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.”