The Last Days of My Internship.

I am sitting in an ice cream store at 5pm on the Thursday after my workshop, even though it’s about 35 degrees outside and I have

already spent the entire afternoon eating facturas, Argentina’s deliciously fattening caramel-filled pastries. Across from me is Horacio

de Belaustegui, president of Fundación Biosfera, finishing up his cone of dulce de leche ice cream. We sit here because earlier I lent

him three pesos to make change for a customer who was buying organic, edible mushrooms from Fundación Biosfera (they grow them in the

compost pile out behind the office), and Horacio insists on breaking his change here in order to pay me back. His brown hair is sticking

up all over the place, as it tends to after he’s spent a long day overseeing the 10 or so interns that cycle through the office everyday,

cooking lunch for everyone, and managing all the administration of his organization.

As Horacio sifts through his change to return my three pesos, I ask him who funds Biosfera’s projects. As he lays the pesos on the

table, he answers, “My pockets”. He explains that while they receive some funding from the government, it’s hardly enough to keep the

organization running. Therefore, Biosfera offers courses on home gardening, orchid care, and growing edible mushrooms to generate

additional income. A board of directors also exists that periodically donates and checks in on Horacio and the band of 20-something

interns that keeps Biosfera running. Horacio, a trained biologist, spends half his time running around the office helping with the 10 or

so projects that Biosfera is constantly juggling, and the other half at a university an hour away, teaching classes to support his

family. He often jokes that the foundation is about to lose its roof, and I often wonder how close this is to the truth. Philanthropic

support in Argentina is virtually non-existent.

I, then, pose the question that I’ve been waiting eight weeks to ask: “So do you think it’s worth it, all the energy and money to run

Biosfera?” Perhaps that very question is what led me to Argentina. How does one strike that balance between giving to others and

simultaneously providing for oneself and family? As Horacio contemplates his empty ice cream cone, he answers, “For ten years now,

everything I’ve done has been based on just one belief: that a better world is possible. I’ve been working for ideals so long, that I’m

not sure how I could work for money or anything else. When I started Biosfera, no one knew anything about us or cared about our projects.
Now, after about ten years, I say I’m from Biosfera, and people recognize the name and it has credibility. For me, that’s what makes it

worth it. None of our projects are huge, just small little steps along the way. When I start a project, I finish it, and we’ll keep going

with that, with all the little projects and courses and workshops like yours and we’ll see where we can end up in another ten years.” He

pauses for a moment and then begins to shuffle through the pesos in his hands.

A few thoughts run through my mind. First of all, I wished desperately that I’d recorded all that on tape. This man is my idol – I

have never met anyone who does so much while believing in it so earnestly. Second, I had just received the most profound pep talk of my

life in a make-shift ice cream parlor in a small Argentinean city, from a man I had just met four weeks prior. Third, I actually

understood the conversation, which was delivered in rapid Spanish colored with a thick Argentine accent.

Horacio sits forward. “And you, Carolina?” In two months, no one has successfully pronounced my name, but I’m starting to like my name

with that rolled Argentine r. “Where are you going from here?”

+++

Leaving Home.

“So what exactly are you going to be doing in Argentina?” My older brother Christopher’s eyes are glued to the television as he asks

me this question. It’s the round one of the World Cup, and we’re watching the game between Argentina and Holland. Chris feels it’s

important that I’m somewhat socially literate, so he’s attempting to familiarize me with some of the names of the players prior to the

Argentina trip.

“I’m going down with this organization from San Francisco, the Foundation for Sustainable Development. They put college kids in

internships in NGOs in developing countries. I’m working in an environmental NGO there.” Beautiful cross by one of the Argentine players,

although I still cannot tell them apart – was that Riquelme? Or the other one, who’s only 18 years old?

“What are you going to do there? Do you even speak Spanish?”

“I speak enough, I hope. I’m going to be working on some sort of project; I think something to do with ecotourism.”

“You’re such a tree-hugger, it’s unbelievable.” Another shot on goal, and Chris jumps up off the couch as the ball sails just

above the cross bar. He played goalie all through high school and college, and now coaches a struggling team of 14-year-old boys. “It’s

going to be crazy if they win the World Cup. They’re playing beautifully together. Weird though that they all kiss each other on the

cheek all the time, huh?”

“Yeah.” I calculate that Argentina’s next game will take place on my second day of the internship, only a few days from now.

My brother sits back as the referee blows the whistle for half time. “Well, if you come back with nothing else, make sure you get me a

Riquelme jersey.”

+++

The First Night of My Homestay.

My first night in my home stay, I am sitting around the kitchen table with the four sisters, my new adopted parents, and some

other guy, whose relationship to the family I cannot quite seem to figure out. As a few different conversations take place at once, I

pick at my empanadas and occasionally smile and nod when everyone else does, in an attempt to deflect attention from myself. Then I hear

Miguel, my balding cheerful host father, say my name. Silence follows, as all seven faces turned to me expectantly and I fall into deep

panic. I think he just asked me a question. “¿Cómo?” He repeats it again, and I desperately listen for words I recognize, but his low

raspy voice makes this impossible.

My blank look causes Gladys, my home stay mother, to repeat the question, syllable by syllable. “Tien-en ter-re-mo-tos en California?”

Terremotos? They are asking me if California has ‘terremotos’? Everyone begins to gesture wildly in an attempt to illustrate the meaning

of terremotos. “Like on TV. Like in the movies!” says one of my home stay sisters, waving her hands in circles over the table. I finally

understand: Oh! Tornados! In my broken Spanish, I reply “Ah! No, we don’t have tornados in California, that’s mostly in the middle of the

country, like in Kansas. But what we do have is those things where, I don’t know the word…..”
I make a hand motion in my best rendition of an earthquake – “we have lots of those. Where the earth moves. Because we’re right on the, I

don’t know the word, the place where there are two big pieces of land touching.” Everyone nods politely as if they understand and then a

brief moment of silence follows; perhaps they’re wondering if they should ask follow up questions. Deciding against it, they resume their

previous conversations.

After dinner, I rush to my room to find my dictionary and research the word for earthquake, so that the next time I have to

discuss California, I can impress my audience with my extensive knowledge of Spanish vocabulary. I find the page and sigh: “Earthquake.

Noun. terremoto.”

+++

Week Four.

“Dear Carolyn, I read your grant application. Very impressive. It seems a good idea to have a weekly focus. 8 weeks may be a little

bit of a short time for significantly changing the world, but if you can learn Spanish, meet people from another country with a different

view point, explore whether you want to work further in sustainable development and make a few contacts, I would say you will have had

quite a summer. You seem happy, which is nice to hear. We miss you. Love, Mom and Dad.”

***

It’s a Saturday morning and I’m at the mid-point of my two month internship, on the bus back from the Punta Lara Nature

Reserve in the neighboring town of Ensenada. We are driving along the La Plata River, which spans for miles and miles until eventually it

runs into Uruguay. As I look out the windows of the squeaking bus, I take it all in: the various houses displaying hand painted

advertisements for items ranging from movie rentals to fresh empanadas; families sitting along the river passing mates (the Argentine

social drink) as they enjoy the unusually warm and sunny winter day.

I am filled with excitement about the coming day and the rest of my trip, and jot down the following notes in my travel journal about

the morning that just passed: “Arrived at Punta Lara at 10 (Miguel drove me all the way here because he was convinced I couldn’t figure

out the bus system), met Leo, the park guard. Young guy, knew a lot about the reserve. Talked about how the park guards could be involved

in my workshop, he was excited about ecotourism and told me about all the things one can do in the reserve and in Ensenada – walks on

raised pathways, demonstrations of traditional net-fishing techniques on the river, boat rides up the channels, bird-watching out in the

fields. Then we got into his truck (was a little worried – had no idea where we were going!) and he drove me out to see the rest of the

reserve. The reserve is huge and beautiful – lots of fields along the river along the edge of the selva marginal (marginal jungle). Got

out and walked a bit into the fields to see some birds – and, of course, to drink some mate. Leo introduced me to the head of Ensenada’s

tourism department, who also wants to help with the workshop, and took me to several of the smaller parks along the river where you can

have lunch – definitely many ecotourism possibilities. He was very excited about their involvement in my project – this area has a lot to

offer ecologically that I think the local people don’t really realize. And nice to get out of the city for a day – for a tree-hugger like

me, very much enjoyed the fields and jungle and sun. Am very excited about my project – things are coming together. Now headed back home,

going to go visit the oldest home stay sister and her daughter at her house on the other side of La Plata, and tonight going out with the

girls from work. Such a beautiful day, and a beautiful place. I can’t believe it’s already been four weeks.”

+++

Why I'm Here.

“So, what exactly are you doing here?” Lucia, my 17-year-old home stay sister asks, folding her knees up against the bus seat

in front of here. It’s around 11pm, and we’re coming back from seeing the second installation of Pirates of the Caribbean in one of La

Plata’s enormous movie theaters. The serious nature of this question catches me off guard, since we just finished discussing the relative

attractiveness of Orlando Bloom to Johnny Depp and the numerous text messages Lucia’s ex-boyfriend had sent her during the course of the

movie.

“Well, I’m organizing this workshop on ecotourism, targeting travel agencies and tourism students in La Plata.”, I respond.

“Yeah, I know that part. But, why?” Not a malicious question – I think she still can’t quite understand what brings all these Americans

down to La Plata. I’m the fourth girl they’ve hosted since the Foundation for Sustainable Development program began here about a year

ago.

I wonder how much detail I should actually deliver. Should I share my entire view on ecotourism – how I believe it to be among

the most important economic markets that exist; that I also feel that mass tourism can be environmentally and economically detrimental to

the destination; that carefully planned ecotourism can support local economies and the environment, while also educating the traveler

about local culture and customs? Should I rattle off statistics about the oil and waste that cruise ships utilize and disseminate; the

effects of irresponsible tourism on wildlife in natural habitats; the Western influences that contribute to globalization and thus, to

the loss of native languages and to the homogenization of culture? Should I share my view that an environmental conscience is a luxury in

today’s global climate, and that the tourism operators know that they’re targeting a foreign audience who can pay up to twenty times as

much for ecotourism as they would for conventional tourism? How travel agencies and students of tourism need to understand this untapped

market and the importance of creating more demand for ecotourism in order to lower prices and allow Argentines themselves to take part in

enjoying and preserving their natural heritage and economic integrity?

No, I decide to save this for the workshop so I answer, “Because I’m beginning to love Argentina, and I want to be able to

come back in twenty years, fifty years to the same amazing country and people that I’ve met so far.”

Lucia smiles. “Fifty years? I think you’ll be back sooner than that.”

+++

Week 6

I am in Buenos Aires, standing under the overhang of a hardware store along Avenida 9 de Julio, the widest avenue in the

world. I feel as though I am on the set of some apocalyptic action movie, like The Day after Tomorrow. Even though it’s only 3pm, it’s

completely dark and hail, literally the size of ice cubes, is falling everywhere. People have taken cover in cafes and stores along the

street, and watch, in amazement, the scene unfolding on the street. The ice hits cars parked along the road, setting off alarms and

breaking windows. The traffic lights have stopped working, and are flashing red. Some cars are crawling along the normally busy street,

but most of them have pulled over to wait out the storm. Some people are even driving on the sidewalk to try and get under the overhang

and protect their vehicles. A few businessmen are still trying to get where they’re going, but the ice is coming down so hard that they

slip and fall in their business suits, briefcases flying. It is as though everything is falling apart, and I watch silently from my

perch, grateful for my flimsy $10 peso umbrella.

I just came from a meeting with Fabián Román, who runs Fundación Plan 21, an environmental organization in Buenos Aires that’s

working a lot with sustainable development and ecotourism in Argentina. He’s young, about 30, with long hair and a sharp suit – a bigwig

in the world of environmental NGOs in Argentina. He agreed to present at my workshop and to discuss certification of sustainable tourism;

he also told me to return next summer and work with him, and expressed a desire to work with the Center for Ecotourism and Sustainable

Development at my university.

It was on my walk back from this meeting that it began to hail. I am fascinated. What a country – a place where, at times, all seems

to be coming together, and where, at other times- all seems to be on the edge of falling apart. A woman in a nearby flower stand hurries

to close up shop before the hail ruins her buckets of fresh roses. I take a picture, but it doesn’t capture how dark everything is, as if

it’s just before dawn, or how beautiful.

+++

The Workshop.

I listen to the applause from the 93 attendees- I was expecting 30, at most! Since we ran short on folders and Certificates of

Attendance to hand out, I realize that I will need to use the remainder of my grant money to purchase additional information packets.

People rush towards the back of the room towards the vino de honor (wine and hors d’oeuvres). I linger a little bit towards the front of

the room and wonder where all these people learned of the workshop.

Elisabet Rossi, the professor of tourism who presented first on definitions of ecotourism and basic information about the

developing market, approaches me. “Really well done, Carolyn. Your speech came off very well, and I think everyone was really impressed.”

“Thank you, Lis. It was sort of like my final Spanish exam – I never thought I would be speaking Spanish in front of so many

people! And thank you so much for helping out.”

“Por favor, hija! Thank you for organizing everything. La Plata needed something like this.” She hugs me, and heads outside

for a cigarette.

I walk up the aisle to where my fellow FSD interns are waiting. They already have wine and snacks in hand. “Better go quick;

it’s a madhouse up there. People are clawing at each other for those little salami sandwiches,” says Colin, mouth full. Sarah and Meli

give me a hug, and I thank them for helping out with writing the Certificates of Attendance during the presentation.

As I work my way to the back of the room, a lot of people smile and nod at me. I am surprised by how many students turned out

at the workshop – they are from the local tourism schools. Maybe they’re really interested; maybe we really are building something here.

I run into Horacio, who gives me a hug and says, “A lot of work, like I told you – but we pulled it together. Tomorrow, we start on the

next project.”

“Of course, Horacio,” I say. His wife, whom I met last weekend when he invited me to have lunch with his family, rolls her

eyes at her husband’s obsessive work ethic and kisses me on the cheek to congratulate me.

A man with a platter of sandwiches walks by and I manage to grab one and head to a corner where I can eat in peace. I look

around the room, and almost laugh, because I realize that in that sea of faces is the cast of characters that have helped me and

supported me over the past two months. I see Leo, the park guard; the women who work in Fundación GEA and in the travel agency that was

my basis of operation; the interns from Biosfera; the Secretary of Tourism from Ensenada; my boss Walter and the president of GEA, Ruben;

Fabían Román and his family, and the other FSD interns. The fact that it took such a short time to create this community amazes me. I

cannot believe I will be leaving in only a week. I need another month, another four months, a lifetime. I want to keep going, I feel like

I’m just getting started.

Horacio walks up with a glass of wine in hand. “Toma, hija. You deserve it.”

***

“Carolyn, we are very proud of you. You wrote a grant, got the grant, followed through with the project, and did something really

worthwhile with your summer. I think you have grown a lot this summer. I am glad that you have made so many friends and contacts. I would

not be surprised if your first job somehow grows out of this. It must make you feel good to have it done. Even Chris says what you did

sounds pretty impressive. We are looking forward to having you home soon. Love, Mom and Dad.”

+++

Back in the Ice Cream Shop.

Horacio looks at me expectantly. Where am I going from here?

“Well, I guess I’m not really sure – I’ve met so many people here that have invited me to come back, and I have so many ideas for

research I could do here. Everything’s just about to unfold with ecotourism here, and I feel like there’s work to be done, and things

going on everywhere.”

“So where you’re going is coming back?”

“Sí. Espero que sí.”