The Patriot Virus

The patriot virus exists in many forms around the world. There are soldiers, housewives, creepy extremists, sports fans, primary schoolers and everything in between. Most people have a least some pride in their country (even if it's just happiness that you have nice weather) but for some reason, travel brings this out in a whole new way.

You can have as many issues with your country as you want. You can hate the government, you can wish your hometown was more lively, in fact: you can get outraged over any cause you like. But as soon as you step off the plane and onto foreign soil; you come from the best dang country in the world! Your morals are not completely compromised, of course. You don't change your mind about any of your preexisting opinions, but once you meet someone from another nationality, Australia/Britain/America/France/Name-Your-Home-Country-Here immediately becomes paradise on earth. The best place in the world to live! You're thinking about travelling there? Oh, you definitely should, it has so much to offer visitors!

God help anyone who talks bad your homeland in your presence.

This strange travel bug presents its strongest strain in groups of three or more young men. With these sufferers, it moves on to cringeworthy and dangerous extremes. These youthful representatives embarrass their fellow countrymen with open and loud declarations of their country's greatness. They ridicule the country they're in and any other foreigners they encounter. “You're French? You're french! Guy's it's a frog!”

[Side note to the lads: this kind of behaviour is not going to help your attempts to “bang a local”]

At its worst (I know, I didn't think it could get worse either) the virus may even become lethal. The sufferers are prone to fights, both verbal and physical. Should they encounter another group of young, male sufferers from a different country? Maiming ensues.

This of course is something to be avoided at all costs, but in it's simplest form; the patriot virus can be quite helpful. Belief in the greatness of one's own country helps foster homesickness and will convince the wayward traveller of the need to eventually return home. You're welcome, Mum and Dad.

Shove it in their faces

I love the travel sceptics. I adore them. They're my inspiration. They would get the dedication in any book I wrote. They make me what I am today.

Why? Because I'm the kind of person who doesn't take well to disbelief. When I mention places I want to go to and get that funny reeeeally with the raised eyebrow in reply: well, that's what makes me go. One of the only reasons I can actually motivate myself to go anywhere is to prove wrong any doubters. Shut up, you. I'll totally go! Look, I'm finding tickets on my phone right now! So nerr!

The issue, of course, is that most of my friends are way too lovely. I've got no reason to go anywhere when you're all so supportive! I'm too lazy to motivate myself! So I've starting creating my own little travel sceptic. I keep him locked away in my head until I start to daydream about another trip. And then I bring him out to tell me I can't do it. Go on, buddy. How much do you want to bet me I can get there within a month?

The Home Front

I am pants-peeing excited to be going to Melbourne this week for a little local tourism. I get to trip through unfamiliar streets and visit new bars, take photos and dork out, make comments about my 'adventurous spirit' and ask strangers for directions... but I only have to sit on a plane for an hour and a half to get there. Lovely.

Being a traveller in a semi-familiar environment is really loads more fun than any other kind of travel. The risk level drops substantially, you pretty much know beforehand whether something's worth getting to, and you almost never get lost. And if you're as disorganised and vague as I am: this makes a nice change.

With this in mind, I'm making the trip down for a few days to blend with my southern neighbours. Plus, I get to have the darling boyfriend on my arm for the first time in almost two months. Tis making me quite smug, show off that I am.

Joy.

La Trobe Street, Melbourne

Public Transportation: The Real Enemy

This might just be because I'm home again and want to have a bit of a dig at cityrail, but isn't public transport just a little bit terrifying?

It's not just the smelly passengers, or the over representation of crazy f***ers, or the suspicious looking stains, or any of these side concerns. It's that trains and buses seem to be purposefully messing with us. The inexplicable delays? The sudden slowing right when you're moving between carriages? The button that magically stops working right when you're about to pass your stop? The buses that suddenly slide too close to the curb and nearly hit you in the face with a mirror [I swear this happens to me every other day]? I don't trust these beasts anymore! It's purposeful! There is no doubt in my mind about this one: I'm absolutely sure that public transport wants us all dead.

That slow building sense of mistrust we've all been developing since the first time we were allowed to ride the bus to school? We should be paying attention to that! Instead, we accept these little oddities as mere frustrations. They're expected by now! My theory: this is what they want. Eventually, we're going to start hearing about deaths on the bus. Suspicious vanishings between one train station and the next. And we'll start to accept that, too! As another frustration! Just the risks of public transport!

They'll take us out one by one, until the only folks left are those with their own cars. And that's when the humble automobile will turn on us, too. It's not robots who are going to take over humanity: it's cityrail. And all the others like it. 

You have been warned.

Architecture - South America

Well, hours in transit haven't allowed me much energy for writing. So here are some photos of buildings instead. Because hey, that's awesome.

Cordoba, Argentina

Montevideo, Uruguay

Montevideo, Uruguay

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Leaving (for) home

On the penultimate day of quite a long trip, you would think feelings of either relief or devastation would be passing through me. Strangely, neither emotion has made an appearance, and my casual approach to completing my journey seems to be ticking people off. The nerve!

It seems I missed the memo that the ending of a trip must be accompanied by fanfare and dramatics. People are oddly perturbed when I don't tear up at the idea of leaving them behind or burst into sobs of joy because I'll see my friends back home. Don't worry (dear friends), I do love and miss you, but does it really bother you that much that I don't base my entire existence around your presence in my life? Really?

Seriously. You're not that great.

Uruguayan morning tea- another thing I'll miss

What I have missed, and what I am going to miss is food. I miss home cooked meals so badly that my first may leave me in fits at the dining table. I miss baking, I miss cooking, I miss the cheap Indian place near my house and I miss my normal supermarket. But my god I'm going to miss Argentinian icecream. Holy crap! This stuff's so good it would make Adriano Zumbo say “holy crap this stuff's so good”. (Yeah, the Z-man and I are tight)

What I won't miss is the smell of mate. Mate (the E is audible) is a herbal tea everyone here drinks at every possible opportunity. It's foul. The smell haunts me in my sleep. Hate hate hate hate hate.

But you know- it's cultural, so I guess I'll have to pretend I miss that, too. Otherwise more strange looks from fellow backpackers will result. Jeez.

Marketable Oddities

Snapped this photo on Sunday at the markets in San Telmo, Buenos Aires. These happen weekly and seem to be Argentina's answer to what to get the person who has everything.

These markets are all over the place, but the San Telmo ones are perhaps some of the greatest. They run all the way along Defensa avenue, taking over Plaza Dorrego and about ten or more buildings, courtyards and alleyways along the way. Along with unusable items like the above, they also have stalls selling food, jewellery, touristy trinkets and hundreds selling antique silverware. 

You know you're in Argentina when...

… You can purchase a motorcycle in the supermarket.

… The street signs are “proudly brought to you by” various companies.

… People are queued up all over the place for no apparent reason.

… Your tour bus stops repeatedly to pick up hitchhikers.

… At 2am, bars are just starting to open, not close.

… Wearing the wrong coloured tshirt to a sports event could easily result in your death.

… Naked women being strangled by feet are appropriate artworks for public shopping centres.

… Your glass of wine isn't “half a glass” or “up to the line”, it's a goddamn glass of wine- as full as they can carry it.

… No matter what you order, the portion is the size of your head.

… You pull up at the lights and someone runs in front of your car and juggles for spare change. Like, circus stuff.

… Instead of coffee or knockoff designer bags, the street vendors are selling “useful” items. And by useful we mean dog collars, tape measures, barbie dolls and coffee mugs.

… The mullet surrounds you. And is still thought to be fashionable.

This post is odd since I'm writing from Uruguay. But dude, Argentina's pretty cool.

World Vision's version of Sudanese politics

"World Vision urges North and South Sudan to resolve differences ahead of 9 July independence"

There must be something horrendously wrong with me since I found this press release title to be the funniest thing I'd ever read. Yeah, yeah, my mind's messed up. But don't you just love the idea of World Vision sitting down with Omar Al-Bashir and Salva Kiir Mayardit and starting with 

"I'm sensing a lot of negativity between to two of you. Now does someone want to tell me how this argument started?"

Because I'm thinking World Vision's placid attempt to make the two kiss and make up isn't going to fix the problem.

I'm just saying.

Universal Hostel Soundtrack

One thing you notice very quickly when travelling is that there seems to be a single mix tape that gets passed around all the hostels. I thought I was imagining things at first but apparently; there really is one! Three of the hostels I've stayed in in Argentina (my current country of residence) have been associated with Hostel Inn. It was whilst I was staying at the second one that I began to notice that breakfast was always accompanied by the same backing music. Showers were the same. Don't get me started on the “party mix” that played after 10pm. Once I reached the third one, I was curious enough to ask the staff. And that's when I was let in on the big conspiracy.

They really are playing the same mixes! They have an easy listening mix, a local mix, a pop mix, and their mix mix for every day use. I knew it!

So here are some tracks to get used to if you're planning on travelling anytime soon. I heard each of these a minimum of nine or ten times in each hostel and I'm still not sick of them! I'm not sure if that says something about the music or me.

Santeria - Sublime

San Francisco - Scott McKenzie (hated it to start with, but it's become a bit of an anthem)

Feel Good Inc. - Gorillaz

Your Woman - White Town

In This World - Moby

Home - Edward Sharpe (this one's getting iffy- might not be able to handle another dozen plays)

And as an extra special bonus, here are some of the songs I am sick of:

E.T - Katy Perry

Born this Way - Lady Gaga

Party Anthem - LMFAO

Back to Black - Amy Winehouse

Pursuit of Happiness - Kid Cudi (and I really used to like this song)

Maturity

For most of my youth, admiring travellers from a distance, I considered independent travel to be a sign of maturity. All the “adults” I knew had done it and all had returned; better for the experience. In terms of “growing up” it was of wine swilling, tax evading, lease signing, hymen tearing significance. I regarded it with a peculiar mix of trepidation and self assuredness. It was a daunting concept, but one the fourteen year old version of myself was quite certain she could handle better than anyone (and everyone) else. Ah, the follies of youth.

With all the enlightenment of twenty one measly years and several accompanied and unaccompanied overseas jaunts, I do indeed feel much more adult than perhaps I would if I had stayed home. The advantage I have over my younger self, however, is an awareness that this is bull.

I'm no adult, I'm a child playing dress-ups in entire countries. Smugly certain that I'm achieving international cultural sensitivity whilst simultaneously putting on an embarrassing representation of the Australian people.

So, to the people of Australia and those foreigners forced to tolerate me on their turf: I am truly, truly sorry. 


Not going to stop, though.

Things that felt like a good idea before I tried them

...Going clubbing from midnight til six with a 10hr bus ride awaiting me the next day.

...Using a discount bus company to get from Puerto Iguazu to Resistencia, with the massive saving of $40 pesos (about $10) and the sacrifice of my sanity.

...Taking advantage of the super cheap coffee served at football games in Buenos Aires. Later witnessing them filling up the thermos from the hot tap in the bathroom. 

...Not factoring shots and vaccines into my budget and then telling my doctor to give me everything she felt might be necessary. Just as a point: $800.

...Drinking four glasses of... something and falling asleep on Serendipity Beach without sunscreen.

...Making eye contact with beggars in Cambodia.

...Not checking myself into a French hospital because of a cold. Turns out I had whooping cough.

...Convincing myself that watching a Nat Tran video substituted reading an actual guide book.

...Letting friends choose their own present for me to bring back. (Australia limits the amount of alcohol you're allowed to bring through customs)

...Refusing to embarrass myself by asking the bus driver if I was at the right stop and instead wandering around south Mendoza for an hour and a half, convinced I was in Maipu.

...Two flavoured vodkas, chocolate liqueur, absinthe, five glasses of wine and a beer, then trying to cycle 5km back to base. Actually, I lie. No regrets for that one. It was totally awesome.

A Lament to the Volcano

O Ash! O Smoke! O Rock!

Vulcan whose might we mock,

Trembling and spewing out with mighty roar

When the skies you took will you unlock?

No more -Oh, never more!

Whether the day or night

No one has taken flight:

Had you but attention craved before

Pray, move your clouds and give my heart delight

No more -Oh, never more

(with sincere apologies to Percy Bysshe Shelley for the butchering of his work)

Luckily, my flights have yet to overlap with the Chilean volcano, but I have not been unaffected. Bariloche, a beautiful city in the south of Argentina, was supposed to be my next stop. However, with the city covered in ash and snow, (making a mucky, dark mess) the place has mostly shut down. All warnings are indicating it's not worth the time it would take to get there since most places are closed and most sites I wanted to see are still inaccessible. So yeah, Bariloche's an unfortunate no go for me.

Now, butchering classic poetry might seem excessive for the insult given here, but there is one important detail I haven't yet mentioned. Besides its river access and natural beauty, Bariloche is known for one other thing: Chocolate. This nasty bint of an eruption has kept me from the home of great chocolate in all South America. That kind of offence cannot stand. Puyehue-Cordon Caulle, you just made my list.