I am requesting all of you to indulge me in a moment of exuberant self-importance…I got an email from the editor of the book in which my submission (see first blog entry) will be published. We have officially received endorsement from the one and only Greg Mortenson!! THE AUTHOR OF ONE OF MY FAVORITE BOOKS HAS READ MY WRITING!!! The endorsement is as follows:
“The extraordinary nurses’ stories in Caring Beyond Borders have the power to ignite a movement of international volunteerism. As a nurse, this book reinforces what I already know: wealthier and more technologically advanced countries have a responsibility to help the undeveloped ones, not only through a sense of charity, but in order to promote permanent peace and security. With its insightful glimpses into universal health concerns, this collection incites reflection, examination, and hope.”
—Greg Mortenson, author of Three Cups of Tea
The story I will share today is from my recent spur-of-the-moment escape to Argentina. When I was unable to find employment (and unable to say I tried very hard) for September following my 2 months of summer vacation post-Saudi, I decided that it was time to go down south. WAY down south. I wanted to stand on the tip of the world. I wanted to see if Patagonia was all it was cracked up to be. I booked my ticket, and was on my way 6 days later.
I started out in Ushuaia which is the southernmost city in the world. The community of about 60, 000 in Tierra Del Fuego (literally “Land of the Fire) is nestled cozily into the side of the mountains and flanked by the Beagle Channel which is the gateway for expeditions to Antarctica.
Perhaps one of the most marked traditions in Argentina is the preparing and consumption of the green, earthy tea “yerba mate”. Mate is consumed from small, mug-sized dried and hollowed gourds (also called “mates”). Dry tea is placed in the mate and hot water poured over top. The tea is sipped through a long filtered metal straw (the “bombilla”). It is a very social ritual as each time the mate is refilled with hot water (the tea is kept for multiple uses), it is passed on to present friends/family to drink the next round. This is a custom that transcends all social classes and the Argentine people are ubiquitously seen at all hours of the day toting thermoses of hot water to replenish their mate.
After 5 super fun and adventure-filled days in Ushuaia, I was set to fly out that afternoon. I thought that some yerba mate tea would make a great gift for a few of my friends, so while I was at the grocery store, I picked up three 1kg packs of organic tea. I tucked these into my backpack and set off to the airport to catch my flight out of Ushuaia to Patagonia.
Due to extenuating circumstances (I will avoid the lengthy explanation at present, even though it would add even further ridicule to the antics which follow…) post check-in, I had to make a very rushed, semi-emergency trip back into town. Luckily, I made it back to the airport with minutes to spare – I pushed some cash at the cabbie and flew towards the front doors of the airport. Five steps into my frenzied rush, the automatic doors of the airport swooshed open, and I was face to face with 4 security guards, a disconcertingly large German Shephard, and a rather distraught airline attendant. I changed my whirlwind trajectory to curve around side of a guard with a unibrow so heavy, it appeared he had been on the loosing end of a battle with a glue gun and an extra wide strip of black Velcro. I was surprised and slightly annoyed when he stepped into my path…”Fio-NA Mac-lee-OOD??” In a flash decision, I evaluated the circumstances and concluded now was not the time to discuss proper Scottish pronunciation of my name.
**left eyebrow lifts** ”…si?”
The airline attendant managed to sputter that there was a problem, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by Velcro-Man and his cronies as I was escorted to a small back room. The room had nothing in it except a wooden table, and on top of it, my backpack lying like a corpse on an autopsy gurney. I was herded over to the table.
“Open it.”
As I tried to figure out what could possibly be provoking this, I prayed to the powers that be that my underwear were tucked securely in another compartment of my bag (this is in contrast to when I used to re-enter Riyadh and I would purposely put all my underwear on top…one flustered look at a woman’s exposed ginch and the suitcase would be snapped shut and we would be hurriedly waved through security). As I opened the top of my bag I realized what the problem was.
It was just as well I didn’t know enough Spanish to let my occasionally sharp and sarcastic tongue to flick out a remark eluding to the fact that were I transporting 3 kilos of South American grass (marijuana) across the country, I likely wouldn’t choose to store it in 3 neatly packed paper bags labeled “mate” stuffed into the detachable fanny bag of my checked-in 90L backpack. However, judging from the expressions on the faces of the pompous, arrogant guards, the loud donkey bray laugh that inadvertently hurled itself from my throat and into their faces at that point proved rather conclusively that you don’t always need spoken language to get the message across…
As they humored me, I humored them while Velcro-Man’s skinny chachi friend stared at me and stuck his greasy nose up to the bag of tea and sniffed. Without taking his eyes off me, he lowered the bag to the dog who twitched and turned his head away in disdainful boredom.
“Put it back. Go”.
The smirk on my face leaked out and seeped into all my actions as I overcautiously tucked my “stash” back into my bag, looking up often with lifted eyebrow to seek “approval” with each step. Finally, I gave them a cheerful “ciao ciao!” before sprinting for the last boarding call to Patagonia. I am happy to say that my tea and I both made it safely to Patagonia, around the rest of Argentina, through Mexico City and back to Canada with no further complications.
Fi
xo
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