Pots and pans

On Sunday evening I left the apartment to meet a friend for dinner. While walking down the street I ran into the middle of a (non-violent, don't worry) protest. People had taken to the streets banging spoons against their pots and pans - a historical form of protest here called cacerolazo. They were supporting the campos who are still in conflict with the government over the rise in export taxes. Although I didn't directly participate I did nab a small sign as a memento.

Finally, here are some photos from the past few months. Enjoy.

http://picasaweb.google.com/eringurak

Thoughts from a foreigner

Since I last wrote we finished our classes and the final exams. SIT keeps us plenty busy, though, as now we’re commencing our independent study projects. I’m researching the role of co-ops in the lives of the cartoneros. After the 01 economic crisis, unemployment surged and if your education level was low, then there was little chance for a job. Thousands of people turned to the streets – literally – and started sifting through garbage bags at night looking for paper, glass, plastic: basically, anything recyclable. These people are the cartoneros: they work at night, sometimes alone or with their family, and they live on the outskirts of the city, far away from the glamour of our neighborhoods. In 02 the city government legalized the work of the cartoneros and started funding cooperatives around the city. I’m interested in the relationship between the government and the co-ops: why they legalized the work, joint community projects. I have contacts at some of the co-ops and in the government….to interview. Dun dun dun. Our expected result from this month is a 20+ page essay incorporating research and interviews. Like anything, it depends on the effort you put into it; I’m not going to kill myself with work but I want to write something decent.

On the phone someone asked how Argentina was going and I was at a loss. I kept stumbling and stuttering because I couldn’t figure out what to say. It’s been good and bad and hard and easy in different ways and I’m still processing and learning and enjoying and missing. Part of me doesn’t want to talk about it because things feel trivial and it’s hard to explain what I’ve seen and the places we’ve visited and the problems we’ve encountered. I’m thinking about the States and why we call ourselves Americans and how comments about the differences between here and the States can be insulting.

I love how everything is condensed here. People are friendly and help with directions and ask where I’m from and say, “My daughter lives in Aspen and she has friends in Minnesota.” There are always places to go. The city comes alive late at night. But in ways it’s hard. I don’t always understand what’s going on. I can’t decipher everything in conversations. I get stares like I’m a foreigner. I have to pay to talk to people back home.

Plus we’ve seen significant problems in each country and there are just thousands of problems and situations bigger than myself. The world is a complicated place. I’m not worldlier than anyone else but I’m more conscious of the world’s problems and the concept of being a foreigner. It is frustrating and tiring but it can be a rewarding and fascinating experience. I am glad that I came to South America because I got away from the mundane and familiar and I will be sad to go back although I think fondly of home