What happens when three nerds go to Croatia?

April is sort of a shitty time in Cambridge, MA. The spring equinox has come and gone and yet the ground remains slushy, the air feels grossly damp, and the promise of warmth still seems far away. People’s allergies start acting up and everyone is somewhat lost underneath a pile of papers and assignments that grows ever larger. So yea, April sucks. But for the last couple of years, there’s always been a shining light – a weekly ritual that makes the four weeks of this miserable month exciting. Yes, I’m talking about the Sunday ritual that is Game of Thrones. Of course, I’m also talking about the Monday-after ritual in which the phrase “oh my god did you watch GoT” replaces “hey, how are you” as the standard greeting. Needless to say, I was shook when it was announced that GoT would not be returning in April 2017. Instead, we would have to wait until July in order for the annual pop cultural phenomenon to take over our collective imagination.

Well folks. We made it. We’ve hit the middle of summer just in time for winter in Westeros. In honour of today’s triumphant return of GoT, I’d like to write about one of the my favourite family trips: spring break in Croatia.

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The OG squad take the Dalmatian Coast!

My parents and I are very close. This is probably a result of me being the spoiled only child (we do have a dog though who happens to be the most handsome member of our family, but I digress). The past two spring breaks, instead of getting black out in Cancun or Florida, my parents and I have met up somewhere in the world for a spring getaway. This past year, our chosen location was Croatia, a country with rich history, beautiful churches, incredible landscapes, and where a lot of GoT happened to be filmed (but, I mean, this wasn’t the primary reason we decided to go… psh… that would be silly…).

So, what happens when three nerds go to Croatia? They go on a GoT filming locations tour of course!

A quick disclaimer. Although all three of us have watched every episode of GoT, we all watched them separately and at different times. (Wasn’t about to watch all those sex-position scenes with the rents). But though we each experienced the show itself separately, I’m glad that we experienced Croatia together!

The most recognisable GoT filming location is the stunning city of Dubrovnik. The old city is entirely contained behind great stone walls that dwarfed me and my parents. Inside the town, the cobblestoned streets form narrow alleyways that just begged to be explored. Though the main boulevard is lined with tourist shops and gelato joints, the back alleys still retain their rustic charm. Stray cats rule the quiet side streets and it’s not hard to imagine Arya hiding around the corner with needle in hand. The busier parts of town feature ornate churches but also hidden courtyards rich in history and character.

However, as stunning as Dubrovnik is at ground level, the city really shines from above. King’s Landing comes to life when admiring the city from its great wall. From the walls, we looked out over a sea of red roofs each lovingly baked by the Adriatic sun. The actual sea was no less stunning. It was a shimmery blue that stood out in contrast to the white limestone walls. While I wouldn’t wish King’s Landing on my worst enemy, I do think I could spend hours staring out upon its real world double.

Damn you are so fine Dubrovnik

In addition to Dubrovnik, we visited the fortress of Klis, which served as the skeleton for the set of Mereen. Several scenes were also filmed in the Catacombs of Diocletian’s old palace in Split which we also paid pilgrimage to. We also walked around the botanical garden which was dressed up for the Purple Wedding, my favourite of the GoT nuptials. And while we were careful not to crash any weddings, for fear of being caught in a Westerosian bloodbath, we did enjoy plenty of gelato, a lovely classical concert, and a historical tour of the area.

Photos from Split and from the Klis Fortress

Anyways, welcome back GoT! I’ve seen you in real life now, but damn have I missed seeing you on my screen as well!

That one time we invented wine yoga… Mendoza Pt. 2

After a wonderful day touring the bodegas of Mendoza, Nat and I decided that it was time to explore the more nature-y side of Mendoza. After all, it would be a huge shame to come all the way here and not see the Andes. After some quick googling, we decided to head to the town of Potrerillos to spend a lovely day amongst the mountains.


With a backpack full of dulce de leche and wine, we headed to the bus station to being our journey. After buying our tickets, we had some time to kill so we marvelled at more tree porn on the other side of the city. Mendoza is small but it certainly doesn’t lack in character! This particular underpass is probably the coolest bridge I’ve ever been too.


In what seems to be a recurring theme during my time in Mendoza, I immediately passed out once we finally got on the bus. Next thing I know, I’m suddenly being urgently tapped on my head by Nat. Groggily, I turned to her in my best impression of: 


But before I could angrily reprimand her, I took a look outside the window. My god. The mountains were even more majestic than I thought they would be. Chiseled and angular, the white peaks stood out distinctly against the greyish sky. Turns out a nice Venezuelan couple had seen me sleeping and had told Nat to wake me up lest I miss out on the view. I’m so glad they did. Don’t you just love the kindness of strangers some times? As Nat and I sat there watching the snow-capped peaks roll by. I had a good feeling about how the rest of our day would turn out.


Once we got to Potrerillos, we stumbled around until we found the tourism center, a little hut near the base of a series of rusty hills. With map in hand, we headed off to hike around the lake. The clouds had cleared to reveal a brilliantly blue sky that served as the perfect backdrop for the red earth. I felt so calm and so at ease as we trekked along the Mars like terrain keeping the Andes to our right and the peaceful lake to our left. How lucky we are to have this planet, I thought to myself.

After about an hour of walking, we found the perfect spot to plop down and finally crack open our wine. With mugs full of chardonnay Nat and I sat and just took it all in. On paper, we didn’t really do much. Really, we were just sitting on the edge of a lake. But the beauty of travelling with good company (and aided by good wine) is that sometimes doing nothing leads to memories that feel like everything.

In an ode to Argentine wine, Nat and I somehow invented wine yoga and ended up taking these hilarious pictures. We sat on the shore for hours trying laughing, chatting, and otherwise making fools of ourselves. It felt like the entire lake was ours and that the Andes were for our eyes only (this is probably why we both felt comfortable relieving ourselves behind bushes – pro-tip, always pee downhill). But after a blissful couple of hours, the sun started to set and we realised that we had to catch the bus home. Wistfully, we packed up our wine and cookies and said goodbye to the lake. However, Potrerillos still had one more surprise in store for us: a fiery sunset over the Andes.

As we walked to the bus stop, we constantly found ourselves stopping to stare at what seemed to be a neon glow from behind the snowy mountains. Shades of purple, pink, and orange, danced like flames behind the white peaks. We were speechless.


As we boarded the bus back to Mendoza, I took a moment to look back on the past 48 hours of my life. I had pulled an all-nighter to fly here, stayed at my first hostel, had more wine than I should have, reaffirmed my mural obsession, invented lake-side wine yoga, and had seen the sun set over the Andes. How spoiled am I, I thought, before I closed my eyes, and in classic Rachel-in-Mendoza fashion, passed out on the bus. 

Photo credits to the lovely Nat Yang. Follow her on Instagram @nat_yang_

Chasing cataratas…

I had heard legends about this place: It makes Niagara Falls look like a little water fountain. It’s one to the seven wonders of the world! I’ve never seen anything like it in my life! Double rainbows, ALL the way!

The Cataratas del Iguazu (Iguazu Falls) are world famous for being breathtaking. I put it on my Argentina bucket list as soon as I found out I would be spending my summer here. Having seen it now, I can confirm the hype and can say that it really should be on everyone’s bucket list!

I travelled to the falls with three friends from my program, Santiago, Zoe, and Andres, this past weekend. As the designated “mom” of the group, I was in my type A element. After all briefly freaking out at my children for showing up hungover and late to our meeting point, we all finally boarded the plane and managed to make it to Puerto Iguazu in one piece. In town, we stayed at a lovely hostel appropriately called Nomads. Though rather shack-like from the outside, it was a great hostel with plenty of perks – namely, lots and lots of avocado at the free breakfast. After eating our weight’s worth in palta (what the Argentine’s call the wickedly delicious green stuff), we headed straight to the falls.

The park was empty when we got there and we had the whole trail to ourselves as we hiked towards the distant gurgling that we could hear beyond the dense vegetation. It’s ridiculously silly in hindsight but I remember being slightly nervous while approaching the falls. What if it’s all just hype? What if they’re not as amazing as everyone says they are?

How foolish was I? The first view of the falls took my breath away…

The word “wow” is laughably inadequate but it was really the only word that any of us could utter. Except Zoe. She managed to more accurately articulate our awe by jumping around and squealing (really squealing, like “eck! ahhh! AHCKKKK!”) up and down the hiking paths. The boys and I decided that Zoe would be the adopted one in our little makeshift family (of three latinos and me, the token Asian). I’m just kidding Zo! Hold on to your wonder!


As we hiked along the upper and lower circuits, we were treated to view after view of lush greenery, blue skies, flickering rainbows, and, of course, torrentially powerful curtains of water. It was a blatant display of the sheer force of nature. We couldn’t help but morbidly think about whether or not anyone would be able to survive a dip in the falls (pienso que no!).

Andres said something that rather struck me as we walked along the lower trail.

“Isn’t it a little strange that we pay to go see nature?”

Hm. It is a little strange. But perhaps a more accurate statement is that we pay to preserve nature. Human beings used to exist in spite of nature. Hunter gatherers weathered the elements, braved storms, and took only what they needed to survive. Now, pockets of nature exist in spite of human beings. The way I see it, we were paying for the maintenance of trails and of the park infrastructure, but we were also paying to keep the falls relatively untouched.

I thought about this as we leaped down to the river plate to catch a boat that would literally take us underneath the falls. Our planet is incredible. How can we keep it that way?

This boat ride though pretty much wiped all pensive thoughts out of my mind. I was so frickin’ excited to get utterly drenched! We strapped on our life jackets and placed all our belongings in dry-bags. Then our driver began to steer the speedboat right towards the white torrents of water. Our “oohs and ahhs” from our peaceful morning hike morphed in to screams of sheer delights: “AHHH!! WOOOO!! YAS!!” as the boat repeatedly ducked in and amongst the curtains of water. This wasn’t some Disneyland jungle cruise where you get slightly wet. We were soaked all the way through to the bone. It was exhilarating!

After the boat ride, we spent the rest of the day with the falls, visiting a little island in the middle as well as paying pilgrimage to La Garganta del Diablo (The Devil’s Throat). What a sight to behold.

Tired, damp, but thoroughly content, we headed back to our hostel to cook up a nice family dinner. We schemed about how we would sneak Zoe and Andres into Brazil the next day over a delicious bottle of $4 champagne, but more on that story some other time!

Sunsets are better in Uruguay

I’ve done my best in this blog to try and describe some of the amazing sunsets that I have seen so far on this trip. However, I seem to always fall short. I guess the cliche, “a picture is worth a thousand words” exists for a reason. Therefore I present my seven thousand word essay on why sunsets are better in Colonia, Uruguay.


Done already? You must be a fast reader!

In all seriousness though, this little weekend getaway to Colonia, about an one and a half hours outside of Buenos Aires, was very special. Colonia is a beautiful little town filled with flowers, sun soaked streets, and friendly people. I’m already itching to return.

Mendoza, where wine is cheaper than water

“When in Mendoza, you really only need to know two words in Spanish: vino, y más. ‘Wine’, and ‘more’. Put them together, and you’re all set: más vino!”

This little phrase, courtesy of our wine tasting tour guide, pretty much sums up our trip to the wine capital of South America. Nat and I spent a whirlwind 48 hours in Mendoza and we made the most of every minute and every drop of wine.

We flew out of Buenos Aires at the ungodly hour of 4:00am. This resulted in pretty much no sleep the night before since we got to the airport at around 2:00am. Luckily, Dionysus (or someone up there) smiled upon us and blessed both of us with completely empty rows in an otherwise jam-packed plane. It seemed too good to be true and it would be just my luck to have been scammed into buy three seats after misinterpreting the Spanish ticketing website. But no matter, the two of us were immediately horizontal and slept during the hour-long flight to Mendoza.

Upon arriving, we cabbed through town to the Chill Inn Hostel in the city center. It was the first time staying in a hostel for both of us and we didn’t really know what to expect. We were greeted by a shaggy night manager who showed us to our dorm. We were pleasantly surprised to see a little alcove with a bunkbed just for the two of us. After a quick power nap, we were ready to take on Mendoza. Overall 10/10 would recommend the hostel vibes.

Mendoza is an autumn city with plazas lined with beautiful trees and boulevards covered by canopies of fall colors. We walked around the city centre for a couple of hours admiring what Nat dubbed “tree porn” in anticipation of the main event: our wine tour.

In Argentina, and several other wine obsessed countries, wine can literally be cheaper than bottled water. For just 400 pesos each (25USD), we had managed to book ourselves a tour of three bodegas (wineries) with an olive oil factory thrown in as well. As we sat on the bus with people from other hostels around the city, we saw the landscape change from urban to rural with vast fields of grapes on all sides. Unfortunately, everything was rather skeletal due to the time of year. I can only imagine what the vines looked like at the peak of bloom.

At every bodega, we were given the option of going on the tour in Spanish or English. Never ones to back down from a challenge, Nat and I opted for the Spanish tour. After all, the language of wine is universal, no? At the first tasting, we were given generous douses of intense and full-bodied Malbec, oaky cabernet sauvignon, and smooth shiraz. Nat, being the champ that she is, pretty much neglected the little bucket they provided for excess wine. I however did not, seeing as we still had two more bodegas to go!

At the second winery, we were treated to a selection of desert wines. There were a couple of sparkling varieties, a particularly feisty moscato, and a couple of rosés. I honestly couldn’t tell you too much about each variety. We had persisted with the Spanish tour and I struggled with comprehension what with the wine buzz and the sleep deprivation.

Luckily, our third stop was an extremely strategically timed visit to an olive oil and balsamic vinegar factory. God! I think I could survive off of good bread, oil, and vinegar for the rest of my life. I shamelessly scarfed down our samples and single-handedly demolished a plate of olive oil soaked sun-dried tomatoes. Carbo loaded, I was ready for our fourth and final stop.

At our last stop, we were treated to some white Torrontés in addition to the standard Malbec. It was the perfect dry and fruity wine to round of our Mendoza wine experience. Now, I’m typing all this as though I actually know quite a bit about wine and as though I haven’t been chugging bagged sauvignon blanc out of cardboard boxes for the past two years of college. But this isn’t all BS. Our guides did do a very good job explaining the different types of wine to us and I do have a better understand of what makes a wine dry instead of light, oaky instead of fruity.

Regardless of taste though, a red wine, be it bagged sangria or high-end Malbec, is enough to put me to sleep. I KO’d on the bus back to the hostel and had a profound siesta before Nat and I went out into the city in search of tacos (we wanted Mexican, ok?!). As we sat there shovelling down guacamole, we reflected on how much we had managed to accomplish in just our first day here: we did a full city tour, took a couple of power naps, ate my weight in olive oil and sun-dried tomatoes, and sipped on countless glasses of wine.

“¡Salud!” we said as we clinked our glasses together. Alas, they were filled with overpriced water since we wisely determined that we were wine-ed out for the day. Not only were we completely satisfied with our day, we were also proud of the fact that we had gotten through it mishap free. Here’s to doing Mendoza right!

That one time I went to a BA drag bar…

Latin America gets a bad rep for sexism. Many point to machismo culture as one of the main factors in inhibiting gender equality. I don’t think that I’ve spent enough time here in order to really say anything definitive about the state of machismo culture in Argentina. I am also very aware of the fact that as a visible foreigner, my experience of the local culture will always be somewhat filtered. Though I’ve gained a better understanding of the political status of women in this country through my internship with ELA, I still have a lot to learn about what it is like to be an Argentine women.

Upon arriving, I was expecting the city’s incredible boliches to be one of the places where I could really observe machismo culture up close and personal. And while there have been a couple moments in boliches where I’ve been approached creepily (this one guy stroked my hair – not a cute look), I can’t really say that it was any more sexist than a club in Hong Kong or a frat party in Cambridge. In fact, I can actually report the opposite after a great experience that I had at a very special boliche just last week.


Every Thursday, Niceto Club in Palermo turns into the aptly named Club 69, Buenos Aires’ premier drag club. It’s not hard to get in. One simply has to sign up online with an email address in order to get on “the list” so Nat and I decided to check it out last Thursday. Not going to lie, even though I had literally just typed in my email online an hour before, it felt super cool to be able to march to the front of the line and say “Hola, me llamo Rachel Chiu, estoy en la lista” (Hi, my name is Rachel Chiu, I’m on the list *insert optional hair-flip).

The interior of Club 69 consists of a long bar, a large dance floor, a balcony, and a stage with flashing strobe lights. What really set Club 69 apart though was that there were these incredible drag queens stationed on the balcony fiercely posing to the trance beat. It was really just a taste of what was to come.

At 2:00am, the performance began in proper. The theme that night was very Little Mermaid inspired and these gorgeous, fishnet clad, red wig wearing, shell bra rocking, snorkel donning, dancers were completely bewitching the audience from the stage. Other than the Hasty Pudding show back at Harvard, this was my first experience dipping my toes into drag culture. I must admit that I’m not very knowledgable of the importance of drag culture and it’s relationship with LGBTQ movements. I need to read up on this. What I do know though, and what I experienced that night, is the fact that there is something deliciously subversive about a group of gorgeous men in sky-high heels, all incredibly confident in their own bodies and their own sexualities, dancing around a stage in front of an adoring crowd.

But aside from the wonderful rupture of socially imposed gender norms, the drag show was just a sheer display of talent. Any one of these drag queens could have been on an episode of So You Think You Can Dance. And no, this isn’t the mojitos talking. Do you think it’s easy looking so sexy while wearing a snorkel? I was so mesmerised by the amount of energy they brought to every routine and the spontaneity behind every improvisation. Everything about the performance worked. The set design: fabulous. The music: so hip, so cool, so edgy. The vibes: so positive, so free, so loud.


I think what’s powerful about drag culture is that it is so unapologetic. And when it’s done as well as it was at Club 69, it is a great showcase of dance, personality, and, of course, pride. I bet you didn’t know that Argentina was actually the first Latin American country to legalise same-sex marriage and the tenth world-wide. I certainly didn’t before coming here. This progressiveness really shows at a place like Club 69 where the crowd was visibly LGBTQ friendly.

Thanks for a great night Club 69!

I can safely say that this show/club/rave was one of my best night-life experiences so far. And in truth, it was one of the most interesting and empowering experiences from a feminist perspective from my time in Argentina thus far. I am in the process of dissecting the generalised Latin American stereotypes about sexism in this part of the world and while there are certainly fights that must be fought here, I have thankfully had the privilege of experiencing other moments of female empowerment as well. These moments include: that time I watched women taking care of each other on the subway, that time I was inspired by feminist street art, that time I bonded with my host mom over good food and the importance of motherhood, and, last but certainly not least, that one time I went to a Buenos Aires drag bar.

A trip to Tigre

In 1492, Columbus sailed the Ocean blue, yada yada yada. We all know how the tale goes. Columbus, in search of a western route to Asia, found himself in the Caribbean. Thinking he had reached his destination, he immediately labeled the natives he encountered Indians before realising that he had in fact landed somewhere half a world away from India.

In a similar fashion, when European settlers first reached the river delta just outside of what is today Buenos Aires, they were greeted by locals. This time, in the form of fearsome jaguars. Quite literally for lack of a better word, they reported that the area was full of tigers and consequently named their settlement Tigre.

A wonderful scene by the river.

Last Tuesday, my friends and I all got a day off work for el Dia de la Bandera, Argentine flag day. We hopped on a train and decided to take a little break from the city. We encountered neither jaguars nor tigers on our trip save for little tiger logos on flags around this charming little settlement.  Instead, we were treated to beautiful views of riverside houses, walks along the promenade, and churros. Lots and lots of churros!

A basket of magnificent churros

After a river tour around the delta in a lancha, we gorged ourselves on steak and pasta before walking to the local museum to work it all off. As ~cultured~ as we are, we are first and foremost stingy college kids and we couldn’t bring ourselves to pay to go in. Instead, we just wandered around outside the gorgeous building. Looks a bit like a haunted house no?

Photographers call the hour around sunset the blue hour. Normal people simply call this twilight. Regardless of what you call this precious time of day, the sight of the sun slowly sinking into the river, the gradual painting of the sky in shades of orange before giving way to an eerie blue, is universally beautiful. These photos don’t do it justice:

Happy to have spent a perfect day in Tigre, sans big cats and all.

With the wonderful Nat ❤

Exploring the Feria de Mataderos

I’m a firm believer in delayed gratification. The longer you have to wait for something, the better it is when you eventually obtain it. At least, that’s what I told myself as I banged my head yet again against the window of the rickety collectivo (public bus) that I was standing on. It was one of Olenka’s, my amazing host sister here in Buenos Aires, last day in the city and she had invited me to tag along with her and her friends to the Feria de Mataderos, a Sunday fair in a working-class barrio (neighborhood) of the city. I instantly leaped at the opportunity to explore another part of the city and to indulge in some good street food.

However, as the six of us rattled around the inside of the collectivo like clothing in a washing machine for about an hour, I remember thinking to myself “damn, I hope this is worth it”. It. So. Was.

Here are some snapshots that I managed to take in between shamelessly asking for free samples and downing desserts:

Is there anything better than a fresh panqueque (crepe) smothered in dulce de leche? How bout this beautiful little chocolate covered churro, filled with, you guessed it, more dulce de leche? Olenka’s friend Isa also got this divine waffle (at this point, you can just assume that all the desserts have dulce de leche).

There was also meat galore! I had a juicy empanada while also stealing some of Olenka’s boyfriends beef stew. Nothing like a warm guiso on a blustery day.

I highly recommend making the trip down to Mataderos if you find yourself in Buenos Aires. The fair has real character to it with elderly gauchos dressed in full gear dancing in the square and live music to match. Thank you so much to Olenka for inviting me and for also helping me adjust to life here in Argentina! Te extraño muchissimo! Besos!

Bad lighting, great ~sisterhood~

That one time we went to an Argentine birthing class

That one time…

Most of the world’s best stories start with the same four words: “Remember that one time…?”. Say these four words out loud and I’ll bet that your mind fills in the blank the same way google suggested answers pop up in your web browser. This column is dedicated to some of my “that one time” moments. Some (most) of these moments are embarrassing, some are hilarious, some are truly moving, and all of them are truly memorable.

That one time we went to an Argentine birthing class 

Well, not exactly.

After about two weeks eating my way through Buenos Aires, I started to feel as greasy as the wonderfully overstuffed empanadas that I was constantly consuming. I realised that something had to change if I wanted to remain my happy and healthy self. That’s how In Out Gym entered my life. I decided to buy a membership to this bare bones gym about three minutes away from my apartment here in Belgrano. My wonderful friend Natalie decided to join me.

The two of us went to our first “entrentimiento intensivo” (“intense training”, yup, just as painful as it sounds, but more on that later) class together. Walking into the gym was like walking into an 80’s workout video. Women in bright neon clothing were setting up their stations with dumbbells and bars. “Sweet!” I thought, “this is gonna be chill”. Oh how naive was I.

The class started out with your basic warm up: jabs from left to right, quick squats, some twisting up and down action (yes, that’s the technical term). Our lovely instructor, Paola, in typical Porteña fashion, went around and gave every member of the class a little kiss on the cheek. So far so good!

But then, Paola got serious. We started doing squats and lunges at a speed and intensity that my vacation body was not ready for. Nat… well, Nat’s a Division I fencer and her body is like 100% muscle. My body at this point is, you know, some percent muscle, but also a significant percent dulce de leche. What really killed me were these bridge exercises that we did. Holy shit my butt was on fire! Side kicks, bridges, side planks, lifting leg pulsing thing (these are all technical terms), were all par the course. My inner thigh has not really ever felt this way before. Speaking of which, my Spanish vocabulary has improved immensely as exhibited by the fact that I actually know how to say inner thigh in Spanish now (it’s vasto interno for all you pre-med-Doctors-Without-Border types).

Circling back to the title of this post though. There was this one exercise that Paola made us do where we laid on our backs and spread our legs wide open in the air and pulsed, pulsed, pulsed. I swear to god that my form would have made any 16th century midwife proud. In the midst of panting through this dreadful 21st century form of torture, I caught glimpses of all the other women through my windshield wiper-esque legs. I realised that this was a class entirely filled with women – all of us just trying to be our happiest and healthiest selves. There were women of all different shapes and sizes, all in varying degrees of neon, and all red and sweaty. There was a primordial sense of mutual suffering amongst most of us with the exception of a couple mullet-headed (I’m talking Billy Ray Cyrus level mullet) abuelas who were really putting the rest of us to shame. But hey, if an abuela with a six-pack isn’t fit-spiration then I really don’t know what is. If these women can get through this workout after having two, three kids… grandkids even, then I can certainly do this after having two or three, media lunas.

And Nat and I did it! We survived our first Argentine work out class and honestly I felt like I had given birth to a new me (I’m really hammering home the title of this piece but just go with it). Working out consistently has always been something that I’ve struggled with. I like being active. I like endorphins! But in the midst of college and what not it’s so easy to fall off the wagon. I’m trying to be better though and going to In Out Gym is becoming a solid part of my Buenos Aires routine. On that note, I’m so thankful for Nat’s fierce accountability, Paola’s vastos internos of steel, and for all the abuelas that are kicking my ass.

*Note on the photo. I figured that sweaty pics of me at the gym wouldn’t really go with the ~aesthetic~ that I’m striving for in this blog. Entonces, here’s an obnoxious photo of me and a pretty wall!