Hostile Hostel Life

Yesterday was a weird day, everything I love and hate about hanging out in hostals. I had a long night on Friday (I hung out with a friend from UCLA, Lynn and her friend Rachel and Lynn's twin Sarah). So I obviously woke up really late, way later than I normally do, at around 2. I hadn't any plans for the day until I got an email from Lynn saying that she, Rachel and Sarah were going to go to the Buenos Aires cemetary (way more amazing than it sounds and a lot less creepy) and after were going to hang out in the park, drink maté and listen to music. They had given me a time and a place, but neglected to tell me how to get there. I was a little nervous so I asked reception and this guy behind me quickly tells me that he's going that way right now if I want to go with him. Obviously I took the free help and went with the guy.

He was a really cool guy, Juan from Columbia, that is here in Buenos Aires to study literature (letra) at one of the many universities here. I've recently started reading in spanish (real reading, like books) and so I was asking him about the best authors to read and he gave me two names that I'm going to investigate (Borges from Argentina and Marquez from Colombia). I tell him I've read Marquez, but only in english and somehow this quickly transforms into a discussion about books in english. He ends up telling me that his favorite english author is Faulkner and I was curious how the translation would, well, translate. He quickly responds that he didn't read Faulkner in spanish but in english. I thought that was quite impressive, seeing as I have never read a Faulkner novel (although after reading {though maybe not understanding} Gravity's Rainbow by Pynchon I think everything will be easy.

After we got to the Cemetary stop on the bus, he tells me that the Library is a cool place to check out and really close. I thanked him and we parted ways, me to the cemetary, he to the library.

Hanging out with Lynn and crew was really fun, because she really learns a lot about the places she's in and tried to be best tour guide possible. And then hanging out and having maté in the park was just nice and relaxing, except for the mozzies that come out at dark. When we left we had talked about meeting up later that night but it wasn't a certainty.

It's hard for us to get in contact with lynn, her phone doesn't really work the best and the phone in the hostel is definitely not up to par. The phone here has the habit of cutting off when you least expect it. Last night, it kept cutting off early, so I tried to call Lynn four consecutive times. And after it all, I still only left a message. So that just leaves me in the hostel, hanging out with my computer and perusing the internet. They have free wifi in the hostel, which is really cool, but it only works in the lounge. This means I spent a lot of time just sitting on the couch by myself, which invites the solicitations of the hostel crazies.

Hostel crazies are a common phenomenon, everyone who has stayed in a hostal will have a really random/bad/scary/funny experience to tell. My worst/funniest/scariest experience has been a mainstay. Even after traveling all through Europe in 2005, it came when my brother and I were in Ireland in 2004. We stayed at the dodgiest hostel ever, and we were aware of it as soon as we arrived. We got into the hostel and the beds were all horribly stained, sunken (truly sunken as only a hostel goer can understand) and there weren't much in the way of sheets. There was also these 4 shady russian guys in there. We were a little nervous so we just put our bags down and took off for the night. We had dinner and a few beers but didn't stay out very long because we didn't feel comfortable with these guys next to our stuff. We got back, and while getting ready for bed, I was asked by the russians if I wanted, you know, to do any cocaine with them. A little shook up, I decided against it and went to go to the bathroom. When I walked into the stall the ground was all wet (thank god I was wearing sandals) and there was no bowl, just the head of the toilet and it was still running. I rushed back to the room and Reynnie and I had a quick pow-wow, slept (if you can call that sleeping) and left well before checkout the next morning.

Back to me on the couch, open to solicitations. I'm sitting there following fantasy baseball, checking emails, just killing time when a condom falls into my lap. This is something unusual for me so I look up inquisitively to see this coked out (or maybe now sober but had done enough coke in her time for a very small country), incredibly skinny and faked tanned lady standing right above me. Like most coke heads, she is of indeterminable age. She looks a solid 60, but probably is closer to 35. In addition, her combination of coked out look plus fake tan gives her a leathery look (which is appropriate I guess, seeing as Buenos Aires is famous for it's leather). What's classic about this whole situation is that she is wearing a very short dress and is inviting me to a party (also asking for me to pay a bit for the party). I say thanks for the condom (although it's not necessary seeing as I already have a woman repeller aka bushy beard inc. neck beard), but that I am going out with my friends later.

So she leaves me alone for a second, and I just sit there waiting for an email from Lynn telling me where to meet, no dice. Of course I knew this was going to happen. When I need something to get me out, I get stranded. While waiting Leather Coke lady has invited some other person to play pool, and the pool table is right next to the couch. Every time she walks by or takes a shot, she warns me not to look as she bends over or leans to hike up her dress. I definitely feel more uncomfortable. I notice that I'm sizing her up to see how much damage she could possibly inflict if she set her mind to it. Very small. And skinny, but you know what they say, never underestimate the strength of a coke head. Well, maybe they don't say that, but they should.

She finishes her game and decides to come and talk to me and with all the people watching I don't move to show my weakness. As with the lot of cokeheads, her ability to talk has been heavily impaired because of the cracked, pulled in cokehead lips. This makes understanding her near impossible, especially since this is all in spanish. She starts small talk/flirting. The "oh, so where are you from?" "do you hate bush?" "what part are you from?" followed by "so you have Shwarzennegger as your governor?"

She loved that Arnold was the governor of my homestate and found every opportunity to bring him back up. I find a way to get out of the conversation so she goes to another part of the lounge. I'm left in peace, but I'm starting to get really hungry and Lynn hasn't emailed me to tell me what's up. 10:30. Email from Lynn, going to a birthday party (which I was aware of, but she didn't seem to thrilled about going to the party and was thinking of just hanging out with Rachel and me). Well I've got to get out of here and get some food.

I think the queasy-ness of the previous situation drastically built my appetite and I am starting to think of going a little bigger than the average dinner. But first I have to put my computer back. On my way back this lady is in the back out the lounge talking to this group and as I'm about to pass by she yells at me to come over. She asks me what I was looking at on the internet and I tell her I'm a big sports fan and I was following my baseball team. She responds by saying to her friends "this guy is from california and Shwarzennegger is his governor." Goddam you, Arnold. Had you not been the governor I might have been able to slip into the dark recesses of this coke head's short term memory challenged brain and she'd leave me be. Her friends laugh about it/at her and that gives me enough time to start to walk away again. She yells again for me to come over and just proceeds to do bad spanish impersonations of the Terminator (which is hilarious now, but I was overwhelmingly uncomortable at the time and only managed a light guffaw). Her friends laugh at this/at her again but louder and gives me enough time to slip into my door and tuck my computer away. I grab my coat and blow by her on my way to dinner.

I get out and have a great dinner, beef with peppers, mushrooms and potatoes with a light italian red sauce and a split of wine to myself. There is some football (soccer) on the tube and I thouroughly enjoy myself.

I get back to the hostel a little after midnight (late dinner because I was waiting to see if I was going to dinner with Lynn but pretty normal time for Argentinians), and to my great relief Leather Coke lady has left. A huge burden has been lifted. I find some of my friends from the few nights before and they implore me to take a swig of wine and suddenly a guitar has popped out. There are two guys in a band, an Uruguayan and a Brazilian, and they proceed to play these really beautiful latin songs. They wear out and a chilean guy asks to borrow the guitar. Surprisingly, he also can really play and has a great voice. He's playing mostly Chilean songs and when he realizes that one of the girls is getting really into, he switches from the politically loaded folks songs of Chile to the Chilean ballads. I don't blame him, the girl was into it.

It's funny how a day at the hostel can start out simple and good and rapidly devolve into a uncomfortably comedic moment and back into a great night. I guess the unpredictability of the hostel is what gives it such a unique atmosphere. I understand why people don't want to stay at hostels, but for stories sake, you'll get no better environment than a hostel.