I know everyone’s been thinking – where’s Cassie? What will I do with my life now that she’s allowed her blog to fall into disuse? Well, my apologies to all currently relying on me as a procrastination crutch. I bet you’re wondering what I’ve been doing with my time instead of staring at my computer screen. The truth is, much as my grandfather feared would happen before I left, I’ve fallen in love and run away to live with a gaucho named Antonio in the Pampas, where we plan on raising cattle and a herd of our own youngins sometime in the near future…
Sorry. It’s just that my attempts at sarcasm en espanol usually fail, so I’ve got to take every opportunity I can get. Anyway, the real reason I’ve been elusive is because, after a 3+ month hiatus from academic life, I actually started classes between now and the last time I posted. And, much like was the case when I started college, I came to Argentina worrying about all of the wrong things: Will I have friends? Will I like my host family? Will I be able to communicate? As usual, the social things came easily and the whole school thing turned out to be kind of a shock to my system. In other words, actually having to do work – and, moreover, work that’s in Spanish – has hit me like a ton of bricks and, sadly, has precluded my initial travel blog enthusiasm.
But worry not, faithful reader(s). I’ve decided that it’s worth writing about my academic experiences, mostly because they’ve actually been fairly amusing (or, at least, I think that they’ve been fairly amusing). First, a word on the academic system here. In Argentina, as in many other parts of the world outside of the US, public = good, private = bad. This isn’t to say that the private universities aren’t nice; it’s just that to have a degree from the public university garners one a lot more respect than one from a private school, mostly because the public university is free. Yes, you read correctly (let’s not get into the other things that are free in Argentina, ahem health care ahem). There’s an assumption, therefore, which may or may not be correct, that students from the private universities bought their education because they weren’t able to handle the rigors of the public school. Whether or not I can handle the rigors of the public school has yet to be ascertained.
Through FLACSO, the program I’m studying with in BsAs, we can choose to take classes at 3 universities, as well as elective courses at the Ricardo Rojas cultural center. La Universidad de Buenos Aires (UBA) is the huge (read: 300,000 students) public university, with sites located all over the city. UCA, or la Universidad Catolica de Argentina (or something like that; it has a kind of long and Catholic-y name that I can’t fully remember and am too lazy to look up) is the relatively pristine private university that sits along the river in Puerto Madero. Aside from those two, we can also take classes at IUNA, which is an institute for the arts, and through FLACSO.
To put it bluntly, choosing courses here sucked. Pair the inefficiencies of Argentine bureaucracy with trying to fit classes from multiple schools into your schedule and you have a giant headache. After much internal debate, I finally settled on taking 1 class at FLACSO called “Seminar on Argentine Reality” (Pablo laughed when I told him this, and then probably laughed to himself even more as I tried to explain in Spanish what is meant by Argentine reality), and 2 seminars at UBA – one entitled “AIDS: Social and Political Implications and Professional Interventions”, and the other called “Analysis of the Social Practice of Genocide” (how uplifting!). I’m also taking an intensive Spanish class at UBA’s language lab which has been, surprisingly, fantastic. Even more fantastic is the fact that the class will end in mid-May, meaning I’ll only have class two days a week.
Anyway, simply because I’m so fascinated by academia here, I thought I’d include a few anecdotes/thoughts from my first weeks of class…
AIDS
The coolest thing about my AIDS seminar is seeing how Argentines learn/think about AIDS. For example, on the first day of class we had to write down the first three things that come to mind when we hear the words “AIDS.” This past week our professor put us in groups, passed out the lists we had written, and had us discuss what we thought (this class is in the social work school so it tends to be relatively nurturing…great for me, since I can use all of the nurturing I can get). None of the Argentines in my group could understand why someone, presumably an American, had written down “Africa.” They were fascinated as I explained that, in the US, AIDS and Africa are inextricably bound; here, AIDS is presented as a much more local issue.
To really give a sense of this course, I think it might be best to describe my first day of class. Let me preface by saying I was absolutely terrified going into class – I had imagined what I assumed to be the typical “UBA class” – hundreds of militant students sitting on broken chairs/the floor, surrounded by Marxist graffiti splattered over the walls, debating the degree to which they despise American cultural/political/economic imperialism. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the social work building is relatively new and clean, and to discover that my class was filled with about 35 friendly Argentine girls (and one mulleted, mate drinking guy). After introductions, etc, the professors decided we should play a little game. Everyone sat in a circle and was given a card with a different activity on it. Our task was to describe the activity to the class and then say whether we thought there was a high risk of transmitting AIDS associated with that activity. Not bad, right? Well, my card had two men having sex with a condom. Usually, no biggie. However, my limited Spanish vocabulary made this slightly more challenging. Thankfully people were pretty nice as I stumbled over the words “dos hombres, van a tener sexo…con…condon?” Oh well, at least I wasn’t the one who had to describe what a dental dam was to the whole class. Point 1 for the dumb gringa!
Thankfully, we soon moved on to the ways to transmit AIDS. Shockingly to me, none of the students knew a lot of the basic things we had learned in 8th grade sex ed class (see what happens when schools forgo comprehensive sex education?). Never one to come unprepared, Pablo, our ponytailed docent, whipped out a wooden penis and decided to give a demonstration of how to properly put on a condom. Clearly my preconceived notions of “conservative” Argentine society, at least in BsAs, were mistaken.
Genocide (my course titles read like a Human Rights Watch pamphlet, no?)
My genocide seminar is, like my AIDS class, offered under UBA’s Facultad de Ciencias Sociales (Faculty of Social Science); however, as it is part of the Sociology department, it’s given at a more “classic” UBA building on Marcelo T. de Alvear. Marcelo T. is what I had imagined earlier – packs of potentially militant students sitting on broken chairs/the floor, surrounded by Marxist graffiti splattered over the walls. Tom had warned me about the building before I got there – Imagine the worst inner city high school you can think of. Then make it five times worse – but I was still impressed with how run down it was. I was also impressed by how many images of Che the students had managed to scrawl on the walls. You can’t walk three feet in Marcelo T. without being offered 4 fliers about some event – Rally for a unified school building! Debate the Ministry of Education’s new policies! Meeting of the student Marxist association! The propaganda doesn’t stop in the hallways. My classroom was covered in posters, fliers and graffiti, mostly with communist undertones. I did, however, manage to get a decent seat on my first day and was amazed that I actually could understand the entire lecture and a good deal of the discussion section afterwards. This class will definitely be tough – I’ve been told, but refuse to believe, that our final paper is expected to essentially be a thesis – but I think worthwhile. And, of course, I’m kind of riding on the fact that my grades while I’m abroad don’t count.
What’s funny about UBA is that there’s usually some speculation beforehand that class for any given day will be canceled because, more often than not, someone is protesting. This past Tuesday I was kind of disappointed to find out my 4 hour class hadn’t been canceled for the professors’ paro (literally, stop). However, instead of discussing the material of the day, we devoted the first hour of lecture to debating the value of striking and protesting – apparently these things happen more frequently than I realized. Then, as soon as we got on track with the lecture, we were interrupted no less than 3 times by various student groups wanting to pass out info on their latest endeavors – debates with the administration, fighting for better resources, etc etc. I absolutely couldn’t believe it when one group came in to lament the fact that the School of Medicine has been without gas for a few weeks. Absurd.
Idiomas
Just a few words on my language lab, mostly because I find it endlessly amusing. Four mornings each week I brave the sweaty Subte and trek over to the lab. It’s actually not too bad, mostly because I get a kick out of walking by the Casa Rosada (the Argentine version of the White House, except the presidenta doesn’t live there) and Plaza de Mayo every morning. Class is two hours long, and while not especially exciting – although I do love our impromptu lessons on Argentine slang – I’m infinitely entertained by the people in it. There are about 12 students in the class. Classes at the lab are open to everyone, so about 8 of us are Americans from FLACSO, and the rest come from all walks of life. Take, for example, Connie, the crazed German lady who speaks Spanish faster than I speak English (which is fast) and likes to go on rants about God knows what. Then there’s Nigel, the middle aged British man who decided on a whim to move to Argentina for 6 months every year after selling his business, and who I suspect to be extremely loaded. For a while we had this Japanese man studying to be a lawyer, but I think we scared him off. And lastly, my absolute favorite is Milos. Milos is from Montenegro and fulfills every stereotype you’d imagine of a Montenegran (if you have any stereotypes) or Serbian living abroad. First, he is enormous; I think his arms are the size of my head. There’s also a lot of confusion about among the Flacsitos about what exactly Milos does. For a while I thought he owned a soccer club, or worked as a recruiter, but then he told me he sold soy and wheat. The other day, however, he claimed to be in meat sales (whatever that means). All I know is that Milos is fantastic. He takes all of his notes in a “Vinny da Pooh and tziny freends” notebook, wears a designer man pouch, and cracks odd little jokes under his breath during the whole class. Sadly, Milos is leaving to go back to Montenegro in a few weeks (he’s coming back to Argentina in August because he’s “following the summer”), but hopefully not before taking us to the Boca game he promised to bring us to.
And, friends, that, more or less, is school in Argentina. I’d also like to note that I attempted to go to a class at UCA, but was immediately turned off when my “Compared American Revolutions” class started discussing the 13 colonies and watched clips of Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette and that bad Pocohontas movie with Colin Farrell. I don’t plan on writing much more about school, unless something of particular note happens, mostly because I don’t think it’s terribly exciting. Also, I plan on making a habit of being a better blogger in the future. Expect a post relatively soon on some of the trips I’ve taken so far!
Besos!
Random Argentina Fact #6: Speaking of the Coppola family, If you follow the film world, you might be aware of the fact that Francis Ford Coppola is currently living in Buenos Aires while filming a movie about Italian immigrants in Argentina. Well, the other day my host mom informed me that he lives in our neighborhood! Apparently he’s been spotted a few times in Plaza Serrano, so I’ll keep you posted if we have any run ins.
