Since my last post, I’ve been living in Santiago, hanging out.
Doing mostly the same stuff, which is mostly why I haven’t written. It’s soccer
season again with the Copa America, which Chile is hosting, so that’s what’s
been keeping me busy lately, but for the most part I’ve been getting to know
the neighborhood, becoming an expert at the transantiago
bus system, and hanging out with essentially all the same people. Friends have
been gained and lost. I went on a few hikes and weekend trips to nearby areas
(most of which I’ve written about). I’ve also been watching a lot of movies and
just chilling, which has been phenomenal.
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| Best roommates ever! |
The Frisbulls won the league again this season. They’ve
split into two teams but even so each is bigger than any other team in the
league. In April we went to a tournament in Buenos Aires, through which we
strengthened the bonds of the team immeasurably. At least, that’s my theory,
but I
I wrote an account of the tournament a while ago, but I
never really found anything to pad it out as an entry. I wanted to post it,
though, mostly because I already wrote it. I’ll do so here as a means of describing
this team in more detail, which has become a pivotal point in my life and has
come to describe my entire experience abroad. They’re a real family and there
are some on the team who I still refuse to believe will one day be separated
from me by more than a few blocks or a bus ride, or even a hallway. The
tournament was a good representative experience; hopefully it will give you a
sense.
The
first week of April was one of the most anticipated weeks of the year, both for
myself and for the rest of the Frisbulls: torneo Espíritu Sudaka. This is the
South American melting pot of ultimate for which we trained for nearly six
months. As the days slowly rolled towards our departure, everyone on the squad
was abuzz with…a lot of emotions. Excitement, fear, anticipation,
determination—all were a part of our collective emotional pallet, and it wasn’t
until we finally began greeting each other in the airport terminal that the
reality set in: we were actually going!
Our
trip was initially delayed by a nation-wide Argentinian transportation strike,
which set us back two days. We spent the extra day at Andrei’s country house in
Melipilla, putting one of his cats to rest. At 18 years old it was her time. We
were all still sad to see her go. We arrived in the country late Wednesday
night—two days after our originally scheduled arrival—with the threat of our
first game looming just a day away.
In
bed by 2am and out by 8, we boarded a bus provided by the tournament that would
shuttle us to the field. But although we were all feeling salty about the
night’s events—disappointed in having missed the first two days, bitter in
having to spend the day at the fields only to play after dark, and nervous for
our first real test as a team—the moment we boarded the bus we knew we had
arrived in frisbeetown. Teams from all over the continent sang and cheered
Latin American songs repurposed with team-themed lyrics, and every Frisbull joked,
shouted, and heckled merrily. As we drove through the streets of the city, I
remember looking to Matt, the awe of the moment electrifying us both: we were
living abroad in South America, traveling with a Chilean Frisbee team to a
different country in South America to play Ultimate motherfucking Frisbee
against teams from all over the rest of the continent. It was surreal to have
arrived at such a pivotal, talked-about moment. Our arrival at the field only
gave us more of the same: teams from Venezuela, Brazil, Argentina, and
Colombia; teams of mixed nationalities—all had gathered to play a sport that
I’d been neck-deep in my whole life. We spent the day watching the other teams,
analyzing and strategizing, and the more teams I watched, the more I was
surprised to see just how many North Americans had made it to the tournament.
After chatting with my fair share, most, if not all, felt just about the same
way we did.
After
taking our first game that night in victory, we went on to defeat every team in
our pool. With each victory the Frisbulls gained more and more momentum. In
this regard and others, I was amazed throughout the tournament to realize that
the Frisbulls, cohesively, play quite literally like a bull. We took every team
head-on, fighting our way to victory through sheer, stubborn will. If we
encountered a problematic defensive strategy or a our solution, rather than to
regroup and rethink our own offense, was to cheer louder, run harder, and get
in the mud. If not the smartest team I’ve ever played on, the Frisbulls have
far and away the most heart. Through this immovable force, we shoved our way
all the way to the semi-finals, screaming our throats out and watering each
playing field with our tears. The semis and finals, unfortunately, simply
proved too difficult, in which we were pitted agains teams that were just too efficient
at their games. Comunidad del Viento, a mix of mostly Colombians, shredded our
defense with some of the best handlers I’ve ever seen**, and the all-Venezuelan
Espartanos quite simply tired us out, both physically and emotionally. After
the games, I had in my head a distinct image of a bull trying to fight a
Spartan soldier while being whipped by vicious gusts of wind. It’s too bad I’m
not an artist. In the end, out of sixteen teams, the Frisbulls finished 4th,
a result none of us were ashamed of. We returned home feeling like champions.
Not,
however, before two days of relaxation and partying in Buenos Aires. The last
time I was in BA was for a school chorus trip my senior year, and it was on
that very trip that a long train of thought became an intense desire: to travel
abroad and to see more of South America. That desire ultimately led me to where
I am today, so to say that returning to the city of feeling’s inception was
surreal would be just a tiny bit of an understatement. It also made me think of
all the differences of vacationing as a child versus as an adult, supervised
and chaperoned with schoolmates versus exploring uninhibited with friends. Here’s a hint: the latter is much
better. Besides loafing about the hostel, reading, napping, playing pokemon,
and just generally fucking around, we explored as a team to see some of the
city’s major sites.
Having
been in Argentina once before, the entire city felt surreal to me. We
eventually arrived in a neighborhood that had formulated a distinct memory in
my mind, which strengthened the effect. I hit an overload while we were
exploring. As Matt and I walked around one street, I came to a feature I recognized.
It was a mural, decorating a wall that surrounded a small, pedestrian plaza.
Six years ago, I saw that mural and found my likeness in it, a freak
coincidence that became a highlight for many of my friends on the trip. I told
Matt the story and lamented not having the photo, but when I showed Andrei and
Matt the picture upon returning home, Andrei pointed out that there was another
likeness I hadn’t seen the first time. It’s probably because I had never met a
time-traveler before.
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| The Friend That Was Promised |
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| Real life for reference |
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| In all our glory. |
