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Published: October 3rd 2006
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Gingers Unite!
Airport. 8am. Fancy a Guinness, Dad? Me too! No, Silly... YOU'RE buying, I'm skint! Ummm, where did the year go? One minute I’m swinging an all-too-indolent backside in a hammock, next thing I know I’m home and dry. So what about the last two weeks? Well with little under a fortnight left, finally I flew out of Colombia - with virtually no doubt, the most phenomenal place I will ever go - and flew straight to
Buenos Aires for one last stab at becoming the youngest man in history ever to contract gout.
Truth is, my outlook unexpectedly changed after the flight; following 11½ months travelling, under two weeks from home and already having started missing Colombia I found myself idling, just readying myself for my return.
In a bid to minimise this final blog entry’s waffle - and at the expense of any coherent, eloquent justification, check out this one-sided inference of the people of Buenos Aires: They’re all rubbish! Their condescending attitudes and stuck-up ways are every bit as intolerable as the rest of the country’s population will have you believe. And if they’re going to carry on bringing up the fucking Falklands they might do better at least to take the time to learn an accurate account of their history.
Out with Silvina and Lyda
at a cheap cheap restaurant. There! A wholly irrefutable indictment of 15m people if ever there was one. Shit, I’m waffling again, aren’t I?
Stayed in Lime House, a relaxing hostel with a good mix of decent people, one of whom was Lyda, a lone Colombian traveller. A new best friend, hurrah! I just carried on talking and acting as if I’d never even climbed on that plane...
chevere...! Additionally Silvina, a lovely Argy I’d met while visiting El Bolsón five months earlier (“
Land of Milk and Honeys”) was very keen to get nice and friendly with me and show me Buenos Aires which thankfully went a long way to offsetting my own lethargy. I mean, bless her, she chose to work 35 hours a week so she could study full time at uni without having to rely on her parents and whenever she had time available she’d come around and we’d go out. Or stay in. Clubs with her friends, walking around the parks, looking through the absolute tat sold in the antique markets, going out to restaurants and bars, I really feel as though I have a lot to be grateful to her for.
By my last night in the hostel I think I
Av 9 de Julio from my Hostel.
The world's widest street, apparently. It got to the 1950's and some clever swine smashed down the entire block running down the middle to make room for this. Pain in the arse to cross. was starting to get a bit emotional and tried to buy champagne for the other travellers. As the champagne was all out I agreed to white wine and Red Bull which, predictably, tasted like arse. Funny watching the Frenchies trying to drink it though, ha!
Following this came the 363rd and final full day of the world’s most preposterous holiday, which I spent frantically running around buying yet more presents for just about everyone I’ve ever met, I reckon. All finished by early evening and I thought I’d go out in style and pimp Buenos Aires. (All strictly on credit, you understand!)
My demands were simple enough; just start with somewhere good to eat that was hellishly expensive. Actually I checked my credit card the other day and felt like a bit of a loser since the bill for both of us was scarcely £50. I mean,
that‘s not exactly going to accrue much interest while I sit around at home thinking of more and more half-arsed excuses not to get a job from one week to the next.
And that was pretty much it! Went back to the hostel the next morning to collect my things
The Recoleta Cemetary
Holding the Peróns and other wealthy porteños, this place is just huge. with streets and streets of stone mausoleums housing members of different families. and made my way to the airport. The flight was ok although I did have the only seat on the plane with a broken TV. Luckily the two old dears right in front of me were all the entertainment I needed, regularly getting up and breaking into their deep vein thrombosis routines about an inch from my face. Fifteen hours later and I was home. That Wembley definitely looked different from the air. And I’m still looking forward to the much-heralded 24-hour binge-drinking, street-fighting heaven that I’d been promised every town and village up and down the land would have become by now.
My smile widened upon seeing Mike and Mel who had surprised me by joining my folks to meet me at Heathrow. I’d been well informed that before long at home it’d feel like I’d never even gone anywhere. I couldn’t help notice things happening even quicker than I was expecting, my smile slowly fading somewhere between junctions 12 and 13 of the M25...
But bullshit things are all the same; six months ago the dishwasher broke down, didn’t get replaced and no-one even informed me! I’m sure I’ll find other examples in due course but
Final Night: Pimp my Town...
Nope! NOT that restaurant! Not expensive enough! Let's move on...! now, a fortnight after arriving home, rattling around a large, empty house almost like an honorary third retiree at least I can appreciate better than ever why they never bought a new one.
No, in truth it feels great to be home. Firstly because it’s given me an opportunity to compare myself now with a year ago and really surprise myself with how much more I’ve developed, emotionally and in confidence but also because of the excitement I have with regard to the future. Once I’ve got through my long to-do list and got this little bitch written I can really sit down and assess my options. I may end up deciding that the long wait I’d endure before teaching in Japan leads me to look at alternative ideas; attending university in Medellin, Colombia (“
FARC off.”) to study something relevant and interesting (so err not maths this time), cheeky applications for ideal careers perhaps at home, perhaps in Spain, Brussels or Australasia or, after much encouragement from various directions, even push for eking out a living as a travel writer or journalist as apparently this blog’s alright.
And Gawd bless that Anti-Age Discrimination Bill passed this week. On paper,
Some of the Relatives at another Welcome Do
Third curry in four days; My parents pretended not to hear when I told them I hadn't even missed it. there's
never been a better time to go another 26 years without thinking about starting a real job!
Above all, though I’m just quietly proud to know the friends I’ve made - many of whom could never have got to England to find me here - and also of the traveller that I’ve been for the last twelve months.
I really hope you’ve enjoyed my trip - thanks for reading!
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haysie
non-member comment
good stuff
Just stumbled onto your blog. Good read mate!