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Published: December 2nd 2011
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I´m now a month in and about to leave my first country, so it´s time for some sweeping generalisations and cliche insights. Where better to do this than in Latin America; where everyone is so warm, open, expressive, sexual, assertive, revolutionary and proud, compared to us cold, closed, repressed, apologetic, stoic and guilt ridden Brits. Right? Clearly, national stereotypes are bullshit if taken too far; but equally clearly, different cultures encourage different ways of being, so they hold some truth.
The national election meant that the whole city was shut down and hostel parties were the way forward. The hostel chefs started talking about "Inglesas" and how horribly cold, closed and generally evil they are (I quickly unfolded my arms and sat up straight). Some American girls enjoyed this, but just quietly smirked for my benefit. Agustin the Argentinian, who worked on reception, decided that it was time to introduce me to said chefs:
"Guys, this is Rose Flowers, English Rose."
It´s official, absolutely no foreign person can understand that this is not my name! The chefs just chuckled at me, entirely unembarrased about insulting my nationality.
The next day I sat down in the park, and
looked around at the kissing, hugging and general affection between friends (including male friends); couples rolling around in the grass together, girls mounting guys on benches, and at one point I´m pretty sure a row of couples were having an arse groping competition. Meanwhile, a ginormous fly flew straight at my head, met it´s untimely death by hitting me square between the eyes, and fell down my top. I chuckled to myself, which proved weird enough for a few couples to take a breather and throw me an odd look. This triggered a feeling that´s been absent for a worrying amount of time... that nasty, lonely single feeling. I decided to just read one chapter of my book then go back to the hostel to find friends.
Never, ever, wish male company upon yourself in an Argentinian park. A guy with a guitar started walking up to me, strumming a familiar intro before breaking into song:
"There´s something in the waaaaaaaaaaay she moooooooves..."
Oh dear god. I awkwardly looked around to see other people´s reactions. No one batted an eyelid at him, but gave me looks that said "there now chica sola, it´s all better". In very
broken English, the guy told me that he´s an illustrator and would like to draw a cartoon of me. Thinking that I (and the rest of the world) should really be saved from a lasting impression of a dimpled piglet, I tried to politely decline. By this time, he´d run out of words, and I felt hopeful that I´d payed my penance and could carry on reading. But no...
"Ooooh I need your love baaaaaaaabe, guess you knooooooow it´s true"
Followed by
"It´s been a haaaard daaaays niiiiiiight, and I´ve been wooorking... like a daaaawg"
Both in their entirety.
I interruped before he could start another one, deciding that painful conversation was ten times better than a painful serenade:
"Soooo, you er, like the Beatles?"
"Yes"
"Who´s your favourite?"
"John"
"Yeah he´s good"
"Yes very good"
"Yes....."
"Oh yeah, IIII´ll, tell you something, I think you´ll unnnderstaaand, oh yeah, III´ll, say that something..."
There was one thing for it. I got up mid song and said I had to go.
"Why are you leaving me?"
"It´s er, my boyfriend´s birthday" (whaaaaat? What am I
Plaza del Independencia
A prism thing obscurred the light here accidentally, but I´ll pretend it´s purposely artistic. saying?!)
It got rid of him though.
After seeing one alternative side of Leering Male, I was about to be faced with another one back at the hostel. For clarification, Leering Male´s motivation is that he assumes that, unlike incredibly hot Argentine girls, European girls are incredibly easy, without exception.
Agustin the Argentinian asked if he could cook me dinner. We tend to assume that "can I cook you dinner" translates to "I´d like to sound nice, but really I´m earning the right to put my penis in you with minimum effort", so my negative reply was fairly unsympathetic. He looked genuinelly hurt; "you girls are all the same" he started up "guys don´t treat you well in your country, and you punish us. You won´t even let us buy you a drink because you think we´ll want something in return."
I started arguing with him, saying something about how Argentinian girls are forced to be really passive. He actually agreed with me, saying girls here just want to hear pretty lies, even though they know it´s a lie.
R - "We absolutely hate that! More than anything! British guys don´t bother to pretend."
A - "Thats because you´re all so scared of putting yourselves out there by giving an honest compliment without a motive. It´s impossible to tell what you lot are thinking because you hide everything away. What´s the point in that? You don´t lose anything from being nice, at least you´ve said what you really think."
R - "That´s amazing if it´s honest. But you already admitted that a lot of it´s lies"
A - "Ok fine, we like to please, so sometimes we flatter girls too much. But men in your country have made you girls believe that you shouldn´t want to feel special and should act like men, so you´ve lost all of your power. Like in Sex and the City."
Oh god, we´re on to Carrie fricking Bradshaw. Luckily the debate was interrupted by a musical circus from outside, to celebrate the re-election of Plastic Face.
I´m not sure who´s right about the dating rituals, or if Argentinian girls feel more in control and respected than us; but I really can´t argue with the extreme warmth and expressiveness that´s normal here, or that complimenting others truthfully is one of the easiest yet nicest things we can ever do. Clearly, us Brits are brilliant; we have the best humour even in hard times, we don´t take ourselves too seriously and we´re generally honest. But we can be a bit defensive about expressing ourselves, and find it much safer to be dry for fear of getting knocked down. Hmmm... If I don´t end this with something cutting, it´ll sound incredibly pretentious and sappy...
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