For those of you reading who thought that this trip was all bars and clubs till 8am, steak, wine, and other forms of fun debauchery, class is now officially in full swing.
Shopping period, aka add/drop, ended today with submission of paperwork to the program office. I am currently enrolled in two schools, each offering a different aspect of the Argentine university experience, but at the same time demonstrating similarities that are quite different from the States, or UMass at least.
The University of Buenos Aires, or UBA, is a massive institution of over 300,000 students. It is one of the highest regarded schools in Latin America, and is completely public and free.
What this translates to – the buildings resemble the bombed out hull of a Balkan war ministry. I’m serious. Posters and graffiti for various socialist, student, and socialist student groups blanket every square inch of surface area in the building, or at least for my faculty. Banners advertising a range of protests against the current President of Argentina, Cristina Kirchner, eight various past presidents and government officials, the American military bases in Columbia, the American military bases in the Middle East, the American military industrial-complex.
Che Guevara also looks down at you from the corner or the center of each banner. He is utterly canonized by the leftist students at UBA. If someone thought American universities had their fair share of people experimenting in extreme leftist views, travel to Latin America.
Though I will say, the self-proclaimed “socialist café” has good food and a good atmosphere.
Class was ironically half American exchange students. However the half that wasn’t sipped their mate (an herbal tea drink that’s very popular down here), ready to assault the teacher on anything perceived as remotely injust. We have to buy our class materials at a chain store and not the student union? Revolucion! You won’t let our friend’s political group share details about their rally during class? Revolucion! F? Revolucion!
The class itself was a teacher giving a very in-depth lecture in modern Latin-American economics. Nothing too unlike the states. Just the whole atmosphere of the building and the students was different. And sure enough, a few days later, the materials were available, photocopied, at the student union.
The other class is at the University of Salvador, or USAL, a private school, affiliated with the Catholic Church. The class, about Latin American literature, is held in a building that takes up a street corner. About 4 classes on five floors are centered around a spiral staircase and ancient iron elevator. A bit smaller than UBA I’d say.
The first class that I tried here was about Argentine Literature. You know those adult students, the ones in the front row who always have their work done, always will ask questions even though class is about to end and answering their question will make everyone have to stay ten minutes later? Yeah, they have those people down here too. They spent the last half hour of class just chatting with the professor.
Half the class was American students.
The next class I tried out here wasn’t going on when I showed up. Turns out last semester ran late and exams were taking place. However, I did meet another American student who showed up, turned out he came down here without a program and was directly enrolling in USAL. We found the professor when she dropped in to just check in on her office and she seemed fine.
When I met the American, I introduced myself as Michael. Michael is my name, it is a common name. It is an easy name. I called myself Miguel in 7th grade Spanish class. I called myself Zorro in 8th grade Spanish class. For some reason, the other American insisted on calling me Miguel constantly. When we met the professor, I introduced myself as Michael. The other American kept referring to me as Miguel during his conversation with the professor. My name is not Miguel, but if he thinks it helps him assimilate, good for him. But I think I’ll call him Ben and not Benjamin (pronounced Benhameen) as he called himself.
The rest of my academic time is spent compiling a research paper on US-Argentine relations. I’ve crisscrossed the city, exploring various libraries, feeling a bit too much like Robert Langdon. The National Library is a behemoth of modern architecture which puts the Boston City Hall or the entire UMass campus to shame for sheer why factor. Well, maybe UMass Dartmouth is worse.
But anyways, after submitting a request into a computer (which the start up screen informed me was donated by the United Nations, cool to finally enjoy a perk of it directly), I picked up some random books on foreign affairs from the desk and began reading. Even if the building can create mixed reviews on the outside, the inside has an absolutely beautiful view of the city and the river beyond. The buildings situated on a platform, on a hill, actually where the Peron’s mansion used to be. It is a truly great place to read at peace.
The Congressional Library is situated in more austere settings, next to the congress building, attached to a cluster of senate offices.
I went to the US Embassy to schedule a time to use their resources. I didn’t get a chance to explore their library at that point, but I did take a walk through the lobby. A passport is the ultimate line cutter. I cut the line at the front reception, at the security, and then when I got inside, I had my own attendant waiting for me. About 100 Argentines sat behind me, waiting for travel visas.
Hearing back from everyone going to UMass, seeing everyone’s facebook statuses with a college countdown, I do miss that I won’t share in all the fall experiences. The semi-familiar faces in classes, the reacquainting with hundreds of friends on weekend nights. Halloween. It’s my favorite time of the year, and this will be the first time that I don’t see the leaves change in New England, drink apple cider every morning for two months straight, or share in the joy at seeing the first snow.
I do love Massachusetts, and I really love Amherst and the surrounding Pioneer Valley. It is emblematic of all those things good, wholesome, and stereotypical about New England.
And speaking of emblematic of Massachusetts…
When Michael Jackson or any other major celebrity has recently died, I have looked on with perplexion at the absolute outpouring of emotion. But with the death of Senator Kennedy, I think I’ve figured it out. These people, these people who are larger than life, their daily actions impact our lives. Whether they touch us through their art, antics, or actions in Congress, they become part of our lives by the simple facts of their daily life.
Senator Kennedy, through virtue of his position and status as a “Kennedy”, had tremendous power, and therefore impacted our lives in innumerable ways. His constant presence on television, in the papers, ensured his constant presence in our lives. And therefore, just like when we lose an inanimate object, something we establish a one-sided relationship with, we feel loss when notable famous people depart.
The day he died, there was a breaking story on the front page of the most-visited news website down here. After that, no more news. But I know up in Mass, the news will be still going on about him when I get back.
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