The Start of Something Big

I left Denver early yesterday afternoon for what I hoped to be an amazing experience in all respects.  Before reaching the Paris of South America I had a short layover in my favorite state, Texas.  Backstreet Boys played in my ears to keep the crazies away.  Luckily I didn’t need to interact with too many Jesus loving, football throwing, McDonald’s eating, and truck driving lunatics.  I did instead deal with a group of 50 adolescent girls returning to Cristina.  Despite the shrill yelling, group clapping, and persistent movement they weren’t too obnoxious. 

After a nearly ten hour flight of the man next to me trying to rest his 50 year old balding head on my 21 year old shoulder I was welcomed by the lush green fluffs of life in Ezeiza and the urban etches on the horizon, Buenos Aires. 

Because I accidentally arrived 10 days before my orientation (oops) I needed to manage on my own with the vague directions I was emailed.  After exchanging my dollars for pesos I secured a bus trip to Retiro once the employees inspected my Vibrams and asked if I would give them away; safe to say I am still wearing my pieces of Boulder.  Then I ordered a taxi which was only about 7USD to my hostel in San Telmo (the Buenos Aires neighborhood most associated with the Tango).  Because I arrived at noon and the check-in was not till two the receptionist directed me to the computer lab, which is actually three mismatched computers in a hall; but they still work considerably well and I am pleased.  I managed to be moderately productive, making sure “Qué carajo” actually does mean “What the Hell” and contributing to Zuckerberg’s empire.  After a quick and refreshingly cold shower I hit the cobble stone and began exploring my future home. 

Of course I didn’t really know where I was going but I just walked towards the masses and ultimately located a road of shops, street vendors, and performers that would make (Pearl St. in Boulder + 16^th St. in Denver) * 500 shame in comparison.  I kept walking till I found Plaza de Mayo and La Casa Rosada both of which were stunning. 

I decided I should probably stop fasting and eat lest I become as dry as Ben Stein.  As such, I consciously stumbled in a mall that reminded me of Union Station in DC.  I had some sandwich on some table watching some tennis match trying not to be too obvious as I observed the locals as if I were Jane Goodall in Tanzania.

Later I bought Borges, El Idioma de los Argentinos (hopefully not too trite) and began reading next to the dique that leads to the Río de Plata in Buenos Aires’ newest neighborhood, Puerto Madero.  Around me old gays rollerbladed and stray dogs searched for food, I was only interested in the latter.

I will have a Nature Valley bar and the beads of sweat will pacify me to dreamland.
Also, the men are pretty hairy but some are definitely ok.