{{posting this now that i'm in the airport in santiago de chile with a wifi signal, but i wrote this earlier this afternoon}}
right now i’m at a sunny table tomando un café mediano. things that feel real: the reggaeton playing in the background, the refrigerator behind the counter stocked solely with liters of quilmes beer and containers of diet yoghurt, the south-american sun beating down on me through the window. it’s hard to believe that less than a day from now, i’ll be touching down in dc. it seems like a million miles and several dimensions away. a friend i made here once described argentina as being “1 hour and 30 years away” from the united states. the outdated haircuts everyone has here seem to prove this true. but travel is always strange in that it’s impossible to reconcile such disparate realities; how can both “home” and “away” possibly exist at the same time, each chugging along and continuing to live and change? it’s much easier to operate under the misconception that any place where i’m not present simply freezes in time until i’m ready to return to it.
it will feel weird to be home. although i spent the majority of the summer at home working most days to save up money, somehow i think this is different. leaving and coming back changes a person. things feel more transient now, which is both good and bad. less stuck in the mud, but also now hyper-aware of what i’ll be missing whilst home. i’ve been trying to focus on small moments, small places, small memories. it keeps me from feeling overwhelmed with my conflicting emotions about leaving argentina. i’m looking forward to the way the sun-dappled leaves of the dogwood tree in front of my room will glow orange in an autumnal sunset hymn every night. i’m looking forward to having my first bites in six weeks of curry, pad thai, falafel, and most of all, mom’s home-cooked food. i’m looking forward to driving down to politics and prose on a rainy sunday and camping out with my journal and my laptop and really, really working on my writing. i’m looking forward to seeing deer grazing in rock creek park. i’m looking forward to reading the washington post as i drink tea in the morning. i’m looking forward to finally wearing my favourite black jeans that i didn’t have room for in my suitcase. i’m looking forward to practicing yoga whenever i please.
and likewise, i don’t want to forget the minutiae of my time here in argentina. it’s easy to remember the big things- the gleaming expanse of the salinas grandes salt flats, the day we baked alfajores with prison inmates, the simultaneously addicting and revolting taste of dulce de leche, the souvenirs and photos that i’m bringing home. but i want to make sure i remember the little things, the things that don’t seem particularly important or memorable right now, but that i’ll forget about if i’m not careful. how some bus drivers had a picture of the virgin mary on the top of their gearshifts. the way salta looked at night from the roof of the hostel, all gold lights in an inky sky. the smell of a wildfire on the side of a highway. listening to the boys i worked with show off their beatboxing skills. the toothpaste-like taste of fernet. the feeling of outsize satisfaction upon doing something vaguely independent, like going to the lavandería, buying groceries, commuting to work alone, having a functionally correct conversation en español. the way my fitted sheet never seemed to stay on my mattress properly. sitting on the steps of patio olmos, reading the horoscopes on the billboard across the street. the melancholy of a ten hour bus ride, and waking up at 5:30 a.m. at the end of said bus ride with a kind stranger’s jacket warming my knees.
i don’t want to forget the people, either. not just the close friends i made, the coworkers i spent time with, the cousins i met in buenos aires, the boys i worked with at my placement, but also the bit players in my argentine universe. the farmacity employee who looked like jason schwartzman. the taxi driver last week who complained to marit and me about his wife’s weight gain, complete with before and after photos. my favourite alfajor vendor, a wizened old lady, at córdoba’s feria artesanal. the little girls at copa de leche who asked me to draw them all pictures of long-haired princesses in ball gowns. the parking attendant on duty in front of my house, who invariably, regardless of the day’s weather, commented on how lovely córdoba is in the springtime.
i haven’t even left the country or the continent yet, and i already want to come back. there are so many weekend trips i never got to make: mendoza, iguazú falls, patagonia, montevideo, santiago. i wish i could have spent more time in buenos aires, and i would happily stay in córdoba longer, working hard and spending time with friends. but that’s the crux of travel. you always crave more, and no time ever feels like enough time. i’m proud of the fact, though, that i made this trip be what i wanted it to be. this journey has been memorable and educational in all the right ways, partially by circumstance but partially because i’m learning to make my life happen how i want it to. i’m exhausted. and i’m lucky. i’m lucky i’m lucky i’m lucky i’m so lucky to be doing the things that i’m doing. the past six weeks have been difficult, stressful, and full of unexpected obstacles, but they have been incredible. i can only hope i’ve made a shadow of the impact on the people and places i have encountered here as they have made on me.
x
msb
