Prior to our first and only asado, I splayed out on my bed in a square of warm light and began a graphic design project, one that mimicked the Ork-style posters that fit neighborhood names into their map locations. My idea was to one day to share it with our porteño friends who introduced us Fernet, cooked us asados, danced with us until 7am, and invited us into their family homes. They made us feel so welcome and entertained, and all I felt I could provide in return were some digital bits and bobs. Of course, there’s always the hope they journey to America and are in need of an enthusiastic tour guide!

Two months after leaving, I’ve finally completed this graphic project to share with all of them…and you, dear reader. Other colors and styles are likely to follow, but here are two such posters in both white and black. Click the image to download one for yourself.

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While I’ve previously written about the three-month mind cycle that makes for a great trip length, because of the adjustment and pack-up periods at TGS, that duration barely allowed for local absorption of any authentic kind. Instead, four months in Buenos Aires created a different expectation for assimilation and encouraged the development of friendships with porteños that would be a little stronger than surface level.

On top of having a beautiful apartment in a central location, I lived with an hilarious roommate/part-time caterer with a debilitating case of FOMO. Together, we worked and played in this international city that showed us both its best and worst. It was the setting for incredible discovery at school and major learning moments personally. There are nail marks across our apartment floors and airport terminals where we refused to leave.

This is my work photography from the Argentina term (plus a little trip to Uruguay).

And this is the evidence of life after the 12-hour work day.

What is it you’re pining to see from Argentina (or Uruguay next door)?

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First set images are those of THINK Global School. The opinions stated in this post are mine and do not reflect the positions, strategies, or opinions of THINK Global School.

Fallen Jacaranda blossoms squish to the sidewalk of tilting tiles,
caulked daily by the wake of a dog-walking brigade.
Golden, kaleidoscopic light treats the top of the hotel
like it’s deserving, like the whole street is.
Every day absorbed here, I felt like I wasn’t, but
I still had a door to the rare urban nature and solitude
afforded the eccentric and prosperous.

I return to the USA tonight in a metal tube that
fails to desensitize about its capabilities of magic.
Leaving one big set of kids to a pocket-sized one,
I will unravel my scheduled ways and fall Jello-like
to the ebb and flow of my family, the weather, the
approaching holidays, and any expectations I am equipped to fill.

Hopefully, I can find solace in replacing new music for
the hourly encounters with bandaneons on the breeze;
snowy afternoons struggling to operate in Gore-Tex for
walking miles over cobblestones in search of
something someone made with intention;
switching my weathered, repetitive options for new
layers of warmth and color and shape.

I’m sweeping the jpegs and stickies of my experience together
in sequence, easing them through the filter of process,
because I am almost done with this chapter.

As I float the page over my thumbnail, ready to turn,
I am slow and deliberate,
deliberate, for I may need solace.

·•·•·

There was an all-to-creepily-typical movie arc in my
connection to Argentina, to the city of Buenos Aires.
I spent an autumn in spring;
days grew before, and then they grew again.
I went from embodying story lines as a child to creating them,
extending the dramatic sense that I have my own Truman show
in the bubble that is Earth.

The slap heard ’round the restaurant was the start
of my time in country. My arms out, ready to hug in
a new home, recoiled to protect what has never felt
so threatened.
It was a textbook sequence of honeymoon and rejection,
and I was shocked I could still be shocked.

For the first time in years of this lifestyle, I felt
a kind of fear that withered my appeal for people,
the exact kind I charged at to intimidate when I
took off alone around the world. Hating
that fear and a lifestyle revolving around it,
I repeated my mechanism of defense, offense rather, and
charged at BsAs, accepting what was possible of desperation.

I did new things, explored neighborhoods at a jog,
clung tightly to my years of high school Spanish
to aid in the kind of communication that heals and forgives.

This also came with an acceptance and openness to
what I thought I had already ruled out of my interests.
I relearned and redefined to double-check my sense of self.

·•·•·

The balance I preach was the balance I struck and
was also able to reflect upon like a good model,
for those who continue to grasp for perspective.
I met chance in the middle in my reach for
emotional understanding of this passionate and
complicated American country of immigrants and
cowboys; it should have been a short reach at that.

And it was short, albeit poorly timed. Hence today,
I am upset with time, just as I’ve instructed against
for my students; it can’t be warped.
We can’t even be upset with expiration dates as this
is the lifestyle we’ve elected for ourselves,
fully cognizant of the irony of these nomadic ways.

It’s as if I lived for four months on my head
and will just as easily reorient myself
to my feet, possibly prepared and equipped for
the rush of blood, and used to reactivating
sleeping appendages without much forethought.
They still tingle though, and sometimes I falter,
like Bambi with amnesia and failing muscle memory.

We live very clear chapters that can be qualified
and measured, compared to other chapters that may
or may not build off each other.

A place with streets I couldn’t even visualize
became my next one, and hopefully one connected
to the ones for the following pages.

·•·•·

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(Inspiration. Click for a lightbox)

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Would you like to see who I work with?

Or how about the environment in which the students live?

I create content on the daily for TGS, so if you’d like to follow more closely, check out their Facebook page, Twitter feed, Flickr account, YouTube channel, or Vimeo account. I’m always trying to get better as a one-man crew, so any and all production critique or commentary is welcome!

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Videos are those of THINK Global School. The opinions stated in this post are mine and do not reflect the positions, strategies, or opinions of THINK Global School.

Subscribe to Nomadderwhere’s posts via RSS feed or e-mail

Video is that of THINK Global School. The opinions stated in this post are mine and do not reflect the positions, strategies, or opinions of THINK Global School.

I’m not worthy! I’m not worthy!

Though I have encountered some really bitter parts of the city so far, the vast majority of my thoughts focus on the innumerable opportunities within reach. On fair-weathered afternoons, stalls of antique paraphernalia and sweet, sweet guitar interludes draw us to San Telmo market. If we’re hungry and less motivated, we funnel in coffee and cake, along with a full American breakfast, at a nearby cafe famous for its former literary clientele.

Yes, sometimes I’d rather go nowhere, because my apartment is on the better side of baller. As enticing as underground markets and puerto cerrado dinners can be, I’m often equally as motivated to have a little ‘personal growth’ time here on the couch with a good book on my host country.

South Americans and world citizens all over frequently categorize Argentines as snobs, but we’ve been lucky in finding porteños that happily absorb us brash Americans into their social circles. And with each listen to their smushed and slurred sentences, our Spanish takes a step closer to fluency.

I have yet to taste mate from a gourd in a breezy park, but you bet your chai it’s going to be obsessively documented.

I shant forget the incredible outings–both obscure and cliché–for the taking in BsAs, including the one most people worldwide know of without knowing it: La Boca. When you hear of Argentina, your mental picture is undoubtedly a tango pose in front of a brightly-colored wall. This is La Boca, and it’s this place that makes me realize we’re in South America. I imagine it’s like Times Square was right before Lion King and Disney moved to town.

Regardless of the world around me, I still always have this option. And for this, I am not worthy still. This makes me excited to spend four months in South America’s second biggest city.

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Last year’s school locations of Ecuador, Thailand, and Germany look to be replaced by some diverse locales, all brought to you by the letter “B”.

I’ll be spending the first term in Buenos Aires, Argentina, visiting Bhutan in January, and spending the rest of the academic year in Boston, USA. I’m equally excited by all three locations for very different reasons.

Perks of BsAs

• I can, without judgment or question, wear a massive red flower in a low bun.
• It will be early spring when I arrive, and that means boots. Stomping around cities in big ole boots.
• I have dreams of killing at some form of latin dance. Maybe Tango is my zone. If not, I’ll find another and put my packed dance clothes to good use.
• Red, red wine.
• New country of which I’ve never heard an ill word spoken.
• Apparently, it’s easy to live like a rock star with the help of a Mr. T. Ferriss.

Perks of Dragon Land

• It’s on those mountains I love so much.
• They have dragons…or so say my Bhutanese students. I’m ready with my binoculars and fire-resistant jacket.
• Gross National Happiness > Gross National Product
• Did I mention mountains yet? I like them a lot, especially when we can mix and mingle.
• Photographic opportunities will abound. I’m sure of it. This video by Pogo proves it.

Perks of Beantown

• Murka! We’ll have easy access to liberty, freedom, and all sorts of patriotic goodies.
• Same time zone and country as my friends and family, so NO ONE has an excuse not to call…frequently.
• Friends and family can not only call but visit!
• Pandora. Hulu. Good internet connections. Work and life never buffering.
• I have missed New York City this year and hope that the close proximity means filling some of those gaps.

Preparing to be a Porteña

My clothes are splayed out across the basement floor. This cues my cat to nervously pace and start killing woodland creatures for bait to make me stay. This is when I’m motivated to find new music, new apps, new outfits, and possible events, activities, and excursions to enjoy in the new host city.

It’s a special time of optimism and promise.

What often happens–rather quickly–is that I get distracted by the new locale and the tasks at hand. I lose perspective and the kind of balance that allows a person to be well-rounded. To curb this phenomenon, I’m hitting BsAs with a list of goals on a desktop Stickie. They’re ones I successfully eased into during the Berlin term and seemingly written by someone realistic with experience.

Once I find an apartment and get my claws in, I’ll be spending very little downtime at home. After all, there are festivals, good food (not just beef and wine), dancing opportunities, chances to giggle, and recommendations from other travelers to look into. It’s four months of living uninterrupted. That hasn’t happened to me in years.

As you can see above, I like to mentally prepare for a destination by watching shorts online, and while looking for videos of Bhutan, I came across this one that brought to my attention my need for fresh air in many forms.

Well said, Mr. Bertke. I’m ready for a couple deep breaths.

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In my case, the lingering reflexes from previous travels usually mess me up in Indiana – sometimes big time. I tend to call these the ironies of my lifestyle, but lately I feel it’s more a deficiency in domestic knowledge, exacerbated by my fondness for the last three months of international living.

I can’t live up to familial expectations

Once I knew my work dates for December, my sister-in-law planned her son’s baptism around my schedule – to make sure I could definitely attend. And there I was on the morning of his christening, coffee in hand doing the two-step warm-up dance outside in tights, watching my friend’s husband jump my borrowed car’s battery where it sat 90 miles from the church. It’s not too hard to remember to turn the headlights off in the pitch black of night the evening prior, but that’s assuming one gets those pangs of common sense.

…because I’m used to: cheap taxis and close proximity

When my school’s transportation or my feet couldn’t take me where I needed to be, I could stand on a curb in the historic center and hail a yellow car that never cost more than $5, even for a twenty minute trip. Distances traveled – in this country smaller than Nevada – were relatively miniscule compared my US of A expectations.

In my breaths between trips, I rely on my wheeling-and-dealing car salesman of a brother to have a means of getting around. Taxis in Indiana are as scattered as stars with meters that run like Michael Johnson. Not efficient, easy, or happening.

I’ve got plumbing confusion.

Cuenca resembles an historic European city with cobblestone streets, cloth napkin lunches, and more ornate churches than there are Sundays in a year. It is a lovely town with enjoyable nightlife and beautiful rivers flanking the walkable center. That’s the necessary introduction for my dear American audience that will be disgusted with the necessary toilet paper disposal method: a trash can.

…because I’m used to: weak sauce toilets

The plumbing in Ecuador generally requires an ‘exit-stage-left’ strategy for used tissue. Not to divulge my rituals behind closed stall doors, but I have yet to not be confused with the protocol since my return. In the same way that I don’t remember my current continent when my daily alarm rings, I have to go through a process of remembering where I am and what I’m doing every time nature summons.

The motor skills flop when cooking duty calls.

Whereas my fifteenth year was marked by an obsession with Food Network, today I chop vegetables at the speed and with the delicacy of Remy’s first try. I can make a spectacular explosion of coarsely slaughtered salad ingredients, which is actually my most coveted meal when abroad, but anything involving even marginal levels of calculation and finesse isn’t possible for at least a month post-trip.

I’ve actually got a known track record with the Indianapolis Fire Department with this issue.

…because I’m used to: $3.50 lunch specials and constant group meals

Near the end of Cuenca, I realized I hadn’t cooked for myself – not a saucepan touched – in months. It was more cost-effective and timely to eat at a nearby restaurant with wifi than it was to assemble something palatable in the hotel’s kitchen. I also felt like a bothersome house guest when I tried. And eating with the students meant a pre-set menu consisting of meat and potatoes, sandwiched by a creamy soup and a fruit platter curtain call.

I’m speaking the wrong language.

Ecuador presented me with daily challenges to expand my language skills, much like New York gave me the sensation of world travel the moment I left my apartment. I was able to push beyond my fluency from senior year of high school and regain the abilities swiftly lost with the apprehension of Italian.

…because I’m used to: never being able to communicate with the surrounding majority

This is nothing new. I was saying naka to my mother two months after Fiji – instead of ‘thank you’ – and even though my recent firings of Spanish have hit some native speakers, I am forgetting how to communicate to people at home in daily, civil settings. I am used to being a fly on the wall and observing life I don’t connect with personally. In this environment, I can pop in and pop out; obligation to the place is non-existent.

With every trip abroad, the return home gets easier. I’m hoping these are the remnants of a dying reverse-culture shock trend. It’s a plan to tackle one or more of these issues while in Thailand…and again when I return to the great US of A.

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With two terabytes of content to weed through, the process is slow and deliberate. As media specialist, I have to provide the window into life and academics at the world’s first and only global, mobile high school. What my viewfinder sees is what prospective students, teachers, and interested parties see. It’s challenging, but I can be creative, innovative, and create the kind of media that organically comes out of my system.

My hands have only process a small fraction of what my eye saw in Ecuador, this being my current photographic output.

There was rarely a time when I didn’t feel the necessity to document something; it all carried the weight of potentially useful in the eyes of a one-person production crew. My schedule seemed the product of an ADHD-ridden ninja. And on those rarest of occasions, I was able to venture around the corner of my hotel home to see angles of Cuenca myself.

Photography is relatively speedy to edit and publish, but video content takes exponential amounts of effort and time to produce. I won’t be able to fully illustrate the South American voyage with experiential video for months, but for the time being, this science class underwater is the sole window.

What is it you’re pining to see from Ecuador?

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First set images are those of THINK Global School. The opinions stated in this post are mine and do not reflect the positions, strategies, or opinions of THINK Global School.