buenos dìas, buenos aires

This marking my fourth crossing into Argentina from Chile, I have now arrived with Jorge, a friend from Santiago, at the lovely apartment of my dad's cousin, his wife, and their two kids in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I can't express how comforting it is to hear Chinese, to drink real coffee (none of this Chilean instant coffee crap), and to be in a home where people wear these ubiquitous house shoes that Chinese people always have. Also, this city is BIG, New York City-sized, with huge bookstores, a Chinatown, homemade pasta, a metro, woohoo! I'm looking forward to navigating a new city, as well as both Chinese and Spanish at once--which seems to spark an impulse to speak English, for some reason.

These past two weeks have dislodged my sense of place once again--from Coyhaique, I took what should have been a 36-hour but turned into a 48-hour boat ride (with seats less comfortable than the buses) with a fellow traveler, Roser, from Spain, to Quellon, a southern city in Chiloé. Speaking to Roser (who has planted a small seed in my mind of the possibility of working with Chinese immigrants in Barcelona) was like speaking in English--the clarity of her Spanish is unbelievable compared to Chilenos. Though there is something comforting to me now about the rhythms of Chilean Spanish, too, which have started cropping up in my own version of Castellano.

On this boat, I randomly and fortunately ran into none other than Britain Hopkins, who had just finished a month at a WWOOF farm on a nature reserve, which was doubly fortunate because she was on her way to Santiago to fly home. Both Meg and Britain have left, leaving me as the only pseudo-Barnard representative in Chile from 616.

From Quellon, I rushed back up to Ancud, where I met Margaret from Olmué and Paula from my work there, and proceeded to have an absurd weekend of sickness and hanging out at Margaret's new work place, the bar Clandestino's, which resulted in me having no voice and another absurd hitchhiking journey where we were joined by Margaret's new roommate, Edison, and a random Mendozan named Federico, all the way to Bariloche, Argentine chocolate capital. Then back to Osorno, Santiago, to Valpo for a brief visit, Santiago, and now in Buenos Aires, where the aire isn't really that bueno but where I've encountered maybe the most generous family members ever.

Now that the end of my journey is in sight, I feel this weird mixture of nostalgia for everything in the States and sadness to be leaving not just South America and all the people I've met here but this self-directed, open way of living. But, what comes will come.