Livin´ La Vida Rosa(rino)

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 200^th 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.

Things Looking Rosy in Rosario

With language-learning the priority, I´ve been looking to find opportunities to work and spend some time more fully immersed. With that in mind, I signed up to a website listing a number of voluntary jobs, offering free food and board in return for a few days´ work a week. I applied to a number of things, including construction work in Bolivia, hospitality work in Chile and a hostel job in Rosario. I hadn´t heard from the latter before I arrived here, and, having not found a couch to crash on, headed straight for hostelworld to find a bed for the night. Lo and behold, the description for one of the hostels matched the tone of the advert, and a browse through the pictures showed they were indeed the same place.

After my schlep through town, I therefore hastily changed into a relatively clean shirt and shifted into interview mode as I made my way through the door. I needn´t have bothered: the shaven-headed, sleeveless-shirted hulk on the other side was extremely friendly, and mention that I was looking for work was enough for me to be promised a meeting with the boss, Victor. That never really came, but a series of informal chats with Victor and the hulk (Brayan) established that I was indeed going to work here, and started this (Monday) evening.

 The place seems to be a cash-cow for a bunch of Brazilian students, who took over the place only in the last seven months and are still working out how best to make the place work. Victor has put on hold his architecture degree to run the hostel on a daily basis, and Brayan seems to be giving up on sleep in order to help out alongside his degree-studies in medicine. They´re the only two staff with any English; although with the extremely relaxed, convivial atmosphere within the hostel-cum-guesthouse I´ve still to work out which of the other people in the hostel are other staff, and those who are long-term guests.

Although conscious that I´ve traversed half the world to still be cleaning bogs; said atmosphere, the presence of a rooftop-terrace for stargazing, fresh croissants for breakfast and the prospect of full-on immersion meant that I spent the weekend trying to comprehend my luck. I´d been taken by Rosario´s looks from the start, with attractive houses and boulevards to go along with the usual collection of statues, monuments and churches. Possessing beaches and nearby islands (I´m still on the Paraná) to camp on, it´s going to be a difficult place to dislike.

Further affection for the city stems from the tremendous welcome I´ve received, thanks to a friend-of-a-friend back in England. She´d put me in touch with her twin cousins, who, together with their family, made my first few days in Rosario a delight. They´ve already shown me to several of the city sights, and invited me to accompany them on outings to the island on the family speedboat. Whilst the world´s widest river is not it´s prettiest, skipping across the murky green/brown (whatever) Paraná is still a pretty good way to begin an afternoon. On my first trip I was treated to a tour of the islands, with uncle and avid nature photographer Edgardo slowing the boat down to allow a better view of the magnificent white cranes and hawks perched on the river bank, and the strands of spider web held hanging over the water by the breeze. All very idyllic, until the uncle began to point out the ceibo, Argentina´s vivid red national flower, resplendent amongst the foliage. Cue “¿como se dice ´colourblind´ in castellano?”, and five minutes´ puttering along close to the riverbank and jabbing fingers at the trees. I was too embarrassed to admit that I was still none the wiser, but closer inspection reveals that it is indeed very pretty.

After patiently enduring a series of half-conversations (waiting for the idiot on the other side to work out what he wanted to say), the cousins must have been pretty relieved to let their chatterbox uncle take up some of the slack. Wandering up and down the beach with them, with Edgardo explaining (either in limited English or with drawings in the sand) the terms I´ve not understood, has allowed me to take part (however hesitatingly) in my first relatively long conversations. And begin to develop a zoological vocabulary in Spanish…

Having since been invited to interpose myself on other outings with the whole clan, I´ve now talked at and been patiently talked to by the boyfriends and grandparents as well. Their efforts have been a huge fillip (not that I needed it) to get on and learn, as well as to find other conversation partners to avoid putting the burden solely on them. Fortunately there is a sizeable couchsurfing community here, and my first encounter with several (at a language exchange meeting in a local bar) proved them to be very friendly. Have tentative arrangements to meet a couple more over a beer, and after a recent craving to play tennis I´ll hopefully meet one or two on court as well...

After several days searching I´ve also found some tuition on which to spend the money I´m saving on accommodation. Thanks to the local custom of closing for siesta for any number of hours between 12 and 5, wandering around looking for courses turned out to be a fairly ineffectual business. The tone was set by my first enquiry of the city´s public (free) university: it was only after walking the corridor past a series lectures that I realised I was in the science faculty. I was directed to the teaching office, where the very kind lady gave me details for the humanities department, but informed me that the little darlings needed their rest and were closed until the Monday. In the end I needn´t have bothered: word had got out amongst the friends of the hostel staff that a gringo was looking for a teacher. After a flurry of emails and another day walking round I returned to be introduced to trilingual Daniele, who lost her job when her company folded and is now looking to make a career out of teaching Portuguese and Spanish. Music to my ears was her Ecuadorian dialect, and that she was unwilling to charge me as much as the established schools. Pretty and cheap would probably have been enough (usual story), but that she offered the opportunity to be taught the sounds used by the majority of the Spanish-speaking world (with y and ll both pronounced as y rather than the sh of Argentinian caste-sh-ano) made it a done deal

So I now have a city and some sort of routine to settle into. Will reserve judgement until I´ve had a full day´s work (we´re pretty busy over carnaval weekend this week), but at the moment I´m thoroughly looking forward to spending a month here, if not longer...

First Four Weeks

Have been meaning to post something for a while, but this is the first time I´ve had relatively unlimited access to the internet. So here goes...

It already feels like a long time since I arrived in Buenos Aires, nearly four weeks ago. After a few days exploring the city I headed up to Gualegauychu for South America´s 3rd biggest carneval; then hitchhiked from there up to Puerto Iguazu with a Danish girl (Nikkoline) to visit the waterfalls. Our stay for nearly a week at a wonderfully bohemian campsite (on which more below) also saw me daytrip into Brazil to geek out at the world´s (now second-, behind China´s Three Gorges) biggest dam at Itaipú.  Having passed tantalisingly close to the Jesuit missions that give Misiones province its name, I was intrigued enough to want to visit on the way back. We therefore visited San Ignacio, before crossing into Paraguay to take in further ruins, as well as another carnaval. Having returned to Posadas in Argentina we split up, and I arrived in Santa Fe by myself on Monday to spend a few days chilling out a bit and explore the city.

Obligatory "hell yeah, we made it" photo

What I´ve Learnt So Far


1) It´s HOT. In Jan/Feb :)
2) Possibly enhanced by L1, the ice cream in Argentina tastes GOOD (as does the crap beer on offer, definitely due to L1). Italian heritage combined with Argentines´ ridiculously sweet teeth mean that seemingly every main street contains a heladeria to provide welcome respite from the Sun.
3) Probably also enhanced by L1; an Argentinian kilometre, when directed towards a main road, is a bloody long way. I thought that we Brits were notorious for understatement, but it´s lost some of its charm by the time you finally arrive at a suitable spot to solicit a ride. And then have to stagger on further to find some 30deg shade. Not that I´d ever complain about the heat...
4) Viajar con el gordo. A delightful euphemism for hitchhiking. Lit. "to travel with the fat one".
5) Un pocito mas castellano.
The first lesson was that I wasn´t going to learn any español on my travels: the people here speak instead the 16th century Castilian dialect introduced by the conquistadors, and referred to as castellano. Progress will hopefully pick up pace now that I´m back on my own. Travelling with Nikkoline, a fluent Spanish speaker (and not wanting to frustrate too many drivers with my broken, nay eviscerated, Spanish) meant that improvement has mostly been limited to my ability to work out what syllables they´re actually pronouncing. Still a good deal of improvement necessary, before I can even start thinking about building up my vocabulary; a fact reaffirmed by a series of smile-and-nod conversations in Santa Fe over the last couple of days. I was treated to a 20min tour of the port museum (there´s little to do here but culture-vulture) by one of the staff, and was able to comprehend less than a minute´s worth. Plus ça change (or whatever), I hope. The couchsurfer I´m staying with (studying to be an English translator) has been incredibly patient and helpful with my attempts to practice, and I´ll hope keenly for more of the same...
6) La gente esta muy loca
Running every weekend through Jan+Feb, the carneval in Gualegauychu attracts thousands of vacationing Argentines from the nearby cities (it´s an hour from Buenos Aires, and we met revellers from as far afield as San Luis) to get drunk, swim in the riverside beaches and party. The atmosphere in the campsite we stayed in was fantastic: people were able to drive their cars onto the site, allowing miniature-discos to form around the blaring stereos. Any Reading Festival comparison was dispelled from my mind by the fact that people considerately acceded to the campsite-imposed silence at midnight, and the cacophony of dubious Latino pop music (including the gem above) abated for everyone to have a go at recovering for the following day. With intermittent thunderstorms (so not unlike Reading after all) throughout the weekend, enthusiasm for the carnaval may have been slightly dampened, but the main event still thrilled, with impressive floats, shimmying dancers and all the works.
Unsure of what then to expect from Carnaval in Encarnaçion, we were delighted to find an even better atmosphere. Billed by the Lonely Planet as "more fun than Rio", the Paraguayan version duly featured riotous levels of audience participation: we were buried on arrival under a blizzard of spray snow, and playful ´snowfights´ continued across the stands over the course of the event; together with virtually obligatory dancing. The fact that, of all people, I was keen to head along to the discoteca afterwards, is some testament to the atmosphere and energy of the crowd, although possibly also due to some degree to the quantity of Brahma consumed (see L2). Whatever, I found the cumbia rhythms far more intoxicating than the standard fare on offer in British clubs, and happily danced away like a loon until daylight.

Carnaval Paraguyan-style

Further Highlights


Iguazú Falls. Every bit as beautiful and impressive as the guide books say. Standing at the Devil´s Throat", at the head of the series of falls was a tremendous experience. You see and hear from 10ft the roar of water throwing itself 80ft off the ledge to the water below, and having no choice but to feel and even taste the consequent spray kicked up: an utterly visceral experience. The park itself, with a series of falls emerging from the pristine-rainforest to spill into the Rio Iguazu, was spectacularly beautiful. Take away the hordes of people, add a few mango trees and leave me alone with the vivid butterflies, startled iguanas scurrying through the undergrowth, and majestic black birds wheeling around in the sky (until you make out their heads and realise they´re vultures) - the place would be paradise.

Reducciones Jesuiticas. A step up from outright exploitation, the Jesuits gathered together settlements of indigenous Guaraní people, in order to protect them from other Europeans and convert them to Catholicism. Some grew to 3-4 thousand strong, until the order was banned from Spanish and Portugese lands and the reductions were abandoned. Visiting the ruins at San Ignacio, Trinídad and Jesús by day; with about as much information on offer as I´ve just relayed to you, was fairly underwhelming. Visiting Trinídad at night was another story. We were slightly unsure of what to expect of the "sound and light show", especially having had to pay for a taxi in order to arrive on time. However, under a full moon, and with ethereal choral and Guaraní music playing from hidden speakers; gazing at the floodlit ruins, or up the Southern Hemisphere stars, was absolutely magical.

Jesús, the smallest but best-preserved of the ruins.

Riverside Fun. Puerto Iguazú, in Argentina, overlooks the Tres Fronteras, sitting as it does at the confluence of the Rio Paraná (the border with Paraguay) and Rio Iguazú (bordering Brazil); and also acts at staging post for visits to the Falls. We were delighted by our decision to stay in the cheapest campsite we could find, it´s charms partly summed up by the owner´s introduction: "you´re not allowed to be drunk, throw maté leaves on the floor, etc etc... and if you want to smoke marijuana, you have to do it over there". With tents pitched haphazardly, wherever space could be found between the trees, the price-tag meant that the camp was home, for months at a time, to the ´artisans´ who sell tat on the streets of any tourist spot the world over. They were a fascinating bunch, spending their daytime making their wares, and their nighttime either touting them or smoking weed at the campsite. Some wove bracelets, some made jewellery, and one guy made these grotesque-looking clay/bamboo bongs up to 18inches long, which he said were due for sale in Amsterdam. A massive communal pot of food was cooked every day, with the contribution of 5pesoes or so (less than a quid) entitling one to as much tasty local grub as they could eat. Forays to the river for a swim were a daily (/nightly) occurrence, and the people I met there were amongst the friendliest I´ve met so far, helping me a great deal with my Spanish.
Swimming further down the Paraná, at the beach in Encarnaçion, saw the arrival of thunderstorms produced by the broiling humidity. The sudden transition from 38deg sunshine to charcoal grey skies created one of the best rainbows I´ve ever seen; and sitting in the surf as wind, lashing rain and fog replaced blue sky was a surreal (but fortunately short-lived) experience. Our host in Encarnaçion (we met Cesar through couchsurfing) also took us to the grounds of his church, which offered a viewpoint over the Paraná and Posadas to one of the best sunsets I´ve ever seen. With low-lying cloud allowing the Sun´s disc to be watched as it gradually inched its way below the horizon, the sight of its reflection from both river and clouds was mesmerising.

All-you-can-eat Meat buffet. Another tip from Cesar, the Brazilian-style churrasqueria was every bit as good as it sounds. With two girls as companions I lacked the peer-pressure to truly let rip, but did my best to boost the local cattle industry. What I thought were kebabs looked on closer inspection like they might be intestine, and I wasn´t sure whether to be disappointed or not to find out they were chicken hearts. They were very tasty all the same, as were the steak, ribs, chicken legs and chorizos also on offer. Fortunately we did not have to walk back home with laden stomachs, as the impact of blonde hair on local gallantry meant that we were offered a lift :)

Human Nature. Naff as it is to say, and with all the usual caveats (I´ve already heard several travellers´ stories, including the two girls in my dormitory who had pack/iPod nicked whilst I was eating breakfast - touchwood I stay this lucky), the friendliness and kindness of strangers remains one of the joys of travelling. From the hospitality of the couchsurfers I´ve stayed with, the invitations to homes/asados from the people who picked us up, to the Brazilian couple who gave me change for the bus (I´d daytripped across the border hoping I´d get by with pesoes), and more; people´s capacity and willingness to help has consistently been heartening.

I head South to Rosario tomorrow, and plan next to visit Cordóba before Mendoza. Having found the level of Spanish I have is enough to make myself understood, but not enough to interpret much in reply (the usual story), I´m thinking I might look for some tuition in one place or another. Will see. Hasta luego...