Buenos Aires Part 1: Expansion

The glistening evening light warmed my face as I perched on the quiet balcony in the center of Palermo, a bright district in Buenos Aires known for its museums, high end dining, and active nightlife. A poem I had read glowed in my mind like the embers. In this moment of serenity, I began to feel a deep appreciation for a city that I had met with uncertainty. Buenos Aires hadn't swept me off my feet; like a red wine coming into its own, it was this quiet evening that the poignant flavors of the colorful city mellowed. 

Palermo, Buenos Aires, January 2024

In the weeks leading up to my six month sabbatical in South America, I had etched in my mind a picture of how this journey would unfold. My goals were to learn Spanish, write, and lay the groundwork to build a non-profit to serve first-generation college students. Every aspect of my journey had been meticulously thought through. Yet, the beginning of my trip had proven more challenging than I anticipated. I knew that I would face language barriers and would have to adapt to sharing a dorm with strangers, but I wasn’t prepared for the ways in which this experience would tug at my soul. 

On January 10th, 2024 when I stepped off the airplane and into Buenos Aires airport, I was greeted by blistering heat, a stark contrast to the icy New York I had left less than 24-hours prior. My hair began to curl in the weight of the sticky air of this new place and I felt the beginning of a metamorphosis as I officially left the cocoon of my comfortable career in New York City for the hostels of Argentina. 

Through the terminal window I caught my first glimpse of Argentina - an asphalt parking lot lined with cars and a large red cargo building. Not exactly representative of this stunningly dynamic country. Nonetheless, as if I had just seen the famed Plaza de Mayo, I eagerly snapped a photo and sent off to a dear friend, exclaiming, Holy s*** I’m here. I did it. This is surreal. This was the moment I had been waiting for. Maybe not the car park, but stepping off the plane and breathing the air of a new country.

Holy s*** I’m here. I did it. This is surreal.

Buenos Aires Airport, January 2024

Perhaps the better photo choice would have been me with my toothy smile and frizzy hair standing next to the large blue letters that read Bienvenidos a Argentina a ways down the terminal, but she reassuringly replied, You absolutely did it!

Sitting on this balcony with a cool air gently chilling my face, I grinned as I recalled that first few day and my ideal plan to stay on track with my goals. There’s a saying that seemed to ring true from the moment of my arrival: When we make plans, God laughs. 

As much as I yearned to be free as I began this transformative journey, in my mind burned a long list of self-imposed expectations by which I sought to strictly regiment my days. Arriving at my first hostel, I found myself with two hours before my bed would be ready. Planting myself in the corner of the lobby, I pulled out my tablet to document my arrival. An hour of writing, a quick shower, and then I was off to explore. A Perfect plan–had I not left the fate of my writing dangling from the counter of my New York City apartment. 

I had left my charging cord in New York. With a deep breath I reassured myself, No problem, I will just go buy a new one, right? 

It took four endless hours of trekking from computer store to computer store to conclude that I wasn’t going to find a charging cable in Buenos Aires. Even after learning the word cargador, Spanish for charging cable, the search was fruitless. The kind hostel attendee had tried to assist me by sending a photo to several computer shops. It was obviously a futile attempt when even the vendors responded with ‘good luck’. Eventually we found an option online at a remarkable markup. Two days later, just before my departure to the next hostel, I’d have my cable, but not the wall adapter. Only after once again searching every computer shop would I learn that the wall adapter could only be purchased at a hardware store, not a computer store. 

The shock of receiving a cable without an adaptor still sits with me to this day. I laugh at the experience and how something so small and material provoked such deep feelings.

On my third day in the city, after the initial cable had arrived, I found myself in the middle of a ferretería at 5:20 PM, 10 minutes before closing time. A young man who couldn’t have been more than 19 years old stood behind the counter chatting chatting apathetically with a female colleague. Neither had the least interest in my sisyphean search for a cable. 

My eyes scanned the barren white walls for anything that resembled the adapter. A seemingly rare find in this part of the world. After a few minutes, I caught a glimpse of the long-sought after object. I approached the shelf with cautious optimism as the cable dangled like a prize in the glowing fluorescent lights. With the cable in hand, I sheepishly shuffled to the counter and muttered in my substandard anglo Spanish  ‘Lo siento, poco español’.

He stared.

Solo cable. 

Si, solo cable, he responded, along with something else I didn't quite understand, as I handed over the pesos in exchange for my prize. 

Determined for a mental reset, I made my way to a  corner cafe nestled between two quiet red brick streets along a wall coated in lavish pink, blue, and yellow works of art. I proudly stammered through ‘quiero un cafe americano y una tostada, por favor’ and then found myself a quiet spot at a small round metal table placed next to the street. Two teens chatted in hushed, scandalous tones next to me while a peaceful man with graying hair sat reading a paperback novel. Just as I pulled out my notebook, the waitress brought out my coffee and two pieces of toasted bread with butter. 

Tostada? I thought I had ordered a tortilla with eggs! Clearly my Spanish needed some work. 

It would have felt satirical if I wasn’t suddenly struck by the feeling of being lost in a forest of unknowns, without a compass, unable to ask locals for directions or order basic food items. While the things I struggled with were seemingly small and insignificant, they pulled at my heart strings and I was overcome by a sudden and surprising moment of unraveling and isolation.

My eyes moved back to the shrinking sun and rose-hued city scape that had been my home for the past three days. I poured myself a glass of Tannat, a local variety of table wine, vino de la casa, and I sat back down and gazed out the glass panes of the balcony I had been sitting on. The veins of the wine dripped down the sides of my glass and I mulled over the sudden feeling of directionlessness that had overtaken me.

The heavy tannins of the wine washed over my tastebuds and it occurred to me that I had landed with internal expectations of what I should be doing on this trip –places I should go and things I should do. Sitting there, the connection to embers and a flame suddenly came to mind. A flame cannot burn brightly unless it first kindles, and kindling can struggle. Green limbs, moist ground, insufficient fuel or heavy logs too quickly placed atop the small fire can frustrate the process.

Somehow, the echoes of well-intentioned friends, who spoke about this as an opportunity to find myself, as if I were lost, rang through my mind along with my own self-imposed expectations. And it was as I finished that glass of wine and the stars began to rise over Buenos Aires that I recalled the comments of a fellow traveler and now dear friend as she struggled to determine her own path. 

I like sitting in cafes drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, so I’m going to go do that.

I spent my last 16 years allowing society’s expectations to swallow my identity, sacrificing my own desires to walk a well-trodden path. But this journey wasn’t about finding myself.  No, this was about carving my own path through the wilderness of life. Sitting there and looking into my reflection in the glass in front of me, I realized it wasn’t the city but my internal struggle that had made Buenos Aires less appealing. It was only once I had taken ownership of my journey that I felt comfort in what lay ahead. While I originally feared failing at my chosen tasks, I came to realize that this sabbatical would only be a failure if I rescinded my own agency and ignored my internal compass. I was not lost in a forest, but guided by my own Northern Star.