Are We Taking the Extraordinary for Granted?

I spent far too much money trying to make the perfect sandwich in Buenos Aires, only to discover the next day that one of its most important ingredients had already gone stale. It started with a trip to my favorite sandwich shop down the street from Casa Holden. Inspired to recreate what I considered the perfect gourmet sandwich, I bought all the necessary ingredients, including a freshly baked loaf of ciabatta. I cut the loaf in half, carefully saving the other half for the next day, and made my sandwich. The next afternoon, I returned to the kitchen excited to recreate my masterpiece. Instead, I discovered that the bread I saved was already hard and stale. My program director, Travis, explained that in Argentina, fresh bread is meant to be eaten quickly, not stretched over several days like the packaged loaves I was used to. Talk about culture shock. Of everything I expected Argentina to teach me, I never imagined one of the most meaningful lessons would come from a loaf of bread.

Fresh bread in Argentina requires a certain amount of intentionality. Buying it means considering when it will be eaten, what it will be used for, and how much is actually needed. It cannot simply be purchased absentmindedly with the assumption that it will remain fresh indefinitely. What I initially perceived as a minor inconvenience eventually made me think about how I approach my experiences abroad. Studying abroad requires intentionality, but not necessarily the kind we associate with planning weekend trips or deciding what our next Instagram post will look like. The more important kind of intentionality happens in the ordinary moments of everyday life: where we go, whom we talk to, whether we are willing to be uncomfortable and how actively we participate in the culture around us. Simply arriving in another country does not guarantee cultural immersion. We must also put in the effort to experience it. Sometimes that means speaking Spanish incorrectly, being corrected and remembering the mistake for next time. Other times, it means walking somewhere alone rather than relying on someone else, starting a conversation despite feeling nervous or choosing to explore an unfamiliar neighborhood instead of returning to the same comfortable places. It is entirely possible to study abroad while spending most of your time with other Americans, maintaining familiar routines, and measuring the experience by the number of countries you visit. There is nothing inherently wrong with finding comfort in familiar people or making the most of opportunities to travel. In fact, those experiences are valuable parts of studying abroad. However, I have come to recognize that there is a distinction between being passively influenced by our surroundings and actively engaging with them in a way that allows us to fully appreciate what they have to offer. Both can lead to growth, but only the second requires conscious consideration of what we might otherwise overlook. 

When I first arrived in Buenos Aires, nearly everything felt remarkable. The streets, cafés, parks, food, and language were both unfamiliar and exciting. Even the routines of everyday life were worth observing. Yet as the weeks passed, the unfamiliar gradually became familiar. The same streets that once fascinated me became routes to class. The cafés became places to grab coffee. Nothing about Buenos Aires had become less extraordinary. I had simply become accustomed to it. One experience that reminded me of the importance of appreciating my surroundings was September 21: the first day of spring in Argentina. Throughout Buenos Aires, parks filled with people sitting in circles, drinking mate, playing games, talking for hours, and lying in the grass enjoying the weather. What stood out to me was the simplicity of it all. There was no complicated agenda, just people making time to enjoy the day together. To me, that scene represents something I want to carry home: the willingness to recognize an ordinary moment as something extraordinary.