Last Post from Argentina

Am working on preparing myself for the Great Adventure home.  Remember all those old dog movies about the animals wandering all across the country trying to get back to their owners?

I make that look like a walk in the park.

Fortunately, however, I am not yet to the part where I am actually required to have any interactions with others.

Currently, I am in the Music Preparation Stage.  This is quite a process, and means a lot of iTunes research.  (It also can be very embarrassing, as when deciding whether or not a song is decent, one must first play it…  People are always inevitably present when the worst song possible begins to play.)

Leaving a country is always incredibly awkward.  Tend to do it all wrong, anyway.  For instance, said goodbye to my host brother today.  In my towel.  Mind was so filled with the fact that I WAS WEARING A TOWEL that I couldn’t come up with any good Spanish goodbye phrases, so I came off looking out like a major jerk.

People tend to spend their last day wandering around the city, taking pictures, and crying.

I’ve spent it… Not quite like that.

This afternoon has been filled with How I Met Your Mother.  (Which was super exciting, as it turns out, because Argentina is featured in the beginning of season three!  And it has Enrique Iglesias. Kind of blew my mind.)

At any rate, it will be strange to be gone.  No longer will I be able to blame my social awkwardness on a language barrier.  Gone are the days of being whistled at by strange men while going for my walk (if you’re picturing Cute Workout Barbie, try to picture more Elderly Woman in Atrocious Sweatpants).

I was recently reminded that I began my entire experience here with a That’s What She Said joke.  I know when I get back into town, everyone will ask me if I’ve changed.

But of course, I’ll say.  It was great – just wish it had lasted longer!

That’s what she said. 

In Which I am Nearly Deported.

Suspect self to not be a particularly talented traveler.

Went to Uruguay yesterday, and this supposedly simple trip was greatly complicated by my travel savvy deficiency.

The difficulty began the night before, when nearly froze to death when slumbering.  Yet instead of simply awakening and gathering warming materials like a sane person, I evidently opted to attempt to curl myself into some sort of warmth seeking lump of miserable.  Awoke to find entire self folded neatly (along with my blankie, of course) on my pillow.

I do not have a very large pillow.

This bit of nighttime aerobics gave me a limp all day, remarkably reminiscent of a ninety-year-old woman.  Or a one-and-a-half legged pirate.

At least no dignity was lost.

Despite this minor setback and a subway failure (after which I became solely responsible for the vertical maintenance of a sleeping woman), we arrived to the boat on schedule.

At which point tragedy struck.

Due to my new passport in which I bear startling resemblance to a member of the Elfin Nation, I had a myriad of Fairly Important Papers.

Presented them all to the scary looking man with my best and most hopeful smile.  He snatched them from my friendly grip with a grunt and began rifling sacrilegiously through them.  Keeping my hopeful-slowly-turning-concerned smile plastered on my face, I watched as he picked up my passport and walked away.

This was rather unexpected.

Abandoned, I remained at my post in front of the window.

Waited.

Preformed a foot shuffle.

Face began to twitch from the unexpected burden of maintaining my Most Presentable Face for so long.

It was at some point after I had begun to hum along to the soothing elevator music drifting softly throughout the building that he returned to twitching, shuffling, ever-smiling me.

Not bothering to restation himself in his proper place, he marched directly up to me (this would have been far more frightening had he been taller than four foot seven).

“Why are you here?” he asked brusquely.

Delighted to know the answer, I joyously announced, “Studying!”

This is where things got a bit strange.

“ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT!” he shouted at me.

“Ahhh…  Pardon?” I responded wittily.

“Illegal immigrant!!” he spat.  “You can’t just come here.  You need a visa.  A VISA!”

And with a snarl he stalked off.

Hmm.  Now, I may not be the most experienced traveler, but at this point, I deducted that this was not typical.

He returned with another growl, just for me, and an unfathomably complicated piece of paper.  He stamped by passport furiously, scrawled a note under the stamp, and threw my things back at me.

Relieved and rejoicing, I collected my items and scampered onto the vessel to commence the voyage.

The shock came when I opened my passport.  Under the exit stamp from Argentina was a message: until July 7^th.

I would be unable to re-enter Argentina.

I had been… deported?!?

This was fairly disheartening.

Frantic, I flipped to my new Fairly Important Paper and scanned it desperately for clues.

This paper was not in Spanish.

Well, it was. 

But the only words I recognized were “Virginia”, “judicial”, and “July.”

These were not soothing words.

Fortunately, I did not seem to possess enough sanity to stay panicked for long, so I fell asleep.

Upon arrival to Uruguay, I had the paper examined by a waitress.  (Officials scare me, especially after one had just ejected me from the country.)  She said lots of words to me that I did not understand, but from what I gathered I had not, in fact, been deported.

The people who allowed me back into Argentina seemed to agree with her, but they, too, said lots of words to me that I did not understand.

Then they asked if I understood, and I said yes.

This is a reflex, as to not appear stupid.  Instead, I will now walk around thrusting a random piece of paper at passerby to avoid deportation.

Good plan, Virginia.

Goodbye, Warm Weather.

My internet is refusing to allow me to be lazy.

I keep trying to access the magic website of Cuevana to watch 30 Rock, and it continually comes up with the error message BAD GATEWAY.

What??  What does this mean?!  Gateway?  What gateway?!?!!?

I am afraid of the telephone.

It isn’t as though the actual mechanism itself frightens me.  It is simply that the ringing is a sure sign of doom…  If I attempt to answer, chaos will ensue.  For on the other end awaits a Spanish Speaker.

This is more terrifying than I can possibly begin to describe.  For, due to some outrageous reason completely beyond me, Argentina has come to the conclusion that I can now speak Spanish.

This would be fine, except that I cannot.

Unfortunately, I have somehow managed to fool the entire country into thinking I’m practically native, so they ramble on to me with little regard for my comprehension.  Admittedly, I nearly always understand everything, but my Spanish vocabulary does not come complete with good Listening Words. 

I’ve gotten decent at making a good Listening Face, but sadly this does not translate well over a phone line. 

So I’ve developed a rather severe case of Select Deafness to combat the ringing.

I lied to the police.  Though it was the Argentine police, so it practically doesn’t count.

Although I am fairly certain this is still illegal.

Had to report my passport stolen, otherwise they may not have allowed me to leave the country (or fined me, which still means I’d never leave the country to avoid paying).

Yet I felt reporting that my passport was stolen a month ago in a different province would hardly sound spectacularly intelligent, so I may have changed some facts.

Sadly, I am not a particularly talented liar, and was originally informing them that my passport was stolen on Thursday.  If this were true, I would have received a replacement passport four days before I lost the original (I would make a very dumb crook). 

When I realized this, I began shouting in a panic that it was LAST Thursday.  He seemed a bit puzzled by this, but as my Spanish was not exactly at its best and I was accompanied by an incredibly hungover friend who looked as though he may hit the floor at any moment, the nice policeman let it slide.

Then the policeman asked the date of the robbery, and I told him April 19th.  For those of you who do not have a calendar handy, that was a Monday.

I am so clever.

Warm weather seems to have left the area, which presents a bit of a problem for me, as I refuse to wear pants.

For instance, at this very moment, I am shivering and have lost nearly all feeling in my hands, but refuse to change out of my shorts and t-shirt.

I really don’t like wearing pants.