Or: officially the worst blogger in the world.
Yes....STILL in Buenos Aires
Apart from being the worst blogger in the world, what on earth have I been doing with myself for the last.....3 months?
Not quite sure how it happened, but having taken my 2 weeks of Spanish lessons, pottered around a few of the sights, and gotten far too obsessed with tango far too quickly, I was moaning to the hostel owners Nico and Kaylee that I wasn’t ready to leave yet, and nearly choked on my choripan when they asked if I wanted to stick around and work on reception for them for a bit.
It was a big decision - I hadn’t really planned to stop and work so soon, I feel like reception jobs are going to haunt me for life, and I was really just enjoying not working!
Buuut.... I have no time limit, it wasn’t going to really drain my resources at all, and I felt inspired by Danny Wallace, who spent a whole year saying yes to everything, and wrote a book about it...
I guess I’ve got nothing to lose, I might as well get the experience when its offered to me so I have something to fall back on when i DO run out of money, and it’ll be nice to spend Christmas with people that I (will by then) know.
It’s been fun – I’ve learnt a lot about Argentinian society (equal parts fascinating and shaking my head saying 'bloody Argis'), I’ve met some great people who might have otherwise passed me by, made friendships all over the world that’ll last a lifetime, and yes, mum sent me a Christmas box (thank you mum!).
But spending 3 months in the same big city, mostly in the same window-deficient building, with only 1 day off a week, does start to wear away at your soul, so, Christmas and New Year commitments fulfilled, notice was served, and I’m flying down to Ushuaia (the bottom of the world!) on Friday 15th to work my way up Patagonia on my overland mission up as far as the equator. Sitting here in a park in Colonia tapping away on my little eee pc seems like a curious parallel of my first day in South America, jet-laggedly wandering through Ibirapuera park in Sao Paolo, occasionally stopping to sit on a bench to tap out some random thoughts.
This definitely feels like starting again.... no, not quite.... its act 2 – act 1 was so intense and overwhelming that we need a glass of wine and a small pot of overpriced vanilla ice-cream before we can fully appreciate act 2. We don’t want to get complacent and jaded and start fidgeting in our seats, checking out the tall dark and handsome in row 4 now, do we?
So Christmas and New Year in BA: was it AMAZING? People ask me; was it really different?
Well I don’t want to sound grumpy at all, but..... it wasn't quite Christmas. All the little PAX elves were working hard – busy days in the hostel, and not much relaxing or enjoying to be done when there’s 45 people to check in, check out, give directions to, feed a banquet, clear up after... you know.... so satisfying to see your guests having a good time, but, no, not really Christmas. I’m suddenly filled with equal parts of respect and admiration and sympathy for all the professions for whom working over the holidays is a regular given: health workers, hospitality, the emergency services. I salute you all, but this alone is almost enough to put me off choosing one of these wholesome and worthwhile careers for myself.
Christmas didn’t start to show itself until early December here – a far cry from the mid-October capitalist rush to cash in on the season of us so-called ‘developed’ nations. And it started slow: a few big shops with a banner or two, and Christmas music (White Christmas? Really? It’s 30 degrees outside!!), then big ‘Christmas Tree’ style light installations along one of the main avenues (guarded against vandalism 24 hours a day of course), and gradually the food in the shops and the decorations and promotions on websites (it being hot, chocolate was widely and disappointingly dismissed in favour of nougat and this yummy peanutty candy called mantecol). But it was all just rather lacklustre. Accuse me if you will of being part of the Disney generation, but this is the capital of
Apparently the government does usually make more of an effort – the word ‘recession’ seems to be cited whenever I choose to complain to a local about Christmas, or the lack of variety of food in the supermarkets, or whatever.
We felt much better once we had ‘Christmassed’ the hostel: tree up, tinsel round anything that didn’t move, fairy lights round the bar, and a whole little troop of santas little helpers set to work making paper snowflakes, paper crowns and cotton wool snowmen and snowballs.
But it still wasn’t quite right.
Yes admittedly the weather is too hot, but chatting with Ozzie passengers, they reckoned it didn’t feel right either. It wasn't the weather.
It was only long after the asado and pudding had been cleared away, and we were sitting around a bottle of wine getting all misty-eyed and reminiscent, that we realised that what we missed most about Christmas at home wasn’t even the Barbie on the beach (Australians), the spicy dried fruits the pervade every dish (the British, of course), crackers (everywhere, except, it seems, Argentina) or filling shoes with sweets on xmas eve (Germans – don’t ask). No, it’s not the national habits or religious rites that seem to make Christmas Christmas, it’s the little things.
Its what time you open your presents, who plays Santa, those family members you only see once a year, falling asleep in front of the queen’s speech, the exact dish you always cook for the family meal, the in-jokes....whatever: it’s the little family rituals that we miss – and that’s why Christmas anywhere else in the world will never be the same.
The endless repeats on TV, the warring in-laws and too many pairs of novelty socks? Sorry, that’s Christmas too....
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