Two Months Ago

I know it's not Thanksgiving but I had vowed to add this as a part of my blog before the year was over. Around certain American holidays our ACA program will usually get together to celebrate them. It's a feel-good opportunity for all of us to come together to cover up pangs of homesickness that might pop up around times when we would normally be with family. A fellow classmate wrote something to share with our group after dinner. It hit the spot--even more so than the imported pumpkin pie. Hope you enjoy.



For the longest time, I thought that Thanksgiving was a day for food and family. Don’t get me wrong, it is. I can remember getting up early to watch the Macy’s Day parade on TV, or even sleeping in so late that the sounds of my mother cooking and the noise of the game woke me up. As I got older, Thanksgiving meant starving yourself all morning while peeling pound upon pound of spuds. My family is mostly Irish, so Thanksgiving is the perfect time to consume ridiculous amounts of our national food: potatoes. We were always in charge of the mashed potatoes, and all four of us, my dad, mom, sister and I would sit in front of the TV, peeling potatoes, and watch either the game or old Christmas movies, depending on who won the battle for the programming that day.
Later, after we were properly primped and spruced up, and after our entire house was full of the smell of steamy potatoes and chocolate pie, we headed out to the family’s place. There were two options usually: the mostly vegetarian feast with my mother’s family, or the combination of half Italian half traditional genius that makes up the unique experience with my semi-Catholic father’s side. Either way we went, the main part of the experience was to eat more than you could possibly imagine, and then sit around and laugh off the calories by telling family stories and finish off the evening with turkey sandwiches and sing-alongs.
But the past 5 years, being unable to go home for Thanksgiving has given me a new perspective on the holiday: it’s not so much about having to be with family as making those around you a part of your new family. It’s not so much about only eating your favorite recipes as it is eating and communing with others. It’s not even about the traditions you’ve been a part of for your entire life. The original thanksgiving wasn’t about tradition; in fact it was a totally new experience for everyone involved. It was about sharing food with people of a different color, who wore different clothes, ate different foods, and spoke a different language. And as I sit here in Argentina in absurdly hot humid weather and consider taking yet another shower, I suppose that this is, ironically, more like the original Thanksgiving than any I have ever experienced. This is our chance to come together with others, and be thankful for what we have, for life. Our chance to eat some things we might not usually eat. Our chance to encounter a new country, a new language. Count our blessings. In my short time considering the many reasons I have to be thankful, I can’t even begin to comprehend the total. There are a lot. Each of you has been a blessing to me in the short time I’ve known you. I’m so happy to be sharing this time with you. Happy Thanksgiving all, and welcome to a new kind of feast, a new kind of family, and a new kind of holiday.

Marjorie Anne Ellenwood

Buenos Aires

I've been slacking again. I was meaning to update my blog during Christmas break...BUT...you know how that goes. End of November-early December we traveled to Buenos Aires to see the city life. Living in a remote agricultural area has deprived me of some long-forgotten luxuries. Buenos Aires was a good remedy. Two facts: bathtubs are nice, and food is generally better in large metropolitan ares. The following are a few sights of this gigantic South American empire.This is in the middle of the first town square in Buenos Aires. The famous date above is the day that Buenos Aires expelled their Viceroy thus declaring their revolution. This is La Casa Rosa (The Pink House) which would be like our White House.This is El Cabildo in the main town square. It was the first government building in Buenos Aires.La Boca. Tango's really big here. They play tango music in the streets all day long.

Torre de los Ingleses (English Tower). This monument has an interesting story behind it. It was constructed by British residents in Buenos Aires to commemorate their May revolution. 172 years later the Falklands War happened between Argentina and Britain. To make a long story short, Argentina was beaten pretty badly. A monument was soon constructed to commemorate the loss of Argentinean life. Ironically, it was constructed directly across from the English tower on the other side of the street (nobody knows why). Now residents look at the tower with a bit of contempt, especially now that it seems to loom over their monument in a mocking manner. The "eternal flame" can be seen in the foreground of the tower in the photo above. To this day the Argentinean constitution still claims the Falkland Islands as their own even though the British occupy them. A bit of advice: never bring up this subject at the Argentinean dinnertable. And here is Ferdinand.

Oh Happy Day

I did it. I got a microwave.

Oh Where, Oh Where Have the Microwaves Gone?

Oh where, oh where can they be???

I don't know. If there was a materialistic thing I am missing the most while I'm here in South America, it is without a doubt the microwave. The shortage of microwaves in South America is profound. I could probably count all the microwaves I've seen on my right hand--even if I only had two fingers. It really boils down to one bottom line: domestic appliances are expensive in South America. Down here people steal blenders and fans--not car radios and computers. I've told my roommates about the popularity of the microwave in the United States. I tell them how they've made our lives easy and our frames fat. Then their eyes get really big when I tell them how just about every guy in Sitner Hall at Walla Walla has a fridge and a microwave sitting in their dorm room.

True much of the food down here isn't cooked by microwaves. Therefore there's no demand for them. But I have a weakness for microwave popcorn and instant just-add-water meals. So I want one. Bad.

My consumeristic American side is getting the better of me.

"Winter, Spring, Fall, and Hell"

The above is a common joke Argentineans will use to describe their summers. I laughed at first, but I'm not laughing anymore! Why? This last November was the hottest recorded November in Argentina's history. My friends, that's hot! Really, really hot! To give those of you who live in the Northern hemisphere a better picture, it's like having July or August temperatures in the month of May. The worst was a blistering seven-day tyranny of 100+ degree weather. The rest of the month was around a shady 92 degrees. November, I shake my fist at you.

This past month I've become acquainted with the terror of never being able to run away from your own sweat. Showers were a false sense of security. I would dry off and cheer hallelujah for five minutes, but for five minutes only. Soon the little beads of water would begin popping out on my forehead. Let me offer an illustration. It's like one of those cartoons where the guy will notice a hole in a wall with water spouting through it. He inwardly vows to correct all wrong by sticking his finger into the hole. No sooner has he done just that, the second spout of defiance shoots out. This continues until all ten fingers are stretched inhumanely across the wall. This same agony lead me to a great discovery: the joys of the swimming pool. The UAP happens to have a great outdoor pool that stays reasonably cool. Beach bum I was not. I was a pool bum. I still am a pool bum. And I have the tan to prove it.

The ACA program really does a great job of spoiling us. One of the things they do is lend out fans when the weather heats up. I'm sure this is a favorite time for the locals to get together and laugh about how lame all the Americans are--especially when they see us lugging our fans around as a desperate attempt to keep our burnt skin cool. In regards to my own sunburns, I try and tell them that my ancestors were Vikings, and that also my Celtic brothers danced around the snowy highlands in kilts in weather most locals would find foreign. Unfortunately, Vikings and Celts have never been subjects quite as popular as soccer and well...more soccer, for that matter, they don't really get my comeback.

My first fan was a good one. It was big, with big rotaries, a lot like the one I have back at home. But unfortunately it was also old. Nilde wished me luck that it wouldn't break as I checked it out. I knowingly reassured her that Brendan's fan could never break in a million years. Well, it did. About a few days later during one night, I awoke to a loud pop accompanied with brilliant white and blue sparks. My first impression was fireworks but then I remembered the fan. I climbed out of my three-story bunk and inspected the damage. It was deader than a doornail. After a sound "dammit" I climbed back up the tower (I'm sending pictures soon) and into my bed.

The next day I woke up hot. I had only one goal for the day: to get a new fan. That morning I got lucky. A new shipment of fans had arrived the day before so there were brand new ones available. After my morning classes I walked out of the ACA building with my pride and joy. A sleek new piece of plastic that could whir and sing and that I swear came from Sam Walton himself God rest his soul. My roommates were loving me by now. I wasn't a lame American anymore. They'd probably planned it all along. "Yeah, we'll ask for an ACA student to be our roommate--and then get the fan!" I perched my trophy precariously on my window ledge, leaving the heavy end to teeter against the screen. The fresh air could breeze in all night long! It also could combat my roommate’s halitosis. Double Kill! Triumph was mine for killing two birds with one stone.

However that night tragedy struck. A Brazilian wind came up out of nowhere. At about 2:00 AM, my fan blew off the window ledge, hit my desk, and then fell to the floor. When it hit the ground, it became alive. Gerson bolted up out of bed and screamed. I think Jeiel hid under the blankets and cried. I don't know what happened actually, it all happened so fast. In a state between excitement and disorientation, I stumbled out of my third story window in a drunken stupor and climbed down the fire escape to the havoc below. My fan was running around in circles. It was actually running around the room in circles! I convinced myself that something this evil could never come from Sam Walton, or any of the other Walton Dynasty for that matter (some of you may beg to differ). I leaped for the plug, suffering but a few scratches. The fan became lifeless. Only my heavy breathing could be heard. I inspected the plastic demon and found one of the rotaries to be ripped off and stuck in the skeleton frame. This enabled the fan to emit sounds only capable by harpies. This time a lot more than "dammit" came out of my mouth. In a fiery rage, I climbed up The Empire State Building (feeling somewhat like King Kong) and flopped myself back onto my bed, howling woes and curses into my pillow. My roommates’ excited Spanish didn't even phase me. I was defeated. I went back to bed that night with beads of sweat popping out all over my forehead.

I saw the rest of November without a fan.

Now it's December. I have a third (and final) fan. Apparently ACA doesn't want to keep lending me fans with my luck. I'd have to describe my third fan as a combination of the first two. It probably does a better job reminding me of the grief my first two fans put me through than actually keeping me cool. Not wanting anything elaborate this time, I carefully placed the fan on my desk. When I plugged it in, I didn't even turn it on. Why you might ask? Because that day it was raining, and I was actually cold. So November really did turn out to be the hottest November of my life. And I did it all without a fan.

Beautiful Iguazú

We took our first school trip a little over a week ago to Northeast Argentina. Here the jungle dominates the landscape with its lush foilage and muddy rivers. The highlight of the trip was Iguazú Falls, a mesmerizing set of cataracts that is only rivaled by Victoria Falls in Africa.

If you ever want to go somewhere that will take your breath away, look no further.

The park wouldn't let us go swimming. Too bad.

This lizard was about the size of a shoebox.

The park's many waterfalls made it perfect for rainbows.

This is the group of ACA students from Walla Walla University. There's a few missing.

This is the biggest waterfall in Iguazú, La Garganta del Diablo. My camera could only get a third of it.

¡Vive Argentina!

A Taste of Their Own Medicine

I'm just now realizing I could have died were it not for modern medicine. Hopefully none of you will ever have to experience a bacterial infection in the digestive system. People on the Oregon Trail had to deal with stuff like that. It was called dysentery.

About a little over a week ago Nich and I went out to eat at a local restaurant called El Quincho. He really wanted to eat a steak so I said I'd split it with him if he wanted. We agreed but I told him I liked steak well done, and was also willing to try out some random vocabulary I had run across in a tourist book. When you want a steak to be well-cooked, you say "bien hecho". I was bent on telling the waiter that I wanted my steak to be well-prepared this time (this was our third visit to the restaurant). The last time I was there I had ordered a steak and it was a little on the rare side.

It turns out I forgot to tell the waiter how I wanted my steak. Seeing how I was fine last time, I thought I'd be fine again. Soon, the steak was sitting right in front of me. I picked up my knife and cut it right down the middle. I can specifically remember thinking about which half to give to Nich. I remember thinking how both halves looked the same. I ended up giving Nich the half that was closer to him. If there was ever a moment where time should have stood still, it was definitely that moment! As we were eating he started to complain, "Dude, I got way more fat than you did."

"At least your half isn't as rare," I replied.

"Yeah but I don't like fat."

"And I don't like bloody meat."

To make a long story shorter he picked around the fat and I picked around the red meat. After we finished, we paid and went back to the dorm.

Later that night I started to get a stomach ache. Thinking it was a complication of the sore throat I had had earlier on in the week, I went to bed thinking I could sleep it off. With my immune system already being down from that I didn't want to get any more sick. When I woke up on Friday morning though, I was a lot more sick. I won't go into details but I couldn't stay away from the bathroom for more than 30 minutes.

When the pain got to be more than a nuisance I decided it was time to go to the emergency room. I quickly became familiar with intravenous therapy. After a couple of hours they would give me something to relieve the pain and I would start to feel better. I'd go back to the dorm, but after a few hours the pain would come back. I repeated this process three more times.

I'm sure there are many annoying things in this world, but surely one of the most annoying must be trying to communicate to someone who doesn't understand English that you're dying. After I learned the Spanish word for blood they definitely took the fourth visit more seriously.

It was Sunday morning and they finally told me I was going to be admitted to the hospital. Those words were music to my ears! By then I was incredibly week and dehydrated. The doctors immediately started running every test imaginable. I even had an ultrasound. After all the tests they took me up to one of the rooms where an old man was already staying. I thought he was dead at first. Fast-forward past the applesauce and crackers and a whole lot of sleeping and I was out by Wednesday afternoon. The only things I can remember were sleeping and how nasty the food was. (For breakfast, Argentinians will sometimes eat cheese combined with a runny jam. It's beyond gross). The hospital however had amazing care. All of my nurses were student nurses that went to the same school as I did. They were really helpful and kind. The only awkward part is I think some of them saw me naked. I couldn't have cared less at the time, but now that I've bumped into a few of them around the school I kind of would like to know...

It turns out that the doctors were never able to find out what I had. They said it could have been anything from the food to the water to the bathrooms. All they could really give me was that it was some kind of dysentery.

PS. I'm a vegetarian now.