Into the Jungle

January 1st, 2016 was a significant date. It represented a shift for me. Before hand I was going ‘down’ (south), to “the end of the world”, and on this day my journey flipped and suddenly I was going ‘up’, (north), home. Not directly, but each kilometer marker we passed was one kilometer closer to home. 

This day also represents the last day I posted any writings. Why? Not sure. 
So anyway, 3 months later after some time in Chile, a second stint in Córdoba, a few intense weeks in northern Argentina, a three day bus ride and a week of vacation with the Letchinger’s, here I am, in Lima, Peru, drinking mate.
Now that that is out of the way, here is my real update:
I have taken a job in Córdoba as the Community Coordinator for Casa de La Mateada. This is the study abroad program that I did back in 2013 and have been helping with this past year while traveling.
Perhaps I will expand on the position later, for now just know that I am stoked beyond belief.
By me accepting this job, the nature of my journey has shifted. I have bought a ticket home for the end of May, leaving from Cartagena Colombia. I have given myself two months to cover the 3,600 some kilometers.
My next move involves me going to the jungle. I found a project that seems worth checking out, here is a link to their page.
https://m.facebook.com/kadagayaproject/info
http://www.kadagaya.org/index.php/en/

This is where it is:

 

   
For perspective: the blue dot is me, in Lima. The Red one is where I am going. Because of the mountains it is 9 hours away!! My first obstacle is altitude. Shout out to Dana Letchinger for the pills she left me.

  

It may not make much sense… In spanish I have described it as a “project in the woods”, in Claire’s words, “a hippie commune”, truthfully I am not sure what I am getting myself into. But I have learned not to shy away from absurd sounding experiences, i.e. living with priests in a school, hanging out with woman and babies who live in a former trash dump’, 2,000km of nothing (Patagonian desert), hiking in the Andes without a tent after not eating for a week, hitchhiking around Argentina with a girl you cannot communicate with (the southern spanish have quite the accent), surfing with a dude named Fletcher who doesn’t wear underwear. You get the idea.
Thanks for checking in.

(Formating sucks because Dan has left, along with his computer)

Here are some random pictures:

  

   
  This photo and the one above it are from Cerro de Los 14 Colores – 14 colored mountian, in Jujuy, Argentina. With me are the before mentioned Spanish girl (Itziar) and a friend we met from Buenos Aires (Luciano)
  Iruya: a small town in Salta, Argentina. The horses are from poeple that come to the town from thier homes in the mountains. I befriended a father and son who traveled 8 hours by horse, they invited me to put the tent up at thier grandmas, which I did. Next time I will go with them to their house in the mountains.   
Morning hike in Salta

 
Vicunas, which as camelids that live in the alps. This photo is really for Maddie.

Iruya again. 
 First view of the day from the tent behind the truck stop 
San Isidro, a town only reached by  walking along a river for several hours, proud to say I didn’t lose my passport here, which was not certain for some time…

  
Sunset in Lima with the Letchingers – one of the many great moments in our week together 

El Fin del Mundo

 

The view from where I write this

  

Roque- the man

 

Matías’ brother, wife and baby

  

The cool aunt

  

Camping friends

 
The morning is a precious time. Now, after weeks on the road, I take my first breath. I breath deep. The cold, fresh, snow kissed air fills my lungs with new life, like mouthwash into a smokers mouth, the air is welcome. The water is still. As are the trees. The windless morning accompanied by the rising sun make for what must only be described as beauty. The day is still but the world is alive. The birds too, recognize that they are alive, they sing their songs proudly. The ducks splash around not 50 yards in front of me. Every few minutes a fish breaks the surface. The cold glacier waters of Laguna Negra are filled with life. 

Sitting here, beneath a snow capped mountain, being warmed by the sun, I am finally beginning to absorb my circumstances. This moment. These moments. The ones I have been experiencing for the last months, and with luck will continue to experience, are the realization of a dream. The past two years I have filled my brain with fantasies of this place. I did not get here alone.

This morning when I woke up, stepped out of the tent, and look to the east. Upon seeing the sun rising, the shadows of the bushes, the reflection of the rocks in the water, my breath is taken. The feeling has become so familiar lately. To be left without speech because words fail to recipocate, or represent, ones experience. Today this phenomenon was incited by nature, but the breathtaking beauty of this place pales in comparison to the breath taking capacity of the people whom have helped me arrive here. 

About two weeks ago Dan and I set off from Córdoba in a bus to Puerto Madryn. We spent our first day getting to know a few people that were at the camp site. Upon discovering that we had no plans for Christmas, one of them, Matías, quickly invited us to spend christmas in his home in Rio Grande. He was in route there, hitchhiking from Córdoba. We went our separate ways south, but eventually we arrived in Rio Grand and were welcomed by his entire family. Mom, brother, his wife, their baby daughter, other sister, her husband, their baby daughter, other sister, and finally little brother. Matías told us from the begining, the house is small but the heart is big. And sure enough, it was. We ended spending an entire week with the family.

We eventually got our things together and continued the journey south. On the final stretch of the road a guy in a pickup pulled over and we got in. He had moved to the area 30 years ago, after visiting for a fishing trip. He was the first fisherman we had met so I drilled him with questions. It was late and once he discovered our plans to enter the park that night he invited us to spend the night in his house. We quickly agreed.

The house was the nicest I have ever been in south of Los Angeles. Roque, the guy who lived there, was also a collector of arms. So, after some trust was built up, before we left in the morning, he handed me a sniper to play with. His giant bay windows overlooking the city, lake and mountains made for a pretty sweet view through the guns sight. An interesting tangent in the adventure.

Roque’s house was big enough to house all my cousins (about 50), Matías’ house was filled to the limit. The size of the space is irrelevant, the heart has no capacity. 

These experiences are just two in a sea of “buena onda” that has been brought our way. I share them to represent the diversity of people we have encountered. When you open yourself to the world, you’ll be surprised at the people in it.

We have met people from all walks of life. Young kids returning home for Christmas, families on vacation, a guy from Córdoba who moved south to ranch, retired school teacher who was traveling 12 hours alone to surprise her sister for Christmas- shortly after dropping us off she got into the trunk of her car for the surprise-, a evangelical guy from Peru (he failed to convert Dan), a couple from buenos aires who bought a van, quit their jobs and decided to travel the country, a motorcyclist who took us to his favorite bar, and countless others. We have shared everything from mate, beer, calamari, steak, lamb, coffee, jokes, loves lost to dreams. It’s these people that have brought us here: to the end of the world. 

At this point in our journey, we go north. That’s the only agenda. I breath the Patagonian air deep, knowing it is only a matter of time before it’s taken away. 

A Picture Update: Part 2 (12-1-15)

Córdoba is by far the most politically active city I have ever lived in. The hat march (Marcha de La Gorra) is one of, if not, the biggest march in the city each year. Its aim is to stop police brutality. I tried to write a piece on my thoughts on the event, but I came to no conclusions. This years focus was in opposition to a law that allows police to stop anyone based on appearance alone. Although very far from home, so many of the opinions expressed were the same issues we are dealing with in the states.

Here are more photos http://www.lavoz.com.ar/galerias/la-9a-marcha-de-la-gorra-en-fotos

We went with La Luciérnaga, an organization very similar to StreetWise in Chicago. Below are some photos of a group of students I have been blessed to learn from these past months.

 

La Luciérnaga photos:

 

 

Since my arrival I had been waiting this day. To see La Mona Jimenez. There are few things more ‘Córdoba’ then La Mona. The usual line of question here goes as follows: where are you from? Do you like Argentina? Do you drink Mate? Asado? Have a girlfriend? and then, Have you seen La Mona?

He is the king of Cuarteto, a genre invented in Córdoba. He is over 60 years old and has been at the top of his game since the early 80’s. He performs 3-5 nights a week. From around 1 a.m. often until well past sunrise. The venue pictured is one that is exclusively his. The night we went there were thousands in attendance; it was just a normal Friday for him. We went with my buddy Pablo, for his brothers’ birthday.

La Mona

Pablo is a good friend from basketball

Dan described the venue as an airplane hanger

From the entrance

Ticket Line: this was 2:30am, when we arrived, the show had already started

Dude has over 80 albums, the lyrics were there in case he forgot a word or two

Bachelorette party?

No translation needed

 

Thanksgiving. The first time hosting thanksgiving was with three of my best friends, and housemates: Catherine, Amanda and Dan, for a bunch of Argentines (and a Spaniard) who had never celebrated the day. So if nothing else, they had no standard which to compare it to. But in all honesty it went really well. Traveling, particularly in a country that speaks a different language, is a constant experience of humility and gratitude. No better way to say thanks then sharing culture and food.

Earlier in the day I also participated in a old thanksgiving tradition: Juicy Lucy’s. I made them at Nuestro Hogar III with Lore, Irma, Ale, Rosi, Paola, Tomás, Lourdes and Martina. We had a great time. Any feelings of missing home were soothed by sharing it with this group of woman. Its going to be hard to leave them.

Three tables joined together for the biggest Thanksgiving table any of us had ever eaten at

Seasoning or blessing? Either way, it worked

This photo represents half of all Turkey’s in Córdoba at the time

Every gathering here ends in guitar playing and song singing- USA holidays are no exception

This is about 5am (sober)

Catherine made a pumpkin pie without pumpkin- a thanksgiving miracle

Lunchtime JuicyLucy meal with my people

Lucías Jugosas

A Picture Update: Part 1 (12-1-15)

Its been ages since I have posted anything. Here are some pictures from the last month or so. Photo credit goes to Amanda, Dan, (maybe Catherine) and an eclectic number of Argentines.

Home:

Neighbors

Pool

The house

Family

Compost

Back Patio

Backyard

 

Part of the challenge of moving to a new city is making friends. Catherine and I took this challenge head on and said “yes” to every invite, opportunity, event, etc. that came our way. On this day if finally paid off. We met this group from the national university that does all kinds of stuff all over the city. Just to give you an idea of the effort we made: Our neighbor Lore invited us to a sit in on a class at the university. Before the class started a few students mentioned a group they were involved with and a event that was to take place that Thursday. We went to the event, which turned out to be a talk from a widely recognized sociologist. Apparently he was extremely knowledgable, respected, experienced and hilarious – we did not understand one word (mostly because the audio in the auditorium was horrible). From there we were told about another event the following Thursday that was a “get to know you” event, rather than a lecture. We went. Eventually we were divided into small groups. After a follow up meeting the next week, we were all set to go. And thats how we found ourselves in Rio Ceballos with this group of people who I can confidently say are friends of ours.

The nature of the event was a reforestation effort, trying to help the environment recover after torrential rains a few years back. People from all over the city came out to collaborate. Córdoba is a big city (1.6 million people) but it often feels like a small town. On this day I met a woman that had a sister living in Minnesota. She had also traveled and lived there, working at YMCA camps up north for a few years. We kept talking and found out that she had taught the children of the directors of the study abroad program I had done.

Another thing worth mentioning… I have tried to express the ‘randomness’ of us ending up in this space. To add to that narrative, let me explain that there were over 15 groups to choose from. After we chose this one, there were three possible locations to elect. I chose the location pictured above in hopes of getting to know some more locations throughout the surrounding mountains. Turns out this place was not new at all. When I was here as a student in 2013 our group took a day trip out to the sierras. We went for a walk down the river and eventually found some kids playing soccer. We asked to join and within minutes an impromptu game of soccer with 15 neighborhood boys had begun. On this day we planted trees all around the same ‘field’ I had played on years back. Some of the trees were impeding on the field, nobody listened to me when I said that they would never survive the wrath of 11 year old boys.

The day finished off with a Murga, performed by a group from the area. Whats a Murga? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murga

Lastly. This group could be referred to as a ‘service’ or ‘volunteer’ group. Having been involved with similar groups at DePaul, I find it interesting that philosophies were similar. The biggest differences were 1: this is a public university with no ties to religion, this group reflects that. 2: school takes longer here, people come from all ages and locations, 20-30 year olds at all different places in life. 3: reflection is still a priority, but instead of a formal location, the conversation is had over a few liters of beer- all passed around in a circle. The process is so much more natural, organic, and in my opinion effective.

No Place Like Home (10-18-2015)

There is no smell like home. Most people cannot describe what their home smells like, but when you enter into your home every fiber of your being recognizes the smell. My childhood is filled with comforting smells: grandma and grandpa Wild’s log cabin home, particularly at christmas time. Friends houses that have been second homes for me: the Heck’s, Jake’s, the neighborhood crew and all the cousins’. Each carries a particular scent that I know so well, but cannot put to words. Nuestro Hogar III holds one of those particular smells, except this smell is different, it has a name: garbage.

Today as the doors of the 51 bus opened I was greeted by the familiar scent. It was particularly strong today. The breeze helped carry it from the active trash dump that resides next to the neighborhood. Some days it is faint, like when you let the garbage go an extra day or two before taking it out. Today it was wretched. The smell of a rotten garbage can being opened again and again. The wind carried the stench directly into our faces as we headed toward the capilla.
We trudged toward the town center, squinting and sneezing, not because of the smell but because of the sand and dust carried by the wind. The only time Hogar III is free from thick dust clouds is after a heavy rain, which replaces the dusty landscape with trash filled puddles reminiscent of the liquid that flows to the bottom of garbage bags.
Today the smell didn’t bother me. Nor the dust. Today was a good day. The first confirmation to ever take place in the neighborhood. The streets were alive. People playing music, buying what they could from the few kioscos that line the road. Even the motos, which often are a source of fear for their tendency to carry thieves, were not threatening. It was a day of celebration.

We arrive to the capilla and are greeted by Lourdes and Martina, two of the more than 70 young people making their confirmation. Ale arrives shortly after and greets us with hugs and kisses. This is why I came back to Córdoba. To wish Ale a happy mother’s day and watch her two beautiful daughters be confirmed.

The celebration was not elaborate or over the top, a simple celebration of religion and family. I thought back to my confirmation, and even more to the confirmation of my brother Peter that I missed this past year. My mind filled with conflicting thoughts of the place I was in, and my home back in Minnesota.

In 2013 I spent a semester in Córdoba. Nuestro Hogar III was a huge part of that time. My decision to return to the city was fueled by my desire to return to Hogar III. The reunion has been beautiful. Also challenging. Sad. Inspiring. Disheartening. And filled with conflicting thoughts and feelings. Its taken a few weeks for me even to attempt to articulate these thoughts.
For Catholics, confirmation is a coming of age ceremony. It is the time when young people make the conscious decision to continue with the church. The culture of Argentina has been largely formed by the catholic church. It is often difficult to distinguish the lines between religion, culture and tradition. I will not speculate on people’s faith, but I will say that today is a celebration that transcends the church. For many of these families today was a celebration of life. The young people of Hogar III have no guarantee of adulthood.
I have resisted describing the reality of Hogar III. I have resisted describing it because of fear. I have feared that when I describe the filth, the insecurity, the severe poverty- when I explain that the community consists of people who settled here, on an abandoned landfill, because they had nowhere else in life to go- or that when I share the countless stories of young people dying of cancer, or the fact that people here are ten times more likely to develop cancer- when I admit that the water is toxic and that thousands of people drink it all the time, if I explain that the main source of employment is brick factories, where people are paid in bricks instead of money, or that people live in constant fear of being robbed of the few things they possess- I have feared that you will see these people as dirty, poor, illegally existing, cancer filled criminals. Not as people. Or worse, you may do as the government has done here, and write them off as less than human. For what government can officially label an area uninhabitable for human life and then continue to allow people to live there, feeding them toxic water and dumping their trash where people lie their heads at night. Introducing people in this manner leaves out so much of who they are and what their lives’ consist of. I also fear that it will perpetuate negative ideas about Latin America, and Argentina in particular as a dirty, underdeveloped nation. For communities such as Hogar III exist in the states as well. And there are certainly people living very well here in Argentina.
However, I have decided that this is precisely why it is necessary to share the reality of Hogar III. Every city in the world has “dangerous”, “dirty”, “illegal”, forgotten people. Every time I mention Hogar III here people tell me to be careful, that I will be robbed or become sick. The same happened when I told people I worked on the west side of Chicago. We fear what we do not know. But the problems of Hogar III far transcend negative stereotypes and the solutions are anything but clear. I am still struggling to understand how this place came to be, what it is like now, and how it will/ could look in the future. But to tell no story of the place, however incomplete, is even more unjust to the people.
Coming back has been a firm reminder that this situation is not temporary. My liberal education has left me with a naive hope that all will change. But when I return to this place and am greeted by wafts of decaying waste, clouds of dusts, and mothers younger than me dying of cancer I am forced to admit that these are the lives people are living, and for the time being will continue to live. I must be clear that I do not support this environment. No person should ever live in these conditions. But viewing their situation as temporary denies the lives that these people are living. Yes, things need to change, but in the meantime life goes on for the community. Ale wasn’t waiting for her daughters to be confirmed until they were in a nice house with clean water and a freshly painted fence. In fact, some people in the neighborhood could afford to live elsewhere, in a cleaner, safer neighborhood, but this is where their life is. Life continues here and now.
Today is a day of celebration. Much like the residents of the neighborhood, I do not know what tomorrow will bring. The period of uncertainty, feelings of confusing, and overall lack of understanding are far from over, but for the two hours we stood outside under the sunny, dust filled sky, breathing in the heavy scent of trash, it was clear to me why I had come back to Hogar III.

Bringing an iPhone into Hogar III isn’t the best idea, so I did not take any photos of the event. But Ale did, so here are her pictures. Eventually I will get some of my own..

A Look Back at Escobar (8-25-2015 : 10-2-2015)

I have Been in Córdoba for two weeks now so I figured its time to put up some pictures from Escobar.

“Squad” This was the crew of senior boys that Dan and I got pretty close with. Every time I curse, insult someone, talk to a girl, or complain about the Argentine government these guys get credit for all the necessary vocabulary.

Feriados – or holidays – are abundant, particularly in the spring (now). Today was a celebration of the Día del Maestra (Teacher day), there were several ceremonies but the kindergarten students made the photo stream. Parents came and the students prepared a video for the teachers. I was in charge of the sound/ video.

Recess from Dan’s perspective. – This photo was taken on Dan’s first full day in Escobar, his reentry into Spanish consisted of hoards of primary girls screaming questions at him.

GOOOOL! Handball is a popular sport in Argentina. This was the championship game that the senior boys missed school one day to play. They won and were awarded city champs. (They are the players in white, except the goalie, who is on the other team).

When I take photos it’s usually a practical thing: to remember… When Dan does its more of an art, so I will be certain to steal many of his photos and give him some credit from time to time. Here are a few from the Sunday asado (see post A Sunday in September).

Here are Diego and Dameon grilling the meat. I must point out the one of these guys is a top administrator for the school, the other is a maintenance guy. Most people there this day would not understand why I would mention such a thing, people are taken at face value- they are not defined by their job. When I take photos it’s usually a practical thing: to remember… When Dan does its more of an art, so I will be certain to steal many of his photos and give him some credit from time to time. Here are a few from the Sunday asado (see post A Sunday in September).

Here is La Boca, home of Boca Juniors soccer team. The neighborhood is famous for its Italian influence, particularly from the city of Genoa. Many immigrants lived there because of the port. Since our arrival the question we have been asked most is which soccer team we cheer for. After visiting La Boca and Nuñez neighborhoods (home of rival River Plate), I found my answer in Boca Juniors.

Photo credit to Dan

Also Dan

I actually took this one…

And this one.

Feriados – or holidays – are abundant, particularly in the spring (now). Today was a celebration of the Día del Maestra (Teacher day), there were several ceremonies but the kindergarten students made the photo stream. Parents came and the students prepared a video for the teachers. I was in charge of the sound/ video.

The selfie culture is still going strong in Argentina.

A huge aspect of Vicentian life is community, and nothing is more central to community than sharing meals. Today I made Spanish tortillas, thinking Gabriel (the older Spanish priest) might appreciate them. After his first bite he shook his head and said, “they’re better in Spain, the potatoes are undercooked.” Nothing like community living!

Another day I made Juicy Lucy’s. They received less complaints. Photo credit Dan.

We made a friend at an English institute Dan and I taught at (don’t worry I didn’t teach spelling or grammar, just conversation). She is a reporter for a local political radio station. She invited us to hear a speech by a candidate running for governor. She warned us that his speech would be difficult to understand because he is very dramatic and often yells, but in reality his message was perfectly clear. It was the same empty political promises you hear all over the world. Note: If you look closely in the picture of the political event you can see a sign in the background that says “Club A-“. This event took place in the gym at the club where I played basketball.

Our friend made sure to get a one on one interview with him after the charade.

This is one of the teams I played basketball for “Club Independiente”. One day I walked into the gym and told the coach I wanted to play basketball, he invited me to practice that night and from then on I was part of the team, could not have been more welcomed.

The coach and two of the veteran players.

This is Marcela and her daughter. She was the first woman (art teacher) to put me to work and welcome me into the school. This was a Saturday when she took us to the river with her daughter while her other daughter was at a birthday party. Great friends.

This was one of those first days with her art class.

A day with the young kids. Also happened to be the worst allergy day of the spring. A wonderful memory.

Turns out Fútbol skills do not translate to hockey

Our first major move could not have been smoother. The school happened to have a conference in a town outside Córdoba the weekend we were planning on leaving. We hitched a ride on the bus with teachers from all over Buenos Aires to Carlos Paz. We shared a final meal with Hugo, and then caught a local bus into the city for 20 pesos (less than two dollars). Not too bad for a 700km / 440 miles. This photo was taken as the priests, and all their holiness walked out of our lives…

…And then there was Dan.

Limitless (10-2-15)

I disagree with James Blake. There is no limit to love. I have never quite understood this song (and much less the video), but now I believe that Mr. Blake is misguided. Today Dan and I part from Escobar absolutely filled with love. Before writing me off as a naive traveler who goes abroad and falls in love with every person and every culture they see, professing the certainty of humanity’s decency and how they found themselves and realized they were not alone in the world, let me clarify what I mean by “limitless love”. 

Escobar is not Cancun. Escobar is not Rio de Jenero. Escobar is not a tourist destination. It is not a particularly poor place, nor is it very wealthy. It is not even within the city of Buenos Aires. It is dime a dozen middle class town/ city/ suburb within the providence of Buenos Aires. The entire time we have been here we have been unable to convince people that we were not here for an alternative reason. Some have hypothesized that we are: seminary students on our way to become priests, CIA agents, stupid, or just plain lost. After the initial confusion and moment of doubt, they always got over their suspicion and welcomed us with open arms. To be welcomed in a strange place is not something new for me, but there has been something novel to this experience that I have been unable to put my finger on. Tonight, among the many departing saludos (a hug and kiss on the cheek) it has become more clear. 

Since I have woke up this morning I have not been able to pass someone without receiving a hug, kiss, or both. I really do mean everyone- from the director of the school, to the group of women who clean, there has been no limit to my experience here. Relationships have met no boundaries. 

Perhaps this is a phenomena in small towns everywhere, but I have been taken back by the variety of people Dan and I have connected with. To give you an idea here are a few people we have said goodbye to today:

students from age 7 to 18, the group of parents from the school, the custodial staff, teachers, administrators, basketball teammates, women who volunteer at the church, a florist who plans weddings, maintenance staff, priests, cooks, etc.. You get the idea.

Today as I said bye too all these people and more ‘Limit to Your Love’ was stuck in my head, and all I could think of was that James Blake has never been to Escobar. Poor guy.

Running With Priests (9-20something-15)

It is impossible to conceptualize our time here thus far without acknowledging the fact that we are living with priests. More specifically Vincentian priests. One huge aspect of the Vincentian life is community. With that in mind, let me introduce our community:

    
  
Padre Hugo: “el Indio” – the indian

Padre Hector: “el doctor”

Padre Gabriel: “el Conquistador”

Dan: “el Judio” the Jew

Jake: “Pepe el semenarista” (future priest)
If my nickname is any indication, these labels have little to do with reality. They have been derived over many shared lunches discussing history, politics, religion, love, and sometimes less controversial topics (i.e. food, priest gossip, premarital sex, etc.). Its not hard to imagine that a 81 year old Spaniard (Gabriel), a 33 year old rural Paraguayan (Hugo), a 35 year old Argentine (Hector), a 22 year old- Jewish advertising major (Dan), and yours truly all share the exact same opinions on the afore mentioned topics…
In all seriousness this has been a great experience. The most important thing to express is that living here has been just like living in every other community – in other words: priests are normal people. 

Every morning they (notice the emphasis on they) pray together and then each goes about their individual day. At around 12:30 we all eat lunch together, invariably one or two of us have conflicts and eat later on. (Also note that lunch here is the primary meal, much like dinner in the states). After an hour of eating, arguing, priest gossip and hearing about the superiority of Spain we all go our separate ways. Evenings vary: Hector and Hugo are enrolled in English classes, I play basketball at a club, Dan and I have been invited to talk at random english classes throughout the city, we have gone to several families houses for dinner, and when none of this happens we go running. 

There is nothing more ordinary than jogging. We all agree on a time, and head out, walking a mile to a blocked off road that has been designated for running. These experiences have not been extravagant, but extraordinary in their simplicity. Some nights have consisted of ‘blowing of steam’ (a phrase Hugo quickly incorporated into his English vernacular) after stressful days in the school. Other days we have needed some encouragement to make it to the track, this usually consists of more name calling and trash talking than any actual words of encouragement. One time we went out to run and their was a huge crowd of families gathered to send their kids off on a camping trip. They were blocking the door and so we had no choice but to go right through it all. Never was there a stranger sight than a tiny Paraguayan priest dressed in athletic pants and a hoodie followed by a giant Yankee (as foreigners from the US are referred to) navigating a crowd of parents that were sending their children off for the first time. As we tried pass unnoticed, parents began offering hugs and kisses to Hugo, they were honored that the priest had come to send their children off. Nobody really knew what to make of the giant Yankee following him, laughing his way through the crowd.

With less than two weeks left in Escobar, I have begun to ask myself what this time has been all about. A integral part of this experience has been sharing it with the priests. They have helped humanize the institution of the catholic church for me. While my constant inquiries have led Gabriel to believe I have a calling towards the priesthood, this time has not been about ‘reconnecting with my catholic faith’. Instead it has been an open conversation about religion in our world, and in the lives’ of individuals. No one here minds that Dan is Jewish, or that neither of us have been to mass since our arrival. I do not have to hide the fact that I am not a practicing Catholic, or that my confirmation actually marked my renunciation of much of the institution of the church. 

The “confianza”, or trust, we have built up has allowed us to move past our different opinions, philosophies, background, beliefs, and share something much more profound, subtle, and transient in the human experience. Let running represent that shared element of humanity.
– I wrote this post two weeks ago and have been waiting to post it until I had a picture of the 5 of us. Between busy schedules, my forgetfulness and community “tension”, it has taken me until our last night to pull off this feat. Enjoy.

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.

 

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:

The Back Gardens

The room

St. Vincent is everywhere

Comedor – kitchen

The students art is constantly on display

Many students ask us if we are scared to sleep upstairs in a dark empty school…

Classroom