BEGIN RANT: So I’m sitting here in an Internet cafe, trying to slog through the final hours of what seems like an endless day of copy-editing. And in walks this obnoxious band of beer-guzzling Brits ready to watch their favorite “football clubs” on the “telly.”
Now, it’s not that I dislike all Brits, it’s just that this fuzzy-headed bunch, with their “cheerios” and their “iddinit”s, caught me just as Arianna and I realized that we neither have the time nor money to go to Bolivia this weekend.
“But Matt, that doesn’t explain your U.K. hatefest.” Well just hold the hell on, I’m fuckin getting to that.
So in walk these dudes, dressed like they were just cut from an American Eagle casting call, and I realize that they are living like absolute kings in Argentina. The British pound is currently worth about 5 and a half pesos. 5.5 people! The American dollar, on the other hand, is only worth about 2.8 pesos.
Do you see what’s happened here? I thought I was living like a king, exploiting Argentina’s flagging economy with a pocket full of almighty greenbacks. And these pale-faced pseudo-Cromwells walked right in here and kicked my dreams in the nuts. IN THE NUTS, I tell you.
So, here I sit, reduced to a mere Duke of global economic exploitation, while the kings slouch a few tables away, talking about “bonnets,” “lorries,” “torches” and other stupid British shit like that.
Oh well, it’s all for the best I guess. I mean, it’s a good thing I’m an atheistic socialist who takes a certain amount of pleasure in the collapse of the American empire.
Viva la revolucion … as long as it waits until after I buy my plane ticket to Brazil.
END RANT
Last weekend, our Argentine host with the most Nicolas took Arianna, our American roommate Krista, and me to his other country house in La Sonada.
It was beautiful. We drank wine, forded a river Oregon Trail style, then hiked around. The weather was perfect and the house was about the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. There were even horses, Peruanos in fact. You know they’re Peruanos cause they do this hilarious little walk that apparently makes it much easier on the rider.
Then on Saturday night a couple of Arianna’s students invited us over to make empanadas. It was … interesting. The cooking was fine, but these kids were pretty young. Like young in the sense that everything we said about our lives in New York elicited ersatz-polite blank stares and a chirping chorus of “that’s so weird”s.
Oh yeah, and one girl decided to enlighten me on how Pres. Bush blew up the World Trade Center. Let’s just say I almost blew up her World Trade.
Here are the pics.
Nicolas’ uncle, Lucas.
And now for the night o empanadas.
Filed under: Argentina, South America | Tags: Argentina, Salta, South America
A lot of you have been asking about my daily life in Salta.
To be honest, I don’t really know why you’d want to hear about it. I mean, my life is a veritable technicolor dreamcoat of wonderment that’s bound to make your lives seem pallid, puerile and … well I don’t know anymore fancy “P” words.
Jorge Luis Borges once wrote, “Let there be heaven, even if my place be in hell.” Well friends, family and social hangers-on acquaintances, let me know how the view is from below.
Of course, I’m JUST KIDDING. Life here is remarkably similar to life anywhere else. Aside from the Coca-leaf chewing, the siestas, the mountains of cheap, delicious steaks, and, of course, the rampant baby infestation.
SO MANY BABIES. I’ve never seen so many ankle-biters and preggers women before in my life.
Saltenos love to love … you can almost smell it. Of course the Catholic Church’s one-handed choke-slam on sex education may have something to do with it. Go Pope or go broke … er wait, that’s not right.
So on to my life through pictures.
This is the bedroom, or as I like to call it, le bedroom. When I arrived there were two twin beds in the room. So, being the resourceful man that I am, I tied the fuckin’ things together with twine, and voila, a South American love-nest.
This is the view from our terrace.
This is the Plaza 9 de Julio. I usually work at one of the numerous surrounding Internet cafes.
This is a fountain. I think those are naked women on the top, very Anne Rice.
This church is right on the plaza just a couple blocks from our place.
