Becoming an Expat in Argentina
After I graduated college, I traversed much of South America with only a backpack and a sense of adventure. For almost a year, I ping-ponged north and south, east and west, and back again. I spent countless hours, half reclined on a bus, alternating a handful of CDs on my Discman until I arrived at the next destination. It was thrilling and tiresome. I felt completely free, and many times, overwhelmed by choice. I drifted where the wind blew me. I expanded. I connected. I made lifelong friends with memories to match. I returned home replete, full of hope, and pregnant with fear that I might never find a place in the world where I felt so alive.
I planted myself in New York City. It took time to grow roots and find the sunshine. I fought hard for a space to flourish. Over seven years, I found a neighborhood that suited me, an apartment I called home, a livelihood that nourished my passions, a family of friends, and a husband that I loved. I was comfortable and happy.
My husband, who is from Argentina, has always expressed the desire to live in his home country at some point in our lives. For many years, I have also nurtured the fantasy of returning to South America and living abroad as an adult. As we creep further into our thirties, and are still without children, we decided this was an opportune time to uproot ourselves and enjoy a slower pace of life in his hometown, the Napa Valley of the south—Mendoza, Argentina.
Thus, we’ve traded comfort for adventure, apples for grapes, and coffee for mate.
While he greets all that is familiar, I straddle the unknown at a daunting, yet liberating crossroads. We shall see where the wind takes me this time. Feel free to come along for the ride.
