When I first arrived to Argentina, I had a constant temptation to eat every food I came across, for as much as Buenos Aires is a great walking city, it is a great eating city. For every street that is edified with piece after piece of seemingly perfect 19th century Parisian architecture, there is an open grill, sizzling with fat, juicy chorizo links, an outdoor café with pizzas covering peoples' plates, tiny flakes of oregano resting delicately upon the mozzarella as it oozes over the edges of the pie, a shop window boasting rows of freshly baked empanadas, plump and smiling. I allowed myself to indulge, and of course, after a few weeks, I felt gross and returned to a normal diet. But even after my gluttony had subsided, I couldn't help noticing that my roommates, two Argentine men who fancy themselves "food lovers," were still eating far less than I did. In the morning, I would sit, read the paper, and eat granola with yogurt and some kind of fresh fruit and a then have a cup of tea and one or two croissants, while Nico and Gabriel skibbled off to work sucking on their mate straws. I became self-conscious about this discrepancy; did they think of me as a daft, over-eating American? Did they hate me for bringing Skippy peanut butter into their pantry?

I tried to remind myself that I could eat how I pleased, and that if they wanted to judge me, that was their business. But I couldn't help wondering whether my problem had something to do with being American. After all, hunger was not driving this. Rather, it was a combination of my perpetual dissatisfaction with the taste of my own saliva and my ability to buy as much food as I wanted. Why sit and type and taste nothing but your own mouth if you can sit and type and experience the flavor sensation of a succulent chorizo sandwich for just a dollar more? How American of me to think this way. I thought I could rid myself of at least some of my Americanness by being here, but here it was, rearing its greedy little head. Most Americans, myself included, do not settle for less. If there is something attractive to consume, we will consume it. If I can get more out of an experience, I will. Because it is my choice.

I think that this general desire is relatively common among humans; the American version is unique though, in that we usually attach it things that are tangible, like objects, food, or new places. When we're feeling low or even just bored, we immediately refer ourselves to the tangible. Have a snack, go shopping, watch a movie, take a vacation. In the right circumstances, you can even move to a new country. Talk about ways to up the ante. This is what I have done. I have come to Argentina, in effect, to consume a new culture, partially because my own culture left me wanting more.

I've come to realize that my piggy phase was sort of analogous to my act of coming here. I came because I thought that what I experienced, or consumed, would educate me, help me to understand things more clearly and more broadly, enrich my ways of thinking, make me a more desirable person to hire for a job or even to talk to at a party. In fact, there are many other recent college grads from the U.S. poking around Buenos Aires with similarly underdeveloped plans. As I cannot avoid meeting these people from time to time, I've noticed that young Americans here, and most likely in lots of other foreign countries, usually share the following two objectives: to improve their Spanish and to do something that is encompassed by the term "cultural immersion." Most people start with the first. They take classes and then, naturally, they use the language in all of their everyday interactions. With the second objective, they start by going to cultural events and to gathering places, such as music venues and bars, to meet "real" Argentines and have "authentic" Argentine experiences. Often, the first objective leaks into the second; people realize that they can improve their Spanish and experience the culture if they can develop relationships with natives. While this all may sound very logical, it becomes a sort of commodifying exercise; friends are no longer sought solely for companionship, but rather to aid the fulfillment of objectives one and two. They provide self-improvement (by helping you improve your language skills) and personal gratification (by helping you to arrive at an authentic experience). Native friends effectively become desirable commodities.

Example: I began dating an Argentine guy recently, and when I told my few American friends here about him, they each gave me the same response: "That'll be great for your Spanish." One even told me that he was "really impressed" that I found someone I actually liked, confessing that he would be content to date someone he only sort of liked, because he knew it would be worth it to improve his speaking skills.

I thought about what it would be like if this friend were to date an Argentine girl. Of course, he would gain from the experience of hanging out with her friends, who would presumably be Argentine as well, eating home-cooked Argentine cuisine with her family now and then, not to mention speaking Spanish all of the time, but if he only sort of liked the girl to begin with, wouldn't that be like usury? And wouldn't it compromise the authenticity of the experience? Taking that a step further, is it possible to experience something authentic if you are actively seeking it? In this case, I don't think so. But is it possible to do what we're doing without wanting that, in some way? I don't know.

I came here because I wanted to live and meet new people and see news things and speak the language, but I can't deny that I chose specifically to come to Argentina because I knew it would give me more for my money, both literally and figuratively. I knew that I was going to spend the year fumbling around, trying to figure out what I want to do with my life, so why not spend it in a place where I'd probably learn three times as much just by sitting still, for a third of the price? (That's nine times what I would get for price of living and sitting still in the U.S.) If I'm not mistaken, that's an act of commodification right there. I cannot hide the consumer inside.

Fortunately, I know that I am not alone in any of this. Lots of recent college grads from the U.S. are taking off for either South America or Asia, supporting themselves by teaching English, and trying to learn some new things, or at least figure out what they want to go to grad school for, and overall, I think it's a good thing. But it can be easy to lose track of the fact that these places, aside from being exciting new learning environments, are countries, just like the United States is a country; these countries and their citizenry are not here solely to educate us or make us feel good about a foreign experience. We need to become more conscientious of ourselves and our positions in these places, especially if we're going to pursue relationships with other people, because although different, they should be as genuine abroad as they would be at home. Rather than committing ourselves to these "foreign experience checklist" things that I swear some kids are toting around in their supposedly pickpocket-proof passport holders, we need to relax, try not to view other countries as stores in the gigantic shopping plaza that we call "Earth," and simply allow things to happen. If you fall under the category of person that I'm addressing, and you find yourself getting bored, try sitting in a public park or a mediocre café with an aging clientele for several hours. There, you will surely find plenty of natives to observe, and you may even make a friend.

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