Back in BA

I chucked my bag on and took the fuck off from Milhouse, sin una remera de "I survived milhouse". No me gusta y no quiero. I grabbed a subway out to Palermo and got out my Lonely Planet book to find somewhere to stay. Great. Big blond tall cunt with a backpack on and a lonely planet book in hand. Surprised to find not a problem. No pasa nada. I ended up getting lost enough to know my way around Palermo before I found my hostel. It was "Back in BA" and had an extremely nondescript entryway, as most hostels seem to have. I rang the bell to the reply of "Hola"



"Uhh, hola?" My spanish wasn't fucking terrible, it was nonexistent.
"Do you have a room here?"
"Nope, do you have rooms?"
The buzzer went off and I pushed the door in. "Head up the stairs for reception"

Palermo is a fucking nice neighborhood. Back in BA was a fucking nice hostel. Way relaxed, more in tune with the people I like to hang out with. It was a few rooms, I think a grand total of 30 beds, and an atmosphere conducive to meeting other guests. The rooms radiated around a tiny courtyard that had brightly coloured walls and extremely uncomfortable chairs. But the vibe was very nice so that didn't phase me at all.

I got my room sorted out at reception and headed back downstairs to dump my shit and obtain an objective for the day. When traveling, you seem to have nothing to do but you're always busy. It helps to have a goal to work towards in general so you can structure your laziness around a productive activity you have no plans on doing.

I opened the door to my room to find a pair of tan, sexy legs leading into a very nice bum, owned by my room mate, a lovely little pommy lady. I forget her name. I think it was Alise.

"Is this the right room?" I raised an eyebrow, I had assumed that I would be inundated with more blokes, as I was in milhouse.
"2?" She looked totally nonplussed at my presence.
"2. Ok." I dumped my bag and claimed top bunk, in the far corner of the room.

After the necessary small talk we decided to head out to find something to do. My aforementioned objective had become to buy a pair of pluggers, since I forgot mine at home (durrrr). So we walked around, talked and shit, and formed the basic relationship of mutual politeness and average trust that you tend to acquire with people in hostels. She's cool. Eventually she would decide to move to BA.

Later on in my stay, a few more people came and went in the room and the hostel. The advantage with little hostels is that you get to meet everyone who stays there for more than a few days, and generally form a bit of a crew. In Back in BA, I met a British couple that were a vibrant combination of inner-city ravers and hippy conservationists. Hagop and Lauren. At first I felt a little out of place with Hagop and Lauren, I got the feeling they were a little apprehensive to talk to me but I think that was more my attitude than their pre-conceptions. At this stage I was still a little introverted and almost shy, and I get the feeling this makes me come off as conceited. Pretty sure I have dropped that now, just took me a little bit to get into the groove. So Hagop was a shaggy, bewhiskered gentleman with an outrageous taste in loud shirts and shorts apparently made of the same material. You could tell from his eyes that he had a fast working mind and readily formed opinions about the subject at hand. Lauren was an authentic lovely ladette, always ready to give a hug to those who showed a need and to talk and laugh about anything. She also had long brown hair and those classical big, british eyes. The last I heard of these two they were on a volunteer farm near Bariloche, helping build an organic homestead in a program similar to wwoofing. Hagop was nice enough to introduce me to his funky albeit gradual indie label 'Jump Music', and give me a few stickers of such - one of which was immediately attached to my laptop.

Another fine character to introduce now is Albert. Albert was from Spain, and a tall, blond rake of a man. He loved running and is the only person I had met so far who would uphold a reliable exercise schedule, regardless of the backpacker lifestyle. I am not sure if he's gay or not. He might very well be bi, more power to him.

Tambien conoci un hombre se llama Juan. Juan es de Comodoro Rivadavia, un pueblo utilitario en la costa este de Patagonia. Me enseño mucha español en la seis dias que gasté con el. Although that spanish there is probably way off. But I spent a few days walking around Palermo with Juan, struggling to talk spanish and struggling to understand his very strong southern accent and guttural pronunciation of 'r' and 'g'. He said when I go south to hit him up for a beer in Comodoro Rivadavia, so I planned on taking him up on the offer.

At some point my room was just FULL of girls. It was GREAT. But they were, for the most part, totally boring, generic people. I have a vulgar sense of humour that requires a person to be comfortable with themselves and with the subject of sex in order for us to connect at closer than arms distance.

I really can't relate to people if they have no sexual identity. This applies to guys and girls. Sex is a pivotal aspect of a human being. I don't mean lets all fuck all the time, we don't even need to talk about sex, but a conversation is a lot more enticing when the person you are talking with has a good grasp on their own sexuality. I think this is because having a grasp on sexuality in todays society is the final step in fully accepting yourself in your own psyche, and people who have made that step are more relaxed, open minded and make for better conversationalists. They are my people. If you want to talk about how hot it is today, where you came from, how hard it is to learn x language and then have a big conversational pause in which you can imply that you are not comfortable with talking about anything more interesting than the fucking weather, I am not able to interact with you past the utility of politeness.

Palermo was nice though, we formed somewhat of a crew and headed out to a bunch of restaurants together, went to bars often, and I made some friendly friends. There is one bar in Palermo that I felt right at home in, even though the guys behind the bar didn't really seem to want a tall blond obviously-not-from-here cunt in their business. The walls were covered in street plasters and stencils, the music was a mix of Zeppelin, Hendrix and contemporary funk and the TV played extreme sports videos. It had a parallel vibe to Green Ant back home. Very conducive to drinking copiously.

I also met a tiny girl from Perth who I really appreciate having met. Justine. She was the kind of girl you meet at music festivals, covered in mud and fun with a big smile. The kind of person who assimilates into your social circle seamlessly and is always on the invite list. I offhand mentioned parkour training to her one night and she perked up ridiculously. Turns out she wanted to look into training when she got back to Perth, so I invited her to come with me to training at Parque Chacabuco. The next day I immediately woke up with a cold, but we went anyway. Unfortunately I had minimal energy and it was a generally shitty training session, although the freerunners had a great flip battle-jam and would have been excellent to watch, especially for Justine.

On the last few nights in the hostel I had a really interesting conversation with a couple from Aus which impacted my opinion on travel methods quite juxtapositionally. They were an average looking couple, the kind you would find at stockland browsing through the cereal aisle with apparently bland personalities and equally bland lifestyles. Of course, I have known for a long time that you can't assume anything about anyone - and to do so will shut you out from the most impressive and alluring experiences that you otherwise never would have known existed. That attitude has served me very well on this trip so far, there will be a few entertaining posts later about that.

So this couple had been traveling for an apparently long time, and had stories to share from all ends of South America. Ever since going to Vanuatu with Bron I have been somewhat lax to travel with a companion. Much less a girl and much less a girl I was 'with'. That experience really showed me that I am a fiercely independent man with very little patience for other peoples desires in a travel situation. I don't particularly like that about myself but I can't see enough of an advantage in being any different to bother changing. I truly have fun when I am by myself. I do things that I am sure any companion would hate to and I want to continue doing them.

See I have a very upbeat outlook when I am traveling. I can be carrying a 25kg pack in 40degree heat on 3 hours sleep with a hangover and no water and thoroughly enjoy myself. I am adamant that no one else can enjoy this very fine sliver of 'adversity' as I can. The last thing I want to do is bring someone else into this shitty experience, not only have them not enjoy it, but have their lack of enjoyment stir my annoyance and ruin my mood, cause me to get angry at them and further exacerbate an already shitty situation. No one wants to be put in that situation, especially with me.

But talking with these two was a strangely interactive experience. Although there was three of us in the conversation, it was a binary exchange. They spoke as one, finishing each others sentences, recounting stories with equal enthusiasm and accuracy, and bouncing off each others memories and ideas. I would talk and they would respond. It was a really beautiful relationship they shared. The way I imagine love and relationships should be. They appeared to be in great balance, openly showed each other frustration and pleasure, and were two of the most genuine people I have met so far. Somehow they combined perfect pleasantry with attitude and interest, something I would like to emulate in myself.

He was a gun at finding something to smoke as well. He had stories. Apparently in Cuba ('or was it Costa Rica?' 'oh no, it was Punta del Diablo' 'ah yeah, the beach huts' - as was the exchange between the two) he disembarked from the bus outside a park, and before the porters had found his bags in storage, had found and purchased, rolled and lit, and was already passing a joint. Sounds farfetched but I reckon he was legit.

After holding this conversation about the amazing places they had been (and the uncanny way he could find weed in any situation) I found that my attitude towards having a travel companion changed fundamentally. Instead of approaching it with sword drawn, I think that the right person with whom to share a trip would be as valuable as the trip itself. Maybe personal development isn't a solo journey. Maybe you can only get so far by yourself, and after that you need to contribute to another journey to truly complete your own.

One week here, it's time to go.