Intangibles to Miss

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.

-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.