When you've spent your entire life in one country, among relatively consistent varieties of its culture, being in another region of the world entirely really makes you miss home. I've been thinking a lot about this lately: mostly, what exactly it is that I miss. It can't be my family or my friends, because I spent years living away from them, moving around, and making new ones. What have I left, an internal expat, to miss?
I guess this is the sort of riddle that sociologists and social psychologists spend their time trying to figure out. What exactly culture is, how it defines our experiences, and most importantly, what it does for us.
But I won't be so nearly academic. Now is not the time or place.
Probably, the most stand-out thing for me is an inexplicable craving for convenience. Well, I guess it's not inexplicable, since are we not the nation of convenience? Do we not judge our own standard of living and quality of experience based on how easy things are? Now, it's true - Argentina isn't terribly inconvenient; as a developing country it too has been blessed with modern innovations such as the supermarket, the internet, and caller ID. But it hasn't reached that utmost pinnacle of convenience that we have by providing electric scooters to Wal-Mart customers, which of course move slow enough that one may text relatively safely while driving. A big part of me wants to move back to the States and buy an Iphone.
There is also something more ephemeral, something that can only be described as "attitude." It is actually something closely related to the issue of convenience, namely, that we are the best. Why are we the best? And why do we seem to be the best? Best economy, best science, best army, etc. I do believe that, for the most part, these things are more or less "facts," at least by the standards we use to assess them. But why is this?
In Argentina, the people here are plagued by apathy. Primarily towards politics, but this inevitably spills into other issues as well. There seems to be a consistent belief that there is little one can do, so why bother? Better to live life, and pursue simpler things, like friends, family, sex, and money. The States, on the other hand, is a nation of "assholes on a deadline." We live to be bothered, and if we are not bothered, we are terribly confused and feel aimless and unimportant. Of course, the consequence of this is that we tend to get things done, even if it is with a lot of bickering, and even if it is with some of the highest depression rates in the developed world.
But, I miss it. I too am American, and I too am used to this feeling. It drives me as well. And here, this is out of place. No one will give it to me (since others are the source of this feeling, after all). I have had to learn to drive myself more to do things, which I think actually help when I return.
Showing posts with label argentina. Show all posts
Showing posts with label argentina. Show all posts
Monday, October 5, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
For this post, I'll just do a simple point-by-point list of marked differences in Argentinian culture.
As a preface, I would like to say that Argentinians, for all intents and purposes, are Italians who speak Spanish. This is a common generalization that even Argentinians attest to, and while it is a generalization, there is some truth behind it. Italians are one of the biggest immigrant groups into the country over the past century, and this is evident in several areas: complexion and appearance of Argentines (i.e., more Caucasian than you would expect in a Latin American country), common surnames (Giorgi, Piccatto, etc.), and Rioplatense Spanish (this geographical region is named for Rio de La Plata, the major river around which Buenos Aires was built), which research has shown to be heavily influenced by the Italian language.
Anyways, fun facts:
- Argentinians greet each other with a kiss on the cheek. This is most common with women and children.
- Argentinians have no problem with sharing glasses, utensils, etc. In fact, a popular tea called Mate (Mah-tay) is served among several individuals, who all sip from the same straw.
- Traffic lights go from Red to Red AND Yellow, then green.
- In small towns like the one I am in, people will drive around the same block dozens of times for fun on a Friday night.
- While there is technically a drinking age, it is not enforced at all, and you can buy liquor in convenience stores.
- It is considered polite and appropriate to have small chat with people, even if you are there for business, especially if you know them.
- In the country, they do take siestas. I do myself, actually. It's hard not to sleep when the whole town has shut down.
- They have no compunction about talking about how fat people are.
- Dogs are typically left outside and are rarely leashed. Dog poop is everywhere.
- There is no sales tax.
- There are no lawns, in the American sense, and houses are most often built touching one another.
- While they grill (a lot), they use only embers, and think it is funny that people in the States will grill over an open flame.
-Finally, a few important words for Argentinians: bueno ('okay'), listo ('ready,' 'okay'), boludo/boluda (literally 'big balls,' yes, those balls, but means more 'dude/dudette'), che (interjective particle, can mean 'hey')
There will be more to come, I promise.
As a preface, I would like to say that Argentinians, for all intents and purposes, are Italians who speak Spanish. This is a common generalization that even Argentinians attest to, and while it is a generalization, there is some truth behind it. Italians are one of the biggest immigrant groups into the country over the past century, and this is evident in several areas: complexion and appearance of Argentines (i.e., more Caucasian than you would expect in a Latin American country), common surnames (Giorgi, Piccatto, etc.), and Rioplatense Spanish (this geographical region is named for Rio de La Plata, the major river around which Buenos Aires was built), which research has shown to be heavily influenced by the Italian language.
Anyways, fun facts:
- Argentinians greet each other with a kiss on the cheek. This is most common with women and children.
- Argentinians have no problem with sharing glasses, utensils, etc. In fact, a popular tea called Mate (Mah-tay) is served among several individuals, who all sip from the same straw.
- Traffic lights go from Red to Red AND Yellow, then green.
- In small towns like the one I am in, people will drive around the same block dozens of times for fun on a Friday night.
- While there is technically a drinking age, it is not enforced at all, and you can buy liquor in convenience stores.
- It is considered polite and appropriate to have small chat with people, even if you are there for business, especially if you know them.
- In the country, they do take siestas. I do myself, actually. It's hard not to sleep when the whole town has shut down.
- They have no compunction about talking about how fat people are.
- Dogs are typically left outside and are rarely leashed. Dog poop is everywhere.
- There is no sales tax.
- There are no lawns, in the American sense, and houses are most often built touching one another.
- While they grill (a lot), they use only embers, and think it is funny that people in the States will grill over an open flame.
-Finally, a few important words for Argentinians: bueno ('okay'), listo ('ready,' 'okay'), boludo/boluda (literally 'big balls,' yes, those balls, but means more 'dude/dudette'), che (interjective particle, can mean 'hey')
There will be more to come, I promise.
Monday, August 24, 2009
On Being A Foreigner
Yes, I am in a small town, the sort of place where everybody knows everybody, and people tend to grow up here and spend their lives here. I don't think this happens as often in the States, and it makes me wonder, why are things still so geographically consistent here?
But anyways, this fact does something to explain people's reaction to me. In Buenos Aires, I'm just another gringo, just another extranjero, and am far from extraordinary. But here, in Monte Maiz, a little farming town in the heartland of the country, I am exotic, the first of my kind, a phenomenon (which, ironically and appropriately, means 'freak' in Spanish; the word applies to me in both languages).
The result is that people are constantly asking me to come to asados, or visit their homes, or come to the disco with them. Alternatively, they will not speak to me at all, almost as if they are afraid, but more likely they are at a loss of what to say to someone who may not even be able to understand them. Though, I would beg to differ, I cannot pick and choose when I must use Spanish.
But I don't think that explains it entirely, the small-town thing. I think a great deal of it is the culture here. In the States, while we would be just as interested, we would express it rather differently. The biggest difference, I think, is the amount of space which we accord to such outsiders. In the States, we are cautious, tenative; but accept our invitation to dinner, and we will interrogate you endlessly, no matter what language barrier.
Here, though, the invitation/rsvp interaction format is not necessary, but once I ask "mas despacio?" ("more slowly?"), suddenly the dialogue will shut down.
I went to Buenos Aires this past weekend and went to - guess what - THE Star Wars Exhibition. Original props and costumes? Yes. Concept art from the original films? Keep going. Full vehicles used in filming? Man, that was about the sweetest thing I've done in a while, all for about ten dollars.
That's another thing, I'm constantly thinking about the cost of things in terms of the exchange rate here, which definitely works in my favor. Food and drink here is phenomenally cheap: two slices of pizza and a coke is about three dollars, a liter of beer is about two dollars for nicer brands, etc., etc. It's like the whole country is a discount store. But it also makes me wonder about the nature of money and how its value is determined. Hm.
But anyways, this fact does something to explain people's reaction to me. In Buenos Aires, I'm just another gringo, just another extranjero, and am far from extraordinary. But here, in Monte Maiz, a little farming town in the heartland of the country, I am exotic, the first of my kind, a phenomenon (which, ironically and appropriately, means 'freak' in Spanish; the word applies to me in both languages).
The result is that people are constantly asking me to come to asados, or visit their homes, or come to the disco with them. Alternatively, they will not speak to me at all, almost as if they are afraid, but more likely they are at a loss of what to say to someone who may not even be able to understand them. Though, I would beg to differ, I cannot pick and choose when I must use Spanish.
But I don't think that explains it entirely, the small-town thing. I think a great deal of it is the culture here. In the States, while we would be just as interested, we would express it rather differently. The biggest difference, I think, is the amount of space which we accord to such outsiders. In the States, we are cautious, tenative; but accept our invitation to dinner, and we will interrogate you endlessly, no matter what language barrier.
Here, though, the invitation/rsvp interaction format is not necessary, but once I ask "mas despacio?" ("more slowly?"), suddenly the dialogue will shut down.
I went to Buenos Aires this past weekend and went to - guess what - THE Star Wars Exhibition. Original props and costumes? Yes. Concept art from the original films? Keep going. Full vehicles used in filming? Man, that was about the sweetest thing I've done in a while, all for about ten dollars.
That's another thing, I'm constantly thinking about the cost of things in terms of the exchange rate here, which definitely works in my favor. Food and drink here is phenomenally cheap: two slices of pizza and a coke is about three dollars, a liter of beer is about two dollars for nicer brands, etc., etc. It's like the whole country is a discount store. But it also makes me wonder about the nature of money and how its value is determined. Hm.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
-Phones, Anglo- and Latino-
English is not totally absent from here, especially here in the hostel. In fact, English is the lingua franca amongst peoples not just from South America, but Europe too. Still, there is a subtle difference between the way I speak and the speech of an Australian. I am staying with a dozen Americans, but our conversation is devoted to this new world we are in and the huge differences that surround us.
The effect is mind-numbing. The range of my English is contracting, and the expansion of my Spanish (which is spoken at least fifty percent of the time) cannot keep up. I am starved for dialogue. But change never comes without discomfort; there must always be a period of transition, when one thing yields to another, and the gap that remains in the meantime stretches and adapts to the shape of the new thing.
The novelty of this place keeps me alert, though:
Asado is delicious. It is meat, pork ribs and cow belly and blood sausage, slowly grilled over coals, leaving it crispy on the outside and tender and moist on the inside. Argentines think the way Americans grill, with the flames licking the meat, is silly. I am tempted to agree, but I know I would be just as thankful for an American hamburger off a Weber grill.
Argentines despise breaking bills. They are almost unfailingly offended by the idea, so don't try to break a hundred-peso note (which is the smallest denomination ATMs give out) without buying something.
There are no free refills here. When you pay six pesos for a Coca Cola, that is all you will get, unless, of course, you pay for more. Even water costs money, so saying "Yo quiero agua" will not save you any money. Even at McDonald's. Yes, I ate there; it was pretty much the same, except for slight differences in the menu (there are a lot of ads for the "Big Tasty Bacon" around the city), and it was even more depressing, because McDonald's is actually more expensive than many other restaurants. Anyways, I gather that the free-refill phenomenon is actually unique to the U. S. and Canada.
Ah, such are the ways in which our lives differ. But they are toys, playthings, shiny objects that will, with time, inevitably lose their luster. They are filler, until a more substantial familiarity with the culture and the language comes to take their place.
The effect is mind-numbing. The range of my English is contracting, and the expansion of my Spanish (which is spoken at least fifty percent of the time) cannot keep up. I am starved for dialogue. But change never comes without discomfort; there must always be a period of transition, when one thing yields to another, and the gap that remains in the meantime stretches and adapts to the shape of the new thing.
The novelty of this place keeps me alert, though:
Asado is delicious. It is meat, pork ribs and cow belly and blood sausage, slowly grilled over coals, leaving it crispy on the outside and tender and moist on the inside. Argentines think the way Americans grill, with the flames licking the meat, is silly. I am tempted to agree, but I know I would be just as thankful for an American hamburger off a Weber grill.
Argentines despise breaking bills. They are almost unfailingly offended by the idea, so don't try to break a hundred-peso note (which is the smallest denomination ATMs give out) without buying something.
There are no free refills here. When you pay six pesos for a Coca Cola, that is all you will get, unless, of course, you pay for more. Even water costs money, so saying "Yo quiero agua" will not save you any money. Even at McDonald's. Yes, I ate there; it was pretty much the same, except for slight differences in the menu (there are a lot of ads for the "Big Tasty Bacon" around the city), and it was even more depressing, because McDonald's is actually more expensive than many other restaurants. Anyways, I gather that the free-refill phenomenon is actually unique to the U. S. and Canada.
Ah, such are the ways in which our lives differ. But they are toys, playthings, shiny objects that will, with time, inevitably lose their luster. They are filler, until a more substantial familiarity with the culture and the language comes to take their place.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
I have come to the conclusion that airports are alien worlds. Things do not work here like they do elsewhere. Everything is linear, and the stores and furniture and signs repeat themselves, like a broken record. People interact differently here, they are hurried, concerned, taxed, all of them little fortresses too occupied with being bombarded to worry about much else.
Washington-Dulles is not a very attractive airport, it is rather cramped, and its age is beginning to show. Even so, it is still an airport, and so it is a monument to the art of moving people. People make such big things devoted to relatively simply tasks, like moving people, or making electricity, or paper, I am in awe of them. They are things not defined by aesthetics or comfort or spirituality, but more modern ideas, like efficiency. Still, this produces an aesthetic all its own, and a very interesting one that challenges us as humans.
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I keep alternating between waves of fear and excitement: fear, that I am going to another country, where not only do I know no one, but I also no nothing of the culture or language, so I have to learn what is right and wrong and acceptable all over again; excitement, that I will be seeing a place unlike any I have ever seen before, with people who see the world in a different way from me. It will be challenging and uncomfortable, and it is my biggest fear that I will find I prefer the comfort of home. But I do not think this will happen. Challenges are always rewarded, even if its rewards are intangible or even indescribable.
In three hours, I will board my plane, and be on my way to the other half of the world. I won't just see a different culture, and a different language, but a different sky! New stars in the night-time, constellations I have never learned in school, Polaris will be out of sight! New plants and animals, new geographies! I can't wait.
Washington-Dulles is not a very attractive airport, it is rather cramped, and its age is beginning to show. Even so, it is still an airport, and so it is a monument to the art of moving people. People make such big things devoted to relatively simply tasks, like moving people, or making electricity, or paper, I am in awe of them. They are things not defined by aesthetics or comfort or spirituality, but more modern ideas, like efficiency. Still, this produces an aesthetic all its own, and a very interesting one that challenges us as humans.
---------
I keep alternating between waves of fear and excitement: fear, that I am going to another country, where not only do I know no one, but I also no nothing of the culture or language, so I have to learn what is right and wrong and acceptable all over again; excitement, that I will be seeing a place unlike any I have ever seen before, with people who see the world in a different way from me. It will be challenging and uncomfortable, and it is my biggest fear that I will find I prefer the comfort of home. But I do not think this will happen. Challenges are always rewarded, even if its rewards are intangible or even indescribable.
In three hours, I will board my plane, and be on my way to the other half of the world. I won't just see a different culture, and a different language, but a different sky! New stars in the night-time, constellations I have never learned in school, Polaris will be out of sight! New plants and animals, new geographies! I can't wait.
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