everyone for the past few hundred years, at least in Western society, is that yes, of course individual people matter. It´s a reflection of the Renaissance humanist ideal, this grand concept that we´re more than just pieces in the social machine, but beings with our own separate, beautiful identities. It is, quite possibly, THE defining philosophical concept in the formation North American society – after all, how is “rugged individualism” able to exist without the basic presupposition that we all matter, or at least have the capacity to matter?
Maybe that´s a key place to start – do we believe that everyone matters, or that everyone has the potential to matter? The two are fairly distinct in their implications, after all, and honestly, I think U.S. society, and quite probably global society on the whole, falls on the side of the latter, no matter what we say we believe. How many times have you heard a person protest when asked to do something new or big or different that they just can´t because they´re “only” a whatever the excuse of the day is? We assign value, sadly most of the time, based on merit and not on inherent worth – “Well, Doctor Whoseit is such an amazing man…he went to medical school at Yale, he´s practically an Olympic-level athlete, he´s nice to everyone, and he´s even got cute kids back at his big house with the pool and the hot tub. “
In contrast, I´ve never heard anyone say something like “María is amazing! She sacks groceries, is amazingly kind to everyone in the store, loves her little daughter, works incredibly hard.” People may very well talk about María and extol some of her good qualities, but I´ve never heard a sentence like this completed without the inclusion of other details to make it clear that María is no Doctor Whoseit – the fact the she doesn´t speak English, her lack of a high school education, her being a single mom, her only making minimum wage.
I think back to October and November, my first bit of time here. There were all sorts of conversations at the church about spiritual gifts and stewardship, “how can I use what God´s given me, just for being born, in God´s Kingdom?” Carla, our neighbor and one of the most hospitable people I´ve met in my life, struggled a lot with this question, and I think still does. “I don´t have a gift,” she would explain. I, meanwhile, could not disagree more. This is a person who, consistently since we´ve been here, has invited three volunteers, speaking varying levels of Spanish, into her home to share a meal with her and her family – and always delicious meals, at that. She always stops to talk to us, as a group or as individuals, when we bump into her during the course of the day. That sort of care and attention to other people is a gift.
Of course, that teeters dangerously close to the brink of ascribing worth to Carla because she makes the world´s best cannelloni and chooses to share them with me. Maybe the fact that we all matter is reflected in the fact that we can look at anyone and come up with things that they do that are exceptional, even if on the surface they seem like ordinary actions, but I don´t think that in and of itself says that everyone matters just because they are. Maybe that´s the difference between us and God – I can´t judge a person´s worth without merit, of one form or another no matter how universally I find it, without their actions coming into play, but God can look beyond all that and find value in us not because we are something, but just because we ARE.
Of course, the answer of nearly everyone for the past few hundred years, at least in Western society, is that yes, of course individual people matter. It´s a reflection of the Renaissance humanist ideal, this grand concept that we´re more than just pieces in the social machine, but beings with our own separate, beautiful identities. It is, quite possibly, THE defining philosophical concept in the formation North American society – after all, how is “rugged individualism” able to exist without the basic presupposition that we all matter, or at least have the capacity to matter?
Maybe that´s a key place to start – do we believe that everyone matters, or that everyone has the potential to matter? The two are fairly distinct in their implications, after all, and honestly, I think U.S. society, and quite probably global society on the whole, falls on the side of the latter, no matter what we say we believe. How many times have you heard a person protest when asked to do something new or big or different that they just can´t because they´re “only” a whatever the excuse of the day is? We assign value, sadly most of the time, based on merit and not on inherent worth – “Well, Doctor Whoseit is such an amazing man…he went to medical school at Yale, he´s practically an Olympic-level athlete, he´s nice to everyone, and he´s even got cute kids back at his big house with the pool and the hot tub. “
In contrast, I´ve never heard anyone say something like “María is amazing! She sacks groceries, is amazingly kind to everyone in the store, loves her little daughter, works incredibly hard.” People may very well talk about María and extol some of her good qualities, but I´ve never heard a sentence like this completed without the inclusion of other details to make it clear that María is no Doctor Whoseit – the fact the she doesn´t speak English, her lack of a high school education, her being a single mom, her only making minimum wage.
I think back to October and November, my first bit of time here. There were all sorts of conversations at the church about spiritual gifts and stewardship, “how can I use what God´s given me, just for being born, in God´s Kingdom?” Carla, our neighbor and one of the most hospitable people I´ve met in my life, struggled a lot with this question, and I think still does. “I don´t have a gift,” she would explain. I, meanwhile, could not disagree more. This is a person who, consistently since we´ve been here, has invited three volunteers, speaking varying levels of Spanish, into her home to share a meal with her and her family – and always delicious meals, at that. She always stops to talk to us, as a group or as individuals, when we bump into her during the course of the day. That sort of care and attention to other people is a gift.
Of course, that teeters dangerously close to the brink of ascribing worth to Carla because she makes the world´s best cannelloni and chooses to share them with me. Maybe the fact that we all matter is reflected in the fact that we can look at anyone and come up with things that they do that are exceptional, even if on the surface they seem like ordinary actions, but I don´t think that in and of itself says that everyone matters just because they are. Maybe that´s the difference between us and God – I can´t judge a person´s worth without merit, of one form or another no matter how universally I find it, without their actions coming into play, but God can look beyond all that and find value in us not because we are something, but just because we ARE.
Monday, January 21, 2008
I am shamelessly stealing this from a fellow YAGM, Ashley Severson. She put this up in her blog, and as I was reading through it today, this grabbed me. I´m also including a map, the Hobo-Dyer Equal Area Projection (south-to-north version) to drive home the point. The image of South America oriented south-to-north rather than north-to-south is extremely popular on t-shirts here, and as said at flourish.org...
"It came as a surprise to me after over 20 years of seeing "normal" world maps to come across an upside down one. The most surprising thing was that I found it surprising. It is completely artificial that we have North at the top of a map.
The convention came a few centuries ago when Northern hemisphere, European navigators started using the North star and the magnetic compass. Before that, the top of the map was to the East which is where the word orientation comes from. "
by Tom Peterson
"I dreamed the other night that all the maps in the world had been turned upside down. Library atlases, roadmaps of Cincinnati, wall-sized maps in the war rooms of the great nations, even antique maps with such inscriptions as "Here be Dragons" were flipped over. What had been north was now south, east was west. Like a glob of melting vanilla ice cream, Antarctica now capped schoolroom globes.
In my dream, a cloud of anxieties closed around me. The United States was now at the bottom. Would we have to stand upside-down, causing the blood to rush to our heads? Would we need suction-cup shoes to stay on the planet, and would autumn leaves fall up? No, I remembered, an apple once bopped Newton on the head - no need to worry about these things.
Other things troubled me more. Now that we're at the bottom, would our resources and labor be exploited by the new top? Would African, Asian, and Latin American nations structure world trade to their advantage?
Would my neighbors and I have two-dollars-a-day seasonal jobs on peach and strawberry plantations? Would the women and children work from dusk to dawn to scratch survival from the earth of California and Virginia? Would the fruit we picked be shipped from New Orleans and New York for children in Thailand and Ethiopia to hurriedly eat with their cereal so they wouldn't miss the school bus? Would our children, then, spend the morning, not in school, but fetching water two miles away and the afternoon gathering wood for heating and cooking? Would a small ruling class in this country send their daughters and sons to universities in Cairo and Buenos Aires?
Would our economy be dependant upon the goodwill and whims of, say, Brazil? Would Brazil send war planes and guns to Washington, D.C. to assure our willingness to pick apples and tobacco for export while our children went hungry? Would Brazil and Vietnam fight their wars with our sons in our country? Would we consider revolution?
If we did revolt, would the Philippino government plot to put their favorite U.S. general in power, and then uphold him with military aid?
Would we work in sweatshops manufacturing radios for the Chinese? Would our oil be shipped in tankers to Southeast Asia to run their cars, air-conditioning and microwave ovens while most of our towns didnąt even have electricity?
Would top of the world religious leaders call us stubborn pagans upon whom God's judgement had fallen, causing our misery? Would they proclaim from opulent pulpits that if we simply turned to God, our needs would be met?
In my dream, I saw child crying in Calcutta. Her parents wouldn't buy her any more video games until her birthday. I saw her mother drive to the supermarket and load her cart with frozen and junk food, vegetables, cheese, meat, and women's magazines.
I also saw a mother in Houston baking bread in an earthen oven. She had been crying because there were no more beans for her family. One of her children listlessly watched her. He was a blond boy, about six years old. He slowly turned his empty, haunting gaze toward me.
At that point I awoke with a gasp. I saw I was in my own bed, in my own house. It was just a bad dream. I drifted back to sleep, thinking, "It's all right, I'm still on top.
Thank God!"
"It came as a surprise to me after over 20 years of seeing "normal" world maps to come across an upside down one. The most surprising thing was that I found it surprising. It is completely artificial that we have North at the top of a map.
The convention came a few centuries ago when Northern hemisphere, European navigators started using the North star and the magnetic compass. Before that, the top of the map was to the East which is where the word orientation comes from. "
(c) www.ODTmaps.com (NOTE: I was originally shamelessly stealing this image, too - sorry to the Bob Abrams people!)
by Tom Peterson
"I dreamed the other night that all the maps in the world had been turned upside down. Library atlases, roadmaps of Cincinnati, wall-sized maps in the war rooms of the great nations, even antique maps with such inscriptions as "Here be Dragons" were flipped over. What had been north was now south, east was west. Like a glob of melting vanilla ice cream, Antarctica now capped schoolroom globes.
In my dream, a cloud of anxieties closed around me. The United States was now at the bottom. Would we have to stand upside-down, causing the blood to rush to our heads? Would we need suction-cup shoes to stay on the planet, and would autumn leaves fall up? No, I remembered, an apple once bopped Newton on the head - no need to worry about these things.
Other things troubled me more. Now that we're at the bottom, would our resources and labor be exploited by the new top? Would African, Asian, and Latin American nations structure world trade to their advantage?
Would my neighbors and I have two-dollars-a-day seasonal jobs on peach and strawberry plantations? Would the women and children work from dusk to dawn to scratch survival from the earth of California and Virginia? Would the fruit we picked be shipped from New Orleans and New York for children in Thailand and Ethiopia to hurriedly eat with their cereal so they wouldn't miss the school bus? Would our children, then, spend the morning, not in school, but fetching water two miles away and the afternoon gathering wood for heating and cooking? Would a small ruling class in this country send their daughters and sons to universities in Cairo and Buenos Aires?
Would our economy be dependant upon the goodwill and whims of, say, Brazil? Would Brazil send war planes and guns to Washington, D.C. to assure our willingness to pick apples and tobacco for export while our children went hungry? Would Brazil and Vietnam fight their wars with our sons in our country? Would we consider revolution?
If we did revolt, would the Philippino government plot to put their favorite U.S. general in power, and then uphold him with military aid?
Would we work in sweatshops manufacturing radios for the Chinese? Would our oil be shipped in tankers to Southeast Asia to run their cars, air-conditioning and microwave ovens while most of our towns didnąt even have electricity?
Would top of the world religious leaders call us stubborn pagans upon whom God's judgement had fallen, causing our misery? Would they proclaim from opulent pulpits that if we simply turned to God, our needs would be met?
In my dream, I saw child crying in Calcutta. Her parents wouldn't buy her any more video games until her birthday. I saw her mother drive to the supermarket and load her cart with frozen and junk food, vegetables, cheese, meat, and women's magazines.
I also saw a mother in Houston baking bread in an earthen oven. She had been crying because there were no more beans for her family. One of her children listlessly watched her. He was a blond boy, about six years old. He slowly turned his empty, haunting gaze toward me.
At that point I awoke with a gasp. I saw I was in my own bed, in my own house. It was just a bad dream. I drifted back to sleep, thinking, "It's all right, I'm still on top.
Thank God!"
Rocha-ed
Y ahora la conclusión dramática de….KEVIN DOES MERCOSUR: KEVIN CONTRA EL MURCIELAGO ATÓMICO DEL INFIERNO, presentado por Telemundo – “Estás en tu tele, estás en tu casa.”
No, no, there will sadly be no atomic bats from hell in this entry, as exciting as it would have been to have encountered one during the last portion of my summer time away from the city. I got back to Montevideo on the 9th and was able to touch base with everyone for long enough to share a few stories from my adventures in parts more southern and distribute some of Bariloche´s finest chocolates to my friends. The next day, though, it was back on the bus and off to camp!
The Evangelical Waldensian Church (Iglesia Evangélica Valdense) has an annual camp for its young people in the Rio de la Plata district, and by “has an annual camp,” I mean the young people pretty much plan all of it and take care of a very large share of the finances. There is a very active youth movement to gain the vote, and a stronger voice, for the young adults in the Valdense church. Accordingly, the annual camp has become an assembly rather than just a week of camping out, a time to debate and make decisions as much as sing and play games.
This year, the camp was help in Uruguay, but in a region of the country I´d not yet visited – the eastern region of Rocha, along the border with Brazil. The camp facility itself is located just past the city of La Coronilla, putting it only about 15 Km or so from the border with Brazil, and also right on the beach – we only had to walk about 300 meters to get to the water. However, classic beach weather did not await us in Las Palmares when we arrived on the evening of the 10th after being dropped off at the wrong stop by our bus driver, who had assured us that he knew exactly which stop we needed. Evidently not – we were within walking distance of Brazil. Long-time readers of my adventures abroad will, no doubt, remember at this moment how a tro-tro in Ghana nearly dropped me and several friends off in Togo despite the driver´s protestations that he knew where we needed to get off. In the words of the Teacher in Ecclesiastes, “there is nothing new under the sun.”
But yes, we arrived just in time for a honey of a rainstorm, which knocked the temperatures down to long-sleeve and jeans weather. However, the storm itself provided a great opportunity to strip down to bathing suits, play drums, and dance and chant in the rain before sitting down to dinner. This too was reminiscent of certain goings-on at ISH in the spring 2006 semester when it would start raining. But I digress.
Lodging for the camp was in tents, and arriving halfway into the camp as we did, we had to search a bit for a tent with available space. Success was had, and we made friends with Ana Karen and Enzo for the next few nights – 5 of us in the same tent. Luckily, no one snored, or if anyone did, it was me and I certainly didn´t notice. Being sleeping bag-less, I did pass the first two nights in rather chilly fashion, but I nonetheless slept.
Our first full day at campamento was spent almost entirely in assembly. By the early evening, though, I´d had about enough assembly-time for one day. I can only stand so much of people talking over each other and arguing in Spanish before getting bored, and boredom has a distinct tendency to drive me to existential crises, so I wandered off to the beach to consider my sense of call and what I´m doing in life.
It was an amazing time of reflection. It was just me, a little chilled from the breeze, on the beach, walking and talking with God. I was alone, so the conversation quickly moved from in my head to out loud…no one was around to call me a lunatic, after all. I started to think about my experiences here and my perceptions of the assembly – what have I learned about my own call after 4 months of working in a church, and what did my being so perturbed by the assembly and its never-ending debate say about me? After all, if I can barely stomach a day of church politics, how will I manage a lifetime of it? How do I square my desire to work toward a doctorate and teach at a university or seminary with my call to ministry?
The good news is that, sometimes when you´re the crazy person talking out loud to God on the beach, God actually answers – not necessarily with a monologue out of a whirlwind (a la Job) or a burning bush (a la Moses), but with peace of mind and internal revelation. Maybe my lack of desire to be, and inability to see myself, in the context of ministry at a “normal” church in the ´burbs where the biggest debate is over which committee is in charge of the broccoli-rice casserole for the potluck next Sunday and my lack of enthusiasm for long hours spent debating the details of church organization is a sign not of a lack of call, but of the nature of my call being to an environment more like the one in which I find myself at Nuestro Salvador.
I remember saying in November that I admired Pastora Wilma for her work here, but that I could never do it. I think I was wrong; two months after that utterance, I find myself energized by life in the missionary church, in a congregation that is new and fresh in so many ways. Tradition doesn´t mean much in a church whose members have only been participating for two years and who are still just reading the Bible for the first time. It´s sometimes frustrating to have to explain things that, for someone like me brought up in the church, seem so simple, but I find that I learn more in Wednesday night Bible Studies by listening to people consider new texts and ideas in the Bible than I ever did in the various Bible Studies with other “serious” Christians raised in the church in which I`ve participated over the years. Out of the mouths of spiritual babes, I suppose, is where God likes to speak to people like me.
I still don´t know what the future holds – where I´ll be, what sort of congregations I´ll serve, how I´ll balance the pastor/professor call I seem to have in my life. What I do know, though, is that I can not know and be perfectly fine, safe in the knowledge that God is Emmanuel, present with me and guiding me every day.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Kevin Does MERCOSUR II
And now for the second part in my “Kevin Does MERCOSUR” trilogy of entries. After my assorted Christmas festivities in Montevideo, I headed out of the city to parts hitherto unknown – my original placement site, Bariloche.
It was important for me to do so. Since arriving in South America, I´ve been, to an extent, haunted by the big what-if – “What if things hadn´t gone sour at the congregation in Bariloche? What if I had ended up there for a year? What would I be doing, what would my life be like?” I´ve tried not to think too much about the question; it really doesn´t accomplish much at the end of the day, and potentially creates messes…after all, what better way to wave off issues in Montevideo rather than work through them than to venture into the realm of mental escapism, “If I were in Patagonia things wouldn´t be like this…”
I arrived in Bariloche on a beautiful, cool, breezy day – temperatures during my entire trip never once exceeded 24 C (75 F or thereabouts), and the weather stayed mostly sunny. I made my way to my hostel, and was overwhelmed by English. Bariloche is such a tourist hub that it´s just not expected that guests from outside the Spanish-speaking world will know a word of Spanish other than “gracias” and, perhaps, “cerveza.” The employees at the hostel were shocked when gringo-named, U.S. citizen Kevin Baker did not address them in English. Thy asked how I spoke such good Spanish (ego-stroking…gotta love it), and when I answered “Porque vivo en Montevideo,” they of course wanted to know why I was living in Montevideo.
And then it came, the beautiful, revelatory moment. I got to explain YAGM and what I´m doing through YAGM for a year to people who´ve never once met a Lutheran mission volunteer. People for the next two weeks - hostel employees, other guests, random people on the bus - all wanted to know why I was in South America, and through that, I got to tell them what my mission is. Mission isn´t my work five days a week at La Obra Ecumenica and at Nuestro Salvador; it´s not just what I do from 9-5 and then call it a day. It is my life, here in South America and, I imagine, once I get back to the U.S., too. We live as missionaries; we don´t just work as missionaries, and even when “on vacation” God uses us, all of us wherever we are, to spread the Good News of the Kingdom.
The other beautiful, revelatory moment came a few days later into my time in Bariloche. It was New Year´s Eve, and I went out with the three other occupants of my room in the hostel (a girl from England, an Israeli guy, and another guy from Austria). The plan was as follows: hike for the day, freshen up, go out for dinner, and then go to a New Year´s Eve party at Cerro Catedral, a mountaintop ski lodge a little ways outside of the city. Due to my ear infection and concerns about “what happens if the infection flares up hardcore and I´m stuck writhing in agony 10 miles from civilization?”, I opted to go for a shorter hike closer to the city than the others, and predictably got back sooner. They all dragged in around 21.00 and opted to shower, so it was nearly 22.00 when we got out the door to find food. We´d opted to try a restaurant favored by locals; it´s not fancy, but is known for whipping out enormous portions for the best price in town. Not surprisingly, it is not in the city center alongside the boutiques and clubs, so we had to walk a ways to get to it.
It was closed. We walked back to the city center, and panic began to set in as we realized that restaurants in Bariloche on New Year´s fall into one of three categories:
-Closed
-Packed for the night
-Are only serving 100 peso ($33 U.S. or so) fixed menus
This was not good. While I can, in theory, swing a 100 peso meal, I have no desire to do so in any country on any continent if I can help it, and doing so would definitely not fit the “living simply” bill. I made this known in no uncertain terms to everyone, and so we kept searching. At 23.40, we found the ONE restaurant in town not falling into the three categories, though it was pretty packed. They somehow managed to find space for the five of us (another Israeli friend had joined us for the evening), and we managed to sit down and get a bottle of wine to the table just in time to toast to 2008 at midnight. The food was awful, as was the service (though it was at least friendly), but we ate.
And then, I realized as I was translating menu items for everyone and being the designated person to speak to the waitress, that the absolute best thing to happen for my Spanish language experience was getting moved to Montevideo. In Bariloche, I wouldn´t have needed to speak Spanish just to function in the store or on the bus. I wouldn´t have been living, probably, with people whose language preference is Spanish all the time (more-or-less). My work would have likely ended up being with people who either speak English or who want to learn it, and accordingly, I would just not be where I am now language-wise. That´s not to say that Montevideo has somehow turned me into a native speaker, but it has given a huge space in which to learn, grow, practice, and (with time and a lot of “no, Kevin, we really do mean it when we say you speak good Spanish” comments) finally gain a degree of confidence in my language skills.
Of course, the trip was more than just revelations – there was plenty of hiking, penguins in Chile, and soaking in lots of great scenery while meeting lots of cool people. I was also provided with a few cultural “arrival moments” during the Chilean leg of my vacation. Chilean Spanish differs from Argentine/Uruguayan Spanish. The “ll” and “y” in Argentina and Uruguay are, on the whole, pronounced as “zh” rather than like a “y” in English, but this is not the case in Chile. I got mistaken daily for being Argentine or Uruguayo (“hmmm, he´s “dzuzhing” and carrying mate paraphernalia; definitely Rioplatense!”), and even the few tourists I encountered who spoke Spanish commented on my accent – “Did you learn all your Spanish in Argentina or something, geez!” In Puerto Varas, the desk clerk at my hostel was a girl from Germany, and I ended up chatting with her for a good 20 minutes or so (other point of language/cultural arrival: I´ve got enough confidence in my language skills to flirt in them). A little later, I came back downstairs to see if there were any towels available for guests. Language fun and confusion then ensued, as Julia had not studied Spanish before arriving three months prior in Chile and had no experience with Spanish other than the Chilean variety:
Me: “¿Hay toazhas para alquilar acá en el hostal?” (Are there towels for let here in the hostel?)
Julia: “¿Cómo? (What?)
Me: “Preciso una toazha si hay, por favor.” (I need a towel if there are any, please.)
Julia: “Umm, no entiendo. ¿Cuál es una toazha?” (Umm, I don´t understand. What´s a “toazha”?)
Me: “OH. Estamos en Chile. Preciso una TOAYA.” (Oh, duh, we´re in Chile. I need a “TOAYA.”
Julia: OHHHH, ¡ahora te entiendo!” (OHHHH, now I understand you!)
I might add, for the record, that she thought my accent was cute and proceeded to question me about other details of Rioplatense Spanish. I would also like to add, for the record, that contrary to what certain TLU faculty members with hyphens in their last names will tell you, Chilean Spanish is NOT considered “accent-less” and “the most readily understood Spanish in the world.” In fact, when I said this to people, Chilenos and tourists alike, laughter generally ensued as it was explained to me that the reputation Chilenos have for their Spanish is for speaking very fast (true), using words (not just words of native origins, but just random words) that nobody else uses in Spanish (true…I´ve never seen all police in a country called “carabineros” rather than “policía” except in Chile), and for barking out their words due to the speed of speech (didn´t find this one to be true except with a few individuals).
All good things, including vacations (and this entry) must come to an end, however, and so I made my way back to Montevideo, but only for about 20 hours before heading out of the city once more…but for the final leg of my summer adventures, you´ll have to tune in next time for the thrilling conclusion of “Kevin Does MERCOSUR.”
Monday, January 14, 2008
Holiday, far away, to stay on a Holiday
Three hundred cool points go to the first person to name the song quoted in the entry title. As you have no doubt noticed, I haven´t updated this blog for nearly a month. I´ve been busy...ON VACATION!
Montevideo shuts down from Christmas to Carnaval, and so it is oh-so-Uruguayan to celebrate the holidays and then get out of Dodge for a while. Accordingly, I did just that. I had easily the most multilingual Christmas Eve of my life at Wilma´s house, and what a crowd we were - Wilma and her husband and kids, Julia (a retired Valdense pastor without family in the city), Kirsten and her mom and cousin, Dorothea, and for a while, Daniel and his wife (other friends from the Iglesia Valdense). This mix created a few language challenges - Wilma doesn´t speak much English, Álvaro and the kids speak some English (Karin speaks quite well, actually), KD´s family speaks no Spanish, but they do speak some German, which Doro, Wilma, and Álvaro speak. Accordingly, we had conversations like:
Wilma - "¿Están disfrutando el primer día en Uruguay?"
KD´s family - -looks at KD-
KD - Are you enjoying the first day in Uruguay?
KD´s mom - -Ja, sehr gut! (Or something Germanic like that).
This only got better as the night went on, as KD and I played translator for about everyone else at the table at least once. Julia and I then spoke French for a while, and when I blanked on the word for train platform in Spanish (it´s ánden, for the record), I asked Wilma for the word in Italian since she also speaks Italian, and for whatever reason I could remember "binario" (and also "voie" in French), but not "ánden." It was like the U.N., except fun.
Language issues were less tricky on Christmas Day at Milton´s house. He and his wife and adorable little son (18 months-ish) just moved into a new house in Carrasco Norte, so this was our first visit to his place. Milton speaks English, French, and German in addition to Spanish, so language issues did not involve committees or three-way translations, though I did spend 30 minutes or so translating Milton´s account of Uruguayan history into English for KD´s family...I learned quite a lot in the process. Did you know, for example, that Uruguay granted women´s suffrage over a decade before the U.S., and that it wrote in an official separation of church and state into its constitution in 1830? This country has been progressive by about any political standards from the get-go. After the history lesson, we moved on to the big family dinner with Milton´s parents and various in-laws; dinner was filled with laughter, stories, and (I won´t lie) free scotch. Fun was had, and a nap was definitely taken afterwards.
The 26th continued the festivities; we had our team Christmas party at La Obra, complete with lechón (suckling pig) roasted up for us. We´d been given "amigos secretos" to get gifts for. This year, I decided to make my Christmas gifts rather than buy them, and so Doro received a coupon redeemable for a free three-course dinner, prepared by moi in "La Cocina Fea" (the ugly kitchen...our kitchen in the church is like something out of a horror movie). My secret friend, Virginia (the social worker, not the one in Centro de Estudios) had drawn my name, and got me a book- La Borra del Café by Mario Benedetti.
The book came in handy for the next phase of my Christmas vacation, but to find out about that, you´ll have to tune in next time!
Montevideo shuts down from Christmas to Carnaval, and so it is oh-so-Uruguayan to celebrate the holidays and then get out of Dodge for a while. Accordingly, I did just that. I had easily the most multilingual Christmas Eve of my life at Wilma´s house, and what a crowd we were - Wilma and her husband and kids, Julia (a retired Valdense pastor without family in the city), Kirsten and her mom and cousin, Dorothea, and for a while, Daniel and his wife (other friends from the Iglesia Valdense). This mix created a few language challenges - Wilma doesn´t speak much English, Álvaro and the kids speak some English (Karin speaks quite well, actually), KD´s family speaks no Spanish, but they do speak some German, which Doro, Wilma, and Álvaro speak. Accordingly, we had conversations like:
Wilma - "¿Están disfrutando el primer día en Uruguay?"
KD´s family - -looks at KD-
KD - Are you enjoying the first day in Uruguay?
KD´s mom - -Ja, sehr gut! (Or something Germanic like that).
This only got better as the night went on, as KD and I played translator for about everyone else at the table at least once. Julia and I then spoke French for a while, and when I blanked on the word for train platform in Spanish (it´s ánden, for the record), I asked Wilma for the word in Italian since she also speaks Italian, and for whatever reason I could remember "binario" (and also "voie" in French), but not "ánden." It was like the U.N., except fun.
Language issues were less tricky on Christmas Day at Milton´s house. He and his wife and adorable little son (18 months-ish) just moved into a new house in Carrasco Norte, so this was our first visit to his place. Milton speaks English, French, and German in addition to Spanish, so language issues did not involve committees or three-way translations, though I did spend 30 minutes or so translating Milton´s account of Uruguayan history into English for KD´s family...I learned quite a lot in the process. Did you know, for example, that Uruguay granted women´s suffrage over a decade before the U.S., and that it wrote in an official separation of church and state into its constitution in 1830? This country has been progressive by about any political standards from the get-go. After the history lesson, we moved on to the big family dinner with Milton´s parents and various in-laws; dinner was filled with laughter, stories, and (I won´t lie) free scotch. Fun was had, and a nap was definitely taken afterwards.
The 26th continued the festivities; we had our team Christmas party at La Obra, complete with lechón (suckling pig) roasted up for us. We´d been given "amigos secretos" to get gifts for. This year, I decided to make my Christmas gifts rather than buy them, and so Doro received a coupon redeemable for a free three-course dinner, prepared by moi in "La Cocina Fea" (the ugly kitchen...our kitchen in the church is like something out of a horror movie). My secret friend, Virginia (the social worker, not the one in Centro de Estudios) had drawn my name, and got me a book- La Borra del Café by Mario Benedetti.
The book came in handy for the next phase of my Christmas vacation, but to find out about that, you´ll have to tune in next time!
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