We’re here!

It’s technically day two of our trip. Getting here and getting adjusted was one very, very long day (New note: I’d say two long days) . I knew it would be an adventure trying to get down here. I’ve traveled some and my dad has never been outside the country. My Spanish is very rusty, his Spanish skills are nonexistent. We both recognized that our lack of Spanish were going to be tough and it’s been very tough the past two days trying to negotiate our way through. I’d say it’s at this point (about 2:30 am on Saturday) that we are starting to get a handle on how to let this city work with us and we with it.

There’s still a sense of surreality in the air, but now, it’s the surreal feeling that we’re walking on real streets and eating real food. Even flying down to Atlanta, this trip didn’t seem real. It was still an abstract concept, something I thought about but it was a far-away dream. It wasn’t until I saw the sign for the flight to BA until it hit me. This. Was. Happening.

On the way down, I sat next to a guy named Elder G. He was part of a large group of Mormon missionaries starting their two-year mission in Argentina. A Denver native, he and his group were coming straight from Salt Lake City, still in their suits, to travel to South America. I thought my journey was long, they were traveling about two days straight.

Based on my upbringing, I’ve always had mixed feelings about Mormons. If anything, the level of commitment and devotion is quite something. Once you get pass the feeling that they are there to convert you (which, mind you, they are to a certain extent. And when I did short-term missions as a teenager, that was my ultimate goal as well), it was a great conversation.

Once we started talking, we both lamented the state of Christian dating, the perils of not knowing Spanish and the difficulties of being thrust into positions of leadership and accountability when you know you’re not prepared.

Preparation. That’s been the word of the past six months for me. Hell, the past year or so since I first thought about doing this trip. How prepared was I going to be to travel, to run a marathon, to navigate everything that’s going to happen? I like to think I’m fairly self-sufficient and know how to do life. Even though I see that for the fallacy that it is, it still brings me comfort. A false comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

But that needed to change. One of the biggest reasons for doing this trip was that it would require me to rely on others. Sounds weird, I know. You had to go to the other side of the world to learn this lesson? It’s more than just the after-school life lesson, it’s the in-your-face reality of being in an absolute foreign context to get through this experience.

On the bus from the airport to the city, my dad and I ran into a lovely woman who was visiting her family and friends in BA. She’s a veterinarian in Ireland, who lived in the States for many years. She was able to help us figure out which car to get into and how to get to the apartment we’re staying at in Palmero SoHo. Without her, we would have been lost.

Or the nice gentleman at the coffee shop who explained how to properly order a cafe here in Argentina. Or the security guard in the apartment who although doesn’t speak English, spoke with enough clarity that I understood every word he was saying.

However, this goes deeper. As much as I prepared for the marathon and prepared for this trip and really didn’t prepare in my survival Spanish, that doesn’t matter now. We’re here, it’s now and everything starts over.

***

Part of preparation deals with direction. As in, which way is north?

It took my dad and about 30 hours, complete with two arguments, an extra hour walking through the lovely streets of the city after dinner Thursday night and staring at Google maps for a few hours Friday to realize that north wasn’t the issue. We didn’t want true north, we needed true south.

Here, everything is flipped. We both went to school and I have an advanced degree, dammit! You’d think we’d now this. Like many pearls of wisdom, you don’t need until right after you needed it most. What we thought was vertical was horizontal. Oh, Avenida Santa Fe runs west/east. We’re in the northwest part of BsAs, not the southeast part. Basic stuff.

We’re still trying to figure it out. This is our first time in the southern hemisphere and while everything and everyone looks the same, there does seem to be something a bit different. Perhaps it’s the shadows during the day. Or how the sun rises and sets. It might be the direction of the water going down the toilet (which is different, at least, it looks different. Mind you, I do my best not to pay attention back home. Perhaps I should.) But something feels different. Hopefully, we can put a finger on it by the time we leave.

For now, we’ve figured out south. The marathon will go north to south, but even though, it’s not more slightly northwest to slightly southeast back to true north, then northeast for the majority of the way, finishing at northwest.

Sorta like that.

***

Back to Elder G, he was dealing with this struggle of adventure and preparation and direction at age 20. We talked about how he felt nervous if people would respond to him, how he would deal with being so far away from home and honestly, if this was the right thing for him. I knew some things at age 20, going to Oxford and such, but I found myself in awe of what he wanted to accomplish.

As the flight was about to touch down, Elder G. looked at me and said, “So, I expect to read about the 33-year-old American who won the Buenos Aires marathon.”

I laughed and told him that will be a 33-year-old East African who wins this race most likely, but you’ll definitely read about the 33-year-American who had the most fun while running.

He laughed and said I was crazy.

I’ll take that.