Termina el mundial y el USA

So after getting residency on Friday (wahoo!), the next day was Argentina's last hurrah in the World Cup. They lost to Germany 0-4. It wasn't horribly embarrassing because Germany really has an incredible team. That night I flew out for the States, and even with the shutout, the security and immigration lines were still full of Argentine colors. The game was at 11 in the morning and I was in the airport at 8pm. There was plenty of time for everyone to change and move on with their lives.


But they didn't. More than a quarter of the travelers were sporting sky blue and white -- foreigners and argentines alike. I loved seeing that eight hours later, everyone was still proud to be wearing the national colors. It really brought home the billboards all over the city that said Gatorade, or Quilmes, or Gillette razors, or various other brands, "the unconditional sponsor" of the national selection, ie. the Argentine team.

Funnily, being one of these in an Argentina shirt meant that when I arrived in the US the next day for Fourth of July, I was still wearing sky blue and white, not red, white and blue.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before arriving in the USA, was of course the flight. And because of what I'm convinced was an internet fluke - we got to use our miles for a seat in business. Which meant fully-reclinable with my own giant tv. And all the booze I wanted. We all know those perks. But it also included other things I had never known where included. Like warmed nuts -- I thought that was just a joke from the 80s. Or classical music playing over the intercom before takeoff.

But again I got ahead of myself. The other cool part about business class, was access to the red carpet club in the terminal. I never knew what those were. I pictured them as men's smoking lounges with burgundy leather overstuffed chairs, with whiskey glasses and cigars.

While again there was unlimited free alcohol - why is this the chosen perk? Does it say something about the type of person who flies first class? - there were loads of comfy seating areas, it was really what the waiting area should be like. it was super super relaxing. lots of free munchies, and wifi. And it was quiet. really tranquil. With everyone on their iPads or whatever touch-screen device they had purchased.

Then back on the plane, I ended up sitting next to a Stanford professor who was a hoot. He always flies first class or business, which Stanford pays for, as he goes around the world giving talks to doctors about public health and diseases.

The evening was full of unforgettable moments. He explained that after 8 days of Argentina, he couldn't drink the crap wine of Business class, and asked (repeatedly) to have the wine from 1st class. He also told me he had had "that salmon in that yellow sauce" so many times, he always packs his own. And this time, the dinner he packed was a doogie bag from La Cabrera, supposedly one of the best argentine steakhouses. Everyone has heard of it. Most people I know have never been because we (I'm included) can't afford it. He pulled out a plastic bag from the overhead storage with a filet mignon and skirt steak that he then shared with me because he couldn't take it into the country because of customs - so we had to eat it all. We ate it cold because he said that if we asked them to heat it up they would run it. He also explained about the difficulty of getting a medium rare steak in Argentina, that all Argentine steak is overcooked because you can. If you cooked american beef that much you wouldn't be able to cut it, where as in Argentina the beef stays tender no matter what you do to it. He said "pork has bacteria, chicken has bacteria, beef does NOT have bacteria." It was a great night full of memorable moments like these, and we had so much fun chatting that the flight attendant came over and said someone complained that "we were making more noise than a bunch of hooligans at a bar mitzah". Unique words.

I have now eaten La Cabrera steak, but it was with an Indian Stanford medical professor, cold and from a plastic bag, on a plane far from Argentina. And it was delicious.

I am a resident. I have rights.

Last week was, undoubtedly, one of the most nerve-wrecking periods of my life. My interest in migration issues became a personal reality when I was told, because of my irregular status (i.e. still living in Argentina without anything more than a tourist visa, although I've been studying there for the last year and working for several months) that I would likely no longer have reliable employment -- at best I could get sporadically paid for services, but nothing like my salary, at worst I would have no income-- when I came back to Argentina at the end of July.

Without going into minutia, my employers no longer wanted to take the legal risks of having me on the payroll and they were very disinclined to allow me to keep working in any form if it wasn't with the migrant workers visa. For various reasons, including the snail pace of getting necessary documents from the US, and the requisite of having to go back to the US to get said visa (because I wasn't supposed to be already working in Argentina), well, I was explained that for the next half-year I was too big of a risk.


The stress level of the idea of unemployment in a foreign country is hard to describe.
It is not like being unemployed in the U.S. My networks and connections are smaller here, and anyone who might want to employ me would have to assume the same risks -- making it difficult to find any job of sufficient pay. And I can't just go move back into my parent's house. I also have an apartment lease til January that would be impossible to afford if not for my very well paying job (by Argentine standards for a 22yr old). This last semester I took "Sociology of International Migrations" at the University of Buenos Aires where I learned -- despite what most might think -- that most domestic servants, the single foreign women who live in homes as nannies and cooks and cleaning ladies, in Argentina and Chile (and other countries for sure) --- have completed their high school education and a significant number have some university education.

And at that moment, with my boss and coworker at an Argentina café, where we discussed this new uncertainty, I understood why immigrants are almost always overqualified for the jobs they end up taking. Because the jobs they deserve they can't easily access -- because of sociocultural reasons, like language issues for example, but because differences are hardened by immigration policy. I understood the benefits of being the live-in hired help: the security of the position and the ease of entrance into the field.

Regardless of the uncertainty of my job future on Monday, I still had my appointment with Immigrations on Friday. And even if I didn't know what for, it made sense to get the student visa I had been planning on, because I had done all the work to get the necessary papers, and get those necessary papers translated, notarized, authenticated and legalized. Even if the process for temporary residency as a student was begun because of my employer's desire to have me legal status somewhat regularized, I owed it to myself to get the visa, even if I wasn't going to have the job that made me get it in the first place.

So Friday comes, with the week full of concerns over whether my birth certificate was going to be accepted or not, or whether i needed this stapled to this and not that, or if I needed a certificado de domicilio or not, because nothing was ever written out clearly in writing, and everyone had a different answer. Partially because that's the way Argentina is, and partially because I am not Immigrations main customer. Migrants from non-MERCOSUR countries probably make up less than 20% of those trying to get residency, of which I would guess 90% come from Asian countries (specifically Japan, China and Korea). Americans are not a common sight.

Somehow, the clouds open up, some higher force shines on me, and after over 5 months of work, I get a visa.

I AM A RESIDENT OF ARGENTINA.

And it's turning out to be a much bigger deal for me than I thought. I figured, hey, I'll go Friday and get the visa because I've already done all the work. might as well. I saw its benefits in not having to go to Uruguay every 90 days to renew my visa, and being able to get Argentine-discounted fares on the national airline (which means I might finally be able to afford going to Tierra del Fuego). And that was that. no other real reason I thought.

But then, the next day a the airport to come back to the US for a couple of weeks on vacay, I had to fill out my immigration form to leave Argentina and it hit me really how big of a deal the little change was. Immigration cards only ask you two questions: nationality (still American of course) and country of residence. And somehow then it clicked, that my country of residence was no longer the United States. Yes I had been living in Argentina for the last year, I already knew I had gained Buenos Aires as my home, but then i realized --- as I thought about how I would have to also mark Argentina on my U.S. immigration forms when I arrived the next morning --- I had lost the US as my country of residence. It felt real.

No it doesn't really change all that much. But I have the urge to run up and down the streets, screaming that I am a resident. That I have rights. I have these strange fantasies of something happening to me - some robbery or some infraction -- and being able to contest that these injustices cannot stand (in dramatic hollywood jury trial fashion) that I am an Argentine resident, that I have rights.