"This Time Tomorrow", or the wild goose chase to get my hands on USD

Song of the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONd4qSs5B5k

So much to say, so little energy to type it all out.

Here goes nothing!

WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME THE IMMENSE IMPORTANCE OF BRINGING DOLLARS TO ARGENTINA?!!?!?!?!??!?!?!?! I COULD LITERALLY BE DOUBLE AS RICH (poor) AS I AM RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THAT IS HOW VALUABLE THE DOLLAR IS HERE. Well, I'm screwed because it's literally illegal to acquire dollars here because it's so valuable, worth almost double on the black market than it is at the normal exchange rate. Go to an ATM machine? Pesos. Go to the bank? Pesos. Go to Western Union? Pesos. Basically, damnit.

The adventure to get dollars has begun. I went to PARAGUAY to get dollars and STILL couldn't get them because my bank thought my card was stolen. I called my bank, unfroze my accounts, went back to the ATM, and it was OUT OF DOLLARS.

That's a brief, BRIEF summary of my journey (through hell) to get dollars.

In more interesting news, my English is getting progressively worse and conjugating verbs is really hard. One time I said to someone, "I go quick to bathroom now". Who am I becoming? And a better question yet, who will I become at the end of the year? I'll probably just say "Me bathroom now" and hope people get the idea. Pretty sure this will be me at the end of my stay:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OFiHaMdPPZE (Spanish-addled brain trying to speak English)

But the reason I was in Paraguay the weekend past is because it was the first of three orientation camps for all the exchange students in our huge district. In all, there are about 70 exchange students in our district alone! So many Germans, so many Danes. I met a few kids from the US which was awesome, they were all so kind, and I was consistently appalled by how positive all of these kids were about their year. I was really feeling cranky and grumpy when we arrived to the camp in Paraguay and I realized, "Wow, Gaby, you have a really shitty attitude about a lot of things. Look at how these kids are handling their new lives. Half of them live on dirt roads (in Paraguay, nonetheless! Jajaja) and have to walk miles to school. This new living situation is such a stark contrast to their lives back home but they are so genuinely happy and thankful to be here." It was a reality check in the thankfulness department. I live in one of the nicest places within the district, have such a warm, loving family, and have the best friends I could have asked for here. I am making a more conscious effort to act more thankful for these things that come absolutely free to me. At our inbound camp in Paraguay, we roomed with between 6-12 other people. Our room was 12 girls from all around the world. Friday, our bus left Corrientes at 1 AM. We drove for about 6 hours and then at the Argentina/Paraguay border we got off the bus and made our way to the booth where we showed our passports and visas for entry. Getting my visa is another wild story for another time. Apparently the border is a very dangerous place, which made it all the more hilarious when one of our numbskull exchange student friends went missing for a few minutes but as it turned out he just desperately had to use the toilet. We got back on the bus, drove for a few more hours, and then arrived in Asuncion, Paraguay. We waited in the terminal for about an hour and began to meet other exchangers who were taking the same bus as us to the camp in Paraguay. It was awesome to meet these kids, but I was also so incredibly sleep-deprived that I had to work extra hard to be pleasant. After faking my way through pleasantries and small talk, we all got to talking about how different our exchange lives are, despite living mere hours away from each other. Asuncion is a sad city. Its former status as a colonized Creole nation is now evidently reduced to garbage-ridden streets, black market vendors on every corner, and mass inflation of the local currency, the guaraní. One USD is about 4,300 guaranís at the current exchange rate. Want a burger? 25,000 guaranís, please. Okay, let me just fish out tens and tens of bills to give you twenty five THOUSAND guaranís.

After our brief stay in the creepy, dingy Asuncion bus station, we began to board a bus to take us about two hours away to where our camp was located. As Noah (exchanger from Toronto) and I were approaching the second bus, we saw on the door "Five stars! Music! Wifi! Warm food!" Finally! We got on the bus, made our way to the second floor, and the smell of warm onions soaking in armpit juice hit us like a ton of bricks. Forget the whole "Five Stars!" nonsense. The bus was anything but, and the rusted metal bearings and exposed electrical work throughout only upped the creepy factor. I resigned myself to the fact that the words on the door of the bus had lied to me, and napped the rest of the way to the camp. We arrived a a beautiful, sprawling campsite where colorful edifices and vibrant gardens dotted the landscape for acres and acres. We registered and made our way to our rooms. Mine was a room with, gulp, TWELVE beds. Six bunks beds, all in rows. It was kind of weird in a military/boot camp sort of way, but we were 70 kids after all, they I suppose they had to put us somewhere. That night we played a variety of those useless "icebreaker" games that everybody loves (hates) so much. By the end of the night, I had a unibrow, Hitler mustache, and cat whiskers drawn on my face in black permanent marker, poison ivy on my feet and ankles after a nighttime scavenger hunt through deep woods (thanks for the heads up to wear boots and socks and insect repellent, oh, wait...), and a belly full of milanesa, deep fried breaded chicken, gnocchi, and rice. I went to bed really really happy.

4 AM rolls around and I'm heaving buckets into the public toilet.

I spend the rest of the day Saturday in a bed with a doctor giving me teaspoons of peach juice to keep my blood sugar up. Damn travel, so fun, yet so dangerous! Of all the times for my system to fail me it had to be during our first-ever inbound camp in The Middle of Nowhere, Paraguay. I missed out on all the day's activities, which all sounded so incredibly fun. But I decided to join in again around 6 PM when I was beginning to gain my strength back. I'm glad I did because even after not seeing them for only half the day, I realized how much I missed being around such warm and lively people. That's what makes the difference for me. Places like school, where some people just don't give a shit about anything, are really taxing for me. It's hard to maintain a certain attitude around people who just suck the life out of you. But being around such enthusiastic, eager, and genuinely happy people was one of the most healing things I've encountered on this journey. Some people have the ability to heal you and instill a wonderful sense of hope and joy and optimism in you, and finding people like that is quite rare. Finding people like that all together for a weekend, well, that's one in a million. Lesson learned? Exchange students are good for the soul.

Sunday morning, we all went our separate ways, some back to their cities in Paraguay, and the rest back to our cities in Argentina. It was bittersweet. Bitter saying goodbye to these wonderful kids, and definitely bitter getting back on that onion armpit bus again. Not to mention it was 100 degrees so we were all literally stewing in our own juices. That night, I got home, brushed my teeth, and fell asleep with my jeans and backpack still on. The next morning I woke up and checked my sleeping app on my phone. It said I slept at 100% quality which I didn't even know was possible (like getting 0% error on a lab or something), but after the weekend we just had, I believed it.

That was Paraguay, and I really wanted to write about it. But that was also three weeks ago, and since then, a lot has happened and a lot of things have come into focus:

1) I took the bus for the first time.
2) It was awesome.
3) Each time I get out and explore around the city I find myself feeling less and less lost. It's so       indescribably exciting to know where you are and what streets are around you.
4) The architecture is badass.
5) I have awful luck with toilets/plumbing in general. Broke my 5th toilet in my lifetime.
6) I have the best group of exchange student friends (Moritz from Germany, Noah from Canada, Philipp from Germany, Kelsey from Belgium, Axel from Denmark).
7) I have the best group of friends from school (Dahiana, Caro, Celeste, Constanza, Alejandro, Ayelen).
8) My host family are the most generous and trusting people. Every day I am thankful for them.
9) DO NOT TRUST THE PIZZA HERE. It's mediocre bread with the wrong kind of cheese and tomato slices masquerading as sauce.
10) DO trust the burgers. Though it may be cat meat, they're so worth the risk.
11) Challenges are never challenges in the moment; it’s only when you look back that you realize how much that moment made you grow.

Sorry I've been so lax about writing, to those of you like Abe who actually read this. It's been really hard for me to accurately and adequately summarize the moments that are important for me. Most of them aren't big things or days or weekends or stories, but tiny particles of events that make me feel amazed, mature, sad, grateful, puzzled, content, mesmerized, intelligent, lucky, and human. It's nearly impossible to quantify these fleeting moments, and many times I do not even believe I should attempt to do such a thing because they are all absolutely divine experiences that I feel very possessive of. What I am finding more and more difficult about writing this blog is sharing these moments and being unable, in my human way, to do them justice with my words. The most frustrating thing as a writer (I can call myself a writer because hey look I'm writing stuff) is not being able to do your subject justice. You run the risk of cheapening the topics and moments and instants you hold most dear, and that is a terrifying and sad thing to think of. For instance, who would think that watching Superbad with two friends at 4 AM would carry any sort of deep significance? It doesn't. Not for you, and that's okay. But for me, it was one instance of a million that I've had so far that has enlightened me a bit more into who I am and why I am on the other side of the world right now. What is awesome about this whole year away is that I can share the wonderful times that I am able to verbalize that the people who are not with me right now can latch on to and even relate to, and those other moments that I am unable to put to words can be my own to keep. Both are good and necessary.

Now I feel super dramatic and over the top but I guess that's what I get for listening to Death Cab for Cutie while writing this blog post. The End.

"A Confederacy of Dunces" - A Book Review: Would Cohrs Be Proud?

During my school days here in Argentina, I don't really do much. No, it's not the language barrier, it's simply the fact that these students are finishing their senior year and I already finished mine, so why dish out more work? Well, this leaves me with ample time to read, doodle, practice cursive writing (which is the most common form of script down here), and write lengthy book reviews (like I said, ample, AMPLE time). When I was nearing the last 30 or so pages of John Kennedy Toole's posthumously-published opus, A Confederacy of Dunces, I grew somewhat sad inside, for I felt the adventure of reading such a wildly enjoyable book was coming to an end all too soon. Upon turning the last page, I had to let my feelings digest before I could really put words to my thoughts. Here's what I came up with:

How else can you describe Ignatius J. Reilly as anything other than a lovable villain, or, inversely, a loathsome hero? His outward demeanor could very well suit either one, and this is displayed through his absolutely grotesque personal hygiene and social manners, juxtaposed with his immeasurable lexicon and innately childish spirit. Educated at the university to the highest degree, yet unbelievably gluttonous and immature, Ignatius is indeed one of the most complex characters that readers have had the (dis)pleasure of encountering in modern literature.

To begin explaining the intricacies of the novel would be too sizable a feat without the help of a literary comparison. To help explain what I believe to be the most notable and intriguing facet of Toole's A Confederacy, I will call upon another author to help me, Mr. Frank McCourt, author of Angela's Ashes, McCourt's memoir. To make the statement that McCourt and Toole wrote in a similar manner would be flawed. However, to say they both treated their characters' truly despicable lives with a sort of charming humor would serve as a much more apt statement. Make no mistake, the trials and tribulations of the McCourt clan and the Reilly's are incredibly different. But both authors tip their hats to the utter tragedies that their characters suffer, and to compensate for this, both authors enlist the use of humor. For McCourt to write a memoir about his dismal childhood could have gone one of two ways: directly depressing or indirectly depressing, the latter being far more effective. To write a memoir entirely devoid of humor, entirely devoid of any sort of ability to make light of the hard knocks, would have been the most straightforward manner to deliver a memoir of this depth. But to write with the intention of being able to laugh at events so horrendous to a reader such as myself, ironically seems to exacerbate the underlying sadness felt by this author. In this sense, McCourt's use of humor is the most powerful tool in his arsenal to give the reader the ability to truly feel the depths of his characters' agony.

Likewise for Toole.

One can only wonder if Toole did not place much of himself and his own characteristics within his bizarre anti-hero, Ignatius J. Reilly. Though Reilly is said to be based primarily off of Toole's eccentric friend, Bob Byrne, it is difficult to look past the similarities shared by Toole and Reilly. Wildly misunderstood, isolated, yet with a strong desire for recognition, both Toole and Reilly embody a sort of modern-day Don Quixote, incredibly rooted in their ideals. Though a work of outlandish, raunchy fiction, perhaps A Confederacy was indeed a memoir of sorts. Detailing the good, the bad, and the ugly of his native New Orleans, it would appear that Toole identifies certain aspects of his own life through the vessel of Ignatius, a character who despite his perpetual hilarity, seems to yank the pity out of his readers with his incontrovertible adversity. The powerful use of humor comes across almost as a coping mechanism for both Toole and his characters, and that in itself amplifies the despair felt for and by these people. In this sense, I believe that to call them "characters" is inaccurate. They truly were real people in Toole's life, manifested in his work. This might be saddest realization to come to. Despite the hilarity and beautiful comic structure that both Toole and Ignatius master, the true sadness comes in realizing that the only thing these people had left was a joke at the end of the day to avoid coming to terms with the daily struggle of being themselves.

          Toole finished writing A Confederacy of Dunces during the last years of his life, but its repeated rejection from publishing firms coupled with the assassination of JFK and his father's failing mental health led Toole into a tailspin of severe depression and heavy drinking. After turning the final page of A Confederacy and wiping tears of laughter out of my eyes, I felt very hopeful for Ignatius and co., but also for Toole and the people in his life. The ending felt truly liberating. In my head I rejoiced for these people who had endured so much, on and off the paper. They were freed of the shackles that kept them rooted in their vicious lives, and I felt that new chances were around the corner. This "emancipation" is not to say that the ending was happy. The sense that the struggles endured by the characters would surely follow felt almost guaranteed, taking on a different form of new challenges. But to be fair, the ending felt as perfect as possible for a novel written by such a tormented soul. Through it all, my heart only broke a little more for Toole, a genius amongst a world of idiots, living in a real confederacy of dunces, driven to suicide by the demons within. Perhaps he was somewhat prophetic with this title, as no one seemed to understand his brilliance for many years to come. My comfort lies in the fact that Toole knew he could trust Ignatius with the battles he embodied his whole life. Wild, brutish, yet strangely lovable Ignatius J. Reilly will live on in these pages, and I find the utmost consolation in the knowledge that John Kennedy Toole will live on through this magnificent rascal for many more years to come.

"Whatever"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHfx9LXzxpw

It's been a little while since I've written anything, and I know that I need to continue honing my writing skills while I'm away, or else they'll go to hell like the rest of the things I have learned throughout my 12 years of public education.

Reading the blogs of exchange students past, it seems as though all have a similar trait in common: a summation of sorts of the bigger lessons gleaned from their year abroad. These revelations seem to be the biggest takeaways from an exchange year, and I think I just learned my first one:

Humans have a beautiful and innate ability to make a home wherever they may go.

You don't have to travel far to test this theory. Hell, you could camp out in your own backyard and eventually it would feel like "home", despite the absence of normal amenities and creature comforts. I feel that this theory is being realized here in Corrientes. Upon my arrival, my host family went above and beyond to make me feel at home. Even now they still remind me to rummage in the fridge whenever I please. Despite having everything I could possibly think of accommodated for me, this house didn't feel like a home until about three days ago. I don't know, it just kind of clicked that this was my bed now, my cereal, my dog, my yard, my sister, my mom, and my dad. This is my life now, for a whole year. I never felt uncomfortable here, by any means, but I still felt like a guest in someone else's home. I was honestly concerned that it would never feel like my own. Perhaps the moment clicked when I went upstairs to take my siesta a few days ago and found my dog waiting to cuddle up with me. Maybe it was when I made breakfast for my sister and I realized, "Oh, I know how she likes her oatmeal and tea, I don't have to keep asking". It could have been when I took a cab by myself, and the cab driver thought I was a native Argentinian because my Spanish was "rrre-buenooo" (very good). Maybe it is the summation of all these seemingly ordinary moments, that when viewed as a whole, start to form a picture that I am, indeed, becoming an Argentinian. Spelling it phonetically, "Sho soy unaaaarshentina!" In other words, "Yo soy una Argentina!" Making this realization that I actually have the balls to leave it all behind and start anew somewhere else, no matter where, makes me really proud of myself. It's only week two, and I can't wait for what else I'm going to face, the good, the bad and the ugly. Lucky for me, however, I have an amazing network of friends in the States, in school, with the other exchange students, and in both my families. I wake up each morning (slightly sleep-deprived but) more eager than I've ever been to test my limits, day in and day out, and to continue making a home for myself here in Corrientes.