La villa pt. 3: Viviendo en Adventlandia

Although the express purpose of my visit to the UAP was to attend the ADRA planning meetings, I had actually already been planning on passing through on my way to Salta so I could catch up with some people from my college (Pacific Union College). My friend Cheyenne went here last year and, as is common practice, picked up a significant other. Since I wasn't too hyped on the idea of staying with a pastor, her boyfriend Isa (for Isaiah) kindly put me up at his apartment for the week. Of course, most pastors are nice enough, but those from latinoamerica kind of have a reputation that I wasn't ready to test just yet. Ironically, I later found out that he was away that week, and after having met his agreeable family I felt pretty stupid for opting out.

Still, staying with Isa was a great experience. Not only did he have a fan in his room to battle the stupendous heat of that week (made worse by the dress clothes I was wearing for half the day), he knows everyone in town. The somewhat long walk to the university from his place was made shorter by all the people we greeted along the way, and almost every night we hung out with his friends at the local futsal gym (5 on 5 indoor soccer) to watch the yearly tournament of teams from the whole town. It was especially fun to watch his team compete, as well as play ping-pong when I got a little bored with the endless futsal (the level of play for ping pong was inexplicably high—I lost every time, to multiple players). Besides that, his landlords were also extremely nice, always offering me dinner at night and terere (mate with chilled juice/soda instea
d of hot water) in the afternoons. In contrast to the typical Argentinian stereotype of self-inflating machismo, I have found no lack of kindness and their hospitality is incredibly generous. Even with the slimmest of connections, you become family in an instant. I think my only complaint I could possibly have is with their diet, which apart from an excess of meat-eating also involves a love of mayonnaise I didn't think was possible. Gross.

Another slight difficulty was that I was essentially without access to the internet except during meeting breaks. In addition to creating incredible withdrawals, this made meeting up with the people I knew somewhat of a task for the first couple days. Eventually I spotted Meagan (from my Spanish class last year) and Mike (who I mentioned earlier) in the cafeteria, and as we caught up a couple other familiar faces from PUC dropped by as well. That's when I realized how crucial a shared culture and language are to interacting with other people. People I had barely seen before instantly became friends I was hugging, and acquaintances now became hang out partners for hours on end. Yes, part of it is a chance to escape from speaking in Spanish—the 4th grade vocabulary, the same topics over and over, the feelings of stupidity—but it's also a relief from the constant struggle to understand the character and traits of the people I'm interacting with. Language is central to our ability make snap judgments about people: whether they are kind or mean, intelligent or foolish, easygoing or uptight, etc. (even sane or insane, as I found out during my time at Napa State Hospital). Without that ability, I am basically left at the mercy of what people I already know tell me about others. Usually this works, but it's obviously very dangerous to base your opinion of someone solely from the perspective of someone else.

At any rate, I had a good time in the idyllic village of Adventism. Seeing old friends is always a pleasure, and making new ones is an adventure. I can't wait to go back to enjoy cheap ice cream, bicycle shenanigans, and most of all, the feeling of being a place full of great people that you know or are soon to meet. I will definitely miss it.

La villa pt. 2: Los reuniones

Starting this week I added another link in the chain of my participation in the Seventh-Day Adventist “system”. That chain began almost literally at birth, followed by grade school, academy, and college, along with my church membership confirmed by baptism at age 12. And now, work (with the Adventist Development and Relief Agency, if you didn't know). It should be noted that this is not uncommon. The potential to forever remain in the SDA subcultural bubble is very real, and often desirable, for many Adventists. Whether you're an Angwinite, Loma Linder, or a Caroll Avenue kid (or countless other SDA niches), you know that there is always a place for you if you want to stick around.

Depending on your school, church, and friends, however, your “SDA life” could look very different from someone else's. That is because, like any religious community, SDAs are far from monolithic. I, for example, grew up in a rather liberal version of SDAism that puts it's emphasis on mainstream Christian theology and values, while shying away from prophecy, orthodox Sabbath-keeping, and the writings of Ellen G. White (though I did write a paper that showed how pervasive she is in our literature, even when unmentioned). That version seems to be virtually nonexistent in South America, and it has therefore been a little difficult to cope with my new situation, even though we are supposedly the same (I had to laugh to myself when I agreed with someone that I was experiencing some “culture shock”; not—like they thought—from being in Argentina, but from being amongst conservative SDAs).

I say only a little difficult because most of the things that really separate me from these SDAs are ideas, which are rarely communicated—in either direction—due to my partial language barrier. Yes, praying before every meal and singing songs before a planning meeting is a little foreign to me, but certainly not alien. As for the ideas, the solution is simple: keep my mouth shut. Even if I hear an idea I think I disagree with, I remain content to keep silent for fear of attacking a point they didn't actually make and/or making myself look like an idiot, or worse, an apostate. Perhaps I am not standing up for myself, but as both an outsider and a new employee, it seems easy enough to justify it as social and cultural sensitivity.

The first two days of meetings were unbearably boring (not only that, they started at 8 AM, death for a night owl like myself). Hours and hours were spent describing the the history of ADRA, it's financial and administrative structure, and overviews of the national emergency plan we would eventually be constructing. The only benefit was the snack breaks, which made up for the breakfast I didn't have (decaf tea with cookies and tasty little cheesy breadballs). The only time my ears pricked up were when the words “evangelism” and “proselytism” came up in a long discussion of ADRA's purpose. This is because I am definitively against evangelism, especially in it's typical SDA form: fear tactics and emotional appeals based on the doom-and-gloom Bible prophecies of Daniel and Revelation. To me an emphasis on prophecy has the potential to create passive people who, while they recognize that the world is getting progressively worse, choose to analyze the decline as a “sign of the times” rather than take an active role in preventing it. Furthermore, in my view, evangelism merely reflects the hubris of the group that is proselytizing, as it suggests that their perspective is true to the exclusion of all others. It's not so much that I disagree with the SDA message, but that it I think it only has partial truth—just like the other religions it is trying to convert people from (more on this later).

This is why I love ADRA, because while it is funded by the Church, it is not associated with any religious motive apart from the imperative of the social gospel (i.e. Jesus' call to help the poor, the orphaned, the widowed, the “least of these”). Unlike other sectors of the Church, it refuses to overspiritualize Christianity into a matter solely of belief to the exclusion of living a life of discipleship, doing good for the sake of goodness. Thinking that this view was common, I felt great discomfort when one person kept interrupting to insist that we are doing nothing if we are only giving bread and water and not the “bread of life” (i.e. the spiritual gospel). I felt something close to horror when someone suggested that we put SDA literature in relief packages, and even more so that the only response to that idea was not that it was contrary to ADRA's mission, but that doing so could create legal problems with governments that are unfriendly to proselytism.

As it turns out, keeping my mouth shut was a very prudent decision. First, because this kind of talk eventually disappeared as real work on the emergency plan began. Second, because I later found out that the people making those arguments were Church administrators, not ADRA representatives. Third, and most importantly, my local supervisor is in accord with my thoughts on the social gospel, and conducts all of her work on that principle. Although we disagree on some things, it has been a great comfort that I seem to have found the most open minded SDA in Argentina, so that I do not have to pretend to be something I am not for the sake of my work. Her determination and attitude really shines in comparison to the other regional directors I met, who were thoroughly lackluster.

For the most part I tried to stay off to the side during the planning sessions, but eventually I got dragged into being at least somewhat productive. After about half a day of trying to figure out what they wanted me to do, I finally realized that I was to draft the response “menu” for attending to psychological health in the case of a natural disaster. Although I was certainly not qualified to do so, with a little research—and a lot of help from a few bilingual aides—I was able to create something acceptable. So in reality the meetings weren't all bad. In fact, the EVP of ADRA told my boss that he took some of my ideas about the psychological health of volunteers—i.e. not just the affected—and is planning on working them into ADRA International's response plan.

I want to finish with a return to the evangelism issue, because I have been thinking about it a lot now that I am in a context where it is common. In the United States, where individual domain is sacred, it is very easy to hold the opinion that I related earlier. In Argentina, however, I can't seem to refute the many positive benefits people face when they join the SDA church. For me, I care most about the practical impact of evangelism. I definitely do not like it when conversion destroys a family—which is common in very Catholic families—but for many people it gives them a new energy in life that seems to save them from many pitfalls in life: addiction, disease, poverty. In pondering that point, I think I have come to understand what my esteemed professor, Dr. Greg Schneider, meant when he said—echoing William James—that the validity of a religion comes from “fruits not roots”. That is, from what they accomplish, not from what they believe. What do you think?

La villa pt. 1: Mirando atrás

While I am sure that during the six months I am here in Argentina I will experience a great deal of life-altering moments, I think there are three big transitions that stand out. The first transition was obviously moving from San Francisco to Argentina, and the third will be when I take a 20 hour bus ride to the impoverished northern provinces of Salta and Jujuy (hoo-hooey!). I have a feeling that the second was the most difficult: leaving liberal leftist Buenos Aires and entering the conservative, nearly fundamentalist world of latino Adventism.

There is one word that can encapsulate my feelings as I made that trip to “la villa” (puiggari/libertador san martin/la UAP): regret. The first regret I had was that I found out too late that the famed superclásico—a soccer match which is basically on my bucket list to see en vivo—would not be taking place some time after I arrived in Salta, but the same Sunday I was leaving to the villa. Not only that, we ended up traveling during the game, so I was reduced to listening to it on the radio, which is basically useless for someone who wasn't born into the language. Unlike football or baseball, soccer has no breaks to allow for a slower summary of what is going on, so the live commentary is outrageously fast—and constant. What's more, the game took place at River stadium, and it was a tie: perfect conditions for seeing a great game with minimal risk of riots. ¡Qué lástima!

The second regret was that my Spanish (or “castellano”, to Argentinians) was not holding up too well. Whenever Paula, the ADRA assistant, called to make plans to pick me up, I was always eternally confused. The phrases “dos y media” and “doce y media” sound nearly identical over the phone, yet it represents a two hour difference in time. Besides my difficulties with the phone, I couldn't say everything I wanted to in person either. Without an adequate vocabulary it was difficult to express the deep gratitude I had for the Gambetta's hospitality and friendship. Although I did get them some presents, just saying “muchisimas gracias” (many many thanks) didn't quite seem to do it.

Because of those failures of Spanish proficiency, when I arrived at the UAP I had a very strong regret that I had not come there earlier in my college career—or maybe even this year, like my friend Mike Ha is doing. I had had quite a few more Spanish “fails” on our 4 hour journey over vast plains and swamplands (e.g. crecimiento=rising river levels, not a tunnel), and had plenty of time to think about how much easier it might have been to just be in school again, not for intense graduate studies but a relaxed study of a language I love. It's really part of a culminating feeling I've had since I graduated in June, that for the first time in my life I am no longer looking forward to the future, but treasuring and missing the past.

I have always wanted to be older, never younger (I suppose it's the combination of having an older brother and having parents that treat you like an adult). In elementary school I knew I wanted to go to Walla Walla to become an engineer so I could design roller coasters (which I was ironically afraid to ride). In middle school I played ping pong with CUC students and yearned to be among them as equals. In high school I was on track to be an ascetic pastor who would change the world for the good. And in college, as confused as I became with my desired career plans, I still had visions of reaching the Ivy League in the years beyond. So now, as I enter the working world, it is difficult to cope with the fact that I have already come to and passed the Golden Age that I had looked forward to as a youth. All that shimmers is sure to fade away, but will I fade too? Is it humility or disappointment that has led me to think that my time has passed? Is it possible that being a “grown-up” just means realizing how little influence you'll really have?

Unfortunately I think that those questions will persist for a long time, and being constantly asked, “What exactly are you doing here?” by people around the UAP definitely doesn't help. I just want to shout “I don't know! Why didn't someone tell me to just come here?”. Still, I have been able to take a little bit more pride in saying, “No, I don't go to school here, I am an ADRA volunteer”. Maybe it's just my justification, but it seems that there has to be something honorable about not taking the comfortable route. Going back to college would have been easy, fun, and comfortable, but ultimately self-serving. Thanks to the advice of some friends and my own conscience, I have forced myself into the position of being a servant, something I have always wanted to be but never had the courage to really try. Vamos a ver ("we'll see how it goes").

(P.S. sorry for another old photo, but it's from Puiggari and seems to capture the spirit of this entry, more or less)

Un día en el centro

So... I gave in. With so much prodding from both friends (Tamara) and Richi--one of the family who continually makes jokes about me that I only partly understand--I finally decided to make a significant trip beyond the walls of the house. Another reason I hadn't ventured out is because the metro is so far away, and therefore requires using the very complicated bus system (there are over 300 lines). However, when I asked they said I could take a train that had a stop only 4 blocks away that would get me to the downtown metro. Juli had been a little scared to use this form of public transportation, but I guess they felt I was up to it. For the most part it went fine, except on the way back when I got lost amongst the three separate train stations at my destination, not remembering at which I had arrived (and no help from the ticket-taker, who just said "That doesn't work here" and tore up my pass).

I got off the metro near the Plaza de Mayo, walking by the famous Cafe Tortoni and through the street performer and vendor-laden business district of Avenida Florida. As per usual, there was a tango fusion type group with a great accordionist, and a smaller, traditional Andean band with panflutes. Also added to the mix was a group of dreadlocked reggae-ers (singing "listen to mother earth" and "in my home I have a dog, not a gun"), a subculture which seems to be taking a greater hold now more than it was a year ago. I also passed by the Obelisk (pictured above), which is probably the most famous structure in the city (it's in the middle of a 15 lane road!).

After awhile I felt like going over to the art museums of Recoleta, but remembered from my Lonely Planet guide that Thursday afternoons are when the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo march in front of the Casa Rosada (our equivalent of the White House, but pink). This was an event I had wanted to see since I read about them in Naomi Klein's The Shock Doctrine. There is a

fascinating history behind these women, who continue to plead for a full investigation into the "disappearance" of approximately 30,000 individuals during Argentina's military dictatorship from 1976-1983 ("The Dirty War"), some of which were their own children. The Madres are now a significant grassroots organization, supporting a variety of left-leaning political positions. It really was amazing to watch them and the veterans from the Maldives War (the Falkland War), despite the presence of street vendors trying to capitalize on the spectacle.

After catching part of an evensong by some local catholic school kids at the National Cathedral, I hopped on the metro towards Palermo, an upscale region of Buenos Aires that is peppered with parks, monuments, and museums. I spent a lot of time walking, seeing small groups talking and drinking their afternoon mate, playing soccer, and even a few skateboarding. Eventually I landed at the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA), a modern/contemporary art museum that on the outside looks a lot like the East Wing of the National Gallery in D.C., and inside feels like the archetypal modern art museum. They had a Warhol exhibition opening the next day called "Mr. America", of which I was unfortunately only able to see a very small part.

After I left, I was about halfway to Recoleta, a bordering barrio that houses a super-upscale mall, the famous "aristocrat-only" Recoleta Cemetary, and my favorite place in Buenos Aires, the Fine Arts Museum. If there was one thing I was going to go back to see, it was going to be that. The museum was just as great as I remembered, and the upstairs--which I missed before--had a great collection of Argentinian modern works. Still, their European modern selections trumped all, and I was really moved by this small-but-interesting Pollock (clearly this photo cannot do it justice!).

By far the most interesting part of my journey, however, was the sculpture garden behind the museum which I had somehow missed last year. It holds a massive--it must be at least 50 ft. tall--flower sculpture that moves according to how much light is hitting it, mimicking its biological counterpart. It was really fascinating to see it at different points in its movement during sunset, which allowed me to mostly overlook the fact that it was engineered by Lockheed Martin.

It was getting late and I was tired, so I stopped by a cafe on the way back to the train station to have a mocha and "medialunas" (literally half-moon, i.e. croissants). Clearly they knew I was going to drop by, because they were blasting a mix of the remastered Beatles albums. How could I resist? I almost considered buying the albums earlier in the day, but looking at the prices I realized why pirating is the norm here. Each album was about 75 pesos, and the new Mika album was nearly 90! With the exchange that only made them about $5 more than what I assume is the average for a CD in the US, but with salaries here being about the same (in number, not in value), I couldn't imagine spending that much on a single CD.

And that is the reality of Argentina: the image of prosperity despite significant poverty. Billions of dollars have obviously been poured into beautiful shopping centers and the restoration of it's European center, but for the most part it is an illusion. Certainly there is a sector of Argentinian society that somewhat corresponds to the super-rich of the states, but the majority seem to be in a class that roughly mirrors our lower-middle-class. I say seem because you can see it when you walk down the street: businessmen wearing cheap suits and worn-down loafers, women with old purses and unshined heels, and teenagers with imitation jerseys and Adidas futsal shoes aged to perfection. And poverty is never far away. On the trains the impoverished make long speeches asking for money in return for a variety of cheap goods/food (harmonicas and socks, mostly), outside the station they casually pick through the trash, and at every stoplight they juggle balls or attempt to wash your windshield. This is only, of course, what you see; there are places where even locals don't go--villas ("slums") that creep relatively close to the center of BA--much less an American tourist.

Still, the situation has improved immensely since the 2001 crash. Obviously more needs to be done, but I won't bore you with my perspective on how that should be done, and you probably already have a general idea of what it would be :). At any rate, I had a great day, but it was also extremely long (like this entry?) so my feet hurt a lot, and I'm still trying to apologize for giving the family a bit of a scare for arriving later than they expected. Chau chau for now.

¿Qué estas haciendo en Buenos Aires?

Some of you might have noticed that this is my current profile picture on Facebook. Ironically, this photo was taken over a year ago and I have not even been to the Boca barrio of Buenos Aires this trip--the jacket might have been a hint :)

In fact, I have not been much of anywhere since I got here. Most people would probably think that it's ridiculous that I am here in this great big city, known for its colorful combination of neo-European cosmopolitanism and working-class grittiness, and not going out to soak it in. The simple fact of the matter, though, is that "lo vi todo" (I've seen it all). Over the course of the two weeks I stayed here last summer, Juli and I really made a significant effort to hit all the tourist spots, and we did. I've probably seen more of downtown Buenos Aires than I have seen of any other city in the U.S., with the exceptions of Washington, D.C. and San Francisco.

And that's the point: those two cities have basically been my home, and Buenos Aires is so familiar to me that it feels a little like that. I don't really feel the need to go out to "see the sights", especially not by myself. But there's a hitch: at home you typically have school or work, neither of which I have had for the last two weeks I have been here. It is a strange limbo, looking forward to something but having literally nothing to do in the meantime.

Still, while most of my days have been filled with a shameful amount of perusing the web, watching movies on TV, and playing Worms, Scrabble, and poker over the internet, I have done some things of interest. For example, I have been able to cheer for my 2nd favorite national soccer team, Argentina, in the early qualification rounds for the 2010 World Cup. Watching soccer in a country where soccer matters is really refreshing, even if you aren't at the game. Argentina has been playing uncharacteristically terrible soccer, so it was exciting to being in room full of people rooting for the "underdog" for two must-win games that took place last week.

The week before last I went to a Sunday market--which are never really my thing--and was pleasantly surprised to find the most interesting variety of artistic jewelry and clothing I have ever seen (I kept thinking my Mom would have enjoyed it a lot!). Afterwards we hung out at a cafe and I had an "Iced Coffee", which actually ended up being an ice cream coffee, another pleasant surprise. A different night I went out to dinner with Juli's cousin and a few of his friends. Although we ordered salad, our main course was quite possibly the most calorific, heart-attack inducing food I have ever consumed, and it was therefore extremely delicious. It was called a Pizzanesa, a pizza where the doughy bread is replaced by a huge milanesa (only click that if you really want to know how unhealthy it was!). I recommend a pairing with Coca-Cola and a dessert of extremely chocolaty crepes.

Another day I went to an uber-modern mall with the husband of one of the cousins to find a present for "Dia de la Madre" (Mother's Day). I basically ended up picking out the present (a shirt and sweater which were a little overpriced--about US$150), which thankfully was very well received when we celebrated the holiday last Sunday. Argentinians really know how to make a great day out of very simple pleasures: food, company, and of course, mate, the oft-imbued national tea drink. It was a beautiful day out and we had "asado" (barbeque) with a dulce de leche ice cream cake for dessert (the most important part, right?). I also tried to set up my slackline, but that failed so we just kicked a soccer ball back-and-forth over it for fun.

Probably the most exciting thing I did, however, was to go to a local church league of 5-on-5 soccer ("futsal"). One of the cousin's friends was on the team, and it was fun to witness the passion of "streetball", even for such an inconsequential league. What was really great about the game, though, was afterwards when we celebrated their loss at the local McDonald's. We got there a little too late, so since we had already gotten out of the car we ordered standing outside the drive-thru window. It was a little cold and windy, but the humor of the situation made it great. At the register one of the team members tried sweet talking the attendant for me, calling me a "Yankee, but a good one"; a glowing compliment, considering that in Argentina "Yankee" still retains its status as a rather derogatory term for U.S. citizens. She wasn't amused, but she wasn't upset either: this is typical behavior for the lamentably large Argentine machismo, which I saw in vivo multiple times that night. Anyways, with the currency conversion (nearly 4 to 1), the not-so-tasty food cost me about the same as it would have in the states, which means for Argentinians McDonald's has gone from being a cheap eat to almost a luxury item (about 25 pesos for a meal). Leave it to the Yankees to bait and switch, right? I mean, the quality of the place was astounding, and people were wearing clothes more appropriate for a night on the town than sitting in Mickey D's. It was almost as if I was at a Taco Bell in Demolition Man.

And certainly, all the other time has not been a waste. For one, I have been reading more. I'm starting Three Cups of Tea, which is okay so far besides the author's insistence on 3rd person narrative, and I finished How Soccer Explains the World, which was, as expected, more interesting for its history than its theory of globalization. Also, I don't think developing relationships is ever a waste of time, and while I'm not chatting with new and old friends on the web, I'm entertaining 4-year-old Emma and learning Spanish and growing closer with the rest of the Gambettas (even though they do talk with incredible rapidity). Luisa even trusted me enough to drive when her daughter's baby didn't seem content to make the trip in my arms. She was amazed to find out that I could drive "cambios" (stickshift), and in such an old car. I tried to explain to her my first car, but it defies description, even in English.

So, that has basically been my two weeks in Buenos Aires, and it has given me a healthy reminder of the fact that a life without work is one that is largely purposeless and vapid. In a couple of weeks, however, I have a feeling I'll be on the opposite end of things, and have to call on one of the many important life lessons I originally learned from the Simpsons: "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy".

A New Life

I know it's not the most clever of blog names, but I couldn't really think of anything that would encapsulate what I am doing. I am living a totally new life. Sure, I'm still "me", but as much as the psychologists love to rant about how much genetics affect your personality, I feel totally different in my new surroundings. I think the separation from your friend and family networks and your typical behavior patterns seriously alters who you are. Certainly I still like the same things and operate from the same philosophical foundations, but I don't think I felt the weight of the world turning upside down when I hugged Priscilla goodbye (thanks for the ride again!) at SFO Int'l. But it did.

Why didn't I feel it? Maybe it's because I was too upset about the internet I paid for at SFO not working in the Mexico City airport while I sat there for 10 hours on an hour of sleep, playing Worms until my eyes hurt and eating less than stellar food from "Chili's" (it was only during the last 3 hours that I remembered the existence of 2 films on my computer which I thoroughly enjoyed: Corpse Bride and Milk). Maybe it's because I was too happy about having three seats to myself on my flight to Buenos Aires, and actually getting real sleep on a plane for the first time. Most likely, though, it was because I was freaking out about my Spanish skills being adequate enough to get me from the airport to barrio (neighborhood) "Florida" without costing me a fortune in the pesos I wasn't sure I'd be able to get out of an ATM.

Fortunately, according to "plan" (I'm never 100% sure of plans made in Spanish), someone from ADRA was there, and I got to experience for the first time the joy of having a placard with my name on it. My fumbling Spanish was enough to not make me look like a complete idiot (I think), as we conversed about politics, my previous visit to Argentina, and of course, futbol. Interestingly, he was for neither Boca nor River, but a lesser team (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superclásico, if you don't know what I'm talking about). We went to the offices of the SDA Austral Conference, which looks more like a prison hold than an office, and I met the ADRA director whom I had been e-mailing. I think I only embarrassed myself once, by answering "si" to a question/statement that clearly had a response set more complicated than "si" or "no" (a common occurrence). We went over logistics (more "plans"), and then he dropped me off at the Gambetta's--Juli's (my ex-girlfriend) cousins--who have been extremely gracious to have me in their home for these two weeks. Even though Juli and I are not together, after our trip here last year they still feel like my 2nd family, and it is great to be with them again.

As for right now, most of my days are pretty empty. It is ironic that right now, while I have an excess of free time in the longest summer I will ever have (both literally and figuratively), I probably have the least interesting things to say. But that will all change very, very soon. This Sunday I am travelling to the place so great they named it 4 ways: Puigari, Libertador San Martin Entre Rios, la villa, la UAP (Universidad Adventista del Plata). I'll be attending an ADRA conference (which I'll probably understand 20% of), along with meeting up with my ACA (Adventist Colleges Abroad) friends, over the week, and then taking an incredibly long bus trip to Salta, the beautiful city to the north where I will be doing my work. My world is turned upside down right now, but I think by the time I get there I won't even recognize my world at all.

A blog?! Noooooo

I don't like blogs. While I do, from time to time, enjoy reading up a little on my brother Andrew's or my former roommate Peter Han's, I think they are basically pointless. The main issue for me is that I think they most often exist solely for the purpose of narcissistic fulfillment on the part of the writer, rather than providing real insight into a given subject (Andrew excepted, since all he's written about since his first entry is "boring computer stuff"). But perhaps one is not possible without the other. After all, I tend to think that the most important philosophies we have are those which we can actually tie to life experience. Holding on to an idea that cannot be changed by your experiences is extremely dangerous (e.g. certain people I know who have gay friends and family yet still maintain that homosexuality is sinful and wrong), and not being able to tie your life events to an overarching philosophy essentially reduces you to an animal or a very sad human (i.e. the anomie of nihilism).

Anyways, the original reason why I was hesitant to make a blog about my Argentina experience is because it is just so cliche. White middle-class post-grad idealist decides to go to foreign country to offer a helping hand because he has no better plan for his life. Seriously. Get over it. You're not that special. Secondly, I didn't feel the need to give people one more reason to label me as the narcissistic person they already think I am--yes I'm looking at you Cara and Priscilla. Add to that the reality that many people I love and cherish will probably not read the material I slave over (Jaylene!)... it's just too much to bear!

Over the last week, however, I have come to the realization that this blog will allow me to answer the question, "How are things in Argentina?" to an indefinite amount of people in one simple location. Since so many people clearly want to live vicariously through me, I thought it best to feed their fancy, and it conveniently prevents myself from answering the same question hundreds of times instead of having interesting conversations. Now when people ask, I can guilt trip them and say "Didn't you read my blog?! What kind of friend are you?!" It will be great.

So there you have it, my esoteric rant on doing something I didn't really want to do, the first entry in my egotistical enterprise. I hope you'll join me for the ride and be changed by my words as much as I am changed by the experiences that inspire them.