my place

I miss this place. More than 40 million people live there. Probably the same amount of stray dogs roam the streets with nasty diseases. Hundreds of thousands vacation there each year. And yet, I believe this is my place. My home. Its smells, sounds and tastes are tattooed in my memories. I miss it more than any other place I have ever lived or visited. Call it nostalgia. Call it my four year anniversary, but whatever you call it...Argentina has been on my mind a lot lately. Here are some of the things I miss:

• My seven very distinct roommates. I love them each for different reasons. They know those reasons. Or at least I believe they do. (I miss the one that used to sing the same song over and over in the shower. At the time, it drove me crazy. Now I just wish I would've recorded her voice. I miss the one that dieted constantly. Sorta impossible to diet in Argentina. Especially as a missionary. That didn't work out so well. I miss the one that would break out in dancing and singing to Broadway shows while waiting for the bus. I don't think the people who witnessed it have ever been so entertained. I miss the one who taught me to fight the silent treatment as we walked quietly through the streets of Liniers. I miss the one who made me look beautiful. I miss the one that was just like me.)
• The smell of wet concrete. Whether it was because of rain or because of men watering the sidewalk each morning...I just miss that smell.
• The pastry shops. Every other store is a pastry store. The ones in between are ice cream shops or empanada restaurants. I could go for a factura right about now.
• Walking in crowds. I used to love to push my way through crowds of people to make it to appointments on time. You learn the quickest way to zig-zag between people.
• Nodding off on the subte (subway). No air conditioning. Worn-off deodorant. Smashed next to someone a little too big to be sitting in the space next to you. Watching your feet so you don't trip one of the homeless vendors. And falling asleep because it is the first time you have sat down all day.
• Walking. I miss walking everywhere. I would still walk everywhere if I had the time. I developed a love for walking during those long 16 months.
• Eating with a different person/family each day. I never knew what I would get for lunch. I would say 75% of the time I ate the most amazing food. And I just try to forget about the other 25% of the time. But there was something sweet about being with someone different. Preparing a thought just for them. Holding a real, meaningful conversation every single day.
• Taxis. Remises. Buses. Public transportation. I had the best experiences traveling. Driving to and fro. I learned to love the back seat. I am such a back seat passenger if I can be. I also miss the fact that no one had seat belts. You just held on tight.
• The smell of smoke. I hardly smell smoke living in Provo. I don't necessarily want to smell smoke, but when I do smell it...I revert back to living in Argentina. You can't go anywhere without smelling it.
• The thunder storms/rain. The rain in Provo does not in any way compare to the storms I experienced in Argentina. Tim calls the rain in Argentina, "The death mist." So very true. The use of umbrellas is pointless. Walking under awnings is pointless. The mist just permeates you to the bone. I remember using a blowdryer to thaw my fingers.
• Historic buildings. I learned to look up in Argentina. If you never looked up, you would miss the magic of the buildings. Their character. Their spirit.
• The sunsets/sunrises. Along the same lines with the previous thought. Looking up became my comfort zone. Whenever I had a bad day, I would look up and dream or imagine being a bird. Being a plane. Something free to see the world below.
• The Argentine personality. You said what you meant. People never play games with each other. They say exactly what is on their mind. They really didn't understand hidden meanings or sarcasm. They didn't look too much into what was said or not said. It was so much easier to deal with problems when dealing with an Argentine.
• And of course...I miss being a missionary. There are moments tucked away in the very corners of my heart that still make me smile. Make me laugh out loud. And make me appreciate who I was and who I became during those short months.

Oh Argentina...I can't wait to see you again my dearest friend.