It´s good to be king

I found this terrible Ex-Pat bar in Buenos Aires that was showing the basketball game through an barely watchable feed from the NBAs website. Finding the basketball games down in Argentina turns out to be a challenging issue. It’s not that the technology doesn’t exist to transmit the game to the Southern Hemisphere. There are satellite dishes and everything. But there’s some licensing issue with the NBA or DirectTV or someone. And it’s illegal to show the games in restaurants or bars.

The problem with Ex-Pat bars is that they’re full of Ex-Pats. Sometimes you meet some interesting Ex-Pats, but they’re still Ex-Pats after all. I find most Ex-Pats fall into two categories. First there are the kinds that just want to party and explore the world with their other Ex-Pat friends. And then there’s the kind that are bitter and jaded about life back home and have found a convenient place to run too. Either way they got it figured out. I’m still looking for that 3rd place.

But the thing that annoyed me most about this bar was the food. The owner told me he decided to open a bar because he missed the pub atmosphere. I take it he went to a lot of bars back in Key West. But I don’t think he ever ran one, and certainly never ran a kitchen. It was all quite terrible. And this was surprising because whenever I asked one of the regulars what was good they all said the same thing “well everything is pretty good here”. I that just meant they had chicken wings. And it was kinda expensive for Argentina. However, they did have free beer during their 4 happy hours a day. And that was quite excellent, so they had that going for them.

The Cavs were playing the Wizards in the first round of the NBA playoffs. I haven’t watched too many American sporting events since I’ve been down here, I think the last one was the Superbowl, and I caught a random Indians game on ESPN. But I wanted to see this game, watching LeBron James play is just fun.

I’ve been a Cleveland sports fan as long as I can remember. More the Browns and the Indians than the Cavs. But when you’re a Cleveland sports fan, you’re just a Cleveland sports fan. And there’s something unique about being a Cleveland sports fan that only other Cleveland sports fans can appreciate.

Cleveland is Mudville. Actually Cleveland is worse than Mudville. Because Cleveland has this way of coming oh so very close and making you believe that something magical is going to happen before crushing your heart into tiny little pieces. Cleveland is the city where the John Elway’s and Michael Jordan’s make their legends, not because of your heros, but inspite of them. Cleveland is the city where the Ernest Byner’s and Jose Mesa’s of the world leave you in stunned silent disbelief as your heart sinks to the bottom of your being.

Generally speaking, being a sports fan is fantastic. For very little actual investment you can enjoy great emotional highs when your team wins. Of course being a real sports fan means the flip side of that equation is true as well, when you’re team loses in heart-breaking fashion your heart is broken. And sports give us a socially acceptable manner in which to vent our ancestral cavemen instincts. If it wasn’t for sports we’d all walk around hitting each other with sticks.

But watching LeBron James is just fun. He’s good. He’s the kind of good that comes along once in a generation. He’s the kind of good that’s lived up to every ridiculous expectation that was piled upon him and left his critics searching for fodder. He’s the kind of good that you know is just going to be special and makes all of those comparisons to Jordan seem that much more likely.

And he’s a local boy, from Akron. And Akron is pretty much part of Cleveland, except Cleveland doesn’t want it. But LeBron is great as he’s been proving and he’s playing in Cleveland, and that has left many Cleveland Sports fans befuddled and confused.

Good things like this don’t happen to Cleveland. God hates Cleveland. The only time good things happen to Cleveland are right before some incredibly ironic twist of fate turns against us and dashes our elevated hopes. So I like all Cleveland sports fans is left pondering what cruel destiny awaits us regarding our new found savior. I won’t mention what I’ve come up with because they are all too terrible to put in writing.

I lived in Seattle for the last 7 years. But I never found myself that interested in Seattle sports. I think mainly because Seattle sports fans aren’t like Cleveland sports fans. Cleveland sports fans are like battered spouses who can’t leave their abusive partners. They keep going back expecting things to change, which they never do, but they just can’t bring themselves to leave.

That loveable loser mentality has a tendency to burrow its way into the personality of every Cleveland Sports fan. You just kinda sit and wait for the next shoe to drop. Even when things are good you can’t really enjoy them because you’re waiting for providence to work it’s magic.

But I’m starting to believe there is something to be said for self-fulfilling prophecies. When you believe the worst will happen, it often does. When you look for the worst in people, you find it. I’m not really sure what that has to do with LeBron James or Cleveland, but it’s far too easy to find yourself mopping around waiting for the inevitable. And when you do that not only do you forget to define your own destiny, you forget to savor the moment of joy you’ve been hoping and waiting for.

So for the time being I’m just going to try to enjoy every soaring dunk and timely jump shot and forget abut the Pistons or free-agency or bolts of lightening from the sky. Yes some things are easier said than done, but you get so much more joy out of doing than saying.

Where to Next?

I had make it back to Buenos Aires and kinda settled back into my routine of learning Spanish and hanging out with my school mates and other random people I run into. At this point I’ve officially been in Buenos Aires longer than I’ve spent in any other place while traveling.

A couple days later Joanna came back from her successful trip to the south. The glaciers were spotted she told me, and they’re awesome and I have to go. I knew that was going to be the answer before she got to town. She was leaving for home in a couple days, but was going to finish her trip off in Buenos Aires.

We found time to close down a few more clubs and for her to teach me a couple more moves on the dance floor. After that it was another good-bye to someone cool I met traveling. I’ve gotten awfully good at saying those goodbyes after a bit of practice.

I came here looking to settle down for a little bit. And after a couple of weeks being settled down I was starting to get antsy. My sisters somehow convinced my Dad to buy them tickets to come to Ecuador to come visit me. Well the Ecuador part was my idea. They asked me where they should fly to in a couple of months to meet me. And I looked at a map and came up with Ecuador. I was thinking Peru originally, but then I met this Ecuadorian guy who was really cool and kinda planted the idea in my head.

This gives me about two months to make it from Buenos Aires to Quito, Ecuador. I find myself spending a lot of time analyzing maps and planning out routes. Maybe I’ll head through the northern part of Argentina, through Cordoba and Salta before crossing into Chile and continuing along the coast. Or maybe I’ll just keep heading north and spend some time in Bolivia and Peru before working up into Ecuador. Or maybe I’ll just fly all the way to the Caribbean and work my way down south to Ecuador.

Joanna told me this story when she came back. She said she was sitting in a restaurant or something waiting for a bus, and at that moment it just dawned on her that she was happy. That everything was good in life and she was just content. This seemed like an amazing revelation. And I started trying to think if I’ve ever had a similar experience.

Before I started this trip I kinda knew things weren’t going the way I thought they should. But of course I had no idea what way they were supposed to go. My plan was that I would just hang out and after a couple months while I was laying on the beach in Rio everything would just magically be clear. And many things did come to me while I was lying on the beach in Rio, although none of them were the meaning of life. When I told Joanna about my original plan she just kinda laughed.

Apparently finding happiness isn’t really quite that simple. She said it was about knowing what you want and knowing what you don’t know you want. And I hear those answers can only come from within. You can’t find it searching Google and it’s not in that new razor that they’re selling. Sometimes those clichés take on an entirely new meaning when you can tie a moment and an experience and a point in time to those tired string of words. And sometimes everything really is quite so simple that it can be summed up in a few words.

A Walk Through A Valley

By the time I woke up it was sunday afternoon and it dawned on me that I only had one more day to make it over to El Parque Nacional de Los Quijades. Somehow I had managed to spend the last two nights staying up till all hours and partying with my newly found rag-tag band of Argentinean hooligans. And this meant that for the last two days, making the early morning excursion to the park was not an option.

But seeing as it was sunday, everyone was heading back to where they came this afternoon. I was guaranteed a nice quiet evening. They all had work or school monday morning, and luckily, my classes don´t start till tuesday, so I had one more day left. And I was convinced tomorrow was my day to head to the park. But I had managed to learn that one of the aparent reasons that not a lot of tourists come to San Luis is because there just isn´t a lot of infrastructure for tourism.

For example, in order to get to El Parque Nacional de Quijades from San Luis, one needs to take the solitary bus towards San Jose which leaves at 8 AM. This drops you off on the side of the road about 6 km from the park entrance, which leaves you with a little walk before you get to the park. Then you have to hope to be able to find a guide in the park itself, or you could chance treking through the desolate rock valley yourself, but everyone seemed to advise against that. Getting back is the tricky part, since there is no bus service. That means you hope you find someone at the park who is making the 130 KM ride back to San Luis or just hitchhike.

No it didn´t sound like the perfect setup, but I was game. I did come all the way to San Luis aftrer all for some reason. Charlie and Michie saw me off at the bus station where I caught a ride to Porto de los Funes, for a little day-trip. It was sad to say goodbye to those two, especially knowing that I could never bring myself to hang out with them again. Good times were had that won´t soon be forgotten, no matter how hard I try.

The hike through in Porta de los Funes was out towards a peak set atop a series of rolling hills that has a fantastic vantage point overlooking the flatness of Las Pampas, they called it Salta de las Monedas. They say on a clear day you can see all the way to the Andes, but today was not such a day. The hike was relatively easy and it was nice just to have some quiet time alone. I tend to forget how much I value my quiet time until I go without it for a while.

By the time I made it back to the hostel all the party kids had left for home. But in their place I ran into a group of three travellers also looking to head to the park tomorrow. This was fantastic news, because it meant we could all split the cost of a guide and transportation, and not have to worry about hitchhiking tomorrow. I made friends quickly and we all went to dinner to figure out some plans for tomorrow.

Our guide Pablo met us at the hostel early the next morning and pretty soon we pilled into his car and were off! It´s an amazingly different experience hanging out with a group of 30 year nature enthusiasts rather than 20 something party kids. We actually talked about history and politics, I could understand their spanish, mostly because they would slow down and explain stuff to me. I guess I´m just getting too old to constantly party like a mad-man, oh well I suppose I always knew that day would come.

The park itself was amazingly gorgeous. If I´d ever been to Bryce Canyon I´d describe Los Quijades as the Argentinean version, but since I haven´t I´ll just say it´s one of a kind. Beautiful limestone canyons and dazzling rock-formations seemed to just carry on, one after the other. As we started our hike through the valley, we stumbled upon a lost couple already looking for help. Thus we added two more to our group and headed out.

It was hot in the valley and I found it difficult to believe that any form of life survived out here, even through we heard the wolves and saw the condors. Pablo pointed out the more interesting formations and we all debated what we thought they looked like. We wandered through that valley for a couple of hours until the sun was starting to set. It was quiet and still in the valley but we started to asend back towards the entrance the winds nearly took us off our feet, a couple of times.

We just barely made it to lookout we started from as the last rays of sunlight were vanishing behind the mountains. As I watched the sky light up I thought to myself I came amazingly close to missing this, what a shame that would have been. Sometimes when you just live in the moment, you forget to think about finding the next moment. It´s just my opinion, I may be right or wrong, but I think you can find just about whatever you´re looking for at Los Quijades at sundown.

So this is what a quiet sleep Argentinean town looks like?

I arrived in San Luis knowing very little about the town, but I had photocopied the two-pages of information that Joanna’s Lonely Planet guide to Argentina had on the city, which described it as a very quiet and peaceful town. I figured that was enough to get me started. After asking around a little bit I soon learned that finding a place to stay for the weekend was going to be difficult. It was Good Friday, and everyone in Argentina had the day off. That meant they were all currently in the process of heading to their holiday destinations, and San Luis was preparing for an influx of tourists.

But there was a new hostel in town and I figured that was right up my alley. I showed up shortly after 4 PM and it seemed nice and clean and very tranquil. That would soon change I was informed. I met Fredrico in the patio outside and we chatted for a bit before he went to take a nap. I decided to go explore the town and figure out how to get to the Parque Nacional de Los Quijadas the next day, which for me was the whole purpose of coming to San Luis.

By the time I got back to the hostel a couple hours later it was overrun by young Argentineans ready to party during the long weekend. Fredrico begain introducing me as “Kash de Seattle” I started to correct him but decided I kinda liked it. Turns out the secret to making friends in Argentina is just to make one. Once you’ve done that, you can rest assured that your new friend will introduce you to all of his friends, who in turn will introduce you to all of their friends. Within minutes drinks were being poured, insults hurled across the pool table and dinner plans were being formulated.

The group of 15 of us in the hostel at the time decided to head to a nearby parilla for a traditional Argentinean feast, which of course involves not showing up until about 10 PM. Over the last couple of weeks I’d found myself kinda of regretting the fact that almost all of the people I had been hanging out with were other “extranjeros” from across the globe. In Cuba and Colombia I had spent all of my social time with locals and I really loved being able to experience a country with a native by my side. But trying to keep up with the dinner conversation of 15 excited Argentineans while bottles of wine were being uncorked was more than a challenge. I think I’ve learned that I need to be careful of what I wish for, and I´ve also learned the limits of my spanish skills.

Dinner was fantastic. We consumed unhealthy amounts of charred animal flesh, most of which I could not identify and did not think prudent as to inquire their origin. I was kinda afraid of what the answers might be. Occasionally one of the English speakers in the group would try to explain why the entire table spontaneously burst into laughter, but I never really got it.

We got back to hostel a little after midnight and it was packed with even more Argentineans and they were ready to party. I met Charlie and Michie within a couple of minutes and we hit it off right away. My intial assessment of those two trouble makers was the Argentinean version of Beavis and Butthead, but maybe a reference to the two kids from “Y Tu Mama Tambien” would be more apt. They were utterly hilarious, incredibly generous, friendly beyond belief and absolutely completely fucking insane.

The party was in full swing by this time. After not smoking for a week and resisting all the temptation throughout dinner when cigarettes were being handed out I finally succumbed and accepted an offer. I know you all must be very disappointed, but I’m only human after all. And really it was all Michie’s fault.

The guitar was getting handed around and whenever anyone said “Kash de Seattle” the first response was always, “como Nirvana, si?” Someone must have had the “Unplugged in New York” album because they played every damn song on that CD. But it was great, people sang along loudly and beat out a rhythm on chairs and tabletops. It was so nice to know more words than anyone else. Pretty soon the tunes changed to Argentineans folk songs. Tables were danced on, boxed wine mixed with orange pop was consumed in alarming quantities and the dead were arisen.

At 3 in the morning the group waking up early to head to the national park tomorrow decided to head to bed. Unfortunately I choose to hit the boliches with the other group led by the previously mentioned insane duo. Around 5 in the morning it occurred to me that there was no way I was waking up at 6:30 to head to the excursion. But that was ok, I had a few more days in San Luis and I was sure I would get there eventually.

I keep finding that things seldom go as I planned. Quiet laidback weekends turn into all-night parties before you know what happened. Moments reserved for solitude and introspection become social disturbances within a blink of an eye. But I generally find that when my plans go completely haywire the new and unexpected bounty that I stumble upon is far more fascinating than I could have imagined, and truly a once in a lifetime experience.

Onto the Bodegas!

After our adventure out to Mount Aconcagua, Joanna and I both agreed the perfect way to soothe those sore muscles was by making a tour of the bodegas around Mendoza. Something like 70% of the wine in Argentina is produced in Mendoza and it also happens to be one of the few spots in the world where Malbec grapes thrive.

We managed to figure out how to take the bus to the wine growing region of Lujan without too much trouble. Actually getting the bus, now that was another matter altogether. Apparently there was a protest march through the middle of Mendoza, about something or other and the bus routes were being diverted all over the place. The Argentineans sure do love marching and protesting. But somehow between our bad Spanish, handful of maps and the kindness of some very nice Argentineans we were eventually able to hop on the right bus.

Joanna is from the Bay Area and I think she had a picture of Napa Valley in her head. Lujan is nothing like Napa Valley. This became apparent when we realized the only people on the bus were the two of us and about 20 kids getting out of school. Lujan is a pretty residential neighborhood, that just happens to have a ton of bodegas scattered around town. The beautiful valley and surounding hills of Napa where no where to be seen.

We stopped into the first one we saw, a small family run affair. There were no tours to speak off but one of the operators of the bodega was nice enough to show us around through the operations and offer us some of their wares afterwards. We were both waiting for the high-pressure sales pitch afterwards, but instead all we got was a recommendation to a nice restaurant.

The next couple spots were fairly similar. Some larger, some smaller. But all very nice and set right in the middle of a streets full of kids playing and families walking around their neighborhood. But I got the feeling they were used to the tourists tramping through looking for the bodegas.

Towards the end of the day, after several glasses, I had to admit they all tasted the same. Fortunately enough that meant I thought they were fantastic. And somehow we were even able to figure out the bus to take back to the center of Mendoza with a little more help from a random Argentinean on the side of the road.

That evening Joanna and I headed for a nice dinner with my two best friends, a hunk of roasted animal flesh and a bottle of Malbec. But the evening proved to be a little bitter-sweet. Joanna was continuing on towards the south tomorrow. Something about there being some more glaciers to see. I was heading east, to San Luis, a tiny city near a great National Park I´d been reading about. We were going to meet up in Buenos Aires again for a couple of days before Joanna headed back to the US. After hanging out for the majority of a month together, and the last 5 days non-stop, it was strange to think about parting ways.

The trip to wine country was everything I hoped it would be. There´s something about a good Malbec I´ve loved ever since my first trip to Argentina. They have deep intense flavors but not nearly as powerful as a Merlot. And a good Malbec has a wonderfully soft finish. One second you´re enjoying all it has to offer, savoring the subtelties of it´s flavor, and then it´s gone with just barely a hint of a lingering aftertaste, and all you´re left with is the memory of a fine wine.

Acancogua - Day 2

I woke to the sound of a propane burner being used to heat up our breakfast. Sleep was was hard to come by the last night. Between the blistering cold, the tree root under my back that we somehow happened to miss while laying out our tents and my cough that kept me up all night I just couldn´t find my quiet happy place. The rented sleeping bag was warm and cozy and definately worth the 10 pesos I was paying for it, but finding the motivation to get up and unzip the tent was not easy.

After a few more minutes Cristian, our guide, let us know that food was ready. Hot tea and cookies proved to be the perfect breakfast. We had a long day ahead of us and it was time to get moving. We were starting out from our base camp at 3300 meters and treking towards Plaza Francia at 4200 meters. I´d already done the mental math and figured out that was freaking high. The hike was supposed to take about 4-5 hours each way, which would make for a full day. But we were promised spectacular views of the highest peak in the Americas at Plaza Francia along with a vantage point to a beautiful glacier.

The five of us loaded up our day packs and put on all the layers we had. Cristian had let us know that we´d need every single bit of clothing we had when the wind started kicking in a couple of hours. We set out from base camp saying our good-byes to the only two other souls we would see that day. They´d done the trek the day before and were heading back to Mendoza in the afternoon.

The hike started out wonderfully. The valley we were walking through was enclosed on both sides by mountainous cliffs that were sea beds who knows how many thousands of years ago. They shimmered in the morning sun with a spectrum of colors, soft yellows, dull greens, mesmerizing blues and of course furious reds. The air was crisp but clean, the views were spectacular, and the valley was earily silent. There didn´t seem to be any life here besides the group of 5 would-be trekkers. The sun beat down on us and we haphazardly pulled off a few layers.

Fousto, the Ecuadorean journalist, kept us all giggling with his bathroom humor. Well actually I was the only one giggling but I attribute that to the fact that it was all in spanish. Joanna and Michael, the Russian-Israeli student, did ok with their spanish, but if I do say so myself, mine has progressed to the point where I can find the jokes of others funny, but unfortunately not make my own. We stopped and took pictures and laughed and told stories.

After a few more hours of treking the mood had changed. The winds had started and were hammering through the valley. The same wind that took thousands of years to rip the face of these mountains bare took only minutes to cut us to the bone. Piece by piece we had all put those layers back on. Our conversation had slowly trailed off. Everyone seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. The only words we would hear would be a request for water or a 5 minute break. Michael started to complain about the headaches first, but I could already feel mine coming on. We knew beforehand that altitude sickness was going to be an issue. I quit smoking three days earlier, but aparently it takes the human body longer than that to recover from months of poisoning.

With every step we took the peak of Acancogua grew closer. Every time we turned a corner we saw a cleaner crisper shot of our goal. It´s strange when you see it approaching slowly in the distance, one footstep at a time. You know there´s not going to be an ah-ha moment where it jumps out at you. Just slowly and steadily more spectacular.

Another hour later and my head was throbbing and my heart pounding. When we stopped again I asked Cristian for the 10th time how much longer we had to go. ¨Oh maybe 15 more minutes¨ he said. This was the best news I had ever heard. After another 1/2 hour of trekking I asked him how much longer. ¨Oh maybe 30 more minutes¨ he said this time. Since I was no longer sure in which direction time flowed I decided not to argue with him.

I found my mind racing as we continued on. I started reading some Hemmingway on the long bus ride to Mendoza and all I've been able to think of lately are the struggles that define us. This trek was proving to be a perfect example. There's something about setting a goal for yourself, a hard-to-reach goal, one you have to work for, one that at times you're really not sure if you're going to make it or not. There's something about goals like that defines the person you are. Nothing that comes easily is worth having, the sheer act of struggling to overcome makes victory that much sweeter.

The thought of stopping and heading back to base camp did actually enter my head, but with a single step towards our destination it passed with alarming haste. As I continued pondering this theme Cristian pointed up ahead to a tattered white-flag set in a rock formation. Plaza Francia. I was tempted to run up that little hill and jump in celebration, but the energy wasn't there, and neither was the need. I knew I was going to get there in due time, there was no reason to change pace.

As we reached the opening I did have to admit, the view was more spectacular than it was from the previous clearing, if only for the fact that this was where we set out to get to, and this is where we wound up. We took a few more pictures, drank some water, ate some cheese, I collapsed for a few minutes, and then we turned around and headed back to base camp.

The hike back was far easier. I knew I was getting back, there was nothing to push for, no doubt in my mind. I already felt the satisfaction that comes from reaching an ellusive goal. Our dinner that night of rice with cut-up pieces of hot dogs followed by tea was far more satisfying than all the steak and red-wine I'd been eating in Buenos Aires. I was tired and had a long list of aching body parts to complain about but when Fousto asked me "Estas content?" I answered honestly, "Si, muy".

Lets get the heck out of dodge

Anna had already caught her plane back to NYC. And I think after two mornings of seeing the sunrise Paul decided he needed to get back to his real job of running his hostel and stop hanging out with us delinquents. It also happened to be the week before Semana Santa (Easter) which meant I got an extra two days off from school. Joanna and I figured this meant it was perfect timing for a road-trip.

The only question left was where. I wanted to find some wineries. Joanna wanted to find a mountain. Luckily Mendoza turned out to be the perfect spot to combine the two. Mendoza is a lovely little city near the Chilean border, in the desert right before the Andes start. Whenever I asked any Argentineans about Mendoza they all said the same thing ¨que linda!¨ which I took as a very good sign.

The desert climate, excellent irrigation and lack of rain make it perfect grape growing region. And Mount Anoncagua, the highest peak in the world outside of the Himalayas is only a 3 hour bus ride from the city. Mendoza it was. After making a few very confusing phone calls I managed to find us a bus heading to Mendoza in a few short hours. It was a 15 hour trek, which sounded not at all appealing.

¨Don´t worry¨ Joanna told me ¨we´ll be asleep through most of it, so it´s only like a 5 hour bus ride¨ I´ve always suspected that women live in a world with different rules regarding space and time, I took this as further evidence of that fact. But actually the bus ride wasn´t bad at all, the seats were about as comfortable as 1st Class airplane seats, they brought around wine and whiskey, the food was ok and they even played two terrible movies.

Before we knew it morning was upon us and we were pulling into the bus terminal in Mendoza. We consulted our trusty (or not so trusty, depending on your point of view) Lonely Planet guide and found a few hostels. The first one was booked, but the second one had room. An hour later we found a tour operator with a 3-day trek to Mount Anoncagua leaving early the next morning.

I came to Latin America with the intention of spending time hanging out at the beach and doing some dancing. And it turns out sleeping bags, fleeces and camping equipment weren´t required for any of that, and thus did not get packed. But luckily there was a store in town that will rent you whatever you might need. I got geared up and we decided to take it easy with the drinking and partying that night. There was a mountain calling our name and we were leaving bright and early in the morning. The wineries would just have to wait 3 more days.

They can talk about me plenty when I´m gone

I went to the Cementeria de Recoleta a few days back. It´s one of those tourist attractions that seems to be at the top of everyone´s to-do list in Buenos Aires. And it was quite an impressive spectacle. Beautiful and breath-taking, no doubt.

It´s the cemetary where everyone who´s anyone in Argentina is buried. Walking around the tombs is like reading a map of Buenos Aires. You finally understand where those strange street names come from, the inspiration for the plazas and the squares are all buried within the cemetary walls. Presidents and Generals and all the assorted nobility of the country inhabited this city of the departed.

But I found the whole place rather depressing. Yes the architecture was lovely and the some of the tombs awe inspiring. But the oldest, most elaborte of them had fallen into a state of disrepair. The luster had dulled, the marble had chipped and moss had grown around even the most grand of tombs. Even the shinny new ones that were kept up with obvious care didn´t provide me with a sense of equivalent value for a departed human soul. I suppose they do provide solace for the families of those entombed within.

But this was somebodies idea of immortality. A burial chamber that would last throughout the ages. But time will take it´s toll on even the most impressive architectural feat, from the Great Pyramid in Giza to the Taj Mahal. And eventually we´re forget about the Kings and Pharoahs who inspired these majestic masterpieces, and they´ll become nothing more than a place for tourists to come take pictures.

If this is how one lives throughout the ages than I want no part of it. If this is all you can leave behind to inspire those who come after you, then something is gravely wrong. I think Hunter S. Thompson had the best idea I´ve heard so far. Now I just need to find someone who´s willing to shoot my lifeless corpse out of a canon when the time comes. Come on, doesn´t that just sound cool?

Que Sera Sera

Anna and Joanna got back from the Foz de Iguazu last night. And of course they had wondeful stories to tell of how amazingly gorgeous it was. They showed me their pictures and succeeded in making me incredibly jealous, but somehow I already knew that was going to happen.

It was Anna´s last night in Buenos Aires before she flew back to New York. And the girls wanted to thank me for giving them a place to crash so they decided to treat me to a nice dinner. I started to protest, it wasn´t that big a deal, and I didn´t mind the company, but then Paul gave me some excellent advice. ¨When a girl offers to buy you dinner, say ´thank you´and smile politely.¨

We had a great meal at an Armenian restaurant that Paul recommended. Apparently Armenian, Greek, Turkish and Middle Eastern food are all basically the same thing. Why they bother giving them all different names I don´t know. Paul joined us a little later in the night just as we were finishing up our meal. And pretty soon our one café before heading to the dance floor turned into a two hour conversation.

I´ve come to the conclusion that my favorite part about travelling is just the random people you meet and the long drawn out stories that we all share. We compared our respective criminal records and tortured romances. Joanna is married in what seems to be a very healthy relationship, but she got a kick out of our ridiculous tales. Everyone in this world has a story to tell, and if you give them the chance it´s amazing what you can learn about them, and yourself.

Eventually the folks at the restaurant told us they were closing up and we figured it was about time we hit the dance floor. I can see the tango practice has really paid off, I´m by no means good, but I feel more comfortable. And it sure is fun being able to twirl a girl around the dance floor without stepping on, bumping into or falling over the rest of the patrons. I practiced my dips with Anna again and Joanna kept correcting my poor form. But as 4 AM rolled around I knew I had to head home, I had classes tomorrow and we were all kinda ready to call it a night.

Anna has already made plans to come back to Buenos Aires in about a month. When she explained the travel benefits and flexible work scheduled she recieved as a flight attendent and how they applied to family as well I asked her to marry me. She laughed and kinda walked away, so I took that as a no. I guess it´s all for the best, she´s too tall for me anyway.

But if anyone else out there knows a beautiful, single, blonde haired, blue-eyed, Swedish, flight-attendent who´s closer to about 5´4¨ drop me a line. Until then I guess I´ll just keep trying to find some itinerary that actually works with my frequent flier miles.

Daddy´s got a new pair of jeans

I stopped off at one of those fancy schmancy designer stores on Avenieda Santa Fe today and bought a new pair of jeans. This was a good thing because I´ve been due for a new pair of jeans for a while now. The guy at the store showed me two pairs I really liked. Actually they were kinda the same pair, but one of them was ¨roto¨ and therefore cost 24 pesos more. That means it was all cool and hip because it already had wear marks in all the right places and holes and stuff.

So I did what I thought was the only prudent thing. I bought the more expensive pair with all the cool scuffs and tears and what not. But after I got them home and put them on I realized that one of the cool holes was in the back left pocket. That´s where I usually put my wallet.

Hmmm...this presented a problem. But at the moment I came up with what seemed like a perfect solution. I´ll just start wearing my wallet in my back right pocket instead. But the thing is, after you´ve been gotten used to having your wallet in your left pocket, in reality I´ve been wearing it there for as long as I´ve carried a wallet, switching to your right pocket is a big deal.

It feels strange on the right hand side. I feel like my whole balance is off. When I sit down there´s this strange uncomfortable bump where I´ve never felt one before. I´ve had to counteract this affect by puting my cell phone in my front left pocket instead of the front right which makes things somewhat better, but still everything is out of whack. It´s even affected my pimp strut which I spent years perfecting.

But I think I´m going to stick with having my wallet on the right hand side. Maybe just when wearing this pair of jeans, but there´s something about putting myself in an uncomfortable situation that I find very comforting. Change is good, we all need to shake things up from time to time, sometimes it´s minute and inconsequential...and sometimes it´s not.

The crazy nights of Buenos Aires

Wednesday afternoon my cell phone stopped working. At first I was really concerned, and then I thought, this is probably a good thing. It had been ringing nonstop, and every night when I would say to myself, “I’m kinda tired and should just take it easy” someone would call and force me to go out and party until some ungodly hour of the morning. No more!

But by Friday I was feeling guilty that I hadn’t talked to anyone in the last two nights. My body was thankful and definitely appreciative of the last two early nights in, but since I was almost feeling healthy again I broke down and went to the cell phone store. They fixed it right up and by 1:00 PM it was back in working order. At 1:30 Joanna called me. “Me and Anna are going to Foz de Iguazu for the weekend, are you interested in coming?” Oooh…I really wanted to go to the Foz de Iguazu. Everyone describes it as one of the most beautiful sights in all of South America, and apparently it just puts Niagara Falls to shame.

At first I said no, I had classes on Tuesday and I just didn’t think I had enough time. Then I thought about how much fun it would be, and when I talked to Joanna again and told her I was in. Then I thought about the 20 hour bus ride from Buenos Aires to Puerto Iguazu. The nice thing about being a burnt out Software Engineer is that you have the savings of a burnt out Software Engineer, and sometimes you can throw money at a problem and turn a 20 hours bus ride into a 1 hour airplane trip. Then I learned it was Amy´s birthday today, one of my fellow classmates. Maciej, the Polish guy, and Till, the German guy, thought we should all go celebrate. “Salimos?” they asked. “Como no!” I responded. Ok the falls would have to wait, I was going to spend one more weekend in Buenos Aires.

One other thing I have learned about myself on this journey is that I’m a flake. I have changed my mind about so many plans so many times, and I don’t think I’ve been on-time to a single encounter in the last 3 months. I guess that’s the problem with being overly easy-going and spontaneous. Sure when someone is depending on me I make sure to come through, but that’s probably the only time. When I told Joanna I was out again, she didn’t seem very surprised. I think she might have figured out this character trait of mine in only two short weeks, while it’s taken me 28 years. “Can we still leave our stuff at your place?” she asked. Of course! It always feels nice to help a friend in need, especially when it costs you nothing and your friends are two very pretty girls.

When the time was right, our group of Birthday well-wishers managed to find each other with just the normal amount of difficulty I seem to encounter whenever I try to meet up with friends in this country. The night started out with loud music, plenty of drinks and lots of cigarettes, and kinda ended the same way. In between I think we managed to offend just about everyone involved with some highly unsensitive comments about our respective countries, and there was even a beer spilling incident that was not soon forgotten.

Two in the morning proved to be the turning point, as usual. We were all kinda dragging but we managed to find some food to fuel us which kept us going for another couple of hours. As the wee hours rolled around we decided to take a break from the club scene and just sit and chill and shoot the shit.

Some of my best conversations happen at 4 AM. For some reason after you´ve been partying with a group of people all night, by the time that hour seems to roll around no one worries about being polite anymore and will just say whatever is on their mind. We all shared our stories of how we wound up in Buenos Aires, and what was next in our lives. Well those of us that had any clue, which turned out not to be too bad a ratio at 50%.

I always seem to meet two kinds of people when I´m travelling. Those that think they´ve got it all figured out and those that know they don´t. The thing about being a cliché is, you´re not the only one. Some things just resonate deep within the human soul and it doesn´t seem to matter where you come from, what language you speak, or what you´ve been doing with your life. We´re all trying to make sense of this world, and we´re all at different points in that journey. Some of us have got the path mapped out and others of us have miles to go before we sleep.