I finally started classes last week. Well, sort of. Technically half of my classes started the week before but somehow I didn’t realize that. If this sounds like a massive oversight, let me justify myself. The Universidad Nacional de Cordoba does not go out of its way to make what is, in my opinion (and I think you’ll agree), critical information, available. That’s assuming the information exists, which I’m not sure about. As far as I can tell, classes start (or don’t start) at the whim of the professor. Finding reliable information here is a little bit like panning for gold. It’s a lot of work, you get really dirty feet and even if you do turn up something shiny there’s a 75% chance you’re a fool.

Moving on, I actually did make it to all of my classes this week and only one of them had been canceled without notice. My idea of an academic victory has changed dramatically in the past week and I’m just really excited when my class turns out to actually be in the classroom it’s supposed to be.

Last Thursday, I stood in line for 2 hours to get my readings. You don’t buy books here, just photocopies of your readings. Somehow copyright violation is not an issue. There are pros and cons to this system. It’s cheap, for example, and if you end up never doing any of your reading you’re only out about 60 pesos (less than 15 dollars). The cons, however, are that there are about 15 fotocopiadoras on campus and if you’re like me and only understand every third word your professor says there is a decent chance you’ll end up at the wrong one. Also, there are lines. Because there are lines for EVERYTHING in this country.

After standing in line at the fotocopiadora for an hour, I decided that if they didn’t have my readings I was going to go outside, sit under a tree and cry for a good solid half hour. After standing in the same line for another 45 minutes I decided that even if they did have my readings, I was still going to cry and maybe extend that crying time to an hour. After about two hours, I made it to the office and ordered my readings. (They photocopy them on demand which rather explains the two hour line since everyone needs about 200 to 400 pages.) Then more waiting. I made friends with the kid behind me, an 18 year old freshman from Santa Fe Province. When a foul smell and greenish smoke started to pour out of the back office he said casually “Será la fotocopiadora, seguro.” That’ll be the photocopy machine.

Sure enough, a harried looking woman came out seconds later announcing that the machine had caught on fire and they were now closed. I pushed myself into the office with about a billion other annoyed people and managed to walk away with half of my readings. The thing had burnt up about halfway through my Historia de la Edad Media packet. Figures. Even at the time, the situation was so absurd that I no longer felt like crying.

Posing with the guilty photocopies