Maple Syrup

13/01/2011

Upon awaking from my customary late afternoon nap today, I was greeted by a clear, rich voice singing "My Way." My curious ears led my feet to my parent's bedroom, where I found Mama, Papa, and Rocio all seated around the computer monitor watching a recital by the remarkable Barbra Streisand. Now five months into my cultural exchange, the sporadic reminders of my mother country (such as this one) continue to mentally disorient me. It is similar to the sensation that one might feel upon discovering the maple syrup in the refridgerator. As we all well know, syrup needn't be refridgerated, so the only logical location for Aunt Jemima is in the pantry, next to her friends Captain Crunch and the Quaker. Storing the syrup in the fridge is not bothersome nor harmful, simply out of place. These uncomfortably familiar reminders of my past life belong "there" and "then," not "here" and "now." Though, not to be mistaken, I quite enjoyed the hour and a half that I shared with Barbra this afternoon.

Later in the evening, Ayrton, Rocio, and I went to the ritzy, private neighborhood situated on the golf course to spend time with our visiting Italian relatives. El Golf is like the Argentine Agrestic--obscenely large houses, perfectly maintained, green lawns, asfault streets. I even saw a woman walking her dog on a leash--something that I had not witnessed since leaving the States! The whole scene sent shivers up my spine, as I know that in just six months, I will return to exactly that lifestyle and it will once again become my version of normality. I will sincerely miss the modest, cement homes, the dirt roads, and the roaming street dogs when I reunite with the cold suburbanization of Clarendon Hills.

Speaking of returning home, three AFS students will board the bus this Sunday to do just that. Tonight, we gathered in Gisela's (president of AFS Rio Cuarto) house to wish Matteo (Italy), Helen (Germany), and Pete (Thailand) a safe trip back to their home countries. The interesting part of the going away party, however, was not the party itself, but rather the arduous journey getting there. Ayrton, Rocio, and I left our Italian relatives' house to meet up with Matteo, who lives with a host family in El Golf. A storm was fast approaching and we were walking at an ungodly pace in order to catch the bus. Within minutes, it was pouring rain and lightning illuminated every inch of the sky. Our already hasty pace increased accordingly. Then, the bus drove right past us! We began to sprint in order to catch it, hollering and flailing for nearly four blocks in the hope of getting the bus driver's attention. I, per usual, chose weather inappropriate shoes--my black sandals have absolutely no traction, so I was running about a block behind everyone else, hoping to not end up in the ER in a Humpty Dumpty-like state . Our desperate efforts were fruitless, and the bus continued without stopping for us. We arrived at a nearby gas station, completely drenched, where we caught a taxi. The taxi driver (who I would come to know as Lorenzo), a vertically-challenged, middle-aged man with an impressive beer belly, was quite the character. As soon as we entered the car, he told us that he had been drinking wine all afternoon long. I frown upon drunk driving in general, but particularly in adverse conditions! Luckily, we arrived safely at Gisela's house. Before exiting the cab, Lorenzo gave us a stack of pamphlets promoting his rentable, blow-up castle business, perfect for birthday parties and special events. I kept the flyer, just in case he does business internationally and I ever need an inflateable palace.