Buenos Aires

How do I even begin to cover the last 48 hours of my life?

I'll give you some bullet points.

February 24th, my mom and I drive to Lansing airport, where I was scheduled to fly out at 3:30pm. It was of course, snowing and my flight was going to be delayed, which was long story short going to fuck me over. But then a nice beardy man behind the Continental airlines counter switched me to a direct flight leaving out of Detroit at 3:00. I wanted to kiss nameless beardy man but I settled with a handshake.

I said a long goodbye to my mother and boarded my plane to Houston. Laid over for a few hours and got on the plane to Buenos Aires. It was a weird feeling to watch the blue track lights on the runway and know the plane just lifted off and I was saying goodbye to the US for four months. Next to me were a man and woman, who I originally thought were father and daughter but after a sufficient amount of touching that would have been highly inappropriate for a father and daughter, I decided, for my own comfort, that they were instead probably boyfriend and girlfriend. Boring, long plane ride. I slept for about two hours and am now firmly decided that the only way to be on an overnight flight to a foreign country is drugged up on Xanax or melatonin. I was across the aisle from a family of Argentinians and damnit if they weren't all model-good looking and tan.

After I get off the plane, I walked right into a line, which led to another line, where I paid $140 for a visa. Then I got back in the first line. It was hot, I was tired, and my backpack felt like a million pounds. The woman in front of me thought it was just too damn funny that I had to go buy a visa and then get back in line. I, on the other hand, felt like punching her. Two hours of standing in a sweaty basement type room later I was through customs and breathing relatively fresh air.

I got a taxi service through the hostel I booked and finally I was in the cab, driven by a strong cologne wearing older man whose name I never caught, but he seemed like a Pedro, so that is what I will call him. Pedro and I talked in Spanish about my life and he gave me a list of advice which was not negotiable. On my end, there was a lot of obligatory nodding and agreeing. At my hostel, Pedro bid me a whiskery kiss goodbye and I lugged 50 lbs of my belongings up three flights of narrow stairs to the bed I reserved. Needless to say I collapsed and woke up two hours later wondering how I had made it to Buenos Aires in one piece.

The hostel was trippy. If someone on an acid trip decided to open a hostel, this one was decorated accordingly. Bright colors, crazy murals and a kickin rooftop deck. Plus beer, delicious amazing cold cold beer.

Skip to today, I take a taxi to my homestay and meet my Buenos Aires madre, Patricia. She met me at the front door of the building, dressed in a classy all-white outfit and possessing what all Argentinians seem to have, a classy golden tan. She is super nice and friendly and showed me the apartment, which is gorgeous. My room is very nice and the closet is bigger than mine at home. It was nice to unpack and not have to lug heavy shit around anymore.

This afternoon, I met up with a FOKUS connect Anna B and we walked around the famous Recoleta cemetary. Rich Catholics really know how to rock the afterlife in style. Then we walked through a market that had different items like bracelets, rings, bags, etc. I bought a dreamcatcher. It was a great afternoon and always good to spread the traveler love.

Right now I'm a little braindead.

besitos
-j