My Walk Home

I'm refuse to pay for a cab unless in a group or I've got miles to go with bags and all. If I'm not crunched for time you won't find me on a bus either. I prefer walking because it's the best way to get to know a city. Plus it gives me time to be thoroughly entertained by my inner monologue. 

So as if the title didn't give it away, you are well informed that I'm walking. But where and when? Buenos Aires. 4 AM. Trouble is brewing. 

I've heard countless horror stories of muggings, theft, beatings, and all other sorts of shady activity associated with Buenos Aires. When is it my turn? I'm now in my 3rd stint here and have not one horror story of my own. Super jealous. Perhaps tonight is the night.

Faced with what is already a 30 min walk home through a less than friendly neighborhood, I can't be bothered to reroute along more pleasant grounds. Knowing full well the hostilities that may await, I arm myself with the only thing around that can double as way to make myself look even more hardcore and as a deadly weapon. With my toothpick perfectly inserted in my mouth at the most menacing angle I set forth. 

With fantasies playing out in my mind of how I will soon become the most deadly man in the world with a toothpick I find the darkest street possible and go for it. Gringo begging for problems.

As soon as the two dudes in trenchcoats materialized at the other end of the street I immediately loathed the moment this sounded like a good idea. But it was too late. Walking towards each other, I knew a clash was imminent. What would their preferred mode of robbery be? How would I react? If things got rough it was two on one. No amount of deadly toothpick training could save me now. 

As they approached perfectly in sync, I could now see the whites of their eyes peering at me from under their hoods. At once, with flawless execution, they both pulled back their coats, reached in with the other hand, and each quickly produced the weapon with which they would do their wicked deed. I was equally lightning quick with my draw.

So there I was staring down matching barrels of a pair of...... cell phones? All I was shot with was awkward glances as they proceeded to make their calls. I decided I had better repocket the cash I had already whipped out as an offering of surrender.

Disaster averted. Realization made. I would have made that way too easy if those had been real criminals. Next time will be different. Next time didn't wait long to arrive.

A couple deserted blocks later, a large man, with perhaps the world record for facial piercings, broke free from the shadows and rushed at me with a special kind of crazy in his eye. I fumbled to ready my toothpick for a counter attack which was difficult seeing as is had fallen from my mouth who was preparing a terrified scream. This wild man wasted precious little time in demanding my wallet. But wait. My Spanish isn't great and that demand for a wallet sounded like it might have actually been an inquiry as to if the 59 bus stopped nearby. 

Did I really look like I would know that? I'm standing there fiddling with a large splinter, mouth agape and a freshly pissed pair of underpants. I obviously don't concern myself with trivial facts about bus 59.

Yet again spared a horrific tragedy. Over the course of the next few uneventful blocks I was beginning to make a few discoveries about myself and my true feelings towards being robbed and/or beaten. But before I could settle on anything concrete, it happened.

There I was on a lonely street corner waiting politely for my good time to cross sign. Toothpick casually dangling from my lips. That's when I heard it. More accurately, that's when I felt it. The hot breath of Buenos Aires wrath on my neck was unmistakable. But how could this be? I had just looked over my shoulder and confirmed my isolation. Now not one but two, no, three figures had stealthily flanked me and were now literally breathing on my neck, ready to make their move.

Showtime. I had to get it right this time. This was the real deal. With an elegance and swiftness not seen this side of the equator in years, I quickstepped into a spin maneuver while transferring my weapon from mouth to hand, thus becoming combat ready. Possibly could have even been a flip in there. It was all a blur.

There I was now face to face with the three most evil...... 14 year old girls in need of a lighter I had ever witnessed? What is this all about? First of all, why are you even out at this hour? Second, what would possess you to think that sneaking up behind someone and breathing on them is the best way to ask for a light? They don't even know how close they came to getting shish kabobed on my weapon of choice. Seriously, not cool. And no, I didn't have a lighter on me. Just a shiny new heart attack to go along with that wet pair of pants. Roar!

The last few blocks home is when I decided for sure: I don't actually want to be in a robbery/beating situation, no matter how sweet the story might be. And if it has to happen, I'm much better off forking over my 30 pesos, and running into the night than trying to become the world's most deadly man with any sort of teeth cleaning device.

So, Buenos Aires, if you're going to do it, just do it already and quit playing with me.

At The End Of All Things

Well Buenos Aires is pretty fantastic. But after a couple weeks there, broken up by a stint in Uruguay, it was time to move on. Destination: Ushuaia, Argentina. The most southerly city in the world. Yes, it is southerly and not southernly. No N. Don't ask me why, but if you dislike it then go read someone else's edge of the world blog.

Trouble finding another world's edge blog? Then you're stuck with my account and it goes a bit like this:

The edge of the world is a place where snow is friendly with seaweed. Where salt water and subzero temperatures get along quite nicely. Where streets and sidewalks bow out to a difficult-to-navigate combination of ice and mud. Where the lazy sun can't be bothered to rise before 10 but makes the wait well worth it by transforming the mountains into giant mounds of pink and orange sherbet upon it's ascent. Where pods of whales can be seen loitering in the frigid waters. Where mountains somehow conspire to surround you from all sides even while exhausted waves lap at your feet. The edge of the world is a place that begs contemplation, reflection, and snowboarding.

What? You didn't think I'd just go for the mind blowing scenery did you? No, when I found out I could snowboard while looking over the edge of the world, now that's when I was truly sold. It may not have been the most conventional 4th of July but it was definitely one to remember.

After a day of unleashing my Pacific Northwest bred snowboard skills upon the Argentines, I was all smiles. Descending to the base at the end if my last run, I was coming in with some serious speed. I decided a fancy stopping maneuver was in order to appropriately impress those watching. I went to carve hard to the left but my board refused to turn. It was only my binding who obliged. The combination of the failed loose rental binding and the laws if physics quickly teamed up to ensure some pain was in my near future. 

The sound of someone getting the wind knocked out of them is unmistakable. Nevertheless I gave the nearby Argentines a refresher course. 

You'd think it would be difficult to maintain a smile while your lungs are fighting, to no avail, for some air and your imaginative ribs are trying to convince you that they are shattered. Not this time. No high speed wipeout could rob my face of the smile it had been wearing all day. And just one second. Let me check. Yes. That same overly giddy, edge of the world smile is still right where it should be.

Five Bad Signs

Last time I discussed five indicators that lead me to believe my talents as a traveler are improving. Now, it´s time to take a look at my reminders that prove I have not achieved a pro status.

My Spanish is still atrocious

After full submersion in Spanish speaking cultures for the past four months, you´d think I´d have a grasp on the language. Surprise! I don´t. I´d call it more of a weak tickle. Yes, that´s it. I´ve made a feeble attempts to tickle Spanish and in turn, Spanish tends to deliver a slap in the face. But there is hope for me yet. Recently I had my first dream in which I spoke a few words of Spanish. Score one for me. Fear not, for I will get this language dialed in before it´s all said and done.

Unfortunate encounters with foreign objects

It has come to my attention that there are a few items that they use regularly here, but I haven´t quite got the hang of them yet. Example: I mentioned the emergence of butt-cleaning bidets in my life somewhere in a past post. Well for some reason we are no longer on a friendly level. I really don´t want to talk about how this happened, but one day a bidet decided to squirt me in the eyes. Not my brown eye. We aren´t talking about a small spritzing either. It was a total eye enema. A full on ocular douche. I was leaking juicy bidet tears for the next hour. Also hurt was my pride. It´s no fun getting blasted in the eyes with water that is meant for your bum bum.

I haven´t gotten robbed........yet

What is this all about? There is no such thing as a self-respecting world traveler who hasn´t gotten stuff stolen. I would consider myself a failure if I can traipse around South America for months without getting robbed. Im not worried about it though. There is still plenty of time for the criminals to come through. Until then, I´ll just have to rely on myself to continue losing my own stuff.

Tried to take a knife on a plane

As it turns out, the Argentines also frown upon attempts to bring weapons on their planes. In my defense, I had completely forgotten it was in my carry-on and I was running on a nights sleep of about 30 minutes. So I was pretty confused when they pulled me aside after going through the X-ray security check point. They said, ¨Hey buddy! What are you trying to pull here? Javier! It looks like we´ve got a terrorist on our hands.¨ Well, looking back that´s probably what they said, but at the time I had no clue what their Spanish words meant. I did understand the word I know in Spanish as ¨pen¨ but they were unamused when I whipped that out of the bag. They failed to use the word I know for ¨knife¨ but after some time I remembered that there was definitely one in there. Needless to say, they took that from me, but I was just happy/mildly surprised I didn´t get detained as a terrorist.

I miss you all

Boom! This just got sentimental. So I figure the best world travelers can go for years at a time without returning home and that can only be because they don´t miss it enough to go back. This is one attribute I´m not sure I will ever develop and I´m perfectly happy with that. Friends and family back home, you are thought of frequently and are definitely missed. Friends that I´ve met on my trip, you are already missed as well and I look forward to they day our paths cross again.

There you have it. These are the subtle hints I´ve received that indicate that I´m not quite a professional globetrotter.

Next up: The End Of The World!

Much love