Buenos Aires, Argentina ~ Part II

 

Upon arriving to the Hostel Recoleta, I rang the bell to enter.  Here's the thing about traveling; things are different and that is the best part right?  But sometimes, let's admit it.  When we have traveled all day, maybe all night too, we are tired, hungry, confused and most of all smelly, the last thing we 'relish' are the quaint cultural differences.  So, in Argentina, and probably in most cities for that matter, you have to ring a bell, press a buzzer and in all senses of the word, pass the 'gatekeeper' to enter buildings.  In rural Pennsylvania, you just walk up to someone's house, knock on the door.  Most likely, someone is around back and they invite you for an iced tea or lemonade.  But, in the heart of the city, the maddening sound of passing "motos", "collectivos", "autos" and other noises reverberating off the insanely tall buildings (which only make me feel more out of place and small and insignificant) I need to hear the person on the other end of this intercom and translate effectively to enter the building.

To my credit, within minutes I am floundering inside an elevator up to the reception area.  It's a beautiful old Victorian building, circa 1920's maybe.  The red tiled floors, the granite walls, the interior courtyard, all of it was impressive to my simple, country girl's eyes.  And then there was Andres, the reception clerk.   My first impression was, Wow!  He was handsome, tall, tattooed, tough and had every impression of the sarcastic, bad boy type I melt for.  I knew right away I was in trouble.  Instead of greeting me with a professional hello, he says, "What's in the box?"  I was shocked he spoke such good English.  I respond in my best Spanish and he then says, "A bicycle!  What are you planning to do?  Ride to Ushuaia on that thing!?"   He laughs, checks me out and then begins helping me arrange my accommodations.  It was love at first site.
I checked into my room which was a shared dorm room with three other beds.  No one was in them at the moment, so I crawled up into a ball on my bed and began to cry.  I sobbed quietly for about 20 minutes.  I was exhausted and so frightened.  I had never done anything like this before.  I needed to eat something but I was so terrified to go back out into that noise.  I needed to shower, but I was scared to get up and be seen by the other travelers.  If they saw me, they'd know right away I was a fake.  I was 'green'.  They'd laugh when I told them my plans to ride to Mendoza.  I'd never make one friend here the whole time I was here.  I just wanted to go back home.

Once all that baby shit got out of my system, I got up, showered, put my bike together, and made my first friend.  Phil Bates.  He was an Englishman traveling the world.  He was 6 mths in.  He'd been here at this Hostel now for a few weeks.  Andres was his friend.  He'd take me to the Disco, a grocery store a few blocks away.  That night, I went out for drinks with a few other fellow travelers.  I met Erica, St. John, Will, Megan (another woman from California), Carlos, Frank, David, Florencia and of course, got to know Andres a little better.

Within a few days I had the City all mapped out.  I had taken my bike to a local bike shop to ensure I put it back together correctly (I hadn't).  Then I rode all over the City on bicycle and in bus.  I got a local guide for the bus and would take trips to the end of the lines of each of the buses (or collectivos) that passed by Hostel Recoleta.  Turns out, this hostel was located in the prime tourist section of the City.  It was close to all the main attractions.

I met a good friend, who, to this day, will always remain dear to me: Cristian Barrionuevo.  He worked the ticket counter at one of the bus companies I took out to either Bariloche or Mendoza.  He was studying English and was fascinated by me and I, as well, was fascinated with him.  We'd meet for un cafe or stroll along in Parque San Martin discussing everything from the seasons in the northern hemisphere to why Argentina seems to not have any "indigenous" cultures remaining.  

The third week I took a bus up to Bariloche to meet up with my girlfriend from San Luis Obispo, CA, who had decided to come down and meet me and take a one week intensive course with me.  The bus ride to Bariloche was over 30 hours.  It passed through the heart of Argentina, which is mostly flat, low, lying agricultural estates, known as La Pampa.  And the estates are called estancias.  Many tourists go to estancias to stay and learn about the history and culture of the 'gaucho' the Argentine cowboy.  Bariloche is like Lake Tahoe or Lake Geneva.  It's a small mountain resort town nestled in the mountains with stunning alpine lakes and beautiful vistas.  I believe it was settled originally by lot's of the Germans fleeing World War II.  So it definitely has a Swiss/German Alps kind of feel to it.

We stayed in the lovely hotel run by a fiery Lithuanian woman just a few km's from our school.  We were in class for 6 hours a day.  Which didn't leave too much time for sight-seeing.  But every afternoon, Natasha and I would venture out to see a new area.  She had rented a car; so we were able to go pretty far.  We met this guy Steve, from some place in New England, who was taking the class as a break between fishing trips.  He was your quintessential "outdoorsy" single guy.  He fell in love with Natasha right away (as do most everyone who meets her).

And, I will only give you a tiny teaser about my week in Mendoza.  I did ride my bike around the wine country and I camped.  And I met a wonderful young man, Juan Marcos Gueverra; the bee-keeper.  He'll appear in my next post, as will the handsome NOLS instructor, Juan Carlos.  No, not every post is about charming Argentinean men.  Although, Argentina is full of charming young men and women, that's for certain.  

I guess, what this post is trying to portray is that, even when you feel most out of sorts, most disconnected from you center, your soul, your heart, you can find your way if you let go of your fears and embrace your now.  I know that when I was crying on my bed in Hostel Recoleta, I was just letting it all flow out of me.  At the time I characterized it as fear.  But as I look back on it now, I see how brave I was, I see how there really wasn't anything to be frighten of and that everything was there for me to learn from, to experience and to express love through and for. 

If I had placed up a barrier around me, I might not have stayed up till dawn one night with my new friends watching the sun come up over the city. I might not have made friends with Erica, with whom now, even though she lives in the UK and we've not seen each other in five years, I know I'd be able to sit right down with her and start the conversation where we left it. I know that if I had placed that barrier, my whole life, as it is now, would be a little different. Like, for instance, I may have never met Martin, married him and had Ziggy. I mean, it's just amazing to look back on life and see just how wonderful it is. Why, oh why do I have such a hard time recognizing it's beauty in the very moment?