Culture Shock

Nicky graduated from high school today. Although I was grumpy about coming home, I'm really happy I did. I'm not sure when, exactly, I lost my status as family smart-kid to him, but he totally deserves it, and I'm really proud of him. Also, the family dinner tonight was in itself worth both legs of the 24-hour trip. My mom coined the term "slut-worm," which — if it doesn't become a standard insult — will at least go down in history as making Nicky laugh so hard he cried for the first time in years.

Being back in the United States is strange, if only because everything feels very routine. When I first got off the airplane I was totally overwhelmed by how big and loud everything was — people, colors, food portions. I went to Starbucks during my layover and started laughing out loud at the croissants in the pastry case, easily as big as four medialunas. Of course, that was in Texas, where everything is bigger than in the rest of the US anyway. After the initial shock, I've found it pretty easy to get used to being back.

In the airport, I couldn't get over how dowdy everyone looked in their sweatpants and matching mission t-shirts. But having been here for a couple of days now, I think that was because I was in an airport in Texas, not because Americans as a whole dress badly. The San Francisco hippie-chic rich kids at Nicky's graduation definitely don't — I had major celos of a lot of the dresses on Nicky's classmates. And there are a lot fewer mullets.

The one really weird moment was when Mom and I went to the Mission to get pre-made empanada dough. While we were eating lunch, in a Peruvian-Colombian hole in the wall, a woman holding a case of religious-themed bracelets and rosaries came in and started going from table to table selling them. It was so Argentine, or at least Latin American, and when she spoke to me in English I couldn't figure out what was going on.

Then, after lunch, we went to get the empanada dough at an Italian market called Lucca's. I had found it on the Internet by typing pre-made empanada dough" into Google, and even though the store that came up was clearly Italian, I figured it probably sold empanada ingredients just because it was in the Mission. It wasn't until we got there and discovered the aisle with six different brands of mate and three of dulce de leche that I realized it was actually Italian by way of Argentina. If it's possible to get nostalgic for a place you've only been away from for two days, then the sight of all the varieties of yerba and the alfajores de maicena definitely did it for me.

In any case, I'm glad to be going back to Argentina soon. The one thing I can say for sure is that, culture shock or not, this visit has made me sure I'm not ready for the semester to be over yet.