Conclusions

After five months in Buenos Aires, I still find it remarkably difficult to define the place. I can begin in the negative: Buenos Aires is not the cocaine-filled tropical paradise so many imagine. Nor is it the European capital its tourist industry claims it to be. Yet neither has Buenos Aires developed its own unique culture. Instead, it is an idiosyncratic immigrant city which has absorbed bits and pieces of its citizens' pasts, never quite producing something new. At times, the results are surprisingly beautiful, like when someone had the strange idea to mix Italian accordion music with dying slave dance beats and managed to create tango. Other times, the results are underwhelming, like the ubiquitous but bland attempts at old-world pasta dishes, the sad remains of Buenos Aires' rich Italian heritage.

My own time in Buenos Aires is as difficult to define as the city itself. Instead of broad, life-changing realizations, I left with a collection of experiences, some as beautiful as a tango number, others as disappointing as the cuisine. I came to a new understanding of the depth and dynamism of communication. I learned about the intersection of the personal and the political. I went to tango clubs. I dreamed in Spanish. Some days were tiring, others were thrilling, still others frustrating or funny. Most were all those things at the same time.

I would not give up my time in Argentina for anything, but, even after two and a half months of reflection, I find myself unable to define it. Instead of giving me conclusions, Argentina has provided me with a million questions. After five months of seeing the world from below the equator, I'm remembering what the view looks like from up here. Perhaps most valuably, I've learned in a real, first-hand way that there are endless views to be had. Travelers, explorers, students and intellectuals have been having this realization for centuries, but it somehow makes a lot more sense, seems a lot more pressing and important, to recognize it for oneself.

My time in Buenos Aires was not what I expected. I experienced no dramatic personality transformations. I have no radical new beliefs about the world. I did not find a suave Latin lover. I don't know what lasting impact it will have on me and the way I view the world. I expected my time in Argentina to progress in a logical, aesthetically pleasing way. I would likely feel uncomfortable for a time, eventually adjust, begin to feel like a local, and leave a changed and bettered person. In reality, Argentina was a series of false starts, surprise zig-zags, incredible highs and confusing lows. In the end, I can only reflect in the same way I lived: day by day.

Just as the city defies stereotypes, so does my own experience in it. Every time I thought I understood it, I discovered something confusing, something thrilling, something disappointing, something new. It is this newness, both regardless of and because of its greater meaning, that I crave to experience over and over again. Argentina was a start, but I doubt I will ever reach an end. In the meantime, I had the great fortune to spend five months of my life on a wonderful adventure.