Life is like Step Aerobics (I'm serious!)

Yesterday I went to step aerobics, at my gym: the ostentatious Megatlon. I’ve been attending this class since about January. On my first day I stood there helplessly watching whirling Argentines dance around me. Background: I’ve been doing step aerobics for about 13 years now. I generally don’t claim to be good a physical activities (especially not sports-related activities) however I’m good at step aerobics. In the US I can walk into a class and generally follow it. I managed to accomplish step classes in Spain. I was expecting Argentina to be similar… but it’s not.

Step aerobics here involves hip movement, rhythm, coordination and multiple dizzying turns and twists. Also, no one calls out the movements for you. Sorry, honey, but you’ve got to just remember them all. You get combo numbers: an “Uno!” or a “Dos!” or a “Tres!” screamed and you better know what to do.

The best thing about the step classes, though, is the comradery. Although I might not be the best stepper, I’m part of a group that doesn’t require me to speak. For that little moment, I’m equal with all the other tripping, twirling, gyrating Argentines. Another lovely thing about step class is that Argentines also cheer for their step instructor (Claudio) when he does something interesting. It’s phenomenal. Little twist, new, cool step and you’ve got clapping and “eehhh!!”

I started out pretty awful at Argentine step aerobics. But I’m getting better. Each class I manage to turn just a few more times (in the right direction) and I am able to bumble my way to the end now (more or less).

So why am I blogging about step aerobics, anyhoo? Because in order to get a combination right, you have to just keep trying. You get it wrong the first time. You try again. You miss a step, skip it and try to jump back in where you can. Maybe I missed the entire combo “Uno!” but I recognized the first few steps of “Dos!” and I’m back in the game again. And each time I stumble my way through a combo, I do something just a little more right. Maybe I forget a few steps, but I’ll catch up if I just keep going. The important part is to not give up; don’t stop trying; don’t stop moving. Because as soon as you stand still: that’s it. You’ll never get it right.

Life is like that. My entire Argentine experience is like that. You just keep trying. You make so many mistakes, but the only way to move forward is to keep moving, keep trying and not get stuck on the error. If you stand still, that’s it: You’ll never get it right. Who knows? You might actually start enjoying it. Eeehh!

Bad Spanish Day

Yes, that’s what I said. A bad Spanish day. These things happen. It’s part of the expat life...

I was trying to explain a relatively simple request at work and I had a confused Argentine looking at me like I had horns growing out of my ears. Thankfully, someone else understood, but remarked that the reason my first request was unsuccessful was because I had asked in a slightly idiotic way. At which point I wanted to throw something at someone’s head. Both men were appealing targets.

I’m irritated. Seriously, every day I try all day long to get people to understand me. I subject myself to being criticized, stared at, laughed at, embarrassed and ignored. EVERY DAY.

This particular day, today, I’m just a little frustrated. It’s all making me tired. I’m feeling like my desire to keep making an effort is running a bit dry. Guess what, though? I’m gonna wake up tomorrow and give it another go. And if I keep trying long enough maybe someday I’ll be able to express myself in a fabulously eloquent manner and people will marvel at what a clever, charming, intelligent woman I am. Or maybe they just won’t laugh at me. I’ll take either scenario.

Gallivanting About

Home. After a few weeks of big adventures, I’ve finally settled back into my home. It’s kind of amazing that this strange little spot carries that label for me, but absolutely true. I love taking a vacation and feeling grateful to return home. That’s how you know it was a good break: you create fabulous memories and have wonderful experiences and you distance yourself just enough from “real life” that you can return and actually want to do it again.

So what was I up to anyway? Well…

Parents

My parents came to visit for 3 weeks. We walked a lot, we talked a lot, and we really ate a lot. It was phenomenal to have the opportunity to share my little home with them. My expat life is very different, and I loved showing it off. Now they understand when I talk about how ham is a condiment in Argentina and the taxi drivers are crazy and they play bad 80’s music and my shoes have holes in them.

Iguazu

Gorgeous, spectacular waterfalls. Despite sweltering weather and a snooty hotel the falls were amazing and I will never forget the views. Really, I don’t think I can describe it, so I’ll just say WOW!

Cariló

This could be my favorite part of the whole trip. We spent 3 days being lazy and content at a quaint little seaside village. They had pine trees, phenomenal shopping and crisp ocean air. Dad learned how to use an Argentine bar-b-que and we sat around playing cards and chatting. That weekend is a memory I can cuddle up with on rainy cold lonely days: those moments hold warmth and love for me.

Buenos Aires, of course!

Where do I even start? Browsing street vendors at the fair in San Telmo, wandering through the vast Recoleta Cemetery, peeking into museums, walking through Palermo’s gardens, Mom getting an eye infection and wearing a patch, having trouble finding apartments, finally finding something perfect, shopping, eating, laughing, drinking. And now they know. This is my home: big, rowdy, chic, bustling and always interesting.

Who’s next? Come visit me!

Día Internacional de la Mujer

Today is the International Day of the Woman. Despite the progressive nature of my country, darling America, you forgot this one. The United Nations recognizes it! An important holiday!

I've been rather curious to discover why we women have a special holiday. What exactly are we celebrating here? It's a day to honor the historic struggle of women to gain equality and respect. I like that.

Next question: What do the Argentines DO to celebrate the day of the woman? Apparently, since I'm female my husband/boyfriend should bring me flowers and cook me dinner. Unfortunately I don't have a husband/boyfriend. Therefore, I can't celebrate? I'm a little confused. This is only a holiday if you have a significant other? Why on earth does the Day of the Woman require I have a MAN to celebrate? I find that infuriating.

Alternative solution: I think during Dia de la Mujer all the women should ditch their men and meet in the parks to drink mate, eat chocolate and gossip about girlieness such as hair, nails and how we really feel. I like this idea so much better. That would be a real celebration of femininity.

Maybe I'll start my own chocolate-eating holiday.

Here to Stay

Today I checked my email and there was a letter from Continental Airlines reminding me to check in for my flight. Yes, that's right. I have a flight leaving Buenos Aires in an hour. And here I am, in my little apartment writing a blog instead. I'm not going home. I'm staying here. I have absolutely no plans to leave.

It was one of those odd moments when I saw the email from Continental. Like vaugly remembering that it's the birthday of your ex-boyfriend. Almost important. Not quite.

I suppose that means I'm here to stay. This better be fun! And well, if not... it's going to be a hell of a story someday.

Raindrops keep fallin' on my head...

This is my roof. Well-ventilated.

Last night it was pouring down rain. Amazing, beautiful, strange rain. How is it possible that it's raining, horribly humid and hot at the same time? No, but it was spectacular because I have a plastic roof. I'm not kidding. It leaks a little, but I don't mind raindrops on my head so much. You just need to know which chair *not* to sit in. I mean, I know I've talked about my roof before (because it opens and closes and that's simply weird!) but I haven't mentioned how it SOUNDS yet. It was so loud that I had to yell to talk to my roommate. And I fell asleep listening to that fabulous sound. Today it was sunny. I'm feeling love for Argentina. (Except for the part where I couldn't round up enough monedas to take the bus. But that's a whole other story entirely.)

Sleepytime Pondering

Sometimes I feel so anonymous in this big city. Riding the subte or a bus, I look around and see countless faces. So many people look so tired. They have worn lines on their faces, left from years of worry, remnants of the events they've survived. People stare vacantly at the wall, squished together uncomfortably. There's really nothing else to look at.

You could look at the person next to you, but that's sort of rude. You really can't help it, though. Looking around, suddenly you realize the crowd actually consists of unique individual people. Sometimes people smile and laugh together, couples cuddle and kiss, children cling to their mother's hands. There are small people and big people. People with gorgeous hair and thin straggly hair. Women wearing stilettos and men in crumpled button-downs. There are beautiful people with smooth Argentine skin and then there are people who are ugly people with crooked teeth and disheveled clothing. And you realize that you're just one of the masses. Throngs of people enter and exit, and if you don't bother to look close, well, they're just more people. They smell, they breathe, they move slowly along, trying to claim their tiny little places.

The other day I watched an itty bitty girl attempting to eat potato chips out of a bag. She could have tipped the bag and they would have fallen into her hand. Instead, reached into the bag to grab them, but it was too small for her hand so she spent inordinate amounts of time claiming each individual chip. She had a small round face and a flouncy red jumper. I watched, mesmerized by the awkward chip ritual, until her mother finally grabbed her roughly by the hand and dragged her off the subte, hand still stuck in the plastic. Today I watched a couple coddle together, the man whispering into the woman's ear as she giggled coyly and rubbed his leg. Yesterday I saw an obviously drunk group of boys; one of them with his head between his knees as his friends teased him mercilessly. I saw a woman wearing a neon paisley-print leotard on the way to the gym, her long manicured nails curled around the handle of a designer duffel bag. I saw an old woman distractingly gazing at me this morning, her eyes empty and her brown skin wrinkled and worn. They're just people. Lots of them.

Walking down the broken, littered streets here you doge the most stunning array of humanity. The lost tourists, the dusty obnoxious workers, the smartly suited business men, the chattering group of teenagers all jostling for a place on the narrow sidewalk. It exhausts me.

I have a student who is tired. He's been living in this big city for 15 years and he doesn't like it. His life isn't bad at all. In fact it's pretty good. He's successful, he lives in a beautiful house, he drives a nice car. Yet he's not happy; something is missing for him. I think that this city has just worn him down year after year and he can't escape. How many people live mediocre lives that simply aren't bad enough to risk changing? I often think that people walk around like zombies, repeating the same monotonous routine every day without noticing. It's just their lives. It's just how it is.

I wonder what people see when they look at me. If they even notice at all? They can't see my story. They probably don't know I've come thousands of miles to join them in their big city. I'm just one more person. Not incredible in any way, just one more person.

It strikes me that we all need to belong. We need to be wanted. Being just one of the hundreds of thousands of bodies wandering Buenos Aires isn't enough. The reason people find meaning and purpose is because someone somewhere cares about them and believes they're important. My student continues every day because he has a family: a wife and two daughters. They're his world; they make his life beautiful.

It's late at night and I can't sleep. I feel like just a little empty dot; one more little person living her little life. Thankfully, I do have people who love me and care about me. I just wish they weren't so very far away.