The opportunity to see one’s president is not one that comes up very often, particularly when you are in a foreign country, and even more so when that foreign country has little in the way of political influence.  Yet, lo and behold, it was announced that President Obama would be making a visit to Ireland while I was still here.  What for?  An official State visit? Revisiting the Northern Ireland peace issues? Something related to the Irish bailout? Answer: none of the above.  Instead, the United States of America’s first black president, the one whom certain sects believed was Kenyon and a Muslim, is in fact, Irish.  Well, technically 5% of his blood is, but that’s more than enough for the people of Ireland to count him as one of theirs (a song was written by the Corrigan Brothers called, “There’s No One as Irish as Barack Obama”).

Genealogists discovered a while back that President Obama had roots to the small town of Moneygall, by way of his great-great-grandfather Falmouth Kearney, a shoemaker who immigrated to America during one of Ireland’s famines.  150-some years later, his great-great-grandson, the President of the United States, returned to the small village to meet his 8^th cousin, Henry Healy, and find his roots.

To celebrate, Ireland collectively went nuts.  I can’t vouch for the small town of Moneygall, which apparently had every rock and house painted in Irish and American colors, but Dublin certainly went overboard in terms of its preparation to receive the president.  The bookie agency Paddy Power changed its name for the week to O’Bama Power.  There were Obama cakes sold in shops.  American flags were hanging from every storefront, in a country where hanging an Irish flag tends to mean Republican or even IRA-leaning tendencies.  It was astounding.  Compare these warm welcomes to the Irish publics reception to the Queen of England’s visit less than a week before, with posters all over town with “NO Royal Visits while ENGLSIH Troops Hold Irish Soil!” I even saw a guy flick off a television screen with the Queen on it.  I couldn’t believe my eyes at all of the excitement.

On the Monday morning of his visit, a few friends and I went to queue in front of security to get into the area where Obama would give a speech.  We got there at around half past nine in the morning, pretty near the front of the queue, though we would have to stand and wait until two for them to open the gates to go through security, getting patted down by Secret Service Agents in the process, and it wasn’t until half past four that the “festivities” began.  Ireland wanted to impress the president and so gathered a large number of Irish musicians, actors, and other famous figures to put on an “opening act” as it were for the president.  Actors Brendan Gleeson, Daniel Day-Lewis, Saorise Ronan, and Gabriel Byrne gave brief speeches, along with a number of famous sportscasters and other sports figures.  The Irish musicians ranged in age and style, from traditional Irish music, modern rock, pop, to…Jedward.

Jedward is hard sensation to explain, if it’s possible at all.  Jedward are a pair of twins, John and Edward, that became popular from the show “The X-Factor” (think American Idol), where they made waves with their over-the-top hair and excessively bubbly personalities that makes you question whether anything is going on upstairs for them.  But popular they most certainly are, even though they personally breed feelings of vague homoerotic incestuous undertones to their dancing around in bright red costumes.  Imagine Lady Gaga, but completely unaware of their schtick.  It was surreal to see this absurd teen sensation perform on the same stage that the president of the United States was about to occupy.

Following Jedward’s performance, which was interrupted slightly by a sudden burst of rain and wind from the heaven’s that many took as a sign that some higher power/s did not approve of Jedward, Ireland’s Taoiseach took the stage to warm up the crowd.  He was received with a mix of cheers and equal boos, either because the crowd hated him or hated the fact that he was delaying Obama from coming onstage, but he tried to push ahead.  As the Taoiseach neared the end of his speech, a shrieking of almost unbelievable proportions came out of the audience, causing me to wonder if the Beatles were coming out now, when I saw that President Obama and his wife Michelle had come onstage a bit early, and from there the Taoiseach had to basically give up and abdicate the podium to appease the crowd.

Obama tried his best to greet the audience in Irish, much to their delight.  He spoke of his enjoyment of meeting his extended family, seeing the town where his great-great-grandfather came from, and the taste of a good pint of Guinness; I can only imagine how much Guinness paid for that photo op.  The themes of his speech were of the many bonds between America and Ireland, their shared histories, and having the courage and determination to go on in the face of difficult obstacles, economic or otherwise.  Obama’s speech was very sensationalist and repeated itself a bit much, but the heart of it was very true and dear.  Focusing on the fact that so many Americans have Irish roots, that came from times of economic troubles, and that so many of these Americans try to trace these roots of theirs, he emphasized the important immigrant history of America, as well as Ireland’s role in producing so much from such a small island in its emigrated peoples; the great-great-grandson of a poor shoemaker had become the president of the United States after all.  He finished his speech with a declaration that if things seemed impossible to reinforce oneself with the mantra, “Is Feidir Linn” in Irish, or in English, “Yes We Can.”

Obama’s speech may not have changed any of my personal feelings for him or touched any deeply personal chords, as it did for a few of my friends in attendance, the event itself did have quite the impact.  Having never seen a president of ours before, that alone was pretty exciting, but seeing the president in a foreign country, one that I was studying and living in, made it an entirely different experience.  Even though Ireland is obviously an English speaking country and is like America in so many ways, the little differences begin to add up over time that create something of a foreign or outsider feel to life here.  While Dublin has been home to me, Obama’s visit has reminded me that I am American, and that my time here has given me roots in Ireland, even if those roots do not come in the form of bloodlines.  The story of my seeing the president in Ireland is one that I know I will look forward to telling over and over as I grow older, and telling it as part of the greater story of my time and life here in Dublin and Ireland.

I am officially leaving Australia in exactly one month from today. Didn’t I just get here? How is there already a countdown until I leave? I don’t like this at all.

When I last wrote, I was off to Thailand. If you’re coming to Australia, Thailand is a MUST. It’s not as close as you’d think – if you’re lucky enough to score a direct flight, it’s around 9 hours long, and will cost you close to $1,000. But if you’re looking for an incredible spring break or a trip for in-between finals, Thailand is it.

Since we’ve been back, Australia is kind of cold When people told me I would be here in the winter, I assumed I’d still be walking around in tank tops and flip flops. WRONG! I had to have my mom ship me sweaters and boots, and I had to buy myself a jacket. It’s nothing like winter in New Jersey, that’s for sure, but I miss the beach!

The next month will be entirely dedicated to finishing my Australian Bucket List. But more on that later

Wow. Today is May 25, el Día de la Declaración de Independencia Argentina.  Time has FLOWN BY. May has flown by. Now I only have 45 days left in Argentina, and it’s scary… I don’t want to leave.  It’s going by way too quickly, but instead of complaining about it, I’ve enjoyed every day and I have had an incredible time during this past month.

My birthday was May 10th. I celebrated two separate days since it was unfortunate enough to fall on a Tuesday… but I guess that ended up working out for the best.  Since dinners aren’t provided for students on Saturdays, a friend planned a dinner for that night, three days before my actual birthday.  Now, instead of just rambling on about how great it was, I’ll try to throw some culture in there too.  There’s this running feed on our Facebook group that begins with, “You know you’re in Buenos Aires when:” and then everyone proceeds to post his or her argentine happenings.  Well, this is the perfect time to use one of them.  You know you’re in Buenos Aires when: you show up for your birthday dinner twenty minutes after the reservation and you’re one of the first people there.  Friends continue to trickle in for the next two hours, and no one really seems to take notice.  Dinner ends up lasting three and a half hours, and it ends with champagne and the traditional “que te cumplas feliz” happy birthday song. It was a great dinner, and ended up being a great night.  My host parents’ grandson who I’ve become friends with invited all 14 of us over to pregame before going out to a boliche.  Awesome night!  He lives a few blocks from 9 de Julio on the 10th floor, with a great view.  It was picturesque. It was incredible, a great way to bring me into my third decade.  Then on Tuesday, four close friends and I celebrated my actual birthday at a bar called Magdalena’s and then a boliche, Kika, which is known for its Tuesday night parties.  Once again, you know when you’re in Buenos Aires WHEN…  It was another incredible night.  One of my best friends here was so generous and bought us a table in the VIP section with 2 buckets of champagne and drinks.  There were 5 of us…. so you can imagine how that night ended.  Let’s just say I didn’t really feel like stopping in Plaza Miserere on the way home to get my usual 4-peso superpancho to end the night.

The next weekend we had an IFSA- planned trip to Rosario, Argentina, the third largest city in the country, located in la Provincia Santa Fe.  It is about a 4-hour bus ride from BsAs to the city that’s on the edge of the Parana River, and we had two full days and one night to enjoy it as much as possible. Well, we started immediately.  We found a place to get some lunch and were told to be back to meet the group for a walking tour of the city in 40 minutes.  Well, this is Argentina… we were at lunch for 2 hours, and therefore decided to take a walking tour ourselves, litros in hand.  It was a blast, so much so that I needed to recoup with a nap before dinner.  Now, dinner… we decided that IFSA had a plan with the dinner that they took us out to.  That plan was to stuff us so much with great food that we wouldn’t want to go out that night.  Success.  Now, let me break down this dinner.  We were all SO hungry, so the breadbaskets came out and were demolished. Mistake one.  Then we all got served an empanada de carne, followed by a lettuce and then a spinach salad.  Delicious.  What came next confused all of us.  Huge platter with brain, intestines, blood sausage, and chorizo.  Damnit IFSA!  Why would you feed us these things?  Needless to say, they were accompanied by platters of papas fritas, so everyone wolfed down the chorizo and the fries.  Mistake 2.  Sitting with what seemed like half a ton of fries in my stomach, steak knives were brought out to all of us, and we were served red wine.  Then platters with all different cuts of steak, and more papas fritas.  Well, at that point I could barely fit any more food into my stomach, but I had to eat some of the great Argentine meat.  It was delicious and we were all about to explode.  So of course after that, ice cream followed.  Then we were all asked if we wanted some after-dinner coffee.  It was great, but there was no way any of us were in the mood to go to one of Rosario’s many heavily talked-about boliches.  Damnit IFSA, got us again.  Now, don’t think that we didn’t take advantage of having a night in a new city, all put up in hotel rooms.  We went to the store and bought the necessary beverages, and partied in one of the rooms.  It was so much fun, a great mix of people, and a craaaaazy night.  Yes, we stayed in the room and started off by playing charades, but it was an awesome time.  The next day, we had a lunch from IFSA, which seemed to be more of a recovery period, and then a tour of the Parana on a ferry.  It was really nice, the river was huge, and it was something that I had never seen before.  Horses waded through the water at every turn, people had raised houses in the middle of the river, with boats to get to the city… it was really something amazing.  Something different, something Argentina.  We all left Rosario completely wiped out after an awesome weekend.

Now to prevent complete boredom with my drawn-out stories, I’m going to give the highlights of the rest of the time since I last posted a blog…

Went to my first ‘undercover’ bar.  We had to ring a doorbell, enter four at a time, walk inside a telephone booth, and then press the pass code in order to get in.  It was a really nice bar with specialty drinks (unfortunately with really ‘special’ prices), but it was cool to have been in a bar like that all the same.

Got ripped off by a taxi.  Big surprise, right?  I asked him if he had change for 100 pesos.  Stupid.  Always carry smaller change for taxis (although this country refuses to print adequate amounts of smaller bills and the precious monedas, forcing people to always scheme ways to break their hundreds, but that’s a rant for another time).  He swapped out my hundred for a two and proceeded to tell me that I had mistakenly given him a two.  Now, despite how I may come off with all these robbery stories, I’m no moron.  I now keep my hundreds in the little pocket of my jeans, so I know that I gave him a hundred.  Hijo de puta.  I then had to give him another hundred to ‘pay for the cab ride,’ since I wasn’t about to get shot by an angry, possibly drunk, taxista.  Needless to say, I ended up spending 140 pesos (U$S35) for a taxi that was supposed to be 40 pesos.  Whatever.  You live and you learn, and that guy now has bad karma.  Sucks for him.  And me.

Telos.  I’ll make this brief and impersonal.  These are places, similar to hotels, but rooms can be rented hourly.  In a city where it’s hard to get any personal space, especially since the majority of kids my age still live at home, it’s a convenient was to spend some time… alone with someone else.  Neon blue lights, mirrored street doors, and trees in front of the already-opaque windows generally indicate that you’ve found one.  Others can be entered by garage.  It all depends on which telo you end up near.  They’re easy, convenient, very clean, and relatively cheap.

Classes.  Well… apparently I’m the luckiest guy in the world.  My class at Di Tella was canceled for 2 1/2 weeks for ‘travel,’ my castellano class was canceled this week, today is feriado, and so in total I have 1 class that I need to attend all week.  Tough, right?  Argentina, I love you.  And it ended up really working out for me since I’m now stuck in bed with what I’m self-diagnosing myself as strep throat.  Let’s just hope those “antibióticos” that my host dad gave me do the trick…

Til next time,

Chau chau.

Please indulge me as I begin this blog with a letter to the bike thief.

Dear Thief,

Hey there. First, let me start by saying thanks for ditching Balto at Trinity Park. You didn’t rip his pedals off, or hack through the lock I had wrapped between the handlebars and the seat. In fact, he was in pretty good condition, except his front tire was deflated. Only the front, not the back. I’m guessing that’s the reason you ditched him, since buying a pump and filling it back up would be far too much effort for you. You probably just went off and stole another bike.

Well, Balto deflated his tire on purpose. That’s because he hates you.

But it’s okay now. Balto’s back with me, I brought him to a cool guy at the mechanic across the street who filled up his tires, and we took a lovely reunion bike ride down to Lake Placid. Feel free to stop by my apartment if you want to see him again. I’ll be the one sitting on the steps with a baseball bat and tranquilizer gun.

Sincerely,

Stay-away-from-my-bike

Ok. Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, you’ve probably guessed that I’m excited about the return of Balto. It’s been a long two weeks without him, and I’m very happy the police found him and I have him back for my last month in Australia. Then I’ll sell him back to my neighbor who works at the Smithfield Secondhand shop, and he’ll go to a nice person who needs a bike. A person who will actually buy him.

Now for everything that’s gone on in the past two weeks. I realized that I haven’t said much about my classes, and I feel like I should fix that. My archaeology class in-particular is one I should talk about.

Tutorials in that class are almost always fun. One week we had a table full of bones, and reassembled them back into a mama kangaroo and a joey. Apparently, they were roadkill from some of Professor Ulm’s old students. Another week, we did a campus-wide scavenger hunt for all the memorial plaques for former students, and had to draw maps to how we got there. Most recently, we dug through his trash from the past two weeks, and had to form conjectures about where the people/person lived, their income, their lifestyle, and how old each food thing was. One group decided their pile of trash was from a college student. It was from Professor Ulm’s mother.

My last Myth and Ritual class was Monday, and after the final exam we spent most of the lecture talking about the end of the world, since the Rapture was supposed to be on Saturday. I’m wicked glad I only have two finals left. But that also means I only have two finals left. Only one month left in Australia.

Last Thursday was an Around the World party between the Lodge and the Beaches. There were about five or six rooms that had a different country attached to them, and the hosts of each room had to make drinks for everyone that represented that country. I was Mexico with my two neighbors. We’d been planning this for a couple weeks, getting money from everyone, and, despite the fact that it rained, it was a definite success. We got a little too rowdy at Amsterdam, and Rob came and booted us all out of the Beaches. I kept my head down, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me. But when you think about it, getting kicked out is a sure sign that the party is awesome.

Also, during the two weeks when Balto was MIA, I discovered walking/mountain biking paths behind the library. I’d seen the entrance to them once before, but never checked them out because the big sign said “STAY OUT” and various other warnings about being prosecuted. But I was in a bitter mood about losing Balto, and by god I was going to walk if I wanted to. Turns out everyone ignores those signs.

Considering the paths I walk at school and home, where there are only a few diverging paths to explore, this is paradise. There’s no way I’ll be able to explore all of them in a month. The best part is they’re right at the base of the mountains, so you get a spectacular view as you walk the paths in the grassy area. The grass is about six feet high, so it’s a little like walking in a maze. During my second walk I found the entrance to the conservation park I’d heard about, and during my third walk I actually walked one of the paths all the way through back to the grassy area.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great hike, but there’s something constricting knowing most of the plants around you are dangerous. Back home I can walk off the paths and only worry about poison ivy (it doesn’t affect me anyway). Entering the conservation park, the first sign I saw was “DO NOT TOUCH THE STINGING TREES.” In tropical Australia, you have to assume every plant will kill you.

This past weekend, I went to Cape Tribulation on my last Toe-Knee trip (Tony’s the guy who runs the Walkabout Trips). Cape Trib is a lot like a tropical, oversized summer camp. It’s got a very relaxed vibe, and at the bar Saturday night I met a girl from England and we just chatted about all the places in Australia she’s been. A very chill trip, compared to the others I’ve been on. Sunday morning, Katie and I went Jungle Surfing, which I was really looking forward too. Unfortunately, I considered it to be a huge let down–definitely not worth ninety bucks.

Most of the time we had to wait in the tree-loft things for other people to surf over, though it wasn’t really “surfing.” They controlled our speed the whole time, and the only time we went fast was on the last two surfs. They were very short, and I was expecting more. Luckily, on the last one we got to swing upside down, and that was way more fun. If the whole experience had been upside down, I would’ve enjoyed it a lot more. Otherwise, I got no adrenaline rush.

Saying goodbye to Tony was sad. He’s wicked cool, and always made fun of the Europeans on the trips in subtle ways that only the Americans and Australians could pick up on. He also did a ton of cooking for us. After a hug goodbye, his last words to me were “Stay young and alive.” I told him I’d do my best.

Getting Balto back is the highlight for today. Now I’m just enjoying my last week of classes, and stubbornly refusing to think about going home in a month, back to reality…

Check It Out! (You Get the Drift)

1. The Tim-Tam Slam (Brings eating tim-tams to a whole new level of awesomeness. You bite off one corner, then the corner diagonal to that, and drink milk through the tim-tam. I recommend doing this with the double-layer tims-tams.)

2. Mangroves (I’m not sure I’d ever seen a mangrove before Cape Tribulation, but the roots are awesome. I’ve posted a picture of the grove we came across.)

3. Cassowaries (By “check them out” I mean check them out from a very safe distance far away, preferably in a vehicle with all the doors and windows closed. I mean, I’m pretty sure they’re decedent from velociraptors, for cryin’ out loud. Their talons will rip you apart.)

Find more photos like this on Institute for Study Abroad – Butler University

“¿Sabes qué? Espero que no nos vengan a buscar. Fíjate…tenemos que aprovechar. Jamás vamos a ver estrellas así.”

“You know what? I hope they don’t come to pick us up. Look…we have to make the most of this. We’re never going to see stars like this again.”

It was 9 pm and Daniela and I were laying in the grass plaza of Uruspampa, a caserío in Peru of about twenty families. We were frozen solid and dead from having laughed the entire afternoon and evening. Half an hour later a Uruspamponian would offer us shelter in his house, and thirty seconds later our ride would finally arrive, but in this moment I wanted nothing more than to sleep in the cold, under the stars, and wake up early to see the sunrise over the mountains.

The health brigade planned to leave Sarín at 8 a.m., but as is to be expected it left late. What wasn’t expected was that it also left without advising us, given that we had scheduled to make the trip with them two days in advance. We ran around the municipality where we had been abandoned, asking if anybody knew where the brigade had gone. Every official claimed not to have the slightest clue, though the way they laughed when they spoke to us suggested otherwise. Luckily, one gentleman seemed concerned, and he called the truck driver, asking that they wait for us at the other end of the town. We would have to walk to catch our ride.

When we reached the truck we were told there wasn’t room for us. “Sorry, we really hoped to have you guys come along.” We didn’t buy that, nor did we take no for an answer. We really want to come too, we said. So much so, that we’ll just ride in the back of the truck.

“In the back?”

“Yes.”

“With the barrel of gasoline and the gas-powered generator?”

Despite the fact that those two objects filled the bed of the truck, if not with the physical space they occupied then with the oil they leaked all over everything, yes, we will, safety be damned.

And was it ever. It turned out we weren’t the only ones planning to climb in the back. Three of us climbed in, grabbing hold of oily metal posts, our only hopes of not falling out of the truck as it drove up and down treacherous mountain paths for the next hour. Halfway through the trip, we encountered a construction team repairing a faulty bridge, and there we picked up our fourth bed-of-the-truck rider, making a total of 11 people riding in one small 4×4.

Three days prior, Daniela and I arrived in Huamachuco, Perú, the capital of Sanchez Carrión, a district in the departamento of La Libertad. From there we were taken to Sarín, a town of approximately 8,000 inhabitants, where we would spend the next week investigating malnutrition in the rural northern sierra of Peru. The week, known as semana de campo, is a tradition of the Department of Anthropology at La Católica, which sends its students out into the field, with a professor, for a week of anthropological research. After two months of preparation, including studying research methodologies, interview techniques, and common mistakes in anthropological field work, we were finally there, in the middle of nowhere, ready to pretend like we knew what we were doing.

On this day in particular, Daniela and I were accompanying a “training and awareness” team of the municipality to the village of Uruspampa. Their plan was to teach the campesinos how to feed themselves healthfully. Mine was to listen to the municipality’s discourse and see what kinds of messages it sends to the community.

We arrived in Uruspampa, exhausted from clinging on to dear life and the truck for the previous hour. The motor was set up, a projector plugged in, and half and hour later a PowerPoint presentation began in the community center (photo attached: note the chairs that exclaim, “works, not words.” That’s one way to infuriate a writer.).

The presentation I saw was not a simple discussion of 6-11 servings of grains, 5 servings of fruit and vegetables, etc. No, in fact, what I saw and heard from the speakers was the criminalization of mothers whose children are malnourished (an illness calculated according to European standards of height and weight). These mothers, according to the municipality, are condemning their children to dismal futures because they are too cheap or ignorant to feed their young ones a well-balanced diet. That their children are malnourished and have no future and that the mothers are cheap and ignorant are all debatable, though the municipality drops these words like facts, like they were talking about gravity. And while it is true that some customs of the village don’t lend themselves to a healthy diet (selling chickens and guinea pigs, for example, in order to buy white rice and pasta that complement a diet heavy in corn and potatoes), to blame everything on ignorant mothers is a gross simplification of a complex social phenomenon. But enough of that; you can read my final report if you’re interested.

I had to leave the discussion shortly after it started. I couldn’t hear very well, and as it turns out, I proved to be quite a distraction for all those present in the talk. Within the living memory of Uruspampa, a foreigner has never arrived in the village, much less a tall, blonde-haired blue-eyed gringo. The reactions I received ranged from the fright of the children to the amusement of the mothers. I’m not sure if the later was amusement at my presence or at their children’s terror, but that’s how it was.

I headed outside where the sun would soon burn my face and found a large group of women cooking corn, rice, potatoes, and some sort of tuna and carrot dish. This was lunch for the entire community as well as the health brigade, and every member of the community had brought their contribution to the meal. I asked the women if I might help them peel potatoes and, still amused, they invited me in.

We spent the next hour and a half peeling I-don’t-know-how-many potatoes, hundreds of them. They were enough to fill a bathtub, because I believe the gigantic bucket we put them all in was an actual bathtub from one of the local families. I started asking questions of the women about their lives, their diets, the municipality, etc., but it was hard to get a straight answer. Because I arrived with the municipality, they found it hard to believe that I was looking for criticism – that I was already critical myself – and instead behaved as if I were trying to exam them.

I asked the women what they knew about nutrition and malnutrition. They were, after all, the ones cooking for the community. That is, as the cooks of the day, they were unable to attend the health brigade’s meeting that supposedly would have capacitated these women to make a healthier meal. I assumed, then, that they had already attended such meetings, but this was not the case. What I heard from many women can be summed up by one quotation, something this woman in particular told me at least five times:

“No, I’ve never been to any of the municipality’s talks. We out here don’t know anything, anything. We women are ignorant.”

Halfway through the potato peeling, a woman left the talk to join us and I took the opportunity to ask her what she had learned from what she heard.

“First, you tell me what you learned,” she said.

“But I couldn’t hear anything, I left almost as soon as it started.”

“You tell me first.”

When the talk ended, Daniela and I were invited to eat lunch with the health brigade in the house of a prominent community member away from the plaza (and the “rabble,” as it were). It was disconcerting that we were disconnected from the community while we ate, and even worse that we were given an additional dish, an egg soup, made from this one woman’s personal pantry. The community is malnourished and we’re sectioning ourselves off to eat a more balanced meal…

At the lunch table, I asked the presenters, “Do the people who attend these talks ever ask questions?”

Oh yeah, sure, all the time, they told me.

“What questions did they ask today?”

Silence.

“That is,” I said, “Do you remember any questions, any examples of what they asked today?”

Well…well, today they haven’t asked any questions. But they do, normally.

I’m skeptical. The dynamic of the talks is one-way: we, the municipality, have the knowledge and you, community, do not. Listen and you shall learn.

Daniela and I had asked enough questions for the day. After lunch, the health brigade went to another community for more of the same but they promised to come back within a pair of hours. We decided to take advantage of the break to take a hike, to get away from the villagers and the health brigade who were all suspicious of our motives.

Ten minutes down the road, we had yet to climb a hill or find a foot-worn trail. “Daniela,” I said, “You know what I’ve always wanted to do? Climb to one of the peaks of these mountains and then walk along from peak to peak all through the sierra.”

“Good luck, blondie. You’re crazy.”

“No, but really, what happens if we just walk straight up from here to the peak?” I asked as I turned ninety degrees from the path and began walking into the hill. Moments later, I found out: you can’t get down.

“Blondie, how the f#*k are we going to get back to the trail? Seriously, huevón, what’s your plan? We’re screwed.”

I laughed. “We’ll figure that out once we reach the top.”

Daniela stopped and looked around. “Seriously, I’m concerned that we’re going to be stuck up here.” “Seriously,” I said, “you don’t have to keep coming up. I understand. But I promise if you do that will we find a way down later.” “Godda*& you, Blondie,” she said and, on her hands and knees she continued scaling the mountainside.

Halfway up the mountain, I could no longer breath. Several days in the middle of nowhere had meant several days of chain-smoking. What little breath might have remained in my chest was ripped out when I turned around and saw the vista, which I have poorly approximated in the attached photographs.

“Well,” I said, “de la puta madre, no?”

“You realize I still hate you, right?”

And it was in that moment that we began to die laughing. I don’t know what was funny – perhaps it was me, the gringo, comfortably swearing in Spanish. Or the fact that we had just climbed straight up the side of a mountain. Or that the gringo and the limeña were in a caserío of 20 families where nobody wanted or trusted us. All I know is that as we braved our way back down the mountain Daniela and I continued swearing to/at each other and the laughter followed us all the way back to Uruspampa.

The absurdity factor of the trip got out of hand once we returned to the village. We found out that the caserío didn’t even have an outhouse, but that if we wanted to go to the bathroom we were to feel at home in any patch of grass. I turned to Daniela. “¿Qué carajo am I supposed to do with this paper? Do I stick it in my puto pocket once I’m done?” Years of anti-littering campaigns rendered each of us incapable of leaving toilet paper anywhere outside of the toilet or trashcan and thus we decided to hold it until we returned to Sarín.

Which should’ve been half an hour later. But a pair of hours turned into two, then three pairs of hours and still there was no sign of the municipality. Jokes about being abandoned in the middle of nowhere turned into the realization that we had been abandoned and, out of cigarettes, all we could do was to insult each other and our mothers (love you, Mom!).

The fourth pair of hours rolled around and all of Uruspampa appeared to have gone to bed. The stars were as I had never before seen them. It was as if I were looking at a picture of the Milky Way, the galactic swirls visible in all their beauty, 3,000 meters above the level of the ocean.

While on the North Island, Melissa and I went to a hangi, which is a dinner prepared in the Maori style of cooking.  A pile of wood is set on fire in a hole in the ground, with stones set on top of them.  Once the wood is completely burned water is dumped on the hot stones, and baskets of food are placed on top.  The heat and steam are trapped by a wet burlap-like covering for about 3 hours, which slowly cooks the food.  Our hangi included chicken, lamb, and kumera (similar to a sweet potato).  There was also a buffet of salads and sides, as well as dessert!  Unfortunately BOTH my cameras ran out of battery before the food was served.  But I did get a good video of the culture performance they put on before dinner, including the traditional haka.

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When people talk about “studying abroad,” most of the studying they refer to takes place outside of the classroom. Of course, the whole semester doesn’t take place without the university and the professor and the class and the learning, but it’s the “abroad” bit that is supposed to provide the most important lessons. Getting to know new people, a new country, a different system of transportation or educati, etc. That said, while I’m studying abroad, the classes I’m taking are important. It’s a unique experience; most of my classes aren’t offered in the States and if they are, they’re more relevant here.

Take my anthropology class, Extractive Industries and Rural Societies, for example. The United States has extractive industries – copper in Arizona, for instance, and coal in West Virginia – that have led to the creation of rural mining societies and subsequent ghost towns. But our country’s economy is primarily productive, not extractive. Many Latin American economies, on the other hand, are based in extracting non-renewable natural resources and sending them to other countries that then produce (hence, productive economies) goods with said resources. 35% of Chile’s economy, for example, comes solely from exporting copper, while over 90% of Venezuela’s exports are petroleum related. And Peru has a wide variety of extractive industries: gas, gold, silver, etc. And these industries have always been and will continue to be highly contentious – they often bring promises of “development” that they do not deliver. They’re often lucrative, though not for the general population, and a quick look at the history books will show a cycle of nationalization and privatization that continues to this day.

Enough of showing what I’m learning, though. It suffices to say that studying extractive economies takes on a whole new life when you’re in a country where these economies carry weight, where people decide who they’re going to vote for based on who raises or lowers various taxes on resource extraction, or who will (not) nationalize these industries.

Extractive Industries and Rural Societies becomes even cooler when you look at my other anthropological course, Fieldwork 2 (they let me skip #1). Fieldwork is exactly what it sounds like – we study research methodology and then go into the field and conduct our own investigations. It’s a mini-thesis class, and in just three days I will be going to Huamachuco where a famous gold mine is located. It’s called Cerro el Toro, and it has affected the community for yearsand continues to affect it today; just a few weeks ago, several individuals working informally in the mine suffocated. The fieldwork helps to ground the other anthropological class by showing you what the other tells you.

On the other side of campus, I’m taking an altogether unrelated course: Contemporary Hispano-American Narratives. The class has been focused on the pre-boom, boom, and post-boom periods of Latin American literature. From the pre-boom we read Borges, and now we’re reading Julio Cortázar, an author who straddles the line between pre-boom and boom-boom. Then we’re moving on to Juan Rulfo, a boomer, and from there we’ll be reading Gabriel Garcia Márquez, Mario Vargas Llosa, and other well-known authors from the region. The class expects us to produce one major analysis, and I plan to use my strength – English – to write about the influence of William Faulkner in the writings of Rulfo.

The last two classes are important for future members of IFSA, because these classes, it seems, won’t be changing anytime soon. That is, they are obligatory for IFSA students. The first is “castellano,” although this Spanish is taught more fluidly than a typical grammar course. Peruvian literature is assigned every week, and students learn about various aspects of Peru’s culture and history while picking up new words and phrases.

The other class is called Peruvian Social Reality, and this class is mandatory even for Peruvians in La Católica. After a minimalist review of Peru’s history pre-1980 – that is, two hours which cover the pre-Colombian era, the Spanish invasion, three centuries of colonial rule, a war of independence, and nearly two centuries of the “republican” era – the class begins to take on the monster that is the Shining Path and, later, Alberto Fujimori. Later we’ll discuss all sorts of issues that affect all sorts of societies: racism, classism, sexism, politics, religion, economics…

In the end, it’s amazing to see how my study abroad classes and my study abroad experience are so integrated. Just today, for example, I had another argument about the existence of spirits and energies and such. I had similar discussions in Venezuela, where I felt like I was going crazy as nobody shared my skepticism, and that people accepted at face value that somebody had friendly spirits visit her on her birthday. But as I read more and more Latin American literature and discuss fantastic stories and magical realism, I’m starting to see that life in Peru and Venezuela and, I assume, Latin America, is much more connected to the (possible) world of spirits than any world I’ve ever lived.

Coromandel Peninsula is known for its beaches, and this one is one of the best!  Under the sand there is a hot spring, which reaches the surface at low tide.  So even though the ocean is cold, the water underneath the sand is very hot!

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It is just about halfway through May and I have just under a month left in London until I’m on a plane back home.  It’s an odd feeling. I’m kind of torn between being excited to see everyone at home and knowing that once I leave I might never return, or if I do get a chance to come back I’ll just be a tourist.  At this point I just want to move everyone over the ocean so I can see them more often and still live here. But I’m being a little bit unfair. I do love living in the States, being an American and I certainly wouldn’t have chosen a different life than the one I’ve been blessed with. But the change and new perspective has certainly been nice. The relationship between England and the US fascinates me. The difference in perspectives about the home country and the other is very interesting and I’m not sure I’d be able to explain it. But it certainly does make good fodder for a lot of the standup shows here.  That is one thing they’re good at here, humor. There’s 3 or 4 comedy news shows that I’ve gotten into here that have similar styles and yet are all still different and really funny. I think they all keep a good balance and keep both countries at equal standing. If you can find them 10 O’clock Live and Stand Up for the Week are two that I’ve been watching here though the shorter tv seasons here mean there aren’t’ as many episodes as I’d like.

Television addictions aside, the title of my blog today actually comes from a song that pops into my head whenever I think of Scotland. It’s called “The Bonnie Banks o’ Loch Lomond” and it’s one of those songs where I’ve known part of the chorus forever, but I have no idea where I learned it. Anyway it’s only relation to this post is that I did finally get to visit my friend in Edinburgh and while I didn’t get to go up to the highlands or search for Nessie, I did have a great time in a beautiful city. Every time I leave London and go any considerable distance into the surrounding country I’m always amazed at how beautiful it is (and how many sheep there are). Edinburgh is a beautiful old city very close to nature it seemed. Though this may have been because I spent most of my time in the old part of the city and not in the newer built up areas. The city definitely had a different feel from London, but it wasn’t the small town I was expecting (I probably should have done some research first). It’s definitely smaller than London, but Edinburgh is still pretty big and there’s a lot to see though if you’re keen to do a lot of walking you can probably see a good portion of it in a day or so. I was only there for 3 days, but I felt like I really got a feel for the place. That being said, I definitely could have used more time to get a better feel for Scottish culture. As it was I couldn’t spot too many differences between Scottish and English culture besides different bank notes (though British pounds are accepted too), a slightly different accent, and that the top selling soda is Irn Bru and not Coca Cola. It’s a very interesting drink; it’s bright orange and has a sweet taste that’s like bubblegum but also kind of orange. I can’t explain it. It’s not bad, but definitely very sweet. Probably a little too sweet for me.

I wasn’t ambitious enough to try and climb Arthur’s Seat, a large hill/mountain overlooking the city, but I still got a work out going up and down all the hills in the city. Definitely a different landscape than here in London. I did get to see my first working palace in my time here (since I never did get to go into Windsor and they don’t give tours of Buckingham). I visited Holyroodhouse which is where the Queen stays when she visits Scotland. It was an interesting visit, very informative. My favorite part was probably the grounds though. There were so many beautiful plants and there were the ruins of an old Abbey which was still pretty despite being, well ruins. I also visited the National Gallery while I was in Edinburgh which was very nice. It was set up similarly to the National Gallery here in London, but it was smaller which I kind of liked because I got to enjoy everything whereas every time I visit here in London I get lost and feel like I’m missing important paintings. Anyway the trip was very nice and I had a lot of fun hanging out with my friend. She showed me all the best places to eat. While it wasn’t all Scottish, it was all very good and it was definitely nice to have a tour guide (and a free place to sleep).

This post is almost 900 words already. I wish my essays had been this easy to write. I did finish them though in case I didn’t mention that.  It was a very stressful week. But that’s all behind me and I am officially a senior. Now that’s a scary thought. I’m trying to stay focused on what I need to do to make my independent study happen next semester and all the prep I need to do for grad school applications, but it’s really hard when all I want to do is relax and enjoy the rest of my time here. It really is coming to a close. Butler had a farewell burrito dinner Tuesday night for all of us London students. It was delicious, but just another reminder that I don’t have much time left here. I have a lot to look forward to at home, but part of me just isn’t ready to give this up. I don’t have much choice though; they will kick me out of this room on June 17^th. That’s just something I’ll have to face when it gets closer.

Cheers for now

Alyssa

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So basically the semester is winding down and my final assignments are both happening/approaching and I’m starting to realize that the time I have left in this place is winding down. To be honest, it makes me really sad! I absolutely love Sydney and my college and the people I’ve met here. It’s going to be extremely difficult to leave. I don’t even like to think about it.

A few weeks ago was Easter break and my 2 friends and I ventured off to New Zealand for a week. We packed our bags and departed for Auckland. We arrived, sleepy, and went to the hostel. We woke up the next day and boarded a small bus that held about 21 people or so. For the entire week we were on the trip with the same set of  people and they were all, for the most part, lovely. We had people from all over the world traveling in New Zealand with us! The countries represented ranged from Poland, Belgium, England, Germany, the Netherlands, and so on. It was interesting to meet people from all over the world in such a situation.

I’ll give you a breakdown of what I did that week.

Day 1: We went from Auckland to Hahei and we saw beautiful views of Waikato farmland on the way there. Once we arrived in the Coromandel region we took a hike ½ way to Cathedral Cove (the weather the first few days was poor and the conditions were slippery, so we didn’t make it all the way to Cathedral Cove, but we saw stunning scenery nonetheless). Then the girls and I headed back to the cabins. These cabins were probably the worst the entire trip because immediately we were put into close confines with people we didn’t know so it was a little awkward but we managed. We had a BBQ dinner, probably one of the better meals I ate on the trip, we went to a hot water beach (where you can dig your feet into the sand and the water is really hot!), we drank some champagne to celebrate being in NZ, and went to sleep.

Day 2: We woke up extremely early the next day so that we could watch the sun rise on the beach. It was absolutely gorgeous and tranquil and quiet. Then we got ready to head back to the campsite and have breakfast before departing for Rotorura. Rotorura was probably one of my favorite stops on the trip because it is a place so rich in culture and tradition. The Maori people in Whakarewarewa were fantastic. They put on a show for us that enabled us to get a look at what their culture is all about and we had a hangi lunch, which is a lunch cooked from the steam of the natural hot pools that exist there. In Rotorura, there is a lot of geothermal activity, which means that there are natural hot springs that exist all over! The Maori people are very environmentally sound and in touch with nature. They use the hot pools for cooking, bathing, etc. There are also bubbling hot mudpools which would, and I quote “kill you,” if you went into one. Good to know! Unfortuanately, due to poor weather, we couldn’t do some things that we had planned on this day – white water rafting and skydiving. Overall though, Rotorura was phenomenal. We ended the night by eating at a tiny little Mexican restaurant and then heading back to the hostel where we talked, laughed, and passed out.

Day 3: We hopped back on the bus and went from Rotorura to Whakahoro. We stopped at a natural hot river and saw Huka Falls. We then traveled far into the country side to Blue Duck Lodge, which is an environmental award-winning place nestled in between mountains scattered with goats, cows, and horses. It was green and lush and unlike anything I had ever seen before. When people talk about New Zealand, they often describe it as being “magical” and this is when I started to realize what they meant. Here, we went on these quad cars up to the peak of a mountain and we saw gorgeous views of the forest. The quad actually went very fast and it was a blast riding in one! We also got to kayak in a little lagoon with a waterfall. We then went back to the lodge and had goat curry which was made for us by the people who worked at the lodge. What they do there, though, is essentially try to balance the ecosystem. They hunt certain rodents so that more birds can exist in the wild (to be honest I don’t really remember the relationship between rodent and bird but basically they are fixing it – haha). You know what? I change my mind, this had to be one of the best times on the trip. Split between here and Rotorura – definitely. Wait, now I’m thinking about what I am going to tell you next, and that was pretty fantastic too… I guess I’ve come to terms with the fact that there isn’t a favorite part of this trip. I sorta loved everything… Oh yeah and we saw Lake Taupo, a humongous lake, on this day. It was beautiful.

Day 4: On this day we did something crazy. We did a 7 hour hike up a mountain! We traveled to Tongariro National park and we hiked the Tangariro Crossing which is rated as  New Zealand’s best one day walk. It was a difficult process but my 2 friends, Meghan and Katie, made it up to the top of the mountain which overlooked volcanoes. It was probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. There was also a turquoise lake at the bottom of one of the mountains, which I believe was formed in the crater of one of the volcanoes. There was also a little hot spring at the bottom of one of the mountain. The amount of different scenery on this walk was gorgeous. From walking in the bush, to a snow covered mountain, to a muddy crater – it was just quite the experience to say the least. My friends and I stopped occasionally (okay, we stopped often – ha!) and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cookies, and cheese to keep our stamina up. We had a great time but when we finally reached the car park (parking lot) we were more than delighted to sit on the bus and make our way back to The Park, our lodge.   Needless to say, we had a few celebratory WE DID IT drinks that night and went to sleep.

Day 5: On the fifth day we headed off to Wellington, which is a quaint little city set on the shore. It has a reputation for being windy, just like Chicago. There, we went to the Te Papa museum, the museum of New Zealand, and went to our first real Rugby Union game to see the Wellington Hurricanes beat Queensland 28 to 26. It was a fantastic last minute win – very exciting. Then we went to the only Welsh bar in the Southern Hemisphere, the Welsh Dragon Bar, which was pretty neat. After that, we headed off to bed.

Day 6: Went up to Auckland and chased a wild chicken at one of the stops. Said goodbye to our travel buddies and our tour guide who went by the name Gollum. We slept in the airport to save money because we had a ridiculously early flight. Back to Sydney!

I’ll post pictures asap!