Transitioning.
Saturday, August 18th, 2007Charlottesville, Virginia. The annoyingly cute - yet hip - college town where I learned to manage independence, decipher Foucault, write annotated bibliographies, and crush a keg of beer.
Everyone lives in ordered, separate houses and has neatly landscaped frontyard gardens, which are blooming with carnations and infested with mosquitos. And the cars. One by one, they line the streets, like plaque clogging an artery, with each little vehicle carrying one or possibly two people, who gaze mechanically at the line of traffic in front of them.
Welcome back to the States. Once I happily greeted my family, friends, dogs, guitars, and closet of clothes, I began to feel the shock. Small things caught my attention at first. Like the large cups of coffee that are so common for breakfast and even afternoon. In Argentina you won’t find a cup of coffee drip-brewed, and the espresso is served in tiny cups with delicate silver spoons and sugar cookies. Next I marveled over the bigger things that I had completely forgotten existed over these months. Dishwashers: what a genius idea! And microwaves. You don’t have to heat food over the stove; it’s incredible!
Thankfully I have avoided scenes of utter consumerism such as Wal-Mart, which might me too much for me to handle.
Now the things I miss about Argentina. The kioscos where I bought my daily newspaper - the Buenos Aires Herald. Being able to walk or take the bus or subway anywhere. Tree-lined streets all over the city. Children playing on the sidewalk. Parks full of people drinking mate and playing guitar on blankets. Steak. Wine. Tango. People on motorcycles with the wind blowing their hair back as they ride. Practicing yoga in Spanish. Playing the “guess what country I’m from” game. Speaking with “vos.” Did I mention wine?
