The weekend has come and gone and once again I´ve managed to go crazy, meet a bunch of random people and come stumbling home at a solid 8 in the morning. Want to hear about it?
Futbol futbol futbol!!! That´s what I´ve been doing here in Argentina. I´ve been watching every game with a certain zest and excitement that one only gets every four years. (You see, the world cup only occurs once every four years and for that reason one can only get this excited when it arrives. Now if the cup happened every year, or annually, it would be different, but since it isn´t I have to appreciate this type of fun only once every four years. Get it?)
My day pretty much just flows with the world cup schedule. I usually wake up at about 11 to the sounds of cheering from those who are already in the spirit. I watch the fist game on the couch in my hostel until about 1 pm every day. Then I have about two and a half hours to do something until the next game starts.
On Saturday, I was following my usual pattern which lead to a little walking tour with a new hostel friend from Australia. We walked all over the city and went to my favorite destination so far, the Ateneo book store. It is a giant book store made inside an old theater. Very cool. After that, we picked a semi run down restaurant to have some mid day pizza and even more mid day glasses of wine. Well, she had chocolate milk and I had a couple of huge 75 cent glasses of wine.
She had to leave to meet friends so I worked my way back through the city stopping once and a while to have a wine and keep up with the game. That took me all of 2 hours and when I finally began my B line to the crib the rain kicked in and I was forced to walk soakingly to my little crash pad.
At this point I thought it was going to be a regular movie on the couch and crash night, but I was mistaken. I decided to check out the party floor on the top to see what was happening and to my surprise...it was happening.
Now at this point it might be interesting to know that for the first couple of days here I was being a bit of an anti-social dud. A bit unlike myself, I´ll agree, but nonetheless I was spending more of my time sleeping or laying on the couch instead of actually being friendly or talking to anyone. So, when I showed up on Saturday with a bit of wine in the belly and my usual butterfly like attitude, most were more than surprised.
After a couple more glasses of wine and beer the decision was made to head to the Clubes as they call it. Our group was quite large which meant that the inevitable decision of where to go was going to be nearly impossible.
We found our first club and entered only to find out that half the group had said ¨Screw this¨ and left for some other place. I tried to get into it, but it was clear that the others were also dissatisfied. The music seemed about a half tempo too slow and it was really enjoyable watching all the locals try to compensate for the fact that the DJ had a serious hearing disorder. There seemed to be a lot more people crashing into each other and no one was able to find his/her rythm. It was a no brainer that we needed to step things up.
At this point I was on fire or ¨in the groove¨ and I was ready for any kind of party they could throw at me. After an intriguing conversation with the taxi driver about the beef in Argentina we arrived to the new club. Our second of the evening.
This next part is sort of a wild blur of events. The highlights for me where taking random pictures with all sorts of people, having some massive dance offs with the locals and one serious dance off that led to us being in a circle trading off moves and then agreeing that we both rocked and doing our own synchronized dance together, and of course...getting several different high rolling Argentines to buy me drinks even though I had my own money in my pockets. You gotta do what you gotta do.
After that my Spanish was zooming and I no longer wanted to be around those who wouldn´t speak it to me. While walking with my hostel friends back to the.....that´s right, the hostel, I met some local Argentines by initiating a very inviting, ¨HEY! ¿QUE PASA AMIIIIIIGGGGGOOOOOOO?¨
Some how we got to talking and I ditched the others and we were off to find another beer. Unfortunately though, we were a bit too stupid to realize that no one was going to have beer at 630 in the morning. Of course that did not stop us and we made a long journey all throughout Buenos Aires.
In the end we decided to settle on some footlong hotdogs sold by a Bolivian woman in a kiosk in the middle of a dark street. The ideal way to eat your breakfast. It was fun to team up with the Bolivian in making fun of Argentinian accents.
After some hugs and some goodbyes I was walking off towards the rising sun and my rock soft bunk bed when I heard my new friends shout, ¨You´re the coolest American evvvveeeerrrrrrr!¨ And with those kind words in my head I found my way to the hostel and drifted off to dream land until 430 in the afternoon the next day. A pretty good night over all and a great way to finally start my trip.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
¿My Kind of Tourism?
¡Well here I am in the great land of Argentina! I have finally crossed the equator. I can now add another continent to my list. I have been very lazy since I got here. There is something great about going on a trip for 6 weeks, and that great thing is that you don´t have to worry about cramming a million things into your day. Not only that, but it gives you more time to actually think about what you want to do. Not everyone likes going to old churches or seeing giant museums but they go there because they consider it a part of the unique experience one can have when in that specific location.
I have found that there are many things that you can consider ¨cultural¨ or ¨memorable¨ and many of them are much easier and cheaper than a lot of the more typical tourist things.
Yesterday was a good day because I was able to actually enjoy my first real full day in Argentina. The day of arrival can always be a little daunting because you are still awake after coming from the last place you were just enjoying. When I arrived here in South America I still had the smell on palm trees on my body and the sand of Venice Beach in my hair. Not only that, but I was still filled with the elation I had felt from hanging out with some of my good friends in my own country. Take that experience and then thrust yourself into a completely new environment and it can feel a little nerve-racking. Normally I would like to arrive and then just go to sleep in order to adjust to this new place, but instead I had a long and fun day.
I arrived at the airport after one of the most boring flights I have ever had in my life. I was fine being anti-social on my 6 hour flight to New York, but I was preparing myself to meet a very eccentric and interesting Argentine on my 11 hour flight down south.
To be honest I never actually found out where the guy sitting next to me was from because he did not say a single word the whole flight. Even the flight attendants were confused as to how to address him. The same woman kept coming by and asking ¨Would you like anything to drink?¨ only to receive a head nod or hand gesture. The next time she would stop by and say ¨Quieres algo para comer?¨ and she would still get a mute answer. The guy literally didn´t want to talk to anyone. All he wanted to do was very carefully and methodically analyze the giant book he had brought along.
Now I´ll admit, I have some strange and sometimes uninteresting interests, but I usually divide my attention equally between them all. This guy sat in his chair for the full 11 hours reading a foot and a half wide coffee table book all about the history of modern furniture. We´re talking pages and pages of chairs and tables. Sure that is interesting for some, but 11 hours????¿¿¿¿ Not only that, but he was actually reading all the captions and descriptions page for page. I didn´t think anyone actually read the stuff in the coffee table books. Aren´t they just for guests to flip through while they wait for you to bring out their drink¿ (I forgot that my keyboard has some extra keys for me to enjoy¡)
He also kept rubbing each page and feeling them down as if he intended to measure each individual page with his eyes. It was all just very strange.
This guy seemed so incredibly consumed by his furniture book that even I was nervous to break his chair concentration. I didn´t even get up to pee until 9 and a half hours into the flight, and I always have to pee. Especially on airplanes¡¡¡
So he was obviously not a delightful seat mate and as soon as I got into the airport I was eager to speak to anyone who wasn´t passionately devoted to old furniture or taxidermy or any other thing you are supposed to think one thought and then forget about.
However, I was now in a foreign land and I had to switch to a brand new language. (A language I was hoping to have practiced for 11 hours pre-arriving. BUT NO¡ When I went through the customs I made my obvious mistakes by asking for a pencil when I wanted a pen, saying I was a woman to the customs official, and then asking where I could find my couch when I clearly was in search of my luggage. No problem though, because it got sorted out and after a quick bus ride I arrived in a city I have never quite seen before.
Buenos Aires is really beautiful and very big. It looks like a metropolitan city that you might see in Spain and yet the whole time you constantly remind yourself that you are actually in the southern part of South America. Somehow knowing that this city exists in the same part of the world as the Amazon and Machu Picchu is constantly mind blowing. I´ve seen a good amount so far and I´ve enjoyed some good steaks and some great wines and I even had dessert at a T.G.I. Fridays with a local of Buenos Aires. I´ve also done a lot of hanging out and a immense amount of Futbol watching.
So if I were to recommend how to be a good tourist when staying in a place for a long time I would say........ do whatever you want whenever you want to. Enjoy all the simple things and don´t forget the ¨insignificant¨ things. It is often hard to relate the experience of a great art museum to someone who has never been there or who has no interest, but many can relate to the boring and mysterious dork sitting next to him on the airplane. And that is important¡
I have found that there are many things that you can consider ¨cultural¨ or ¨memorable¨ and many of them are much easier and cheaper than a lot of the more typical tourist things.
Yesterday was a good day because I was able to actually enjoy my first real full day in Argentina. The day of arrival can always be a little daunting because you are still awake after coming from the last place you were just enjoying. When I arrived here in South America I still had the smell on palm trees on my body and the sand of Venice Beach in my hair. Not only that, but I was still filled with the elation I had felt from hanging out with some of my good friends in my own country. Take that experience and then thrust yourself into a completely new environment and it can feel a little nerve-racking. Normally I would like to arrive and then just go to sleep in order to adjust to this new place, but instead I had a long and fun day.
I arrived at the airport after one of the most boring flights I have ever had in my life. I was fine being anti-social on my 6 hour flight to New York, but I was preparing myself to meet a very eccentric and interesting Argentine on my 11 hour flight down south.
To be honest I never actually found out where the guy sitting next to me was from because he did not say a single word the whole flight. Even the flight attendants were confused as to how to address him. The same woman kept coming by and asking ¨Would you like anything to drink?¨ only to receive a head nod or hand gesture. The next time she would stop by and say ¨Quieres algo para comer?¨ and she would still get a mute answer. The guy literally didn´t want to talk to anyone. All he wanted to do was very carefully and methodically analyze the giant book he had brought along.
Now I´ll admit, I have some strange and sometimes uninteresting interests, but I usually divide my attention equally between them all. This guy sat in his chair for the full 11 hours reading a foot and a half wide coffee table book all about the history of modern furniture. We´re talking pages and pages of chairs and tables. Sure that is interesting for some, but 11 hours????¿¿¿¿ Not only that, but he was actually reading all the captions and descriptions page for page. I didn´t think anyone actually read the stuff in the coffee table books. Aren´t they just for guests to flip through while they wait for you to bring out their drink¿ (I forgot that my keyboard has some extra keys for me to enjoy¡)
He also kept rubbing each page and feeling them down as if he intended to measure each individual page with his eyes. It was all just very strange.
This guy seemed so incredibly consumed by his furniture book that even I was nervous to break his chair concentration. I didn´t even get up to pee until 9 and a half hours into the flight, and I always have to pee. Especially on airplanes¡¡¡
So he was obviously not a delightful seat mate and as soon as I got into the airport I was eager to speak to anyone who wasn´t passionately devoted to old furniture or taxidermy or any other thing you are supposed to think one thought and then forget about.
However, I was now in a foreign land and I had to switch to a brand new language. (A language I was hoping to have practiced for 11 hours pre-arriving. BUT NO¡ When I went through the customs I made my obvious mistakes by asking for a pencil when I wanted a pen, saying I was a woman to the customs official, and then asking where I could find my couch when I clearly was in search of my luggage. No problem though, because it got sorted out and after a quick bus ride I arrived in a city I have never quite seen before.
Buenos Aires is really beautiful and very big. It looks like a metropolitan city that you might see in Spain and yet the whole time you constantly remind yourself that you are actually in the southern part of South America. Somehow knowing that this city exists in the same part of the world as the Amazon and Machu Picchu is constantly mind blowing. I´ve seen a good amount so far and I´ve enjoyed some good steaks and some great wines and I even had dessert at a T.G.I. Fridays with a local of Buenos Aires. I´ve also done a lot of hanging out and a immense amount of Futbol watching.
So if I were to recommend how to be a good tourist when staying in a place for a long time I would say........ do whatever you want whenever you want to. Enjoy all the simple things and don´t forget the ¨insignificant¨ things. It is often hard to relate the experience of a great art museum to someone who has never been there or who has no interest, but many can relate to the boring and mysterious dork sitting next to him on the airplane. And that is important¡
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Hotel-de-Tramp
Well, another trip has begun and just as always I've found a room in a dumpy little hostel where I can get on a computer for 5 bucks an hour to inform my faithful readers of my grand adventures.
I've made it to my first destination: San Diego. This is my third trip here in my life and I've really enjoyed myself. This time I've been staying in the heart of the city where one is surrounded by classic buildings, a myriad of restaurants and bars and every kind of hobo/bum/street person he could hope to meet.
I've seen a lot of bums in my day. In fact, when I'm traveling I usually live the life similar to a vagabond. However, I've noticed a special bread of street person out here in San Diego. In this place the bums have a keen sense of how sidewalk life must be pursued. Unlike the bums of Chicago or the cities of the northeast, the SO-CAL bums already have an edge up by recognizing that street life is more effective and profitable whilst living in a warm city. Life is always better when the sun is out!
As I walk through the hustle and bustle of the San Diego streets I'm often fortunate to come across all sorts of colorful beggars. There are so many out here and most have thrown out the classic and creative excuses and simply go for a quick "You got any change?" or a slightly more enticing, "I need a quarter for the bus. Can you spare some?"
Since most bindle punks use the same excuses, they have to rely on other pans in order to win the jingling prize hidden deep within all of our pockets. Some have massize shopping carts with tassels and doo dads dangling from every side. Others sport bizarre clothing ensembles that somehow seem to match even though it's quite obvious that every item has a entirely different origin than the next. These are the boes that appear to be the most successful. They aren't tied down to a cart and they don't need to search endless trash cans in the hopes of snatching a plastic bottle or two. These ones use their tact and spunk to win the dimes and quarters of their loyal supporters. These freeloaders are true masters in the art of flim flamery. They are the bread winners of the street community and for that they are certainly a proud breed.
The grease balls are a type of hobo often confused for the true tramps of these great streets. Grease balls steal from other hard working loafers and are often known to toot the ringer if you can believe that. These guys are tricksters who may look like regular hard working hobos, but are actually thieves within their own community. These grease balls are too smart to actually be on the streets and are clearly driven by sheer laziness. For if one is smart enough to outsmart other hobos, that hobo is thus intelligent enough to find a better means of contributing to society. However, the greasers are more inclined to trick and thieve than to really embrace the Happy Hooligan lifestyle. It can sometimes be hard to spot the difference between a Grease ball and a Boe, but when you do you'll feel glad you didn't make the grave error of supporting this shameful lifestyle. The world simply cannot benefit from these tomato-can stiffs.
So while I've obviously been doing a lot more things in this great city, I feel it necessary to give some credit to those "hard-working" men...and a few women, who make their homes throughout the streets, alley ways, and beaches of this fair city. Would the world be better without the hobo? I doubt it. Sometimes life for others can become so monotonous that they forget the path they took from point A to point B. Spotting a tramp, hobo or streety helps us stay awake. They add a bit more color to an already colorful world.
A Monika will often attempt to run the line, but if that scalawag ever wants to find a scenery cruiser he had better get some thin ones by throwing his feet and avoiding the yahoos. Right?
I've made it to my first destination: San Diego. This is my third trip here in my life and I've really enjoyed myself. This time I've been staying in the heart of the city where one is surrounded by classic buildings, a myriad of restaurants and bars and every kind of hobo/bum/street person he could hope to meet.
I've seen a lot of bums in my day. In fact, when I'm traveling I usually live the life similar to a vagabond. However, I've noticed a special bread of street person out here in San Diego. In this place the bums have a keen sense of how sidewalk life must be pursued. Unlike the bums of Chicago or the cities of the northeast, the SO-CAL bums already have an edge up by recognizing that street life is more effective and profitable whilst living in a warm city. Life is always better when the sun is out!
As I walk through the hustle and bustle of the San Diego streets I'm often fortunate to come across all sorts of colorful beggars. There are so many out here and most have thrown out the classic and creative excuses and simply go for a quick "You got any change?" or a slightly more enticing, "I need a quarter for the bus. Can you spare some?"
Since most bindle punks use the same excuses, they have to rely on other pans in order to win the jingling prize hidden deep within all of our pockets. Some have massize shopping carts with tassels and doo dads dangling from every side. Others sport bizarre clothing ensembles that somehow seem to match even though it's quite obvious that every item has a entirely different origin than the next. These are the boes that appear to be the most successful. They aren't tied down to a cart and they don't need to search endless trash cans in the hopes of snatching a plastic bottle or two. These ones use their tact and spunk to win the dimes and quarters of their loyal supporters. These freeloaders are true masters in the art of flim flamery. They are the bread winners of the street community and for that they are certainly a proud breed.
The grease balls are a type of hobo often confused for the true tramps of these great streets. Grease balls steal from other hard working loafers and are often known to toot the ringer if you can believe that. These guys are tricksters who may look like regular hard working hobos, but are actually thieves within their own community. These grease balls are too smart to actually be on the streets and are clearly driven by sheer laziness. For if one is smart enough to outsmart other hobos, that hobo is thus intelligent enough to find a better means of contributing to society. However, the greasers are more inclined to trick and thieve than to really embrace the Happy Hooligan lifestyle. It can sometimes be hard to spot the difference between a Grease ball and a Boe, but when you do you'll feel glad you didn't make the grave error of supporting this shameful lifestyle. The world simply cannot benefit from these tomato-can stiffs.
So while I've obviously been doing a lot more things in this great city, I feel it necessary to give some credit to those "hard-working" men...and a few women, who make their homes throughout the streets, alley ways, and beaches of this fair city. Would the world be better without the hobo? I doubt it. Sometimes life for others can become so monotonous that they forget the path they took from point A to point B. Spotting a tramp, hobo or streety helps us stay awake. They add a bit more color to an already colorful world.
A Monika will often attempt to run the line, but if that scalawag ever wants to find a scenery cruiser he had better get some thin ones by throwing his feet and avoiding the yahoos. Right?
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