Since the past
week´s weather has alternated between stifling heat (even the locals were
complaining) and thunderstorms, most of my exploration has been limited to
nocturnal forays. Knowledge that I´m around for a wee while has also served to
dampen enthusiasm for doing much more than sleep in before heading off to sit
in a parque/plaza and read a book. Work here at Anamundana hostel has ended up
being equally tranquilo: pretty much all cleaning is left to the woman who
comes in every week (or more often we´ve been particularly busy), leaving only
reception duties for the staff. My still-hesitant Spanish means that I´m pretty
much babysat the whole time I´m working, and end up with precious little to
actually do. Having to faff about for hours in return for free accommodation
isn´t the end of the world (no bogs!), but feeling close to useless has been a
bit frustrating. Things should improve – I´m gradually working out how the
place works and hopefully will at least be able to help out with arriving
English-speakers…
With my usual
myopic level of perceptiveness, it had taken me nearly a week to realise that (i.e. dumbly ask if) being heterosexual puts me in a distinct minority amongst the
hostel´s regular cast; although I had at least worked out that Brayan and
Victor were a couple by the time the latter installed a new light, “alternating
in the colours of the rainbow”, by the front door. Although I´m left mildly
curious about exactly why I got the job, the friendly (without being too
friendly…) couple have been great company, as have their set of girlfriends,
who regularly drop by the hostel. So as well as working on my Spanish, I´m
building up a vocabulary of Portuguese gay slang I´m not sure I´ll need, and
giving the gaydar a fine-tuning that maybe I do:
Having noticed
a pretty girl sitting by herself during the preliminary drinks for this weekend´s (see below) festivities, I´d duly done the decent thing and wandered over to
say hello. Despite noticing the Venus symbol tattooed on her ankle, and her
mentioning she´d been to the local gay bar the night before, the penny was
still bouncing around when an Argentinian came over to help translate. The lass
must have felt sorry for me, for after a brief conversation our interlocutor
turned to me, said “we´re wasting our time here”, and walked off. The chaps here
evidently don´t mess around: apparently “te quiero” (“I want you”) is a pretty
standard line, and things get far sleazier. Given that a heavily
English-accented “¡Hola! ¿como estás?” has thus far singularly failed to deliver
the devastating results I´d been promised, more direct tactics may well be called
for. Live to learn etc. With the latter point in mind; I resumed, undaunted by
the raised eyebrow (“we can still talk, right?”), the conversation with my
amiga lesbiana, and was taught the set of Argentinian pejoratives to go along
with my Brasilian ones.
Rio´s
festivities last weekend were the excuse for a four-day bank holiday/bender here
in Argentina, and the cause of a fairly hectic weekend for us. The numbers
arriving meant that Victor opened an equally swish overflow hostel; with most
Argentinian guests staying in Anamundana, and the hen-party plus
English-speaking guests plus yours truly put into the other. Going out with
either set was a great deal of fun, and since no one here heads to the clubs
before 2-3am (contrary to back home, where everyone´s kicked out by then) I´m
still trying to catch up on sleep. Notable characters included the Chilean-born
Australian guy who´s trying to visit as many Argentinian football stadiums as
he can, the hen-party replete with bride-to-be in playboy-bunny outfit, and the
nargila- (shisha-)toting bunch of Israelis.
From other
travellers I´d heard a number of, mostly derogatory, reports on the ubiquity of
the latter. They apparently flood Patagonia at this time of year after finishing
their military service and spend their travels drinking and smoking whatever
they can get their hands on. Having met one of their number, who´d come to Rosario
to go skydiving and spent his three days waiting for a jump sitting in the
hostel watching youtube videos (on the single computer) and playing on his
phone, I´d begun to form a pretty dim view myself. That changed after a few beer
and nargila-sessions with this crew; after which (although the pressures of
being militarised so young under were only ever alluded to) it seemed churlish
to begrudge them the opportunity to unwind. Whilst such a conversation, at that
time of night, sounds every bit as bad an idea as Victor having left me in
charge of the hostel (and fridge full of beer) from 3-6am while he got some
sleep; the opportunity to discuss the Israel-Palestine situation with German Sanni
and the group of 3 ex-´soldiers´ was a pretty unique one. It´s terrifying to
hear from a group of pretty-much kids that ´stop or I shoot´ are the only words in Arabic
that most Israelis know. But while they are aware of, and in some ways
understand, the resounding criticism from around the world, questions remain
about the breadth of perspective of the side firing rockets. Sanni´s acutely
sensitive German viewpoint was an interesting contrast from the more or less
standard anti-Israeli sentiment back home. Predictably, we closed a
fortunately passion-free discussion without getting any closer to a solution.
With
Rosario the birthplace of the Argentinian flag (as well as some itinerant
Argentinian doctor), it´s impossible not to remain aware of another ongoing
territorial dispute. The city´s spectacular monumento nacional a la bandera
(particularly beautiful at night, when floodlit with the Argentinian tricolour)
lies uncomfortably close (for me at least) to the monumento nacional a los
caídos en Malvinas. A couple of people have mentioned the issue to me in
passing, but fortunately none of the flag-burning, HSBC-smashing variety. Due
to my own circumstances, the only Argentinians I´ve actually spoken to about
the situation have been university-educated, English-speaking types, who can
see both sides of the story and have some doubts about ´Christina´s´
motivations in pursuing the issue. As reported in the British press, there is
an intellectual fringe that sympathise with the islanders´ perspective, and it
will be interesting to see how the debate plays out against the tubthumping. This
(another) bank holiday weekend promises a number of ceremonies commemorating the
200th anniversary of the flag, but hopefully no any significant
increase in nationalist feeling. Although I´ll expect in any case to be out of
the country by the beginning of April (and the beginning of commemorations of
the war itself), thus far I´ve never felt remotely threatened, and the people have without exception been extremely friendly. I hope and indeed anticipate that that will continue.
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