My First Blog...EVER

Sunday, July 6, 2008

It wasn’t until today that I ever thought I should start blogging…but I usually have things to say or ideas about events that happen in my everyday life that I never write down. I consider myself a pretty terrible writer (though still better than others), so I figure I should start practicing more now.

I’ve now been in Buenos Aires, Argentina for a week. I flew out Sunday June 29th, and now it is Sunday July 6th. I’ve been here studying Music and Culture in Latin America with the UC Davis Summer Abroad program. Coming into this I had no idea what to expect. The last time I was out of the country I was 12 years old. My family went to England for two weeks. I have no memory of customs or the hustle and bustle in the airport. I don’t really even remember much from the trip, mostly because I was very much into the Harry Potter book I was reading at the time– bad planning on J.K. Rowling’s part by releasing the 4th book right before I left for England (though you could say I was at least reading something British!).

The week leading up to my departure was frantic. I was busy helping my parents with their summer program and enjoying my first week as a 21-year-old. I had no time to pack or even think about packing. Not only was I frantic with all that I was doing, but also worrying about not knowing any other Spanish than “No hablo Español” or “¿Donde está el baño?” Granted, those are two important phrases, but I was worried about being totally immersed in a Spanish speaking country with little Spanish capabilities. My biggest concern was getting from Ezeiza International Airport to Hotel Novel (where I am residing these 4 weeks). Those were the only two places I needed to be, but I had no idea how to ask to get to the hotel.

I got to the desk of the Manuel Tienda Leon shuttle service (where my Lonely Planet guide suggested I go) and had a look of absolute helplessness on my face. I couldn’t even get out the phrase “¿Hablas Inglese?” The woman working there asked me “Eeengleeesh?” I said, “Si, please.” From there I was a little less concerned about not knowing much Spanish. At this point I had a phone that I could call my program director on if I really needed help.

If you have ever considered traveling to a foreign country or studying abroad somewhere…DO IT! There is nothing more humbling yet also amazing than being in a country where you barely understand the language. Everyday I am more surprised and excited about how much more Spanish I have learned. For example, I now know how to say, “Puedo usar el internet, por favor?” That’s a complete sentence… and USEFUL too.

Four times a week I have my Music and Culture class. It’s from 12-1:15pm M-Th. It combines listening to music from Argentina, Brazil, Peru, Cuba, Mexico and a few other Latin American regions. We listen to recordings and watch YouTube videos, but generally just get a feel for the differences and similarities between regions. After that class on Mondays and Wednesdays I have “Survival Spanish.” This is the beginning of the beginning. Out of 19 people on the trip, there are only two people who have had no formal Spanish training…I’m one of the two. The other is the guy I convinced to go with me, John. Our teacher is from Buenos Aires and speaks about as much English as Spanish I did before coming on the trip. Everything she says is in Spanish when she is teaching us. Though it makes it hard for me to understand learning Spanish, there’s something about someone pounding a sentence in you head until you just…get it. I probably understand about 30% of everything she says. Some of the other people in the class know about 95%, but they’re good sports about it.

Now onto the entire reason I decided to start this whole blog thing.

Today I decided that I should go to church. I’ve been going to church all my life. Don’t get me wrong, church is awesome, but I don’t think it was ever my number one priority to go to church when I was in Buenos Aires. I decided to go because I realized that Catholicism is huge in Argentina. I figured it would be really cool to go see a Catholic mass in a country that was so very Catholic. There is a very beautiful church next to this amazing cemetery with probably thousands of mausoleums, including Evita’s grave. A guy on the program and I both thought it would be cool to go, so we went this morning at 11am. We didn’t know what time there was mass, so we guessed that they would have one either at 11 or 12. We were right. In fact, there was mass at 6am, 10am, 11am, 12pm, 7pm, and I think another time that night. I was kind of amazed by the amount of masses in a single day there were.

We got there just a few minutes before the 11am mass and took our seats. In the back of my mind I knew the mass was going to be in Spanish, but I kind of forgot that it really meant that EVERYTHING would be in Spanish. I went to four years of Catholic high school and thankfully I knew what every part of the mass was. I wasn’t lost in the mass. I knew what the English equivalent was at most times…and yet I still felt to disconnected. It made me think of what life was like when the entire mass was in Latin. It wasn’t accessible to everyone. I feel like it’s a double-edged sword. Having masses in the country’s home language helps everyone to feel like they know what’s going on. However, I feel that it would also work well to have masses in Latin because then really it represents what the word catholic means– universal. Having a Latin mass means that anywhere you go it’s exactly the same. I could go to Middle of Nowhere, Antarctica and still know exactly what was happening in the mass. I’m not sure I think anyway is necessarily better, but it did get me thinking this morning.

Another thing I thought about when I was at mass this morning was something that we call CCM in my family. It means Crappy Catholic Music. I was baptized Lutheran, confirmed Episcopalian, and attended Catholic high school (where I was very involved in ministry). Here I was in this beautiful church. Gold everywhere, statues and everything. The only thing that was missing was an organ. As I was sitting there I felt cheated by having two relatively bad singers and a guitar. I felt like it should be a rule that any nice looking church should be required to have good music. Next Sunday I’m going to try the Cathedral. I hope that a cathedral would have an organ… and maybe I’ll be able to have missa sin guitarra (as they would say here).
I guess I have to end this. I’ve never really been good at endings… so I guess I’ll just say that this is the beginning!



This is one of the mausoleums from the cemetary. It’s amazing how much people here care about the deaths of loved ones. I’ve never seen so many mausoleums and beautiful ones at that with statues!