A Puppy Got Kicked, And Some Other Stuff Too (inside joke)

Many things have culminated in the last couple of weeks.  We experienced many frustrations and a few successes, and it’s hard to know where to begin.  The easiest place to start is the FSD weekend retreat to San Antonio de Areco that the eleven American girls participated in from Friday night to Sunday night.  Brett stayed in La Plata to advance a multimedia project that is integral to the deliverables we hope to achieve by the end of our seven weeks here.  I do not want to go into details on a public blog, but I will say this: Emily, Liana, and I (Emily first) requested to stay in La Plata to work with Brett and the women at the comedor this weekend, but our request was denied in absolute terms.  Had we decided not to attend this obligatory vacation, we would have faced termination from this FSD program.  Needless to say, Horacio urged us to go on the retreat to save the project and a so-called positive relationship with FSD.

The weekend itself was pleasant.  We arrived at the aptly named Hostel Gaucho on Friday night and enjoyed a delicious ravioli dinner served by the hostel owner herself.  We all turned in by 1 am after a good chat—early by Argentine standards, considering that clubs don’t open in San Antonio until 4 am—so that we could get our beauty sleep before the big day ahead.  The next morning we walked to a deluxe ranch and experienced everything gaucho.  Although, as our astute coworkers at Biosfera jested many times, this place was far too deluxe to showcase the reality of gaucho life.  I could tell as soon as I heard the first Beetles cover song over the cleverly hidden speakers that I was not truly in el campo (the countryside).  Nevertheless, the illusion worked its magic.  Upon our arrival, we went horseback riding through manicured fields, passing by some more modern artifacts: a mini-Jeep for mini gauchos, for instance.  My pony was slow but reliable.  Meaning, I consistently held up the rear of the horse train but at least my pony didn’t stop to eat the bushes like SOME other horses (Kelly calling “Ayuda! Ayuda!” from behind me was one of the most memorable moments).  We then took a hammock break with some delicious Argentine wine, which eventually turned into an asado lunch with empanada and chorizo appetizers.  Vegetarians beware!  After lunch, Liana and I were coerced into dancing foclore with several other more willing volunteers.  The day ended with a semi-beastiality presentation of the close relationship gauchos have with their horses, accompanied by a gentle flute rendition of the song “Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina.”  A profound cultural experience indeed.

Sunday was spent mostly exploring the town itself, although there’s not much to explore.  The best discovery was a little choclateria, where we nearly tripped over ourselves to buy gourmet homemade chocolate.  Chocolate is without some form of dulce de leche filling is rare—not to say I’m complaining!  Our FSD-sponsored lunch place for the day was a little cerveceria that only had three beers on tap (Disclaimer: FSD doesn’t cover drink tabs.  No lawsuits please.).  After meat and cheese picadas, Caroline and I stuck around for a while to enjoy the atmosphere.  One of the things that must be appreciated while here is the slow pace of life, and the personal nature of interaction.  People take time during work, during a commute, or even during their favorite TV show to talk and joke around.  I stay at work to visit with people until 8 PM or later every night.  My host mom will strike up a twenty-minute conversation with the bus driver even though she has never met him before in her life.  She said the city is a little family, although La Plata is far from small.  While the flexible definition of “on time” makes work a little difficult, it makes for an entirely liberating cultural experience.  The integrity of our goals remains the same here, but the means of achieving those goals is a slower, more reflective, more interpersonal road.  It makes me glad that I’m studying abroad next semester and not immediately returning to a more fast-paced, stressful environment at Wellesley.  The slower pace of life also gives me more space to reflect on the institutional difficulties I’ve been running up against, and wonder how bureaucracy imposed by international organization interferes with the pace of development in countries like Argentina.