Red yellow green

My week in Argentina was a definite cultural shift from life in Peru. Although this may not hold true for Argentina's outlying regions, Buenos Aires is a place where things work. Taxis have meters. Restaurants and bus companies have functioning websites. Lots of people (not just gringas) go running and exercise in the clean public parks. People wear stylish clothes that match and fit them well. 

Coming from rural Peru, all this was quite the change, and for a few days it all felt totally backward. The people I interacted most with each day spoke English, and expected me to respond in English - I had to catch myself and swallow the Spanish that comes more automatically now. I didn't have to haggle with cab drivers over fares - the meter decided for me. I took consistently hot showers that each had more water pressure than a month's worth of Cajabamba showers combined. I ate meat that didn't need to be grilled to well-done status to avoid bacteria, and drank actual wine - Peruvians think overly-sweetened dessert wine is normal, "good" wine. And in a city of light-skinned porteños of European descent, I was hardly ever stared at - I blended in, even when I went running. I'm not complaining about any of this - if anything I probably enjoyed myself a little too much - but the cultural shift was an interesting experience.

Buenos Aires traffic lights not only turn from green to yellow to red, but also the reverse - when it's almost time to go, the light will turn from red to yellow to green. And while I found this electric quirk to be amusing, it also seemed like a good metaphor for how I felt shifting back into a developed-country lifestyle: things just felt a little weird. 

But at the end of the week, Peru welcomed me back with open arms, and promptly reminded me that I was back in a place where things don't exactly work. Upon landing at the Lima airport, I waited expectantly at baggage claim to grab my backpack, take it through customs, and then re-check it to Cajamarca. Twenty minutes later, I was still waiting, and I was the only passenger left in the terminal. The LAN lady informed me that "de repente" they had lost my bag, and that no, they did not have any computerized information as to even the Argentina-versus-Peru status of the luggage. She proceeded to have me fill out the three different forms necessary to initiate a search for said bag. Half an hour later, as I'm finishing up my paperwork, her colleague comes over and says, "oh, maybe your bag is in Lima, but got sorted into the wrong pile. We will eventually look, and we'll let you know if we find it." In a pretty blue mood, I proceeded to thank the LAN employees for their rather unhelpful help, and headed upstairs and out of customs to console myself with a Starbucks latte and wireless internet. Not more than 30 minutes later, my cell phone rings. "Señorita Meghan, we have found your bag. Can you come downstairs and get it now?" Typical Peru. But it's still good to be "home."