A Sunday In September (9-13-15)

A Mid-September Sunday
Yesterday was cold. In fact, all week it has been cold (relatively cold, not Minnesota cold), but this morning there were warm winds to accompany the rising sun. A beautiful fall Sunday fit for a BBQ and a football game. Except here they don’t have BBQs, they have Asados. (All the better)
Also it’s not football, but rather fútbol (soccer). River Plate vs Boca Juniors, a classic rivalry.
Lastly it’s not fall, but spring.
Other than that it is the exact same thing I did last September….
Disclaimer: A few other differences include but are not limited to: wine instead of beer, K-12 school instead of University, I am with sober priests and parents of the school instead of you know… you get the idea.

I failed to get a picture of the parrilla (grill), but will be sure to do so at some point.

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Meat
Meat

A Bit Of Background Information (9-8-15)

Some people have asked what I am doing. “Where are you exactly?” “Why are you there?”

“You’re living with priests?” etc. This strictly informational and frankly boring post is a response to the request for some context into what I am currently doing.

Two years ago I came to Argentina to participate the in the Casa study abroad program. This program was in Córdoba and lasted for about four months. During this time I received an email from a man named Hugo. He had written to DePaul (where I went to school), in hopes of creating a connection between his school and ours, and eventually that connection became me (and Dan).

The reason he wrote DePaul is because DePaul is a Vincentian school, meaning the founder is St. Vincent DePaul. The school Hugo works at is also Vincentian. He lives here with two other men, Hector and Gabriel, all of whom are Vincentian priests. 

From that first email over two years ago our relationship had grown until eventually he invited Dan and I to come to El Colegio de San Vincente (St. Vincent’s School). That is where I am now, and will be through the month of September.

The school is located in Escobar, which is a city about an hour outside of Buenos Aires. The school is kindergarten through secundaría (high school). My role so far has been to fill in where needed. Yesterday a teacher was out sick and they had no substitute so I was asked to fill in for her. The day before I was asked to assist an English teacher with an auditory exam. Tonight I am assisting the parent organization in a “game night”, which is a fundraiser for the school. 

Dan and I are staying on the third floor of the school, in a retreat center that the school rents out on the weekends. 

The students at the school come from all over Escobar. Some live in “countrys”, which are gated communities, others are here on full ride scholarships. The school has a long standing history and a good reputation, this was confirmed for me today when I saw the several page long wait list for fourth graders. 

The Vincentians also run another school in Lujan, which we will go to this Friday for the first time. 

There is an illness going around that I managed to catch, so that has slowed me down a bit these past few days. Other than that I have begun to develop a better understanding of the school and how things operate, which has helped me settle into more of a groove. I could not be more grateful to be here.

Check out some photos of the school:

El Día Del Niño (8-30-15)

My first Sunday in the country happened to be Day of the Kid, which is a national holiday that celebrates kids. The past few years the school has taken a group to Mirador, a near by villa, to celebrate. Here are some pictures:

And Then There Were Two (9-2-15)

Today Dan arrived, greeted by the cool winds from the South. Since I have arrived it has been about 70 degrees fahrenheit and sunny and I had been living in the community with the priests. Today, the cold came, and I moved upstairs. I mention these two things only because they represent a small transition for me. My retreat is over, and now begins “the rest of my time here”.

I am thrilled to welcome Dan back to Escobar, and hear about his pilgrimage to Israel. For anyone who doesn’t know, this is Dan:

Photo props to Dana (Dan's Mom)
Photo props to Dana (Dan’s Mom)

For The Crea’s (8-29-15)

When I first arrived Hugo had a few initial jobs for me. One was, from what I understood, to help an older woman make videos of the retreat on Saturday morning. I didn’t quite understand why this woman wanted to make a video, or why she wanted to do so Saturday morning in particular, but Hugo explained that she does it all the time and simply needs assistance because of her age. I went with it.

Saturday morning comes along and I am drinking a cup of coffee, talking to one of the parents helping with the retreat and she asks if I am ready to work with Maria preparing the food. It is then that I realize that she doesn’t need help making videos, but really fideos. And the reason she couldn’t work the machine was because it requires a bit of elbow grease, not because she lacked technical skills.

I was ecstatic because I know way more about making “fideos” than I do “videos”. Maria and I then spent the morning making past and sharing stories of Italian ancestry. Maria was incredible. She had worked as a teacher for 43 years and was still helping when she could. She was the boss of the kitchen and after tasting her pasta sauce everyone knew why.  I have never been more proud of my Italian background and grateful for my knowledge of pasta (Shout out to Grandma Crea), the only disappointment she had was that I couldn’t speak Italian with her.

Humbled (9-1-15)

Monday, August 31st, I have been in Escobar for five days. The only word I have to describe my experience so far is Humility. Let me back up:

Hugo, the friend who invited me to stay with him and also happens to be a priest, works as the legal representative at El Colegio San Vicente

I am currently in Escobar, Argentina. I live with Hugo, Hector and Gabriel in a Vincentian school. They have invited me to stay the month here with them, working as a volunteer in the school. The official invitation was for the month of September so these past few days have been a bit less ‘active’ than the rest of the stay will be. In many ways it has been very much like a retreat. In fact, where I am staying in the school is a retreat center on the weekends. Besides helping with random projects that the teachers are doing (creating life-sized Barbie boxes for a group of dancers), and painting a banner for the graduating students, I have had a very comfortable entry back into Argentina. Even the priests have noted the particularly uneventful week that we had. I have tried to reassure them that I have not been bored in the slightest, which is absolutely truthful.

On top of the week being relaxed, this weekend the school hosted a retreat for the parents of the students. I was able to assist when I could (cooking, cleaning, etc.) but also was invited to join the sessions they had. So in sum, I have been on a retreat this past week.

The humbling experience began with my first conversation: Hugo “when was the last time you spoke Spanish”, Me “not since I was with you last”, Hugo “yeah, I can tell”.

It continued on the first night of the retreat when I was in a kitchen full of women cooking a meal for 30 people. Each tried their luck yelling commands at me (none which landed) and after failing at every job I was demoted to folding paper towels to put in the napkin holders. I then was taught to fold the napkin the correct way because mine ‘didn’t look nice’.

This morning I made a cold cup of coffee; didn’t know that was possible. I then learned you have to wait for the light. Throughout all these small learning experiences I kept reminding myself how important it is to be humbled, how being forced to shut up, take a step back, and learn everything again is actually a really good thing. I came here, in part, to be pushed and pulled in new, challenging directions. And I will continue to do that, but there are times when you have to do what you know. So today I went to play basketball.

Since my arrival, I have been trying to figure out a place to play basketball. I eventually heard of Club Italiano, figured out where it was, and went. They didn’t have basketball, but they told me about another club, a few blocks away. I eventually met the owner and he told me to come back at 9:30 that night. So I went on my way and moments later I happened upon another club so I walked in. There were people playing basketball and they told me to come back at 7:30. Again, I left to head back home. A few blocks later I thought to myself, wow, I have no idea where I am. It didn’t matter though because I had a few hours before I had to be back at the gym. Twenty minutes later I was still wandering around when I heard “Shake! Shake!” (Jake with the Buenos Aires accent) and I was saved. I went with him to his english class where I will be helping at next week to meet the owner.

When I was invited to play basketball my confidence/ excitement was sky high (especially after a week long retreat). The wind in my sails took a hit when I got a bit ‘turned around’ but at the english school I met one of the first women that was not a student at the school, or a mother of a student, and so I was right back in the driver seat. In fact, the timing worked out so I had almost an hour to talk with her before heading back to the gym. I left thinking to myself, “good thing I got lost, or that would not have happened”. And you can imagine my confidence at this point.

I am walking down the street, having talked to the first girl in weeks (lots of family time in Minnesota before I came), on my way to play basketball, needless to say I am on top of the world. Only problem is, I have no idea where I am. I asked somebody, they point and say “alla, por alla” I go that direction, ask another, they do more or less the same, and 10 minutes later I am in the gym playing basketball.

Fast forward a bit, and I am leaving the gym, and it’s only 9pm, plenty of time to make the 9:30 session at the other place. So I head that way – well, no, actually I head in the exact opposite direction, but eventually arrive at the gym in more or less the same manor that had worked an hour previous. This group of players is much better, things could not have worked out smoothly and I head home feeling even better than before.

Now because I had walked so much I was convinced I knew where the house was NOT. So, the logical thing to do? Walk where you haven’t.  I wasn’t worried, getting lost is important in life. 20 minutes later I see a statue that I go by when my priest friends and I go running (more on that some other day). I approach the statue with my confidence soaring, I cannot wait to see Virgin Mary’s face that will show me the way home. I see the back of her dress, light shining down, arms raised. I get around to the front side, and in front of me stands not the pure Virgin Mary, but a Conquistador, sword in hand and cape draped down his back.

For as little as I know of directions in Escobar, I do know that a statue in the middle of an intersection is the marker for a neighborhood. Usually they try and put these markers in the center of the neighborhood… Before I could convince myself that I recognize things, now I couldn’t even pretend.

It was well past 11 at this point and although the town center stays busy most the night, the neighborhoods are pretty dead at that hour on a Monday night. The few people I did see had no idea what school I was talking about, except for one women who just ran away before I had the chance to ask.

Through this all I was never scared, or even uncomfortable, but there was something that began as humors but eventually really started to get at me. My sister Maddie was right. Before I left she gave me a compass and said, this is because I know you have trouble with directions. I thanked her, and was excited about the gift, but also a bit ‘put off’, by her interpretations of my abilities. I assured her that it was a problem of the past.  Now I didn’t know if I was frustrated at the fact that she was right, or the fact that the compass was in my bag back at the school.

Anyways, I am walking around a neighborhood which I know nothing about, only that there is significantly less people than I have ever seen here. I aimlessly head back in the direction I came, curious as to how this will end up. Then I hear “ch ch”. And look over to see a car pull up.”Che que haces por aca?” Basically, “Yo what are you doing here?” I look in, without approaching, a bit hesitant to say the least. A young man, about my age, then I realize, I recognize him: we were just playing basketball together. He offers me a ride and I eagerly accept. The ride back to the school was well over 10 minutes. I honestly think he was impressed at how lost I was. He asked where I was from and when I told him he chuckles and says ahhh that makes sense, now I get it (in this case, I don’t think he was reference my basketball skills).

True to the nature of so many people I have already met, he not only brings me home, but offers his number to me saying “anything you need, doesn’t matter the time, call me”. This was the first time I went anywhere alone, and with the help of some friends and a lot more strangers, I have been humbled.

Today (8-28-15)

I have no insights thus far, instead here is what I have done today: I began by painting with Marcela. She is a one of the art teachers here and is a really great person. After spending less than a day with her I am convinced that she is ‘buena gente’ (good people). Without hesitation she has introduced me to countless kids and staff around the school and took me with to pick her daughter up from the square. We had spent the early afternoon making life sized barbie boxes for the girls to use as props in a school dance and needed to get supplies to continue. We made a run to the store and she confessed her love for chocolate to me, and I felt it only appropriate to reveal my affinity for ice cream, moments later we were indulging in cones of dulce de leche ice cream. She is 48, a vegetarian, and semi-hippie. All day long we listened to music. Michael Jackson and Bob Marley in particular.

In the morning I was with grado sexto, which is the final year of high school, painting a banner to bring to Bariloche. They are going for 10 days on a trip to celebrate their final year in school. The drive, curiosity and eagerness to connect is contagious in these young students. Many told me of their plans to become: dentists, kindergarten teachers, park rangers and system engineers among other things.

My biggest struggle thus far is not a new one: remembering names. Almost immediately after being introduced to someone their name is gone. My approach to this is two fold: one, repeat names out loud. And two, take Jake Bilyk’s advice and be patient with how things are going. These are words I have kept close in my time here so far: be patient. Things don’t happen overnight and rushing them is counter productive. Poco a poco.