Uruguayans in Argentina, Germans in the Villa, and Apples on the Street

As an American living in what Argentines consider a "third-world country," a term I'm not sure accurately represents Argentina's situation, but one which many porteños with iPhones insist on using, I've been able to have some pretty interesting conversations in Buenos Aires. Many of them follow a similar thread while others, well, let's just say they are difficult to categorize...

When I first meet somebody, after a little small talk, enough to where my unidentifiable foreign accent rears its ugly head, I am typically asked, "Where are you from?" Some offer possible countries of origin, normally with Nordic or Germanic roots, but hardly ever do people guess I'm from the US. My favorite guess so far came from a taxi driver while I was on my way to the bus station, "You have a weird accent... Are you from Uruguay?" Instead of giving away my yanqui roots, I played along and said I was from Montevideo but was in Buenos Aires visiting family and was on my way to visit family in Córdoba. "Ahhh... I thought so! Your accent is strange, but I knew it sounded familiar..." 

Side note: For those who are unfamiliar with the relationship between Uruguay and Argentina, Uruguay was formerly a province of Argentina, and there are many Argentines who remain uninformed in regards to Uruguay's status as an independent republic. Okay, so maybe Argentina's condescending attitude toward Uruguay is not quite so extreme, but in general, Argentina considers Uruguay as its little brother. He is a mildly annoying (especially during soccer tournaments when Uruguay's national team causes problems for Messi and his boys) copycat (Uruguayans have an accent almost indistinguishable from the porteño spoken on the Argentine side of the river) but is very useful for certain things which are prohibited by the big brother's government (such as opening bank accounts to save US dollars, obtaining and using marihuana, and vacationing for relatively low prices).  One thing Uruguayans certainly do more, and perhaps better, than Argentines is the ritual of drinking mate. While Argentines typically restrict their mate habits to indoor places and the occasional park, Uruguayans have no boundaries when it comes to their mate consumption.  They drink excessive amounts of it anywhere and everywhere, while driving their car with a manual transmission, while walking on the street, while hanging upside from a trapeze... We might have Messi, but they have the best "mateadors" on the planet.

Getting back to the conversation... After I've revealed my country of origin as the United States, the next question is: "So, are you here with some sort of exchange program?" To which I say, "Not exactly... I am studying, but it's not the main reason I'm living here. I'm actually playing soccer at River Plate." At which point the other person typically laughs then gives me a perplexed look as he or she realizes I am not joking. A series of questions usually ensues.

"River has women's soccer?"

"You came all the way here to play soccer?"

"How in the world did you choose to come to Argentina of all places to play?"

"Do you get paid?"

"What teams do you play against? Is there like a league or something?"

"How long are you planning on staying here?"

After the last question is asked, the conversation takes a different turn when I explain how I do not have a set time frame for my stay in Argentina. This is probably when the other person reaches the conclusion that I am, in fact, crazy. Leaving the United States (where people make Dollars not Pesos which lose value by the minute, where economic crises happen once a century instead of once a decade, where political corruption is the exception and not the rule, where public transport runs consistently and is not always interrupted by strikes and malfunctions...) to come to Argentina indefinitely. "Yes, she is crazy," concludes the other person silently, "This girl is going to be on Ripley's Believe It or Not; I just know it." Here, the conversation either ends abruptly, with the other person left speechless, or we continue on to a less awkward topic such as politics, inflation, or family issues.

 However strange my reasons for being in Buenos Aires, another girl makes my situation look almost normal. Last month, when I went to the Villa 31 to help with a girls' soccer clinic, I met a young woman who was clearly neither native to the Villa nor to Argentina, a suspicion immediately raised with a quick glance at her platinum blond hair and clear blue eyes and then subsequently confirmed after hearing her speak a few heavily-accented words in Spanish. At first, I assumed she was some sort of social worker or volunteer who was working with the girls of the Villa, an assumption which was only partly true. After a quick exchange, I learned she was from Germany, twenty-one, and a student of sociology at a university in Buenos Aires. We talked about the typical things which come up among foreigners, how we like the city, what we don't like, how long we've been here, but when we got to the part about where we live, things got interesting.

Me: So... Do you live nearby?
German girl: Oh yeah, really close. I'm just two blocks from here.
Me: Nice, that's not too far from me. What streets?
German girl (as she points to the middle of the Villa): No, I mean I live two blocks from this field with my boyfriend and his family.
(A short pause as her words sank in...)
Me: Really? Interesting... Have your parents visited you yet?
(I now realize this was probably not the right follow-up question, but I was trying to imagine how my parents would react if I told them I was going to moving to one of the most infamous villas in Buenos Aires to live with my boyfriend and his family...)
German girl: No, not yet. I went home after my volunteer-study exchange program ended last summer so they saw me then, but they'll be coming to see me for the holidays in December.
(At this point I was extremely tempted to ask if they would be staying with her, but I figured I might be crossing the line, so I settled for asking how she met her boyfriend and how she ended up playing soccer with the girls from the 31. I also refrained from asking whether she had been robbed or assaulted since she moved as she is quite possibly the only blond-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned German residing in the Villa...)

It turns out she had come to Buenos Aires with a program through her university in Germany to help with social programs in the Villa, while she was here, she fell in love with a boy and with the city. After going back to Germany for a short period, she decided she missed Buenos Aires (and her boy) too much and wanted to move back in a more permanent situation. After moving, she joined the soccer team in the Villa in order to stay active and learn to play the sport. Watching her interact with the other girls, I was impressed by how she seemed to have adapted to a very different way of life than the one she had been used to in Germany. (Don't worry Mom, I'm not moving to the Villa any time soon...) 

So far though, my most interesting "conversation" I've had in Buenos Aires took place while I was walking from class to take the bus to practice. Since I didn't have much time before training, I had brought an apple to eat on my way so I wouldn't have to train on an empty stomach. As I was crossing the street, minding my own business, and chowing down on my delicious green apple, a man headed the other direction started walking straight at me, staring me down the whole way. His clothes were pretty dirty and his eyes had a slightly vacant look about them, so his stare made me a bit nervous.

As he got closer, I felt my stomach start creeping up into my throat despite the fact that it was midday and we were surrounded by other people. When he was about a foot away he stopped and yelled, "Qué hacés comiendo una manzana, pelotuda!" (Rough translation: What are you doing eating an apple, you retard!"

My initial reaction was to defend myself and explain how I couldn't eat a real meal because I can't run when I'm full nor did I have time to sit down and eat, but after another look at the man, I realized he was not all there... Needless to say, when I got to River and told the story to my teammates, they couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of what had happened. Since then, I have not been able to eat an apple (especially not on the street) without remembering the man's outburst...