Berkley Center

On my first day of university in a foreign country, I was late to class. After getting off at the wrong stop on the Subte, Argentina’s subway system, I walked at lightening speed to the address my coordinator had given me. As I entered la Facultad de Ciencias Sociales de la Universidad de Buenos Aires for the first time, I thought I must be in the wrong place. I felt as if I had intruded on a campaign headquarters. On every wall, railing, and table, from floor to ceiling, the building was plastered with brightly colored, hand painted posters. Passing through the hallway to try to find my class, I was handed no less than twenty flyers from groups of young, casually dressed politicians fighting for their chance to make an impression on me. As I was running very late, I fought through the paper jungle and masses of colored campaign shirts to find my classroom, only to discover that no one was there. I was sure I had the right room number… Maybe there had been a room change?

Fifteen minutes after class should have started, another student walked in. I asked in my broken Spanish if I was in the right room for Historia de Latinoamerica. I was in the right place, but why was the room so empty? Within the next ten minutes, students continued to trickle into the classroom, and finally, the professor strolled in with a steaming coffee cup in hand. I expected him to explain his delay, but to my surprise, he sat down and began his lecture without skipping a beat. I soon came to realize that in Buenos Aires, time is a very subjective measure. Classes sometimes start a half hour late, and students often arrive long after the lecture has begun. Working multiple jobs, Argentine students juggle a busy schedule and are very grateful for the completely free education system.

The dreadlock-adorned student to my left tapped my elbow and whispered in Spanish, “Would you like some?” With raised eyebrows, he pointed to the little wooden cup and metal straw in his other hand. Not quite sure what it was, I politely declined. After perusing the room, I realized he was not the only one willing to share. Students continually refilled their little wooden cups with hot water from thermoses and passed them around the room. I soon learned that this foreign drink is called mate. A highly caffeinated green tea, mate is the Argentine student’s secret to late night study. The mate cups and bombillas (the straws) are sold on almost every street corner. My favorite one thus far was a mate cup picturing Pope Francis with a bombilla mimicking the holy saber. Argentines love the Pope almost as much as they love mate.

Throughout my first class and the many to follow, several groups of students knocked on the door to ask the professor if they could make a speech. Sporting their campaign t-shirts, students spoke about their initiatives to change the curriculum and better serve the student body. I was shocked that each time a student knocked, the professor not only agreed, but insisted that they give their speech, which typically lasted about five minutes.

La Universidad de Buenos Aires (UBA) is a perfect exemplification of the youth culture in Buenos Aires. The young generation is enamored with politics. Students assemble chairs and tables in the street and drink mate to induce some attention-provoking traffic and protest governmental corruption or educational deficiencies. And all of these political movements seem to converge at the university, a factory of political thought. La UBA is a physical manifestation of the Argentine student: critical, involved, and above all, passionate.