Friday, April 6th, 2012
Despite the fact that part
of our judgment told us it was a bad idea to meet back up with our Argie
grandpa figure from the day before, we figured since we were in a public place
and just getting some coffee (at Dun Ken not to be confused with Dunkin), we’d
be fine. Once again, he was delighted to see us and commenced with the typical
talk of politics, travel and world problems. We sat and listened while he
finally stopped to ask why we weren’t talking—because it’s hard to talk when
someone else is?
While taking some tea
and coffee, we also tried tortitas, a special type of bread in Mendoza. It’s a
round piece of thin, flaky bread that is a little on the dryer side but still
tasty nonetheless and perfect with tea. Though I wouldn’t say they beat
medialunas…
Later in the day
Angela was at Good Friday mass, so I resumed my Nat Geo reading at Plaza
Independencia. I’d read maybe half a page about exotic insects that have the
ability to disguise themselves amongst the plants when I was interrupted by yet
another viejo that stopped to ask me “Sos
escritora?” (Are you a writer?) Well…I guess that depends on your definition of
writer. I mean, I’m currently on page 104 of writing my story in Argentina.
While this is by far some of my worst writing stylistically (spontaneous,
colloquial, raving…) it is writing nonetheless, so I told him yes I was. I
expounded further by telling him that I wanted to be a writer for the very
publication I was reading. And once again, a conversation about life began. I
have these types of conversations all the time at home, but normally amongst my
closest friends—not just any random person who walks up to me in the park.
We talked about the
meaning of life. Literally. While I’m of the school of thought that the point
of life is merely just living, I think the best part of being able to do that
is through all the people you meet and the shared human experience that
regardless of where you are is more or less the same. And as a hopeless
romantic, I can’t really say I’d enjoy my existence here without love and what
better exemplifies the human experience than that? It might be the most human
of all things. As a goodbye, he left me with two poems he had written, and
while they were the classic cutesy love poems, they were still quite touching
and well-written.
Almost on cue after my
old writer friend left, his void was filled by a younger aspiring
drummer/artist. What unfolded next was yet another conversation about life that
sprang from his commenting on my impressive level of Spanish, to which I confessed
that I loved speaking Spanish because it is fun to play with the accent,
surprise people and learn more about a culture by speaking its language with
its people. Then that just turned into a conversation about cultural
differences between the US and Argentina of which there are many…and I realized
that I like a lot more about it than I used to because I am accustomed to it.
But then we went back to the idea of despite these differences between all
cultures, what holds humanity together? And again, we came back to the idea
that humans are humans through and through and we share the same emotions even
if we feel, express and understand them differently in different situations.
Through the latter part of the conversation, he began to sketch me as I was
sitting on the bench. Subconsciously I started posing, making sure that he
would catch my good side versus the Nikki that often makes grotesque faces to
express grotesque ideas or ridiculous faces just because that’s what I do.
After drawing me, to some accuracy, we parted ways, and while I was nervous
that he would try and ask me out after the whole debacle, he merely said “un
recuerdo para vos” and walked away amongst the huge crowd.
So apparently everyone
in Mendoza is just raring to start a conversation about life. I never once
talked about the weather despite the fact that before I came to Argentina, that
was one of the only topics I felt sure I could really discuss because I doubted
my language skills. I wasn’t a beginner by any means, but I was nowhere near
the “have a conversation about life with complete fluidity” stage either. Maybe
that’s what you should expect from a city known for its wine, as many a blue
evenings have been spent discussing life under the red shades of a good glass
of vino.
And speaking of vino,
it was time for more. Angela came back from mass and we opted to get our free
glass of wine from our hostel—and like most other glasses of wine in Mendoza,
it was filled almost up to the brim. Maybe that’s not high class, but who
invented the glass half full rule?! We were starting to feel like real winos
when Ryan told us to hustle down to his hostel. Unfortunately that was on the
other side of town where nothing was going on except a greasy pizza place and
some street rats. Oh and I guess meeting up with some of his hostel friends
from all over Europe. But we still hadn’t eaten dinner yet and weren’t in the
mood for grease, so we hit the road with two other Americans who were studying
in BA and were in Mendoza for the weekend.
That proved to be
somewhat difficult as basically all the restaurants were out of food. Alright, I’ll
have a salad and wait 45 minutes to get it. I think we finished dinner around 2
am? But nobody was mad after we parted ways and realized we were all Reddit and
or Chive fans.
I know it's partially your brief impression of each place, but it seems incredible to me that each place you visit seems to have almost an entirely different culture, like a sub-culture based on the region and local atmosphere. I think the U.S. seems to have a more normalized culture, nationalized by the media. Very cool, Nikki
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