the little things

I don’t cook a lot these days. In fact, I don’t cook at all. On one hand it’s great: the restaurant provides all my meals and I don’t have to spend money on groceries. I eat well and try dishes I would never think to concoct. On the other hand, cooking is one of my prized ingredients for overall wellness. I thoroughly enjoy cooking. It exercises memory, invokes problem solving, stretches creativity, relieves antsy fingers, and fine-tunes taste buds. It’s one my favorite stress relief strategies. And I miss it dearly.

That’s not to say that I’ve been stressed out lately. Quite the contrary. I’ve been more at peace and relaxed than I think I’ve ever been. There’s something about Bariloche that breathes tranquility. Maybe it’s the snow capped mountains. Maybe it’s the deep blueblueblue lakes. Maybe it’s the green leafy landscapes. Maybe it’s the Argentine attitude. Perhaps it’s all of the above. Whatever it is, I like it.

The winter season peaked last month, so these days the are more laid back. Fewer tourists, fewer tables, more hours to listenthinkobserve. I’ve come to the conclusion that energy in a restaurant is super complex. My position as waitress gives me a great pedestal from which I can easily observe interpersonal relationships of all kinds. From restaurant personnel dynamics to vacationing families. Lots of people coming and going with different expectations and experiences. It’s a fun real-life social psychology experiment.

One thing I’ve learned is that attitude is contagious. A smile can lift up a dreary afternoon just as a harsh word can plummet positive energy.

For example, the nicest moment of the winter season was when a Haitian family waved me over to their table. I thought that they had found some mistake in the bill, but was pleasantly surprised when I found them thanking me. For what, I wanted to know. For everything. Just like that, that simple gesture, those kind words lifted me higher than the highest ski lift on the highest mountain.

Sometimes we are so caught up in the daily grind of stress and routine that we forget to take a moment and appreciate what we have around us. Something so simple as a compliment or a hug can go further than we think. We can connect with those around us: friend, foe or stranger in positive ways just by the domino effect of a kind act.

The worst moment of the winter season was when five gorgeous models promoting Camel cigarettes arrived from Buenos Aires for a promotional event and flaunted their portena attitude at me. The big city mentality of needing everything their way right at this very moment struck me harshly. And keep in mind, I’m from a very big city. I understand that icy cold rushrushrush attitude. And every time I encounter it, I thank my lucky stars that I was able to get out of it.

I remember that I used to be a stressed out adolescent. Worrying about this exam or that social justice protest. I used to care about my image. It used to bug me if I was five minutes late for a meeting. I would worry if this-or-that was going to work out. And it took its toll. Physically and mentally, stress and its adverse effects added to the vicious self-propagating cycle.

But then I started traveling.

And I felt myself changing. I found with every subsequent trip my NewYorkCity bubble slowly starting to pop. I discovered other cultures. I discovered other lifestyles. I discovered the unhealthy stress exists only because we create it.

And that made me inexplicably happy.

So these days I’m super laid back. I make a point to smile at trees, at the crisp breeze, at a really yummy cheese, at the dog with fleas, and at sweet snap peas.

Speaking of peas… My indoor mini experimental garden is adjusting nicely to my new house. There isn’t as much direct sunlight, but I can tell that the plants are much happier. And, yes, plants can be happy. Why they’ve told me so themselves.

I have tomatoes, cabbage, kale, spicy spicy chili peppers, broad beans, parsley, spinach, chard, carrots, arugala, and… peas. And after months of leaves and a few flowers, I was absolutely delighted beyond belief to notice a nice pea pod last night. A PEA POD! Something edible!! This gardening deal actually works. Wowowowowow! Needlesstosay, I can hardly contain my excitement.

More to come. Including photos??

trabajando en negro

Every so often the tiniest sliver of information penetrates my Patagonian bubble and reminds me that the world is still out there and, yes, it’s still churning. Sometimes it’s the newest pop song. Sometimes it’s forwarded article from an online news source. Sometimes it’s a brief online chat with a friend. But mostly it’s word-of-mouth hearsay and requires some filtering.

Apparently there was some economic crisis. And then a SWINE flu. Lady Gaga emerged and conquered even my heart. The Gulf of Mexico experienced a catastrophic oil spill. And now a murmuring has reached my ear about… illegal immigrants and undocumented workers.

This may, in fact, be very old news to most of you, but keep in mind that that information has to travel many many thousands of kilometers to Bariloche and then fightfightfight for my attention. And normally I don’t really give it more than a few moment’s thought, but this time it caught my attention and held it.

Why?

Because for the first time in my life I am an illegal immigrant and an undocumented worker.

Yikes.

But honestly it‘s not as bad as it sounds.

What does it mean exactly? Technically I’m a tourist. Well, there’s a tourist visa stamped in my passport anyway. With my tourist visa I am limited to how long I can stay and what I can do here in Argentina. Are laws here strictly enforced? No, it’s Argentina.

I could conceivably get residency and working papers, but the Argentine government has made it confusing, time-consuming, and expensive to do so. I just don’t find it worth my time, money and effort. Especially since I’m not sure how long I’m actually going to stay and…well, there are loop holes in the system. Keeping things in perspective, obtaining even the tourist visa for the US is a hundred thousand times more difficult, time consuming and expensive. Not to mention the residency and working papers. A nightmare.

Yes, every time my 3-month tourist visa expires I perform an emergency border crossing ritual. Yes, I have to run and hide from work-permit inspectors. No, I don’t have the same rights as Argentines. No, I don’t get paid nearly what I deserve. And it’s taken some getting used to, but honestly I can’t complain.

I’ve been in Argentina for almost two years now. Wow. It was never my intention to live here in Bariloche nor stay for as long as I have. But life takes us in unexpected directions. And I’m super okay with it. I’ve learned lessons I’d only dreamed of learning. I’ve lived experiences I’d only dreamed of living. I’m very very very happy. Through the ups and downs, I’ve gained an explicable understanding of life and its workings that probably wouldn’t have been possible if I had stubbornly followed my original plan to the detail. Life is about being flexible, but with a direction. Have a goal, but keep an open mind as in how you get there. I’ve gained a peace, an acceptance, a happiness from all that I’ve been through.

And it hasn’t been all smiles. There have been some valleys in between the hills. But the secret is to learn to navigate those valleys. Machete in hand, carve your own path, learn from mistakes, and look up at the sun and… laugh.

From the seemingly endless apartment search, to the thirteen-hour work days without a single day off in sight, from no residency or work papers, to figuring out that things just work a little differently down here… it’s been a journey.

And this whole experience has given me a whole lotta perspective. I remember, in the States, working alongside undocumented workers. And without a doubt our experiences are very very different. But I give them props. Going to a different country, not speaking the language, not having any contacts, not having a centavo in your pocket, and having to start from absolute zero… it’s tough. Very tough. Tougher than we can imagine.

Picture for a moment, if you will, leaving everything you’ve ever known, saying goodbye to everyone you’re close to, taking with you only the most basic of basic necessities. And moving to another country where you don’t speak the language, you don’t relate with the culture, you don’t find comfort in the local food, you don’t have more than a few coins in your pocket, you need to find an inexpensive place to live and a decent job, and you don’t know a single person. It can be very very scary.

And, yes, they are taking jobs. And, yes, they are agreeing to work for much less than an American citizen. But when desperation knocks on your door, it is nearly impossible to say no. Do you really think that they find joy in their sub-par living conditions? The will to survive drives us all to do things we would ordinarily not even conceive of saying yes to. Like working extreme hours for an obscene paycheck. Like living in unlivable conditions, just because it’s affordable. Like being insulted, humiliated, dehumanized. All just to provide a better life for loved ones. But…placed in the same situation, would you not do the same?

The Argentine labor unions hate people like me. I come in and work for next to nothing and take jobs from qualified Argentines. But I have to pay rent and I have to eat. And I work hard. And I do my job well. I don’t have family here to lean on if I get into financial trouble. So I work whatever I find… to sustain a very modest life… and to plan for my next international adventure.

And of course I didn’t move down to Argentina for the economic possibilities… because that would be silly. I came here because the idea was planted on one day in rainy Seattle and I took it seriously. I stayed because, well, Argentina has hooked me. And if I am to see the country from the eyes of the locals, the sacrifices I make are nothing compared to the lessons I learn. And I have learned some damn important lessons.

In closing, I know that one day I will return to the grand US of A if only to visit before my next adventure. I know that everything I live, every experience I have, every person’s story I’ve heard, is now a part of me. It has molded me and become a part of me. We are forever growing as we accumulate life experiences. It is our choice what experiences we encounter and I chose all of the above.

I am a more well-rounded, mature, happy individual from all this traveling I do. The things I’ve seen, tasted, smelled, felt, heard, learnt and especially the people I’ve met are indescribably indispensable. And I'll continue to put myself in unimaginable situations, if only to push the boundaries of what is possible.That, to me, is life.

And why let life and all its glorious adventures pass us by? Let's live!

Haha. I’ve been called ‘crazy’ by countless people in many languages across many continents… and I just smile. Normal must be all sorts of boring. I want nothing to do with it.

laburando a full

Haven’t been in much of a writing mood lately. Many noteworthy events have come and gone; many anecdotes have been shared and pondered upon; many songs have been grooved to; many dishes have been ordered and thoroughly enjoyed; many tourists have come and gone from Cerro Catedral; and many many cups and glasses and silverware and plates have been hand polished at a particular restaurant where our protagonist now sits on a stool behind a hand carved cypress bar sipping a rather strong coffee and staring out at the snow delicately dusting the mountain looming over the indecisively smalltownbigcity Bariloche.

I’m tired. Mentally and physically exhausted. The kind of black hole exhaustion that destroys energy and ganas. I haven’t felt like doing very much of anything lately. Which is not like me.

But when would I have time to do anything anyway? With 13 hour on-my-feet-constantly-smiling-and-being-pleasant work days, seven days a week, I’m left with a few hours for sleeping, a few hours for commuting, and a few for waking up and falling asleep. Rinse repeat. It’s tough.

So why am I subjecting myself to such torture?

Because I secretly love it.

Honestly I do. I love being busy. I love working working working. I love the manual labor. I love the experience of waiting tables in another country. I love meeting people and watching their faces when they realize I’m not Argentine, but rather a New York City girl with an international heart. I love hearing people’s stories and sharing my own. Needlesstosay, I’m not doing this for the money. Because waiting tables in a third world country does not fill my bank account. But it’s not money I’m after. So what is it?

Hmmm… to better explain this, I’ll digress into the reason why I travel in the first place.

I’ve been tremendously fortunate to have had a generous helping of international experience before I could even utter my first song lyric or stew recipe. Zoom in on my traveling debut as a wide-eyed infant cooing in the arms of Italian strangers. As the ages accumulated, so did my worldly adventures. Toddler running through the streets of Rome and squealing in the sands of Costa Rican beaches. Child exploring temples in rural Japan and cringing at Australian vegemite. Adolescent eating the best ice cream ever from a Kyrgyz street vendor and being awkwardly hit on in an upstairs carpet factory overlooking a sprawling Moroccan market. But yes, even I was an extremely angsty teenager. It culminated on an Ecuadorian boat to the Galapagos Islands where I made one of the most important decisions of my life.

It dawned on me that I didn’t want to travel with my parents anymore. Nothing against my parents; they are lovely people. But I was an adolescent and, on top of that, I had realized that my parents and I had very different traveling objectives. I no longer wanted to spend a week-long vacation taking photos, staying at hotels, and touring tourist sites. I wanted to learn the local language, I wanted to eat at the best hole-in-the-wall local restaurant, I wanted learn the culture, I wanted to see what couldn’t be seen in only a few days, I wanted to throw off my tourist cape and become a local.

The next year I applied to, and got accepted for, an opportunity to spend a school year in Zaragoza, Spain. It was my first international experience without my parents. It was life-changing. Lots of great times and, of course, lots of lessons learned.

Since then I’ve been constantly reinventing myself as a traveler. Each consequent trip had something to teach me. And every trip was obliged to be better than the previous one. My colorful five week Mexico to Panama whirlwind with Harry. My various Middle Eastern wanderings. And now this Panama to Argentina journey has been the most surprising. Everything I’ve seen, experienced, eaten, heard, and learned on these travels could fill a book and is not necessarily what this particular blog post is about. But I digress, I guess I travel to be a chameleon. To absorb the local colors, flavors, smells, sights, histories, personalities, and subtleties. I let them wash over me, I learn from them, and then selectively adopt them. And grow.

My goal is to be a local wherever I go. Learn the slang, learn the customs, learn the music, learn the recipes. Walk the walk, talk the talk. It’s so fun. But more than that, it opens your mind and makes you a more mature, well-rounded, deeper individual.

So, why am I working a million and a half hours at a physically demanding job that pays me less than minimum wage? Because I’m a local. Because that’s what most people here do, at least once. Because I can’t pretend like I’ve had the true Bariloche experience without working the winter season at the Cerro. Because I love food and working in a food environment. Because I love chatting with people from all over the world. Because I love the people I work with. Because my “office” view is a gigantic snowy mountain. And because I’m learning a lot.

I’m learning more than just new recipes and names of wineries. I’m learning so much about balancing being productive and being laid back; the delicate fine line of efficiency and not being stressed out. I’m learning about work-place dynamics. I’m learning about healthy (and unhealthy) ways to deal with stress. I’m learning by observing and interacting. I’m learning more about people. I’m learning more about what kind of person I want to be.

We’re a month and a half into the season. And it’s been a great experience. But I’m tired. I’m burnt out. I find myself with zero energy, zero interest, zero desire to do anything at all. And then I chant my favorite mantra of the season: three months, three months, three months. This is all only for three months, and then we hit low season and jobs are scarce and the whole city of Bariloche takes a deep breath.

In the meantime, I’ll just sit here meditating on my coffee cup, acquiring a healthy sitting posture, and my daily self-imposed goals.

I had wanted this post to be about illegal immigrant workers… but it has turned out quite different. Well, it is what it is, and there will always be another blog post. Hasta la proxima!