Jessica Weiss

A few mornings ago, as I opened the window in my room like I do each morning, it hit me that things were different. Upon feeling the chill, I noticed the leaves on the big tree next door were thoroughly, beautifully yellow. It was quiet and still out. The sky, too, had lost a bit of its blue brilliance.

It’s fall here in Buenos Aires. People are donning their fancy warm weather shoes and coats, complaining about the cold or a sore throat, and the energy is much more harried than the pace I’d become accustomed to as a symptom of Argentina’s oppressive heat.

It’s the first seasonal change I’ve experienced since I moved to Buenos Aires. When I arrived in November, spring was a-bloomin’ into summer, but I wasn’t leaving behind winter like everyone else here was. In a feat of hemispheric genius, I was leaving behind summer in the States to arrive to another summer.

And while the cold isn’t my favorite, I’m quite enjoying transitioning with the rest of the city. I feel part of it. Plus, the opportunity to get cozy and homey and make soup is feeling right. Six months in a new country, a different language, a new barrio, a totally unfamiliar reality, and I’m ready to take a breather and dwell in the life I’ve built for myself here. Read the rest of this entry »

I woke up to learn that today is Poem in Your Pocket Day.  To mark the day, here’s the poem in my pocket:

* * *

“Creative action plays with the unknown.
But as the child fears the dark,
full of big dogs and mental monsters
formed from fantasies,

the adult child will be fearful too,
faced with the dark world of the unknown mind,
with vast concepts looking enormous
just beyond the front yard.

Peering out, he sees no parents
in the darkness of that land
where he has never been.

The unknown is uncontrolled,
no strategies exist that will enclose
the endless territory of the new.

Only trust in yourself and in this world
can carry you past the watchdogs of your fears
and out of the iron gates of the already-known.”

Arthur Deikman

I spent the weekend in what is often considered the southernmost town in the world: Ushuaia, Argentina (Antarctica is not habitable enough). Bound by mountains to the north and the Beagle Channel to the south, Ushuaia is the capital of Tierra del Fuego Province. Since the 1970s, the Argentine government has lured people to move to this wind blown, sub-polar town with tax incentives and higher than average wages. Now, it’s a young and growing tourist destination (pop. 50,000+). I met a lot of folks who seemed to be checking something off a bucket list, and/or coming or going from an excursion through Patagonia or to Antarctica. Who am I kidding, the reason I went down there was to get a $2 “Fin del Mundo” stamp in my passport. Nah, actually, the main reason I flew 3.5 hours south was to meet up with my old friend Andrew Duncan, after his trip through Antarctica. Tell us how you feel about that, Duncan.

Duncan being a lunatic daredevil and all (he went swimming in Antarctica), he decided to take us on a wild trek through the hills of Ushuaia. Somehow we ended up in a deforested zone filled with propane tanks and rabid dogs, including an angry pit bull that had to be fended off with a rock. I’m pretty sure no tourist had ever been there before. Luckily, a rainbow peeked its way through the clouds shortly thereafter, providing a moment of respite.

The next day, we awoke early (to snow! in summer!) to go on a trek and canoe trip in Tierra del Fuego National Park, which I would highly recommend. (Plug for these guys.) The landscape – austral, quiet, foggy, harsh – was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Really amazing.

Sigh. What a fun experience. I think I’ll sit in the window and contemplate the mountains …

We decided to take a walk after dinner, to digest the salty pizza and bottle of wine. Even though D and Kate were tired from a long day of travel from NYC to Santiago to Buenos Aires, they were up for a walk and eager to see the city I am calling home.

It seemed a quiet, uneventful Sunday night in that part of town. I carried our pizza leftovers in a plastic bag on my wrist and we shared stories and laughs, as best friends do. We weren’t ready to stop walking when we got to my street, so we decided to continue on for ice cream. The air was humid but cool and the sky was black, dotted with bright stars as it always seems to be in Buenos Aires.

As we neared the ice cream shop in Almagro, the faint beat of a drum sounded, so we walked towards it, curious. And then, with every step towards Avenida Corrientes, the drumming grew louder and more frenzied. The energy seemed to change and we sped up our pace.

Oh it’s Carnival, I remembered.

Read the rest of this entry »

February 1, 2012, Buenos Aires. Photo by Jocelyn Mandryk.

It’s the middle of summer here in Buenos Aires, and we seem to be situated under some sort of monster rainstorm system. I’m racking my brain trying to remember ever witnessing a storm as fierce as last night’s, but nothing comes to mind.

It started yesterday early evening. When I left home around 6:30 p.m. the sky looked ominous. Mid-way through my bus ride to Las Cañitas, torrential rain began to fall in thick sheets. I giggled as I recalled teaching an Argentine friend the phrase “It’s raining cats and dogs” last week. (The Argentine version is a bit uncouth.)

I hopped off the bus at my stop and ran towards cover, laughing with others who had run towards the same small space. In those 3 or 4 exposed seconds, I managed to get full-body soaked. From our [semi] dry spot, we watched the rain pour into the streets. The wind roared and thunder literally shook the windows. Within a half hour the rain hadn’t let up even a smidge and the street was completely flooded. Garbage bags began floating down the street. I could no longer see car tires. The water was rising fast, and people were drenched. Nonetheless, many well-dressed porteños continued along on their evening commute. On the other side of the street, a woman in high heels and a tight white skirt trudged through water up to her thighs. Yes, her thighs.

Apparently this happens a few times each year. The drainage system isn’t equipped to handle such fierce and heavy rain, and there are many flood zones in the city. I didn’t know it from my dry little space, but many stores and apartments were being flooded.

Tonight, after a perfectly sunny day, the same thing happened just as I was to go meet some friends for dinner. They texted to tell me they were still going to make it, so I grabbed my umbrella and headed to the street to hail a cab.

On the corner, a cabbie was dropping someone off, so I waved and asked if I could hop in. He quickly replied no, to which I cursed him under my breath and continued down the street, water up to my mid-calf. About 10 seconds later I saw him slow down and wait for me. It seemed he’d taken pity on me and decided not to be a jerk.

By some sort of freakish gift from the gods, a spanish version of Toni Braxton’s “Unbreak my Heart” was on the radio when I got in. I am not sure I’d heard that song since 7th grade, but I still knew Toni’s every word. Drunk off the chaos unleashed by mama nature and drowned out by the sounds of the storm, I began to hum the song in the back of the cab. The driver told me he loved the song, too, and turned up the volume.

Last week I published a piece in the New York Times about an international triathlon in La Paz, a pueblo in Entre Rios, Argentina. I hope you’ll read and enjoy the story. This being my first clip from a small town and from South America (and, thus, from a small town in South America), I’d like to jot down a bit about my reporting experience, which I found fascinating and, at times, hilarious.

Someone pointed out that a simple Google search for the piece yields dozens of stories about my story. This should begin to give you an idea of how important it was for the people of La Paz to have an international correspondent in their town. Large newspapers in Argentina rarely, if ever, venture to La Paz (in fact, most people in Buenos Aires I’ve talked to have not heard of La Paz); an international paper was completely unprecedented.

Read the rest of this entry »

Mail doesn’t seem to be such a big thing in Argentina. The postal service is privately owned and, by many accounts, unreliable. This seems to bother expats most. In Buenos Aires, international mail is picked up at an international office near the bus station. Sometimes, depending on its contents, it’s even held at the airport, 40 minutes away by taxi. A friend of mine had her debit card stolen, requested a new one from her US bank, and didn’t have it en mano for 3 months.

Important local mail will probably get to you. When I bought my health insurance in Buenos Aires (I promised I would, dad!), I was told my packet and insurance card would arrive in the mail on a specific day and that I was to be there all day to receive the package. If not, I might never receive it. It came, via a guy on a bicycle. It seems the important things around here get to you by bike, rollerblades, or moped. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a single distinguishable “mailman”on foot yet.

Last weekend I met a Buenos Aires native who got me thinking about the mail, and its enormity and efficiency in the states, where I come from. Eleven years ago, this woman, Alicia, fell in love with an American, Mike, and moved herself to Chicago to be with him. Mike had a big-wig job in logistics, so Alicia spent many of those first days alone in their house. Each day, mid-day, when the mail came, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The slot opened, and in poured a stream of letters and catalogs and magazines and coupon inserts.

Well, coming from Buenos Aires, Alicia never considered that mail could be useless. In fact, she truly believed every piece of that mail in the mail slot was important. So you know what she did in those first weeks? She read every single page of every single catalog she received! It took about an hour each day. She didn’t know why she was doing it, but she didn’t know not to. Finally, Mike realized what was happening and introduced her to the American concept of junk mail.

Year. yeaR. Y.E.A.R. YYYYYEEEEAAAARRRR. yEaR. ɹɐǝʎ. year.

What’s in one?

Well for starters, there was joy-learning-striving-ideas-graduations-sorrow-bravery-confusion-freedom-guilt-pleasure-smiles-tears-laughs-love-so much love-betrayal-loss-sleep-sickness-decisions-leaps-meditations-friendship-sleeplessness-song-goodbyes-hellos-teachings-discovery-softness-relaxation-sweetness-yearning-creativity-growth-realization-reunions-responsibility-movement-confusion-loneliness-beauty-happiness-belief-dreams.

Here I am on the other side. Bigger, stronger and more me.

Bad things happen in our crazy world. But dreams can come true. Blessed you were to me 2011. Bring it on….