Moving Day

After months of careful planning, preparation and packing, moving day finally arrived!

My friends Chris and Tony are taking a leap of faith as they, along with their three children, move to Neuquén, Argentina to embark upon a new life as missionaries. Chris has chronicled the family's preparations on her blog In Patagonia, and now, all that's left for them to do is say their goodbyes—by far one of the most difficult parts of any move.

So, why am I regaling you all with the story of my friends' international move? Well, it turns out that I have something of a stake in the shipping container they're sending down to Argentina. Chris and Tony very generously allowed me to load up a few boxes of clothing and housewares that had been in storage at my dad's house for the last two and a half years. When I moved to Argentina, I arrived with just four suitcases, as shipping my belongings in a container proved prohibitively expensive, so I feel blessed to have this opportunity to send along a few things together with Chris and Tony's household goods.

The container's long voyage from the U.S. to Argentina has already begun, so now it's just a matter of waiting for it to arrive at the port in Buenos Aires, where the contents must be inspected and cleared by customs. From there, my boxes will be loaded onto a moving truck bound for Necochea!

I owe a huge debt of gratitude not only to Chris and Tony but also to my dad and his wife, as they very carefully repacked my belongings and hauled them to Chris and Tony's house on moving day. Thank you, everyone, for your help!

I wish Chris, Tony and their children all the best in this exciting and challenging phase of their lives. Godspeed!

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The Fate of Suitcase No. 4

As I mentioned here, suitcase #4 never made it onto the plane in Lima, leaving me to wonder about the fate of such items as my favorite DVDs, a bottle of chili powder, and a brand new pair of jeans. Although the bag did not arrive on Monday afternoon as originally promised, I did receive it by courier bright and early the very next day. I'm happy to report that the suitcase arrived with all of the items completely intact; I wish I could say the same for the contents of the other bags.

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Although suitcase #4 had not yet materialized, on Monday I began the task of unpacking suitcases #1, #2 and #3. I pride myself on being a rather good packer, and I managed to fit quite a bit into those three bags. Daniel watched in amazement as item after item emerged from the depths of my luggage as though it were Mary Poppins' bottomless carpetbag. Bag #1 made it through the rigors of international travel unscathed, and Bag #2 contained just one broken item that was no great loss. But when I unzipped Bag #3 and I heard broken ceramic rattling around, I knew that I was about to be a very unhappy camper.

Bag #3 was the suitcase that was originally supposed to be a carry-on until the agent made me check it [read here]. This small suitcase contained all of the most fragile items that I had brought with me, and many of them hold a great deal of sentimental value for me. Upon opening the bag, I could see that the contents had shifted quite a bit. I slowly unwrapped my various trinkets, searching for the source of the tiny pieces of pottery that littered the bag. The first casualty was a small hand-painted plate that I had brought back from Spain, and the second was a beautiful piece of antique redware pottery that I had bought when I first graduated from college.

Operating on very little sleep and with a wealth of emotions already swirling around inside of me, I felt an anger well up inside of me that manifested itself as tears and statements hurled at the broken shards in front of me. "I paid $150 for this?! Look how they treated my luggage!" Poor Daniel and his aunt did their best to console me, but at that moment all of the stress of the past few days was being directed at that suitcase, and no amount of soothing words could have made me feel better.

The next morning, after a full night's rest, a bit of perspective and bag #4 in hand, I felt tremendously better. Let's face it: moving sucks, whether it be down the street or 5,500 miles away. At least I made it to Argentina in one piece, even if all my possessions didn't.

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The Odyssey, Part II

After a round of hugs and much jubilation, I paused for a moment and asked, "Where's Tomás?" Daniel and Hilda explained that he was waiting out in the car, listening to a soccer game on the radio. As we made our way out to the parking lot, I began to recount the story of the turbulence, the luggage, etc. Upon leaving the terminal we were met with heavy rain, and we decided to wait under an overhang rather than soak ourselves and the luggage. Daniel turned to me and said, "You know, we had our own adventure on the way here."

The very same storm that had buffeted the plane during landing had also plagued Hilda, Daniel and Tomás as they made their way to the airport to pick me up. As strong rains began to pelt the car, Tomás naturally turned on the windshield wipers, but after just a few minutes the wiper blades fell out of synch and crossed over each other, rendering Tomás virtually unable to drive the car for lack of visibility. Keep in mind that Argentina has been suffering from one of the worst droughts in years, and it just so happened that the heavens opened up the day I arrived.

The trio was passing through the countryside with nowhere to stop to fix the wipers, but finally they happened upon a small store where they purchased a screwdriver to deal with the problem. Tomás joked that they must have bought a toy version because after about three turns of the screwdriver, it broke. Fortunately the storm had let up and they were able to continue to the airport without problems, but Tomás was quite concerned about the return trip home if the storm should kick up again, as the wiper issue continued unresolved.

So there we were beneath the awning, watching as the rain came pouring down, and I momentarily regretted my decision to leave my umbrella back in Philadelphia. After 15 minutes or so the storm abated somewhat, and we decided to make a break for the car. With luggage in tow (minus bag #4, of course), we found the car and started loading up the suitcases.

We left the airport with nothing but a light drizzle falling, but our luck soon gave way as we were faced with a torrent of rain (and an additional torrent of curse words issuing from the frustrated Tomás). We drove along in a scene that must have resembled a 90-year-old trying to negotiate the traffic on the Schuylkill Expressway, complete with cars whizzing past and lots of honking. Tomás searched in vain for a spot where we could pull over, but with no shoulder in sight, we continued along at a snail's pace – to the great irritation of other drivers – praying that the rain would let up.

The rain finally slowed to the point where it was nothing but a minor nuisance, and eventually it stopped altogether. Now we were moving along at a decent clip, and we were confident that we would make it home around 2:30am or so. We passed the time talking, taking a nap (ok, just me) and having an in-car picnic of medialunas (sweet croissants) and piping hot coffee from a thermos.

Now we were very close to home and just about to pass through the town of Pieres (don't blink or you'll miss it), when we were pulled over at a police checkpoint. I am convinced that at 2am the police out in the country have nothing better to do, and they like to pull a little power trip to make themselves feel important. They asked Tomás for his driver's license, proof of insurance, blah, blah, blah, and proceeded to nitpick over something they didn't like with the insurance documentation. The officer's supervisor comes over and says, "You know, I could impound your vehicle if I wanted to but I will let you go." Seriously?! I thought Hilda, one of the sweetest people I know, was going to blow a gasket. Twenty-five minutes later with everyone's blood pressure at least twenty-five points higher, we drove the final stretch to Necochea.

We finally pulled into the driveway at about 3am, and I trudged into the kitchen where I was met by the bleary-eyed Cocoa and Ziggy (they had made the trip down in October). A few minutes later I slid into bed and fell fast asleep, exhausted after about 34 hours of travel.

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The Odyssey, Part I

When last I left you, dear reader, I was happily typing away in the clean, shiny and bright Jorge Chávez International Airport in Lima, Peru. As the hour of my flight drew closer, I decided to grab a snack before heading to the gate. The irony of paying $2 USD for a handful of Snyder's of Hanover pretzels and $2.50 for a small Coke did not escape me (I think airports worldwide have perfected the art of ripping off passengers).

After exploring the offerings at the duty free shop to kill just a bit more time, I finally made my way down to the gate. I happened to sit down next to a young woman from California who had quit her job as a teacher to travel around South America. She told me she had only gotten as far as Colombia when she found herself madly in love with a man there, and she admitted that she hadn't seen much of South America since. Determined to explore a bit more of the continent, she was now on her way to La Paz, Bolivia. We easily made conversation as we awaited our respective flights, and finally I heard the boarding call for my flight to Buenos Aires.

After being herded onto the plane, I wedged myself into the middle seat between two Argentines, one being a rather disagreeable young man and the other a pleasant young woman. I passed the time reading, watching the in-flight entertainment, chatting with my seatmate and attempting to eat horrible airline food. There was really nothing remarkable about this flight until it came time for the landing.

As we approached Ezeiza, sheets of rain began pouring off the windows and gusts of wind caused the aircraft to shudder tremendously. I have flown many times, and I had never experienced such turbulence before, especially being so close to the ground! Several times the airplane dipped in such a startling manner that many of the female passengers screamed in fright (that really didn't help my nerves). The captain announced that he was going to circle the airport and attempt another approach. Thankfully, the second time around was fairly smooth, and the passengers broke out in applause when we landed.

We now fast forward to the wait at the baggage carousel. The baggage, dampened by the whipping rain, began parading past on the conveyor belt. Out popped bag #1 after just a couple of minutes. A few minutes later, bags #2 and #3 followed suit. Just one more and I'm out of here, I thought to myself. I waited patiently as suitcase after suitcase filed past me. Finally the conveyor belt came to a halt. Dejected, I realized that my largest bag would probably not be going home with me – at least not today – and I trudged over to the counter to speak with an airline employee about my missing luggage.

The man was very kind and apologetic, and he assured me that my missing suitcase would be delivered to me in Necochea. He explained that it probably didn't make it onto my flight from Lima, but that another flight would arrive the next day at 6am and I should have my bag by that very same evening.

With just one obstacle left – customs – I pressed on, excited to see Daniel, his mom Hilda, and his stepdad Tomás. Legitimately, I had nothing to declare at customs, but I prayed that I would not be stopped by the customs officer. I was tired and I just wanted to go home. After all, I still had a five-hour car ride ahead of me. As I rolled up to customs, I flashed a smile at the customs agent (this never hurts) and I said hello. Eyeing up my cart full of luggage, he asked me if I was traveling alone (uh oh). He then proceeded to ask me a string of questions about where I had come from and my nationality. He obviously had me pegged as Argentine because he was surprised when I responded that I am American. "Hablás bien el castellano...pasá, pasá." ["You speak Spanish well. Go ahead, go on through."] With a wave of the customs officer's hand, I passed through customs unscathed and through the sliding doors to meet the smiling faces of Daniel and Hilda.

But where was Tomás?

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It's Time for a Small Rant

Over the past few months, my move to Argentina has invariably surfaced as a topic of conversation at family get-togethers, parties and the like. It doesn't take long before I'm asked, "Why are you moving there?" spoken with a level of disdain usually reserved for those moving somewhere like Bismarck, North Dakota. (My apologies to anyone from Bismarck. I'm sure it's a fine city.) While the response to the move has been generally positive and supportive, I've had to grin and bear both "advice" and criticism from some family members and acquaintances.

I don't expect everyone to agree with or understand my decision to live in Argentina. So you think I'm an idiot for leaving the U.S.? Fine - you're entitled to your opinion, but you should either a) keep it to yourself or b) have a sound argument to back it up. It really gets under my skin when people question my choices or comment negatively when in fact they know very little (or nothing) about Argentina, its culture, the people, or my motivations for moving there. I know I shouldn't let this sort of thing bother me, but I hate having to defend myself and the choices I've made.

It seems to me that if someone barely knows that Argentina is located in the southern hemisphere, thinks that Portuguese is the country's official language, or just met me five minutes beforehand (as in the case of one "advisor" at a party), then that person has little right to launch negative criticism at me. I'm certainly not an expert on Argentina, but I have traveled there four times and lived there for a four-month stretch. I've also had lengthy conversations with my Argentine boyfriend and his family about the realities of living in Argentina. I am not going into this blindly, so why am I being subjected to advice given in such a manner?

I stumbled upon this blog entry from Yanqui Mike, and I feel that his post is the perfect complement to mine. I would love to whip out a copy of his blog post the next time someone starts down that no-good path with me...but I'll refrain. Maybe.

Thank you to all of you who have been supportive and given me true, heartfelt advice. That will always be appreciated and welcomed. Read More......

Argentina, Here I Come!

The date practically leapt off the printed confirmation page that I clutched eagerly: Saturday, February 28, 2009. I felt a flood of excitement and a tinge of anxiety as the realization set in that in less than three months, I will be moving to Argentina. I know that the time will simultaneously drag on and pass by in a heartbeat. Let the new countdown commence!

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I took advantage of a great fare through LAN thanks to this post on Argentina's Travel Guide.
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Letting Go

"We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us." – Joseph Campbell

As I packed the last of my belongings into cardboard boxes this evening, my thoughts turned to the first day I walked through the barn-red front door of my 100-year-old home. Each footstep on the old, hardwood floors creaked and echoed through the empty house. As I climbed the stairs, I thought of all the hands that had run over the smooth wood of the banister. I surveyed my backyard through the large windows in my bedroom, marveling at the massive oak tree swaying ever so slightly in the wind. As I descended the staircase, my eyes fell upon boxes—identical to those I was now in the midst of filling—strewn about the living room, each laden with items awaiting their place in the new surroundings. I felt enormous pride that day; I had fulfilled a goal in the life I had planned for myself.

Now I stand in the threshold of a different doorway—a doorway that leads to a path that I had never imagined even in my wildest dreams. Tomorrow morning I will close the barn-red door one last time, and I will go to live in my father's home until it is time for me to move to Argentina. Tomorrow I take another step towards the life that awaits me.

P.S. A ladybug just landed on the floor next to me. She literally appeared out of nowhere! I'll take that as a good sign.

[Photo credit: deadmethods]

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Material Girl

"Love is a force more formidable than any other. It cannot be seen or measured, yet it is powerful enough to transform you in a moment, and offer you more joy than any material possession could." - Barbara De Angelis

When I made the decision to move to Argentina, I did so for the love of a man, not for the love of my shoe collection, my iPod or my library of books. As I prepare to leave for Necochea, I am slowly divesting myself of most of my belongings. I have sold virtually all of my furniture through craigslist, and last week I wheeled and dealed with buyers to sell a tableful of trinkets at a friend's garage sale.

I have gradually whittled away ten years of accumulated possessions to a few boxes' worth of items. In some ways it has been cathartic to rid myself of excess baggage, but despite that inner voice that says, "It's just stuff," at times it has been hard to part with my material possessions. Aside from the emotional attachment that some items hold, it has been a little difficult to separate myself from the notion that the amount of stuff we have is an indicator of our success in life and who we are. I suppose that feeling is natural though, considering the keeping-up-with-the-Joneses attitude and the messages of materialism that are pervasive in American society. Above all, getting rid of most of my possessions brings home the fact that I really am starting anew, and that fact is a little scary. But hey, who ever said self-reflection was easy?

My new home in Argentina might be a bit more spartan than I'm accustomed to, but my heart is fuller than it has been in a long time.

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Don't Leave Fido or Fluffy at Home: Traveling with Pets to Argentina

Moving to Argentina does not mean that you have to leave behind your pets! Fortunately, traveling with pets to Argentina isn't as difficult as you might imagine. Of course, there are some hoops to jump through.

First, you must make arrangements for your pet to accompany you onboard the aircraft. Some airlines will allow you to travel with your pet in the cabin but others do not, e.g. American Airlines. My two cats rode in steerage with the luggage, and they made it just fine. American Airlines charges a fee of $150 per animal [one way] – check with your particular carrier for rules and fees. Click here for a partial list of carriers and links to their policies about shipping pets (scroll to the bottom of the page).

Be advised that the airlines do not allow pets to travel in the belly of the plane if the temperature is forecast to exceed 85ºF at any point on the itinerary; if so, the animals will be denied boarding. Even traveling in October as I did, temperatures topping out at 85º+ F were a concern in Houston, Atlanta and Miami (layover options when leaving from Philadelphia), so I decided the best option to ensure that my furry friends would be accompanying me was to book a non-stop flight from New York City to Buenos Aires. I couldn't chance it that the cats would be denied boarding since the cost to send them as "cargo" on a separate flight would have been about $675 for the two of them (gulp!).

Next, let's take a look at the requirements and paperwork necessary to bring your pet along for the ride. The complete, official pet admission guidelines for Argentina can be found here at the SENASA website; the following is a summary of the requirements.

Fortunately, there is no quarantine for cats and dogs entering Argentina (under normal circumstances – in other words – for animals in good health and with proper documentation). Documentation about the health of your pet is provided by means of the International Health Certificate. This document should be obtained from your veterinarian (check with your vet to make sure that he/she is certified by the USDA - APHIS [United States Department of Agriculture - Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service] to issue this certificate).

In addition to the International Health Certificate, you must provide evidence that your pet has been vaccinated against rabies. If your pet is over 90 days old, he/she must have had the rabies vaccine less than one year prior to the date of entry in Argentina but no less than 30 days before the date of entry into Argentina.

Once your veterinarian has completed the International Health Certificate, the form must be sent along with the rabies vaccination record to the USDA - APHIS office in your state capital for endorsement. The catch is that the vet exam/issuance of the International Health Certificate and USDA endorsement must all be completed no more than 10 days prior to entry into Argentina, so careful planning is required to ensure that all documentation is finalized before your departure. Most likely you will have to express mail the documents or personally present them in the USDA - APHIS office in order to complete all of the documentation in a timely manner; time is of the essence!

In addition, it is recommended that the documents be apostilled and translated into Spanish. In my personal experience, I found that the apostille alone was sufficient. I obtained the apostille from the Department of State office in my state capital. Once you have cut through all of this bureaucratic red tape, you are ready to travel with your pet!

Upon arrival at the airport in Buenos Aires, you will pick up your pets in the baggage area if they didn't travel in the cabin, and you will be directed to meet with a SENASA (the Argentine version of the USDA) official who will review your documentation. After paying a small fee, you're free to begin your adventure in Argentina with your pets!

If all of this just sounds too complicated, there is the alternative proposed by the satirical news source The Onion: "Before leaving home, take your pets to local humane society and have them put to sleep; get new pets when you come back." :p

Additional helpful links about travel with pets:
Argentina.gov website - Admission of Pets into Argentina
IATA (International Air Transport Association) - Recommendations for shipping a cat or dog

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