Sensory Summary: Day 69

Sight:
Light purple Jacaranda tree flowers strewn over the ground everywhere, lending a soft, beautiful, fairyland-like feel to the city. The occasional stunningly architectured building that proudly shows its age. The interior of the houses of many new friends--particular favorite view is from the dinnertable all together. School children on their way home from classes, still in their uniforms. The now-familiar Kioscos on every corner. Street signs. The Obelisco. The open doors of La Misión. The sidewalk bricks, even the broken ones that keep themselves well disguised and could either trip or soak your feet depending on recent weather patterns. The office building, and the view of the estuary/river from my desk. Faces of friends. Powerpoint slides of worship songs in Spanish--rather, the light of said powerpoint's projector as it shines into your eyes as you are up front singing with the worship team. Little green dots next to friends' names that signify I currently have the opportunity to virtually speak to them. The smiles of your friends when they realize your Spanish proficiency is finally letting you understand the (hilarious/occasionally naughty) double-meanings in their sentences or your very own. The little bit of red nail polish that remains on my toes from before I left, because I am too cheap to buy polish remover for one time, and can't bring myself to take [this remnant of home] off when I am at the house of any friend undoubtedly willing to spare a bit. The faces of my family over an especially impressive video chat tonight.

Smell:
Flower stands every other block (walking extra slowly to catch a whiff every time I pass one). Marijuana's decidedly peppery tone, along with some sickeningly sweet odors--in a word, nauseating. The laundry detergent they use at my laundromat (where they know my name now). The smell of hot, people-filled air in the subway. Globant's 9th floor office's excellent choice of air freshener. Bakeries. Empanadas. Pizza. Coffee.

Touch:
Caresses from friends, greeting kisses and embraces, prayer hugs. Babies in my arms. Strong Argentine/Southern Hemisphere sun on my gleaming white skin. The feel of my backpack worn across my front, which means I'm in the subway being wise, headed someplace marvelous. The awful, ancient keyboard of the chunky little Argentine cell phone that helps me share wonderful experiences with friends. My comfy bed. Taking my shoes off at the end of a long day on my feet. Sitting in a swivel chair at work, or the hammock chair for lunch hour. The hands of little children of the villa in mine. My fingers on the guitar strings, adding music to my singing.

Sound:
Always buses or garbage trucks somewhere. A child complaining or wailing. Dogs. Sirens. Punchi punchi music; translated essentially as clubbing-worthy music with a beat (punchi punchi = onomatopoeia). Motorcycles. Arguments. The sound the broken sidewalk bricks make. The (now memorized) rotation of commercials in the subway stations as I await trains--I can identify the product without seeing the TVs now. Sermons all in Spanish that I fully understand. Laughter. The sound my skates make when I use them right, the way F taught me. The sound the apartment ground floor door makes when I close it at the end of a good night with friends. The ringtone of a colleague's cell phone that reminds me of Maddi (Hey Soul Sister).

Taste:
Dulce de leche. Alfajor ice creams. Alfajors. Milanesa de pollo. Fruit salad. Coffee. Fruit juice and smoothies. Fresh bread, the baguette variety of which has the price of $1 for a family-size quantity. Empanadas. Sandwiches. Tartas (quiches, more or less). Birthday cakes. Yerba mate.