Day 24: The International Run

School was again 6 hours of private lessons, since the mysterious "James" has not made an appearance, and I am the most "advanced" student currently at the school (!!!) so they will not transfer any students from a different group into mine. I have graduated to the Book 3b, which is exciting, as is all visible progress. I am doing a lot of reading, out loud, and my comprehension level is improving noticeably. This week's school outing is planned for the Museo de Bellas Artes, which is perfect for me. Marcelo, who organizes each outing, was thinking out loud this morning about where we should go, since most of the students are new, and so I suggested Bellas Artes. I also made contact with an indirect friend (a former exchange student to my school in Austin) who lives in northern Bs. As. and so I think that I will be going to a couple more interesting places this weekend. I feel like the more I experience the city, the more I realize how little of it to which I am exposed.

There has been a tragic subplot to the novel of my life here, that of the infamous package. Shortly after I arrived my Mom sent me a small package from the United States of some practical items. It took a long time to reach Argentina, and Buenos Aires, and when it finally came I was at school and Betty was at work. The cleaning lady was in the apartment, but she had forgotten my name, so she did not accept the package. The courier did not leave any sort of paper here, and since we do not have a phone line currently, I had been optimistically hoping the courier would try again. Well, I asked at the school what they thought the best plan-of-action would be (the issue being that my Mom did not automatically receive a tracking number since she did not need to insure the package), and I was directed to the Correo Internacional which is located essentially directly north of the school very close to the water.

So that I where I went this afternoon. It was about a 10 minute walk, I passed the Sheraton and in those 5 seconds was tired of hearing loud American tourists, and after crossing several hairy intersections (thank goodness I was taught the 'look right, then left, then right again' method so well as a child), I arrived at the building. I took my number and waited in line feeling like I was in that horrible dream where you forget to wear clothes to school because I was the only one in the line without my little paper and number. I did not have to wait long, and I was told rather abruptly that without a number my package was "perdido," lost. Feeling a bit less optimistic, my hope was restored when a nice lady waiting at the next counter pointed out that the USPS would have assigned the package a number, regardless of if the number was given to my Mother. So, I asked my Mom to look into the matter, and I can happily announce that, ladies and gentlemen, señoras y señores, I am the proud owner of a very nice and official-looking number. So, I can go tomorrow on what will, hopefully, be the final page of this package chapter without any severe plot twists.

In other news, I am in rather dire need of a haircut, but Betty is swearing by her hairdresser who only works a few days a week (because he is still on his summer vacation schedule) and so I think I will be continuing this lion's mane look for a day or so more.

Luke is still out, I have not seen him since this morning, I just finished my piece of apple pie and I now need to start/finish my homework because I have no hope that someone else in the class will be called upon to read the answers.

Chao.