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I have always thought culture shock would be abrupt, obvious, and easily diagnosable. For me, it is the opposite. The second week of me being in Buenos Aires, I began to get overly irritated at the small (and large) differences in the Spanish and random quirks of Porteños (Buenos Aires Argentinos). It hit me as I was cooking pasta for the week's lunches at work and read the bag of 'chocla.' It hit me as I perused a menu looking at smoothies and it said ‘anána’ instead of piña. It hit me as I continually struggled to understand what my supervisor was saying to me amidst a ‘sh’ sound that lingered for the following five words. It hit me as I, partially lactose intolerant, stared at a bag of milk thinking: WHO PUTS MILK IN A BAG?!
The irritation I encountered in these experiences would linger as I would continually grumble in the back of my mind about the ‘stupid changes’ or ‘abnormal packaging.' Obviously, I was the one who was outside of the norm here. I am now. But, in my perception, they were the odd ones- not me. The revelation that this might be on some level my reaction was due to culture shock had not yet hit me, but it was coming. This past week I thought I was doing okay, understanding all the ‘sh’ was still hard but I felt more comfortable with the city. I had, as I found out talking to some friends at the iglesia La Luz del Mundo, explored almost half of the city’s attractions in a week and a half, and was now incredibly more comfortable with public transportation and some parts of the Buenos Aires. However- not with everything. At Aves Argentinas, I felt pressure to understand science terms and learn bird species in a language that my science had never been in before. I was excited to do this, but I noticed myself feeling continually stuck. I wasn’t getting past the 'rookie' feeling. I felt like I was stupid. I knew nothing and then sometimes I was not entirely sure what my coworkers said to me. All of the other members of the volunteer environmental education team always carried out incredibly interesting conversation…. that I had yet to really participate in because I couldn’t express my entire thought well using broken Spanish-insert-science-or-other-term-here. I was feeling alone.
My favorite parts of the days of last week became sleeping or just lying in bed not really doing anything. I would come home from work, have my usual nightly routine, and the next morning plan to get up and do something before having to work tomorrow, and decide to sleep anyway. I am usually rather active. I like to do things. Think, work, walk, dance, talk, read, be involved, you name it. But yet, I am an introvert. Thus, my alone time is important. Usually I combine it with my quiet time when I read my Bible and pray and that is all I need for the day. But for some reason, I was needing more space… WAY more than usual. And I just felt perpetually tired. It was annoying. So here I was, annoyed with my lack of ‘getting it’ and not being able to jump to the ease of knowing all the information I need to know while being annoyed that I was so perpetually tired and sick of doing anything. Honestly, I just wanted to go back to Muncie, Indiana and cuddle with my friends and hug. But instead, I felt inept.
As you can see, the moment for me to realize that I was, in fact, experiencing culture shock was brewing. And it hit. Thursday evening of last week, I was navigating my way to a presentation over ‘Project Re-Wilding Íbera’ by myself, using the directions Mery (my supervisor but also coworker) gave me. I, despite it supposedly being easy to find, could not for the life of me find the bus stop for Línea 60. I was tired, frustrated, and feeling lonely. Eventually, I found it. During the bus ride, I was hyper anxious about getting off at the correct stop and my phone was NOT cooperating. But, I made it. Only to realize…. I was lost in downtown Buenos Aires. Huge buildings, nighttime, lots of people getting off work in suits and dresses, and insert me looking lost walking up and down the street looking for building 882. Totally out of my element. The nice ladies I did ask had no idea where Estudio Marval was. Great. At that moment I was ready to just give up, go home, eat some mint chocolate chip ice-cream (which they don’t really have here), and curl up in a ball. Honestly, I was near tears. I was fed up with everything. I was done. Cooked. Finished. Salty.
That was when I asked one more person. And, praise God, she knew exactly the building I needed. Then I was so thankful I wanted to cry in relief. I am a mess. I know. On the walk over there, and the bus ride home, I contemplated why I had felt so distressed. And it hit me: culture shock. I wasn't just being ridiculously frustrated with change, I was in the less exciting part of adjusting. At that moment, a weight lifted off of my shoulders and I felt okay with my own frustrations. No longer was I frustrated with me for being frustrated, I knew my feelings were valid and explainable. I wasn’t being ridiculous. And somehow, Friday was easier to get through.