Felices Pascuas!

As I am sure you all know, Easter is coming up very, very soon. Not only is it coming for you and your families, Uruguay is getting ready to celebrate it as well. However, in Uruguay, the celebrations start very early, in February.

In Uruguay, there are many Catholics that live here. Some of them that live here begin their Easter celebration on February 17, called Ash Wednesday. On Ash Wednesday, Lent begins. Lent is a time where Catholics decide to sacrifice something that they regularly have. It can be anything, from a favorite food or a t.v. show. Whatever it is that the person decides to give up has to be given up until Easter Sunday. The week before Easter Sunday in Uruguay, however, is called Semana Santa, or Holy Week. Also called Tourism Week, it is the week before Easter where a lot of people don't have to work and they have the opportunity to spend time with their families and do things like hiking, camping, and vacationing in different parts of Uruguay. If families don't go out, there are many festivals and celebrations within Uruguay during Semana Santa. It is the week that leads up to Easter, and so it is a week where Catholics celebrate the last week of the life of Jesus before he was crucified. They celebrate by reenacting specific events that happened in the last week of Jesus' life. Only during this week are there festivals in the streets where people carry large wooden crosses. There are alters and religious decorations throughout the city for this entire week.

On Thursday, the Last Supper is reenacted, and then on Friday, it is followed by Viernes Santo. Viernes Santo is a very serious day because it is celebrating the day when Jesus was crucified. The Saturday after Viernes Santo is called Sábado de Gloria, the day between when Jesus was crucified and when he was resurrected, and that day is filled with anticipation for the celebration that is to follow the next day. What we call Easter Sunday in the United States is called Domingo de Resurrección. The day that Jesus rose from the dead is celebrated with feasting, singing, and dancing. On Domingo de Resurrección, Lent is over, so whatever somebody went without for a few days, they can have it again.

The food that Uruguayans typically eat on Pascua is called Pascualina.

It is made by filled a thin, flaky crust full of spinach and eggs, as the picture shows. It is typically only eaten during Easter. My favorite food that they have during Semana Santa is a candy filled egg that you can see in almost every grocery store in Uruguay.

I Have the t.v. at the Hostel. Win.

Which is funny, because I normally don't watch a lot of tv. But I am watching some news channel with an English accent. It weird because the tv usually has football on it, but now it doesn't, because I control what happens. It was really funny last night because a Bug's Life was on tv, but it was dubbed over in Spanish. So that was really funny. I didn't watch it because the guy with the remote changed it to football. Or something in English. Anyway, I was too tired to really care because I spent all day rafting in Rio Mendoza.

And let me tell you, it was legitimately fantastic.
Fan.tas.tic.

We had to get up at the crack of dawn to catch a 9 o'clock shuttle out to the river, which took about an hour. We met some very cool British guys on the bus with very cool names, like Nicos and Liam. They talked in their brilliant accents, obviously, and one of the guys did a Texan accent, and that probably was a highlight of my life. He did it very well too, it was surprising. I don't know why, but it made me laugh a lot. Then we finally arrived at the lake and I probably have not seen a more beautiful lake in all of my years. It looked almost fake because of the color blue it was. I would upload a picture, but I cannot find my uploader in the bohemeth of a backpack that I took with me, but let me tell you it is simply beautiful. There were all sorts of craggy mountains around it and it was wonderful. After we stopped ogling at the lake we were directly ordered to strap on all sorts of gear, including wetsuits, water shoes, water jackets, life jackets, and helmets. We had quite the get-up. So then us and about 15 other Americans (epic win, we were with an agg group from South Carolina; did I ever take in their Southern drawl.) we hustled onto another bus, where we drove up the river for about a million miles. After we got a saftey tutorial about how not to die in the river, and then we all hopped in, and were off.

It was a slight out of body experience. I don't really think I can explain it. Other than I knew that I was grabbing life its huesos and sucking the marrow out of it. As we paddled along the rapids, I experienced such an extreme sense of satisfaction and adventure that I wish I had all the time. It was me against the swirly, murky river, with hands of ice that slapped against my body. It was exhilirating, especially when I sat in the very front. Taking the rapids dead on was brilliant. It was dangerous and thrilling and challenging and fantastic all rolled into one thing. It was like Che Guevara and Pocahontas were coursing through my veins at the same time. And every time I wasn't battling the waves I would look up and be surrounded by blue, blue south-hemespheric sky, only to be broken by the brown, and tan crags of the mountains on its side. It was seriously one of the greatest moments of my life.

K. that's all for now. Enjoy.

Spring Break is Upon Us.

I am currently sitting in a hostel in Mendoza, Argentina. And I have to say that I basically adore my life right now.

The super athletic running chick that I live with and adore told me that I am writing the story of my life, and no one else is. Only me. And I have decided that at this present moment I am writing I have probably not been happier. And I don't really know why. I am sitting on a tiny chair at a tiny table, listening to a blend of English and American accents, with football on the tv and Latin music coming from the speakers. All I have with my is a backpack filled with books and socks, and, literally, a sense of adventure. I can go and explore and do and be and all sorts of things here. We are currently having a down day, where we are trying to plan out our days, and we are thinking about rafting and repelling and just being wonderful. I was going to attempt to describe why I love life so much, but it's basically impossible. I just feel like my soul has woken up and that this is what I want to do forever. Which I know is what every college student says, but I really feel like it's true. I could do this for the rest of my life and not regret it. I know I am channelling Che and Alexander McCandless to the umpteeth degree, but I could just go around contemplating the sorrow and injustice in the world and being one with the world for a while. Actually, not for a while. I probably would never get tired of it.

We actually got here about an hour ago. We took the most legitimate way to arrive in Mendoza, on a first class bus. And let me tell you, I don't know why we don't do this in the United States. First off, it was only about 77 US dollars, which is brilliant. We climb on the bus after handing over our backpacks and see that there are only about 24 seats on the top floor. We sat in our huge, plush seats and quickly discovered that they recline all the way back. Into a bed. Yea, that's right. A bed. There was also a step that you could fold up to rest your legs. You got a blanket, pillow, and, best of all, free candy and wi-fi. WI-FI. So awesome. I was free texting everyone and freaking out and it was lovely. They gave us dinner, put on Catch Me If You Can, and took our coffee orders for breakfast the next morning. Going on the bus was the most excellent decisions of my life. I got a ton of sleep, and woke up ready to face the awesomeness that is Mendoza.

I seriously love this. I.seriously.love.this.so.freaking.much.

Blogtastic.

I am so sorry that I have not been diligent with my blogs. I don't really know why I haven't other than there hasn't been too much going on other than homework, homework, and more homework. And my ever-growing obsession with Ernesto 'Che' Guevara.

So there hasn't really been much too report. Other than I am absolutely falling in love with this country. And I might possibly die from grief when I leave. It is a very, very serious possibility. I don't know what it is but as of late I am loving EVERYTHING about this place. Maybe not the trash on the streets, and the fact that they lack my hair products, but that is a very, very small price to pay for everything that is wonderful about this place. Everyone is SO nice. Seriously. It's not a fake nice either. People genuinely care about you. Every single waiter or waitress I have had has been so lovely and kind and friendly. That includes cashiers and strangers and dogs. Everything. For example, in a HUGE twist of fate, I stopped in a bookstore where a horrific moment ensued due to Eric Bana. However, when Eric Bana left, the shopkeeper and I talked for a while after I bought my book on Che (don't judge me) and she was SO nice. She was my age, if not a tiny bit older, and was just very, very friendly. The second time I went in there with the doctor and the lackey and sans Eric Bana, aka mortification central, the shopkeeper, whose name I still do not know, offered us coffee and tea. I mean, come on! So nice! The lackey almost had a conniption because they had Twinings breakfast tea. That is how great this place is. And of course at Bacacay, all of the waiters and waitresses know us there. Ha. It's because we are there once a week, if not more; ordering all of those delicious cortados and coffee infused brownies with ice cream. It is my favorite cafe in all of Montevideo. And they are just lovely.

Montevideo also has a very relaxed atmosphere. Everyone is just very relaxed; things will get done when they get done, no worry really fusses or worries. And it's nice to be people around that all the time. It's seriously a refreshing atmosphere, where people just let things be. It is turning me into a hippie and it is terrifying me. I am just mellow and whatever about everything, instead of getting worked up about every little thing. I mean, I still joke around and whatever, but I don't get seriously really angry, and I just love everyone. Good heavens, I am turning into a hippie. This is so scary. I bought a headband the other day. Once you look at this picture, you will be taken back to the good old days.

Yea. Terrifying. Freaking handmade hippie headband from Ciudad Vieja.

This epic realization of me being a hippie has also made me realize another thing. Another thing which is that I am too eclectic for words. Seriously. So. Flipping. Eclectic. I am a walking contradiction, an enigma of sorts. In every aspect of my life. I have a growing affinity for Che Guevara and the Latin American reasoning behind Marxism, yet I have a very strong, almost unhealthy addiction to supporting that which is known as capitalism, through my terribly strong draw to beautiful headbands and manicures. I am an alarming realist regarding national security and defense, and yet India holds the most tender spot in my heart. I have been to five of the seven continents, and yet I am getting so excited to go to Lubbock and visit my friend Alayna. Like, way excited. Probably too excited for Lubbock, but I want to go. And go I shall. I can rock out to Lady Antebellum as hard as I can rock out to a Portuguese song I found on a cd for three bucks as hard I can to Michael Jackson. I drink maté with the equal affinity that I drink bubble tea. I could switch topics of discussion from art to pop culture to firearms to broadway musicals without thinking much about it. I want a pet owl, octopus, or tarsier. Seriously. It's flipping weird. I am myself and I still think it's weird. I am a flipping weirdo. I don't know what to do about it. So far attempting to embrace my affinity for life is what I am trying to do. And there have been a few times where I have utterly relished the fact that I am all of these things. I hope as time passes it will just be a natural thing, to love all my eclectic nature completely.

I am rather surprised as to how much I adore Latin America. At first I was paranoid that I would come here and I would simply abhor it, and then begin to tolerate it. But it is the quite opposite. I love every single aspect of it. It has embraced me and taught me, by living here I can begin to untangle the knots of history and truly understand how Uruguay came to be. Argentina and I hit it off very well too. I could definitely see myself working there in the future. Doing what, I have no clue. But I could see myself there, talking in loud Spanish with exaggerated hand movements about futbol or the newest legislation regarding import taxes, being fabulous and cosmopolitan, and then peacing out to Montevideo for vacation, hopefully in La Paloma or Cabo Polonio, where I exercise another facet of my personality by living with some hippies for a few weeks and all we talk about is love.

Oh, South Ameican, you will be the ruin of me. You have unleashed a travel bug of epic proportions. Folks back home, you best be buying yourself a backpack. I will need a travel buddy. I cannot venture to Bolivia alone. Nor can I go to Lebanon alone either. Now come to think about it, I can't go to Japan, because I speak no Japanese. Hm. Guess I need someone to go with me...

K. I need sleep.
Final thought: Motorcycle Diaries rules. Gael García Bernal is my favorite human as of this moment right.....now.

Feelings.

I am writing this blog because I am trying to find a creative outlet for my feelings at this point.

So there is someone in the house that makes me feel like crap. Not because of what this person does, or how this person treats me. It's just comparison 2010 with him. He wants to go to a prestigious law school. 4.0s up the yang. Law firms. Congress internships.

And he's talking to me. None of which apply to me. There is no way I can compare to him. And I feel like the pressure he puts on himself is the same pressure I need to be putting on myself, even though we are not in the same caliber at all. I am so happy that he is who he is, but after that I just sit back and look at my life and realize how much I have limited myself because of the decisions I have made. And it breaks my heart. I just want to give up and quit. And just not even care about making a difference. I don't really know why I feel like I have to be all of these things to make a difference. I don't know why I think that having an extremely high GPA will hinder me from making a difference and doing whatever it is that I am supposed to do on earth. I hate how everything banks on my GPA. It seems as though nobody cares about the kind of person I am. I feel like now I am just starting to understand the pressure that I am under for life. I wish I had this hindsight 2 years ago. Things would be a lot different.

I guess I just feel bad about myself all of the time because of certain expectations. I don't know if I set them or other people did, but they are set. And I am trying so hard to achieve them. Yet from my past mistakes it seems like I don't have any hope. I am going to be reduced to less than what is my destiny. And that breaks my heart. I'm just a failure. Why try? I don't even know what I want to do with my life. So why should I even bother? Why not just drop out and go to Cabo Polonio for forever? Why not just go home to a CC and live the easy life? Why do I do this? Am I really cut out for this?

This is just me ranting. I know it will pass. But I am just not feeling the greatest at present.

That is all.

Long Time Coming

So I realized that I have not blogged in a very long time. And I am very sorry for this. I have had so much going on; with tests, reading, papers. All sorts of things. Frankly, the amount of work I have to do is rather alarming, given that I am in a foreign land and I really shouldn't be confined to my room, reading and writing. Really, I shouldn't. But alas, that is what I am doing. I was rather mad that I could not report of the weekend I had. Not this weekend, upcoming. But thelast.

And may I tell you; that it was one of the most wonderful weekends I have had. Ever. I cannot possibly type it all out in every excruciating detail, and I know how much everyone would love to read my descriptions of dead sea lion and sunburns, but I will spare those details for the most important things. And so I shall begin at number 1.

1. We were up, of course, at the crack of dawn to hit the Uruguayan road. We peaced out of the city early in the morning and headed east to Casapueblo.
This is the home of a very famous Uruguayan artist named Carlos Páez Vilaró. He is a big deal in Chivitoland, painting abstract paintings of women and typical life in Buenos Aires. To be honest, I like the story of his life better than his actual paintings. We had to watch a video of him before we went through the museum, and that man has been everywhere. He has been all over Africa, which made me so jealous, he visited all sorts of islands and painted and made friends and all sorts of things, but he said in the video that he was very lonely a lot of the time. And I could see that. I could feel it in his house as we walked around the patios and balconies facing the Atlantic. He lives a very lonely life. Still. After all he experienced. Traveling the world. Meeting Picasso. Painting, painting, painting. And yet, he is still a lonely man. Which made me sad, but also was one of the reasons that I find his story so appealing. He has everything, yet he doesn't. Very interesting, in my book.
His house was beautiful. It's a funky, white, large thing seated on a cliff. It was rather terrifying to park our charter bus on its cliffs, because our driver made sure we parked most excellently in our designated spot in the dirt parking lot (meaning we didn't actually have a spot). So I was fearing for my life the majority of the time. Anyway. It was a lovely house. I have to write about it for a paper in my art class, so I am just getting warmed up. But I really liked the house.

2. Punta del Este. It's like the Beverly Hills of Uruguay. It has the most expensive real estate in South America. And for good reason, because it is absolutely beautiful. It was peaceful and spaced out, not cramped all together like Montevideo. It's just a beautiful spot of beach. Not my favorite, but a very lovely part. We stopped at La Mano, a famous sculpture of a hand, mainly the fingers, coming out of the sand. So,of course, being Americans, we had to climb up it and jump off and take pictures and all sorts of activities that draw attention to ourselves. La mano was cool, and I wish that I could have spent more time there, because it was hot and the middle of the day, so it was perfect beach weather, but we didn't; we had to get hustled back to the bus to go on to our next adventure. Which was undoubtedly amazing.

3. Two words: La Paloma.
It is an itty bitty beach down a few hours from Punta del Este and it was fantastic. I don't think I have ever felt so relaxed. Our hotel was outside of the actual town, but the town itself probably had about 200 houses and 11 restaurants. It was very, very small, but the people were SO friendly. It was just a lovely place. We had a rather funny incident, though, when we went swimming late in the afternoon. I don't even really know what happened, but it freaked a lot of us out. Since we all apparently have never seen the ocean, we all went in and were swimming and acting all giddy and joyous and ridiculous. The water was warm and we were out of the city and having a good time, so about 8 of us were out in the water swimming and making a human chain against the waves. Little did we realize, however, that we were getting sucked out into the open ocean, the hand of the Posiedon, or Iemanja, depending on where you come from, pulled us out to where our feed could not touch the soft, squishy sand. We decided at this point it would be better to swim in so that we would be safer. Then, out of nowhere, and I mean seriously nowhere, there were about 9 latin american lifeguards with their bouys swimming around us. They kept asking if I was ok, which I was, and they swam past me to help the rest of the group, who unbeknowst to us, was all in trouble. I was terribly confused and curious as if we were actually in danger, because while I was getting tired swimming in, I was quite alright, being raised at the beach and all. I mean, I'm basically a mermaid. I don't know why the lifeguards were so concerned. They pulled some of the group back in on bouys when they didn't really need bouys. Some even took people in on surfboards. I was so confused. Was this really a big deal? Apparently so, because as we all walked onto the sand everyone withing about 100 feet were staring at the group of young Americans. They even started clapping as we walked onto shore. I was very confused. Apparently we were in some sort of epic danger. Which was kind of cool. Yet terribly confusing. But everyone lived, we were all ok, no need to worry about us here in the dirty south.

I sort of feel like as I blog it does not truly convey the awesomeness that exists. I am trying, really I am, and I know my descriptions will not do justice to anything I experience. But I am trying. So just give me credit.

4. Cabo Polonia is basically a hippie commune. And I saw that with all seriousness. First of all, you can't just take a bus there. That would be entirely too easy. We had to take these epic trucks out over the sand dunes to get out to the beach, and we went to the tiny itty bitty hotel, where we stuffed our faces with lamb and then headed to the beach. This was the most remote, beautiful beach ever. I loved it. We walked to the hippie commune and back and it was just lovely. I know I say that for everything. But seriously. It.was.so.awesome. There were probably about 30 houses upon the hill that we walked to, and they all had hammocks and open windows and breezy curtains. I was so, so relaxed. It really made me want to buy a hammock. And just sit at it at the beach for forever. But alas, we had to return to La Paloma. I rode on top of the truck back to the bus stop at dusk, and it was absolutely beautiful. The sun was setting and it was all metallic looking everywhere, with a cool breeze blowing over the Lackey and I as we discussed life and were battered about in the truck. It was glorious. I probably wouldn't trade it for anything.

K. there. Finally. an update. Enjoy.

Paz.