EZE: It's a Personal Choice

Final day with the GAP: Antarctica Crew... Bye-bye.

I woke up for group breakfast. After dinner last night, this was mostly just a way to get the final moments of face time, take some last pictures, and prepare for the group departure. With eating done, and people congregating in the main lobby the taxis came one by one taking people away. Spastic waving through windows, and final parting hugs once more. One by one they all disappeared.

As I waited for my 1pm taxi, I was asked if I'd move it up to noon – and then share it. Well now, isn't this interesting? I wouldn't need to convert my 10USD bill to pay for the taxi if I just shared, so why not? Off to EZE i went earlier. And then, of course, I got to EZE. I went up and tried to check in.

I could not check in. Not until three hours before my flight.

My 11:00pm flight.

There would be some time that needed killing. But I could do this with my laptop. I was told there was free internet in EZE. There is no free internet in EZE. I could watch movies after plugging in. Where could I plug in?

It took me a few minutes before I realized that this airport I was in now was the same one I flew into three weeks ago. It hit me as a rather strange awareness, honestly. But after this epiphany I found myself disheartened. I had this problem last time I was here. There was no plug sockets.

Somewhere people needed to plug in their floor cleaners, but where – where?! In the cafe. Huh. O.K. there was a plug socket, and this would require buying a three dollar soda. But with that I could justify sitting in place for the required eight hours before I could check in. So now I'd plugged in. What would I do?

There was an episode of Co-op Live to watch, and that killed an hour. Three and a half hours of podcasts, while I played Frozen Bubbles... and then it hit me. This was no longer satisfying. While I had no problem killing days doing this before, I had re-discovered the excitement of travel. And with that, rather than filling time, I felt like I was wasting time. Time that could be use for exciting discovery, and wonderful wanderings. Yesterday was a fun day of nothing, but when you have two in a row – it's much less... great.

I killed another few hours by writing yesterday's blog – and getting to this point in the current blog. And we've become caught up to the present. It's all rather eerie. Everything that's happening now is happening now in the blog. I can talk about how there are security guards wandering in slow motion, and all number of cockroaches making their way across the floor. My soda is long since empty, and I'm quite bored.

But let us discover what I'd like to write about now. Maybe Antarctica. It's not late enough to really think back on it, and re-cap it... but soon I'll be in a brand new country (well one that's not here) and a place I'd never seen. And then I'll be looking forward, rather than looking back.

First – I'll invoke my inner Professor Parker, “Let's take a break.”

I discovered that I have Sudoku on this laptop – and that killed more time. Alright – so I have one more hour before I can go check in, and get to a brand new waiting room. And then in just three hours I can board my plane, if that gets in on time – which it probably wont.

There are smaller cockroaches kicking around now. Where have the big ones gone, I wonder?

So Antarctica – what stands out? There were blues that you could never really imagine. Not in the context of Antarctica. I expected whites, and greys. And that's all. But there was so much colour. Colours that you may have seen in photos, that have nothing to do with their colour balancing, and everything to do with what was truly there in front of you.

There wasn't much blue sky, but that was for the best, I feel. I have my shots with the blue, and my shots with the blowing snow, and the grey cold skies.

The weather – it was never that bad. We had some wind, and there was some cold. But it was that type of cold that you want to feel. The cold that lets you know you're somewhere else. If you had only shorts and a t-shirt, well that would be fine, unless the kitchen staff saw you – then you weren't allowed outside, and you'd need to sneak around.

The food was lovely – magical – but I've already adapted back to one or two meals a day, and I'm feeling fine with that. The memory of what it's like to be hungry is all sorts of neat. It makes the meals better. And it makes small meals more important. I bet flight food is going to be fantastic from this point on.

Lack of internet. I didn't really touch on this – but it was great. A lot of people have mentioned it since – the moment we got on the boat, we put away our tech. I still wrote my blogs, but that was no different than other people writing in their journals. I didn't listen to podcasts, or watch movies, or play games. I didn't even think about it. Every day there was something going on. Landings, lectures, meals – so many meals, chatting with good people.

When phones beeped to life as we neared Ushuaia the spell was broken for most. I stayed out until the free wifi in the airport. And then it was back. But being out of the connectivity was a wonderful experience where you could really focus on the moment, rather than thinking of what else you could be up to.

It's like not having a cellphone. When you're out, you're out – and it's great. But then you get that phone, or you get that internets back, and all of a sudden the addiction is back, and you couldn't picture a world without them.

Alrighty – back to frozen bubble and now it's 7:45. That's about right, as another podcast ends, for me to wander to the check in desks and wait. Bye bye bugs crawling all over everything. You shall not be missed.

What an action packed day, and no – it ain't over yet.

HA! HA! I'm through. I thought it wouldn't happen for a while, but I'm through to the airport proper. It took three people to mysteriously arrange my tickets, but it was done. And, like all should be, the airport tax was included in the ticket price, so I need not pay anything extra.

Once I had ticket in hand, I made my way through the scanners, and then through customs, and then finally into the airport. I had a long time waiting for those two things, let me tell you, and in that time I realized something. I smell. I mean, I know it must be, but I hadn't fully owned up to it yet. I do. I had four changes of clothing for the Antarctica trip – I'm in number four still. You know how long I was gone for.

On the boat I wasn't prepared to spend 4USD to wash a shirt, and 3USD to wash a pair of boxers. So now, now I smell. I have a clean change of clothes for when I land in LA and I'm hoping the hostel there will have laundry facilities. And then all will be right again. But, man, I'd hate to be sitting beside me. Just saying. Well – I've had to sit near “me” before, so now tables have again turned.

Moving on.

With 11.25 peso to my name I looked for bargain. No fast food through the gate, so nothing would be cheap. But, there was a wee market selling me RocketsMAX for 3.75. These are the ultimate in candy coated chocolate saucers. M+Ms never did it for me, I'm a Smarties person. But I love the super amount of chocolate that you get in M+M peanut – so I often fall prey to them. But these RocketsMAX have the chocolate content without the peanut waste! These are chocolates of choice for me. And they fit the price.

I was now down to – what? 7.50. Sounds right. Cans of pop were 11. Huh. Oh look, a Coke vending machine. Well, I might as well investigate. Oh me lord, for only 5 pesos I can get a 500ml bottle? The bill reader didn't work. Of course not. But I saw a second machine earlier. I went to it, fed in my bills, but then my 50cent coins didn't work. Of course not. Persistence paid off here, and after many upsetting punks it finally accepted and the Sprite was mine! Now I could fill my belly and take home 2.50 as a souvenir.

You know, I thought I might fall asleep here – but luckily there's a little girl running around screaming and crashing into things/people. Her parents think it's darling. I'm happy for them.

Question – all over the world I've seen FREE PUBLIC WI-FI as an available network. I have never been able to connect to it – and it seems strange that that label is in every continent. What it it? A hardware thing reading weird? Is it a virus that opens up peoples laptops as public hosts that you can connect to (but perhaps only at close range)? Is it a real thing that mysteriously floats around.

Seriously – what's up with that? You must have seen them too – have you ever connected? I crave information!

Well there's no plug socket here, and no web access. I guess I'll just eat my candy, drink my soda, and read. That is if the little girl stops trying to poke me through my seat. Ah, at least her parents have pulled her away. Back to the screaming, perhaps?

Antarctica: Disembarkation

Five thirty the alarm goes off. The night before still seems like it was the perfect idea.

No regrets to be had as I shove final items in my pack, and take pictures of the boots I walked across Canada in back in 2006, the boots I injured my knees in in Tokyo in 2008, the boots that saw me through the Alps and the Andes. The boots that never made it to Australia. Personified more than an Ikea lamp, waiting in the rain, are memorialized before being left behind.

For some time I'd thought about offloading them. And all my hikes are behind me now. They'd been encrusted with the water's salt, and were far past their prime. Still – it was hard to let them go. But attachments are made to be broken.

Showered, stationary and not grasping walls for once, I stumbled like a zombie up to breakfast. Halls were emptying of luggage. Passengers were making their way back to dry land. People were congregating hoping for final goodbyes, parting hugs, and final words.

With all things at their end, we made our way down the gangway to the waiting bus that took us to Ushuaia airport. There, within the gift shop, terrible products were observed. And exhaustion almost brought me to purchase terribly unneeded items. Saved, at last, I was by the realization of free wifi.

For the first time I had contact with the world outside. E-mails were made to confirm plans for California, and Japan thereafter. I'd need to make Singapore, Hong Kong, and China plans before long. But there was still time for that. Not much, but some. Off we were called to the plane said to be waiting at the gate.

The plane was not there. Nor was it there an hour later. But soon thereafter we boarded, sat down, and I promptly passed out. Sleep was much required by this point. A momentary awakening came as the food tray rolled by, and then I was out once more until the touch down in Buenos Aires. Ah Buenos Aires, back again.

Bussed to the hotel where the next two nights would be spent, bags were tossed in rooms, and rather than drifting off to sleep we gathered to wander Florida street from end to end, passing multiple McDonald's, Burger Kings, and sandal shops. I had Caramelized Milk Ice Cream. Where else can one get such a flavour? Bed Bug infested hostels were also passed. Good riddance.

The streets were much the same as they were when I last wandered them, except I saw seven goths and two people wearing LOST shirts. These aberrations made me wonder two things – had LOST become even more fantastic since I'd been away, and was there a goth convention in town? Where were these people two weeks ago?

For the first time in two weeks, we all felt hunger. It was about tea-time, our usual third meal. And yet no food was brought to us. There was no one making their rounds to keep our glasses full of water. For that matter, we had no glasses to speak of.

For the first time we appreciated the meals with which we had been provided.

On the boat a buffet of fruit, yogurt, bacon, pancakes, eggs, hash browns, sausages, and all other tasty treats were laid before us. Lunch time was a salad bar, and a buffet of hot treats which ranged from meats, to pastas, to all number of things looking to fill ones belly. There were also vats and vats of desserts. Every three days there would be a separate tray of fresh cooked foods. Tea time was sandwiches, and dinner was served from one of three choices.

On the boat we didn't eat because we were hungry, we ate because food was there. And at the time that seemed like more than enough reason.

Bellies always full we never knew hunger. Now, walking the streets, hours before our next meal, the feeling was - novel.

At seven forty-five the feeling of living in a televised re-run, and the thought of bellies waiting to be filled, ended. A bus picked us up to drive us to dinner, which would be accompanied by a tango show. Before we ate we were given lessons to the dance. Ridiculous lessons which I think I might try to remember for a drama game, or opening exercise to break the ice with new classes.

And then the meal began. I would have pumpkin pasta, salad, and poached pears. The tango show would last three hours. While this might seem wonderful to some, or terrible to others, it was made acceptable by the addition of an open bar. Asking for a beer and a coke confused the waitress. Someone else at my table spoke up indicating that I wanted them separate, saving me from a potentially disastrous mix.

For three hours we watched people dance in different costumes, loosing all track of the plot. It started in 1900, went to 1940, and at some point I think one of the female dancers was metaphorically raped. It was all very confusing. Others seemed to rectify this with bottle after bottle of red wine. Red wine. Ugh. Who drinks that stuff?

Between dances an old man sung. Speaking Spanish may have made the progression of events more understandable, but perhaps not. Perhaps the plot was as impossible to understand for all viewers as it was for us.

Three hours passed and we boarded a bus. Sure the bus had no driver. And sure two strangers hopped on it. And sure when we got a driver he said he'd take us to the wrong place – but none were in much state to complain. Mostly there was laughter at the confusion.

For what it's worth, we ended up where we should have – and then beds allowed for comfortable lapse into darkness. While I was warned of my roommates snoring, I heard nothing, and slept peacefully in comfort. Beds that do not try to toss one from their surfaces are a rare and wonderful treat as of late. And the pillows, finally the right size to fit my sleeping patterns? A true delight.

Street Art and Graffiti Desktop Wallpapers and Backgrounds: Buenos Aires, Argentina [3 of 3]

Street Art and Graffiti Desktop Wallpapers and Backgrounds: Buenos Aires, Argentina [2 of 3]

Street Art and Graffiti Desktop Wallpapers and Backgrounds: Buenos Aires, Argentina [1 of 3]

Off to Ushuaia

Dear the bed bugs that have been ravaging me the last two nights – if you could please stop, that would be great.

I woke up in the middle of the night with red spots all over my left arm, back of both hands, left and right foot, and the right side of my belly. They were as itchy as any mosquito bite I've ever experienced. Had I know of their existence I would have slept in my sleep sheet – but they had lulled me into a false sense of security by taking a week to build up to full force.

As I it now on the plane to Ushuaia I find I'm doing everything in my power to ignore the terrible itching. It is – shall we say – less than ideal.

When I woke up this morning I grabbed breakfast, and then headed back to my room to watch the recap of the Olympics' closing ceremony. Not having been nearly as addicted to the games as in years past – due to terrible soccer matches finding screen space instead of bobsledding, ice dancing, and the link – I didn't think it would be that tragic when the flame went out. Still – there was a slight tinge as the torch was lowered away and out of sight. I wonder what the feeling must be like for the city of Vancouver, planning for these weeks for so long, and then having them disappear.

There was no time to dwell on these thoughts as soon I was headed to the bus to get to the airport. Then it was a brief wait, a slight delay, and a perusal of Lonely Planet's guide to Antarctica (really Lonely Planet? Now you're just being silly.) Then I was up into the air. I tried my best to stay interested in the LotR: Appendixes, but once I got past the time lines to the family trees I started to nod off. And then I reached the three or four pages explaining the various calendars used in Middle Earth and that was just the end for me. Still, it could have been worse. Frodo could have kept popping up to fill me with rage.

I plan to do a breakdown on my feelings towards this epic text just as soon as I finish it. With only forty pages left, you'd think I'd press right on and power through. But I peeked ahead. Those pages explain the alphabet. The names of the letters, the various alphabets, and how they came into being. This has just become tedious.

On the flight I discovered that our voyage of the MS Expedition will be the first for the season as it has been having problems, and was held up in dry dock for quite some time. I'm glad that I knew nothing about this, otherwise I probably would have been tracking the progress of the ship with crossed fingers. As it is, I just learned of the problem after said problem ceased to exist.

Landing in Ushuaia is an experience. The airport is more like a delightful ski lodge than anything else. All wooden interior, with large glass windows offering a view of the snow capped mountains that surround the town in all directions. The town itself? For being the southern most in the world, it's rather large.

I checked into the hotel, allowed myself a moment or two to be amazed by the amazing room with kitchen, flat screen tv, couch, and plush chairs. I should be so lucky to end up with a place like this in Toronto when I get back.

And then I quickly dropped my gear and headed out to wander the city. All the while trying to ignore the crazy itches of the bed bug bites. I'll accept that this is a cultural experience that is important to have under my belt so that I may talk to fellow travellers about it – but that will be in the future, when the bites are gone, and I'm no longer feeling their wrath!

The town has two main tourists streets that extend down the waterfront. For the most part it's just souvenir shops mixed with restaurants, capped by an outdoors store at the end of each block. There's nothing all that special to it, but that's to be expected from a place like this which thrives mainly because of where people go from here. This is the Siem Reap, or Cuzco, of Argentina. You come here not to stay here, but because it's the doorstep to your real destination. Still – it could be a lot worse. There are apparently some great hikes, including one over a glacier, accessible from here. But, like I said in Peru, I hiked my last hike. And if I can't try to keep myself honest, well then what's to be expected?

After some wanders that introduced me to yet another hot dog (so much better than the New York variety, if only due to the double size, and the half price) and a soda I retired back to the hotel. Eight o'clock and the sun still shining. I'm told darkness will fall near ten. I wonder how this affects the locals.

The hotel was blessed with free wi-fi, and a lending library which consisted of eight books. I looked at them, one after the next, and couldn't believe what I was seeing. I wanted them all! The all needed to be mine! And quickly four were added to my collection. I replaced them with two that I'd been carrying around, not yet read – tragic that I'll probably, now, never read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, or Jane Eyre, but I know in my heart I made the right decision.

The fact that Go West, by the Pet Shop Boys, plays now over the loud speaker only confirms my decision. Could there have been a better sign? Nay. There could not have been!

Tomorrow – boarding the boat to Antarctica. See you in two weeks!

OYT Discusses Things Edible

This is a post about food.

Introduction
There are all sorts of things that may seem important when travelling. Some people need the latest clothes, others look for gadgets and gizmos. Other people are more than content to simply take pictures and look at everything around them. Some people just want to get drunk, party, and black out – proof of a good night. While these groups may seem as if they have nothing in common, that's not quite true. One thing that every traveller concerns themselves with is food.

Sure there are those that eat at restaurants that cost well over one hundred dollars a plate, while there are others who will spend no more than a buck a day on sustenance. But each traveller is looking at the local foods, considering them, and eating them. I know one person who spent eighty dollars on a small bottle of Italian vinegar, and another who spent a week living off nothing more than a bag of Lassie Mog cookies, and some mysterious carrots he came across. While this may seem to put them in opposition, that's not quite true. They both have an awareness for the culinary treats around them.

Why I'm Writing This
Today I headed out of my hostel to the GAP meeting hotel. I got there, discovered no one knows when our group is supposed to meet, dropped my bags off (unwilling to allow someone else to carry them to my room – I'll eat you up, I love you so.) and then headed out for food.

I made my way past Burger King for the first time in ages. I decided that I would eat meat from the grill – as I had been shamed into thinking I was missing out on a treat. Not one to ever sit in a restaurant hungry, though, as this leads to terrible decisions and a lack of enjoyment, I hit up a street vendor selling burgers. The burger was four pesos. It was alright. With something in my belly I went looking.

I'll skip the various places that didn't meet my standards, and get to the one with a poster of ribs hanging in the window. This was the one for me. And at 46 pesos it was twice the price of the Whopper X-Treme combo, but still – ribs... Plus, there were table cloths here.

Fine Dining Experience
I place my order for the ribs and waited. And waited. And waited. Half an hour I sat. Half an hour I looked at the bread bowl that would appear as a mysterious charge on my bill if I so much as touched it. Half an hour I thought about the ribs that I was to have. I also thought of the innumerable number of whoppers that could have been prepared and delivered to me in the time it took to get my order up. I could have started a bar-be-que, flamed them, and have eaten them already. What was going on back there?

Thirty minutes later and I was presented with – pork chops. What. The. [expletive.]

Pork Chops? I didn't order pork chops. I pointed at ribs on the menu. I pointed at the ribs on the Spanish menu. What was this?! It's important to note that I do not like pork chops. I do not really like meat at all. I'm a fan of sauces, hence my love to ribs. And with a good burger, you rarely taste the meat. I'd eat veggie burgers if only they didn't cost more (or if any place other than Lick's could figure out how to work a good texture.)

But there in front of me were pork chops. I had just waited half and hour for them. I wasn't all that prepared to wait another half hour. And the point of this exercise was to eat local grill and see how wonderful it is. Everyone says that Argentina meats are the best. Fine, let us take one bite. Great. Wish they had some sauce. Oh look – lemons.

With the two pork chops eaten I turned to the fries. This may have been the only redeeming part of the whole experience. The french fries were not overly good, but they did not come with any dipping sauces either. Due to this I looked to my plate – what was left? Two lemon wedges that, I guess, were for the pork. I shrugged – the lemons soon found themselves squeezed onto my fries. And the flavour combination? Quite delightful. This is something that will require future trials, and efforts to discover the best way in which to combine this sweet and sour flavour with other things. Perhaps lemon mayonnaise could make a good fry sauce?

When it was time to pay the bill I was charged for the pork chops which cost ten pesos more. Great – I paid more to not get what I wanted. Fantastic. In theory you may think I could have said something – but when everyone speaks Spanish, looks at you crazy when you speak English, and just wanders away if you are too slow in voice, well – there's no real point to it, is there? Just one of the treats you need to accept when eating in another country.

Conclusion? Argentina meat is the same as meat everything. The grilling style is no better, nor any worse. In the future, I'll stick to Burger King – thank you very much. At least it's filling.

It look a slice of pizza, and bottle of soda consumed on the way home to make me feel as if I were momentarily full. One BK combo, and you'll not need to eat for the rest of the day.

Is that all?
But wait... there's more. Now that I have discovered that I prefer fast food to real food, I feel as if is my place, my honoured duty, to discuss various types of said food that I have discovered around the globe. More often than not this will fall back on Toronto being the best of all thing culinary. But I do not hide this. The only meal I've ever had on the road that Toronto has not managed to match was the Sausage and Rice with Lemon Shake in Cambodia. That meal haunts me. It haunts me still.

Right now we'll take a look at two things – pizza, and hot dogs.

Pizza
I don't know why the world has such a hard time figuring out how to get pizza right. Nowhere in the world is pizza as good as it is in North America. Nowhere. Well, maybe Italy – but that's not really pizza. Not in the way everyone else thinks about it. Italian Pizza is lovely, and a treat to be enjoyed. But think of it more as high quality fresh vegetables, meats, and cheeses on a thin warm bread. It is amazing – but it's not round, cut into triangles, nor eaten by Mutant Ninja Turtles, teenage or otherwise.

I've eaten pizza around the world. In South America it's like a flat bread with cheese melted on top. There is no sauce, well hardly none – maybe a bit for the illusion, just to colour. In Europe it's just a nonsensical train wreck. It's often overdone, or not done enough. They try to walk the line between North American and Italian pizza, and just fail terribly. Asia – it's best we not talk about Asia. They just can't get non-Asian food right – with the exception of steak. And then, only in Kobe, Japan. Honestly – once I asked for a fried egg – they sliced a hard boiled egg and fried that up. Thank you Asia. Thank you. Africa came close to having real pizza. They tried hard, but as it was tourist pizza, it tasted like something you'd get at a ball park. Not terrible – but nothing to write home about.

Then we get to North America. Where pizza was born. You heard me – round, triangle, boxed, thirty minutes or it's free pizza. In North America pizza is saucey the way it should be, coated with stuff – whatever stuff you ask for – and prepared to perfection. Now here the problem lies – there are so many types of pizza in North America.

You have your Pizza Hut, which you can get almost anywhere in the world – and it will taste the same in all countries. Which is the problem. It tastes the same in all countries. Have you had Pizza Hut? Sure you have. It's like eating a stick of butter. You may slightly enjoy it at the time – but don't make any plans for the rest of the day, and if you're in a one bathroom living space, make sure you don't go out with your housemates. I'm just saying, is all.

Then you have Pizza Pizza. This is my favourite – no tomato sauce, triple BBQ sauce, chicken, and x-treme cheese. This is the pizza of kings. Get two XL while you're at it. This is pizza like nothing you've ever had. And it's only available in Ontario. Well – Canada wide, but good luck finding it outside of Ontario – fingers crossed. I hear there just might be one at the UBC campus, if you're out that way.

Then you have New York pizza. New York, you have outdone yourself. You can not compete with Pizza Pizza, if only because you're such a different monster. And I love you. And I love to dip you in the packs of tomato sauce. This is what I thought real Italian pizza would be like, until I realized just how wrong that was. But your crust – your cheese – your sauce. You're just wonderful. And perhaps once every ten orders, I would order you – if I could.

I also hear Chicago has some good 'zza. I'm not gonna lie – I've heard of their deep dish – and quite frankly, I like their style. One of these days, Chicago, one of these days.

Hot Dogs
O.K. let me level with you – as a kid, I hated hot dogs. I hated them in buns, and I hated them in my Kraft Dinner. They were disgusting, and terrible, and gross. All the hot dogs I ever had as a child were boiled. Learning that you could flame them up, and then learning there were other syles of hot dogs out there – well that was the break through. That was as magical as learning there were more types of bread than “white.”

Seriously North America – why do we lead children to believe all hot dogs are Schneider's, and best cooked in steaming water; why do we tell children the only breads are Wonder?

Now when you combine these realizations, and have a well cooked dog, in a delicious bun you're half way there. For full perfection you need toppings.

I've eaten hot dogs all over the world. I've had them in five out of the seven continents. And let me tell you one thing, Toronto has the best you'll ever find. This may sound strange, but believe you me, it's true. We don't push our hot dogs in movies, or let others in on the secret. Nor do we make our dogs a tourist attraction, but my lord they are the best.

I need to start from the hot dog we've all been led to believe is superior. The New York street dog. You'll see these in movies, you'll see them on t.v., and you'll hear people talking ab out them. Some pieces of fiction have these 'superior hot dogs' flown in from hundreds of miles for the true authentic experience. This is ridiculous.

Lets try an experiment. Look at your index finger. Are you looking at it? Good. Now picture that in a bun. There's your three dollar hot dog. And when you get it, you will be asked, “do you want ketchup or mustard?” As in one or the other. Asking for both makes you the crazy one. New York street dogs are over priced, undersized, and un-delicious. They are the ultimate in consumption disappointment.

Now, once we accept the terribleness of these dogs, we can move on. It's not that simple though, because people will fight you trying to express how great these are – even people who should know better. So warped have their minds become. These are the same people who probably love the pretzels there too. Sure, why not. Saves you from having to buy a salt lick for your pet cow, buffalo, or other large land mammal.

Now let us shift over to South America where I was told to avoid the Peruvian hot dogs as they've been known to make even the locals sick. This is not a good sign. In Buenos Aires, Argentina, however, they have many a dog shop. And there you'll get a New York style dog – small, thin, unimpressive. It is twice as long, however, and comes with ketchup, mustard, and these little chippy things they like to put on everything down here. These are a step up from New York, but still – nothing to write home about.

In Japan you can find “American Style Chili Dogs.” These are New York style dogs with chili on them. They are just that. It's distressing that Japan couldn't screw up the New York style dog any more than it already had been. It's a faithful recreation – but a copy of terrible is still terrible.

Now, shall we shift to Europe, where the Scandinavian countries have turned their street meat into a tourist attraction, inviting people to try all the vendors? Nowhere is the push for the best higher than in Iceland. Reykjavik has some of the most delicious dogs in the world. They're almost as different from North American ones as Italian Pizza is from Canadian pizza. These dogs may be a tad on the small side, but they have special sauces, and these fried little onion bits that act as flavour crystals bringing you one step closer to heaven! These are the second greatest hot dogs in the world. Still – their price point of three or four dollars, and the need to eat many to become full, leaves them somewhat lacking. You'll also find your culinary experience becoming quite repetitive. Your dog is fixed behind the counter, and handed to you topped. There is no room for personal customization here.

Now we come to the Toronto dog. The ultimate. And what makes it so wonderful? Is it that it's only two dollars? No – but that is a nice addition. Is it that the hot dogs are huge, all beef, monsters – well, that doesn't hurt, I'll tell you that. But the real beauty is that which you are denied in Iceland. Personal choice.

Every Toronto street dog vendor has a booth with no less than five sauce, sometimes more than twice as many. You have your ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, bar-be-que sauce, and relish as standard. You often have two more types of mustard, another BBQ, hot chili sauce, sweet chili sauce, flavours of mayonnaise – the list can go on and on, really. It includes, terrifyingly, squeeze cheese. Best

Then you have your toppings. I recommend taking the meat out of the bun and laying the base sauce, and a few toppings, then putting the dog back, and allowing the madness to continue.

The standards here are pickles – as many as your heart desires, onions, sauerkraut, black olives. These are your sure things. More often than not you will also be met with hot peppers, corn relish – for those into such things, green olives, bacon bits, and more strange and wonderful things than you can possibly imagine. It's rumored that there is still the odd vendor that even has cheese!

And when you bite into these dogs you taste something you didn't think you ever would from street meat. Pure, unadulterated, satisfaction!

The Day Goes On
In my hotel I was flipping through the channels to find the USA vs. Canada Olympics gold medal hockey game. There it was. I watched the first period where Canada took an early lead; I watched the second where Canada put in a beautiful – teen movie styled – goal; I watched America bring it back to within one with a sloppy let in.

The GAP meeting was beginning. There was no way I could attend. It just was not in the cards. Sorry – but there's hockey. Back home all eyes in the country are tuned to this game. Forget the meeting! Then as the third period neared completion I put on my socks, tied on my boots, and got ready to make my way down to catch the tail end of the information session. One minute left before Canada wins the gold, thirty second, twenty four seconds – Are you kidding me! America ties up the game with under half a minute to go?

Waiting through the intermission my roommate came back asking about the game. My heart nearly broke as I explained it. I was told that the group was going out for dinner. But I could not leave. Six minutes into overtime he left to meet in the lobby. Here was a painful game to watch, and I was missing out on potentially good food. Seven minutes in, I couldn't take it. My finger nails were all but gone. Just as my roommate was exiting the elevator on the ground floor I let out a great scream, no doubt terrifying the people on floor four. Canada had taken the Men's Hockey Gold once more! All over my home country cars were probably honking their horns – without even a driver to issue such a command, and beers were no doubt being shared. Here? No one cared. No one knew. But I cared – and I made damn sure people knew, even if that knowledge came about from an assumed psychotic man – late twenties – large mass of facial hair. They knew.

Putting my shoes on once more, I headed down to the lobby, catching them before they left. Then we headed out to the grill.

Argentinian Steak
O.K. - look, the place I was at before? I had pork there. And pork is no good unless in rib form, bacon form, ham form – pretty much any form but chops. That was the problem. The steak here? Fine – I'll admit it, I'm glad I spent the money, I'm glad I had it. Steak – I'm finally starting to come 'round to it. Hopefully some day I can appreciate it like Cypher did, in The Matrix, to the point that I too would sell out my people, including half of the Wyld Stallions, to the leader of the Elves, so that I could embrace its flavour once more.

Good for you delicious steak. You done good. They also had a starter that was just cheese. Cheese with herbs put in the oven. It's the type of crazy thing you do when you're young and think you created a masterpiece – don't pretend like you never did it too. But then you get older and you think you're too old for it, because grownups don't sit down with a brick of baked cheese. Oh yes they do. Oh yes they do! Bless you Argentina. Bless your clotted, cholesterol-filled hearts. I'll eat you up. I. Love. You. So.

A Live-Blogged Kind of Day

Midnight – well, clearly I was away from the internets at this time, so the live blogging could not quite yet begin. Which was tragic. Still – what would it have said? Going to sleep. That was the plan anyway.

Midnight:twenty – Started playing Frozen Bubbles (a puzzle bobble clone) and listening to pod casts. Each podcast was an hour in length.

1:20 – first podcast over, up to level 69 complete

2:20 – second podcast over, bloody level 70 (I hate level 70!) just completed!

3:20 – up to level 98 completed.

4:00 – level 99 completed.

4:30 – level 100 (game) completed.

4:35 - well clearly my mission to fall asleep at a normal time has failed. You will also notice that Levels 70, 99, and to a lesser degree, the last level, have been driving me insane Also – you'll notice I played more than four hours straight, a game that was a good two decades old. Imagine the progress I could have made with a good game, or – you know – something more productive. Still – what is one to do when podcast-listening?

4:40 – accepts that podcasts are filling a void, and no longer delightful to listen to in the same way they were. What did I used to do to fill the time? Oh yeah – talk to people. It's been some time since a good in person conversation. Get me out of BA!

4:45 – sleep.

5:30 – people whose names I don't know wake me up to say goodbye. They know my name.

8:00 – everyone is moving out today, save me. I have one more night here. But everyone else is up – including those who had just got in from partying, so who am I to sleep?

8:27 – off to breakfast. Bread, spreadable cheese, cereal, juice, and chocolate that is hot. What fun! (post finally goes live.)

9:27 - finsihed breakfast. Is delighted that Microsoft is making people responsible for their words over the interwebs. Remember kids: Don't game angry.

11:37 - woke up fully clothed in bed. Apparently going to grab my book didn't work out so well after breakfast. Clearly I didn't get enough sleep last night. Waking up was to the voices of the cleaning staff - though it was for the best, as, in my dream, I was trying to escape a mansion with some classified knowledge on a USB drive, while grabbing one of those red promo-bags from War Inc. I don't think the escape would have gone well - and I had no desire to be stabbed a few times like I was in a dream a few days ago.

12:03 - showered and clean. Bed was made when I emerged from the shower. Oh cleaning staff.

12:04 - Trying to sort out my month of march - looking at a world map and fight sites. Ugh - I hate this part.

12:55 - I have come up with two alternate universes of travel plans - one where he goes from japan to singapore to china to new zealand, the other where he goes from japan to china to singapore to new zealand. Now I just have to wait to hear back from three or four people about what plans work best if I want to meet up with them. Ugh - I hate travel planning. These flights will cost about two thousand dollars all totaled. Closer to three in the first reality. I just can't think about it. And the flight from New Zealand to Australia that I don't want to consider yet? Oh snap - if I fly JetStar it's very reasonable... only around five hundred. The future looks good.

Well I did a good load of work just now. Good for me.

1:05 - Since Stockholm (remember Stockholm? The boat-hostel?) I have been asking myself whY I play CastleAge on Facebook. The answer is still unclear - though I wonder what I'd be doing with my time otherwise?

I now demand that I finish reading Return of the King. Sure I finished the book (more on that later) but I now need to read the Appendices. Ugh. Tolkien!

I will read some LameBook.com first.

2:04 - Just got back from Burger King. If I never eat another burger again, that'd be o.k. My food options are limited in this part of town, and BK whopper actually tastes like a real burger rather than strange fast food. And it's filling too - you can eat McBurgers for hours without being full. Ten Cheeseburger Challenge indeed.

I continued to read LotR:RotK:AI and I tell you, I could not care less about the Numanwhositz and the Dundanwhatitfaces. And yet to feel like I've really read the texts I need to break free and push through it.

I will continue to read while copying, resizing, and uploading photos of Jesus Land.

2:42 - finished adding photos to all the older entries - the videos are still not up. YouTube claimed they'd stop supporting FireFox 2, so I gave up (can't get FF3 on this netbook) but now they're saying you just can't use the new stuff - so I am backlogged with uploads. You can check them out on my site though, as they go live. Youtube/oneyeartrip/

I also posted an entry that I somehow missed uploading a few days back.

3:23 - just updated my post about Jesus Land, and uploaded pictures there. Now that's done and over with, and we're all up to date. I still have no way to fully process that which I witnessed yesterday. I need to know what other people - the god fearing type - think of this park. 40 foot Jesus is not kind, but terrifying. I just kept thinking of th Simpson's where those mascots came to life. How would 40 foot Jesus try to kill us? With his Halo of doom (not unlike Xena's weapon) I'm sure.

4:14 - is officially mind numbed. I'm bored. That's it. I could go use the printer to print out my Antarctica voucher, but - you know - not yet... Then what would I do later? I could pack - but laundry is not back yet. I could - ahh I will write all the things I've been putting off. Yes, this is the most exciting day of travel yet. It also strikes me that there is a season of House and The Office to watch - but really, I couldn't be bothered. MONKEY NEWS!

5:14 - It's five-fourteen. Do you know where your children are? The third football game in a row is playing. There must never be a time when a professional game is not playing. That is what I've come to understand. Just watched Kirsten Dunst in a Turning Japanese youtube video - my brains are about to melt. Time to see if laundry is ready so as I can pack up, and feel like I'm doing something slightly more productive.

5:47 - I've now finished packing, and scrapbooking all my bits and pieces up to now. Well that didn't take nearly as long as I thought it might have. Time to read more LotR:RotK:AI

6:30 - Alright Arwen that's about enough of you. Now what - maybe South Park streams online somewhere at a volume that will block out the creepy guys talking about their spandex Spider-Man costumes.

7:24 - Streaming South Park is a wonderful thing. The Whaling Episode? Fantastic - until deadliest catch showed up... Still a good first half.

8:13 - South Park = caught up on. Time to kill some time by experiencing the British version of The Office. What a action/adventure filled day!

8:20 - British Office Overruled. I like your sci-fi but your comedy still pains my heart. And with that I shall take my leave of the internets and the common room and retire to a place to quiet and recluse (my room on good ol' floor number five - open and close to elevator doors before the machine will move - and the bathtub has four taps. Hot and cold for shower; hot and cold for bath.) I'm sure I'll be back down here. I mean, what else would I do? Sleep?

Anyway - if I don't manage to make it back - I'm not sure if I'll have internet at my hotel tomorrow. And a few days later I'll be on a big ol' boat where there will definitely not be internet. By March 16th I expect I'll be in a hotel in Santa Monica, California - and there there will be interwebs. This is a good assumption, I believe. So there we go.

9:09 - well that failed. Ran into my parents on skype, and am now looking into cruises. I will into cruise, I will not cruise. O.K. Time to re-group and re-focus. Now I have to check into how to get from LA to San Fran. I'm thinking the bus. I've since heard that might be sketch - but I don't really want to fly

10:03 - Flight booked bridging LAX and SFO. Yeah it's more expensive than the bus - about two or three times... but hey - it's much faster. Kinda - not counting getting to and from the airport. I just don't wanna screw up this connection. Tra la la.

10:20 - printed out Antarctica voucher, and flight details - now off to bed to read more LotR:RotK:AI and AII. Ohh - progress.

11:45 - time for bed.

Midnight: yaaaaaaaaaaaaaawn!

Mike Goes to Jesus Land

Today was about me going to Jesus Land.

I killed time in the best way possible (creating a linky e-mail and then chatting with the recipient of said e-mail.) Ah yes, internet. How I'm growing to hate this stable connection. You see internets are fine for a few days when you've been without – but I've not been without for some time, and it's starting to suck the brains straight out of my head, like the big-fat bug from Starship Troopers. You know the one. (aside: I wish they made the last few episodes of the CG cartoon – but they never will. Sigh.) I have no idea, really, how I killed enough hours to prepare myself for the land of god that was to be ahead, but somehow I found a way, and low and behold it was three thirty in the afternoon.

Well there's only one thing one can do at three thirty in the afternoon, and that's head on out to hop on the number forty-five bus, headed for Tierra Santa.

This time I was a pro, and needed only to hop on one wrong bus before finding the correct one. The correct one was driving down the street away from me. However, as this is not North America, running after it, and banging on the door is not only an acceptable way to get on board, at times it is the only way. I noticed more than once, the driver open the door, and slowly cruise by a stop – the future-passengers then needed to jog aside the mobile vehicle and hop on board like an over-the-hill action hero.

Fantastic.

The bus, though being the same route, took a different way than yesterday. We took a tour of the docks, and the freight storage area today, rather than heading through the secret rail freight loading bay. The public transit system is different here. Still, I eventually made it to my destination on time and found myself standing outside of the Angelic gates – now unlocked – welcoming me to the Land of Saints.

A choir of angels, quite literally, shouted out in an immaculate chorus. How could I refuse? How could I delay? I could do nothing but walk forward, pay my 25ARD, and enter into that which is The Land of Jesus.

Tierra Santa.

Walking into the park was as surreal as could be imagined. I was welcomed to Jerusalem, and then ushered through a cave of plastic construction. Here I saw a naked Adam hanging with a naked Eve, followed by Moses looking most like Charlton Heston. There were some other mythological characters too, but I had no idea who they were or what they represented. plastic donkeys and pigs would also quickly become a staple here.

I was funneled into a room filled with dry ice smoke and people sitting on benches. The way out was closed, so I did what I could to find a seat, and wait for something to happen. Lights came on, highlighting two plastic people. We were in for a real treat here. Spanish narration gave the story while spotlights changed colours, showed different people, and displayed angels on the ceiling. At one point I felt a shock of awe when i recognized the three wise men. “I know those guys!” I thought. And then Christmas music played, still in Spanish, of course, and the baby Jesus was born – or something like that.

The lights came up, the doors opened, and out we were allowed.

A woman stood by a gate telling us what was to be expected inside, I think that's what she was on about anyway. I just pressed ahead and made my way through the park looking at all the silly villages, thinking of Aladdin wondering where all the guards were – oh there they were walking around. It's kind of odd that they have Roman Guards patrolling. Didn't they kill Jesus? Well never mind.

At the back of the park I was told to enter another room. I did so, and the door was closed behind me. Too late I realized I was in for another anamatronic show. The park guide claimed that it was to be, “visitors favourite show! ... [it had] a very life-like Jesus.” I was in for the wonders that was the Last Supper. Again – I had no idea what was going on. A red light illuminated someone at one point. I guess he was Judas? I know that much – I drank his beer in Brugge, you may recall.

To really get a feeling of what this was like, imagine the hall of presidents, now instead of G.W. picture J.C. and his gangly crew. Yes, I was witnessing history as it unfolded – in robot form. Why the robots could move their heads, and their arms. How wondrous!

Outside I was met with freedom again, and had some time to wander the park. There was a place for you to put your face as a beggar woman, or a Roman soldier. Again – is this the right thing to emulate here? Maybe I'm not up on my Christianity and these guys were part of Jesus' superfriends.

I wandered in and out of buildings seeing Jesus in jail, Jesus carrying the cross, Jesus being crowned by thorns, Jesus being whipped. I'm glad I was alone – otherwise I may have posed for pictures that I'd best have not posed for. In other news, I'm sad that I didn't get to pose for this images. Asking the visitors here to take sacrilegious pictures would not have gone over well. These were serious visitors, not gawkers at the inane and insane.

After enough of Jesus' troubles I went to visit the Gandhi shrine. I have no idea what he was doing here – just chillin', I guess? And then I climbed to the top of the mountain where Jesus and some thieves were hangin' on the crosses doing their thing. Now, with all of this you need to picture jet planes flying low every seven or eight minutes, just like in the real Jerusalem two thousand years ago. Yes, this park was right beside the airport's landing strip.

To tease you, from the top of the 'mountain' you can see a most excellent water park, quite possible the best outside of San Dimas.

As I wandered down the mountain, I saw people start to gather on benches. Something was about to go down. How could I resist the temptation of seeing what it was? I took a seat, and just then something terrifying started to happen. From out of the mountain on which I just stood something was erupting. Something monstrous, like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. In all fairness, the SPMMM is 112 feet tall, and this creature was merely 40 feet tall – still able to do some damage, though I'd imagine.

When it reached full height it a chorus of music broke out, and the monster started to turn left and right, opening and closing its eyes. Jesus was reborn! All were to cower under his grace and blessing! Every hour this creature rises from his grave to look down upon visitors. Fell his holy light! Feel his love! “The next time someone asks you if you are a god... you say yes!”

After a few moments the terror was ended and he descended back into his cave, ready to awake fifty three minutes hence.

I could handle no more and not wanting to eat at “Arab Pizza” I quickly made my way to the exit. I'd spent two hours here. More than enough. But as I was trying to leave, it was suggested by a staff member in perfect english (can't refuse that) that I witness creation.

Hmm... sure, why not? Now the pamphlet was sure to emphasize the fact that this was an imagining of creation. I wasn't actually about to watch the real creation of the world – lord no, that was a whole six thousand years earlier. But still I was interested. Or apathetic enough is the correct word. Maybe curious. After the manger, and the last supper, and super jesus who knew what was to come next?

Let me tell you – Creation was like a 1980s rock concert. Green laser lights strobed around the room, while lights flashed on and off to thundering noises. And then a fake lion roared. And a fake hippo. And then came giraffes and elephants and rhinos, and apes. Look – this is all swell but aside from apes I've seen these for real. And let me tell you, unless this was a watering hole these guys would not be chillin' so close.

But then the music halted, the lasers turned blue, and up from a great wheel beneath the stage returned my old friends, naked Adam, and naked Eve. Man was born!

This was just about the last of what I could handle. My mind was blown. I had no idea how to process what I had seen. It was time to leave, grab the 45 bus, and head back to the hostel.

I don't think I'll ever fully recover from the things I saw today.

But seriously – Gandhi?

Jesus Land: Closed on Thursdays

So... apparently Jesus Land isn't open on Thursdays...

This is one of those things that wouldn't have been too too bad to discover from the confines of the hostel, via the wonderful tool that is the internet, however – coming to such a realization by wandering to gates, padlocked shut... That's less of a delight.

I made my way over to Tierra Santa (I believe that's how it's spelled – Saints Land, being the translation if various sources have not been lying to me. It's said to be like visiting Jerusalem, in Buenos Aires. It's an all religious theme park! How could you possibly go wrong? I dare not say too much about it now – for fear of spoiling it, but this is about as wacky as one can get.

However – as I said – it is not open on Thursdays. Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays only. Looking at the admission hours, on the website – once I'd finally made my way back to the hostel – filled me with the same sense of, “really? Really?!” that the opening days allowed. This park is open from 4pm to midnight. Not during the day, when you would think people would want to see such an attraction, but in the late evening and night. I have no idea what kind of crowd this place will draw – but I am excited for it.

You see – I shall be going back. A helpful guard said, “tomorrow! Tomorrow you come back!”

Very well. It's not as if it took an hour, most of which was trying to understand and comprehend the complex public transit system. That's cool. That's fine.

Rewinding an hour would find me asking how to get to said park, and being told that the number forty five bus would take me out to it. Great. Now where could I find that? Two blocks over, I watched as the bus drove by, time and time again. The next step was finding the bus stop – hidden away outside a music store playing all the latest hits of the nineteen eighties, as chosen by a future historian with no real concept of taste, nor an understanding of that particular decade. It could have been that it was a cassette tape looping from the by-gone era.

Standing at the bus stop I was once more ready to get on the bus – only to watch it sail by again. O.K. Clearly something is amiss. When next the vehicle came in range, I was prepared. I had seen this happen from someone boarding the 33, and I was ready for my moment to shine. The bus drew near, and I put my hand out, flagging it down. Like magic, it stopped. I then asked if it went to the park, by poorly mumbling the phonetic approximation of the locations name, and was told, “no,” no being the same in English and Spanish, followed by a stream of incomprehensible syllables. One sounded like “Italia.” I do not understand. He then pointed to something on the front of the bus, made more noise, and I climbed down ready to repeat the process once more.

When the next forty five came near, however, I was ill prepared. My hand was not outstretched. It sailed on by. Of course it did.

Fine. I give up. Time to find a taxi. Time to spend 30ARD instead of 1.25ARD. However, this too, was not to be – I could not flag a taxi, no matter how hard I tried. Frustrated, I headed back to the bus stop. Eventually one would stop and I'd jump on. Two 45s came at once, but had different things on the front. I had t make a choice. I picked one, said the same of the location, and was met with a nod. Oh good. On I jumped.

And on I rode, and rode, and rode, until my stop finally came. At this point I walked off, clearly excited, only to come across – the locked gates.

Clearly getting out here had already been a substantial investment, and to find the park closed – was I enraged? Was I upset? No – not really. Because I'd been taken to another part of the city, where I could – at last – look out over the water, gazing at the horizon far away. Dozens of people had their fishing rods thrown over the concrete divide, trying their luck. I never saw a single bite, but that's not really the point is it? Maybe it is here, where the fish is your dinner. But it my experience, it's just a nice way to waste some time.

Walking past those folks (I had no idea how to find a bus stop out here, I'm not going to lie. I was nearly convinced I'd have to walk the whole way home.) I came to the airport. Inside the fences and gates were employees shooting off firecrackers from the side of their official vehicles. I couldn't be sure if they were screwing around, or if this was really the high tech way they communicated with one another to prevent two jets from hitting the same runway at once.

There were also a number of people standing up against the fence, holding on to the rails, watching as plane after plane took off into the sky with a great roar, and landed, zipping directly overhead. For a few moments I joined the crowd and watched. Were this the mission I set out to complete, I could have – no doubt – spent hours enjoying the sites. But I was still unaware how to get back to the hostel, and the walk seemed like a long one.

Outside the airport there was a bus stop. Some of the buses were 45s. Not wanting to spend the next few hours in pedestrian transit, I just hopped on and trusted my luck. And as my luck would have it, I was taken back to my starting location. Good for me. I grabbed Pizza to celebrate. The food here? Not good. I'm told the only good food in this city is steak – the thing is, I'm not a steak lover so... The pizza was trying to be Italian. It's not that it was bad – it just wasn't Italian pizza, nor was it North American pizza. It was like a pita unwrapped.

Though hours had ticked away, my day would not end here, either. I hopped on the subway and rode to the end of the C line. There I wandered for an hour or so, looking at more graffiti, checking out the slightly-sketchy parks, and trying to pick up the flavour of the city – which still reminded me so much of my home town.

I have no real idea what one would do in Buenos Aires during the day, but I felt as if I'd made the most of my time. I had no regrets. And while I still have some time left here, as I jumped on the subway once more, I knew that my exploring days were most likely behind me. I'd seen the North, South, East, and West of my map. And I'd adventured off of it some, to get to the Saints World.

Tomorrow will probably be an afternoon at that park, provided that I can get the bus working for me again, and that will be that. Buenos Aires, you've been charming.

And as I tried to go to sleep at night, you did not disappoint. As I laid to rest at one a.m. a number of people looked at me as if I was crazy. They, after all, were just waking up – ready to begin.

The Hostel is a Trap

It can't be late – it's still bright outside. Oh, look – it's midnight.

This hostel is a terrible terrible trap, ripping away all sense of time and location. It's bad enough that I exist between a McDonald's and a Burger King, with McDonald's and Burger King's fencing them in further down the road – but when the sun is always rising into the noon day sky – it can become quite infuriating.

Am I in Iceland here? Clearly not! I demand darkness. But darkness is never to come. As I sit and contemplate sleep, I keep telling myself I'll head off when I am tired. But I never become tired, as my body is being tricked – tricked into thinking it's never night. But how? And why is this the hostel's fault? Oh I will tell you. For they are a sneaky sneaky beast, and I am enacting to put an end to this. Red Warrior needs sleep badly.

Let me copy some files though and begin, once more, zoning out to The Talking Heads (I really can't express enough how much mileage I've got out of this album. Yes I have a number of other musical choices these days, but I keep coming back to this. Because it is fantastic.

So, here in the hostel they have managed to already trick you by surrounding you with people of all sorts of wacky routines. At six in the morning you may be awoken by sounds of people moving in your room. But unlike most hostels, these are not people about to head out to catch an early bus, or an early train, or – you know – jut looking to start their day. No, in this hostel if people are up and about at six in the morning, it's because they're headed to sleep. And it doesn't stop there – when you wander by your room at two in the afternoon, or four, or six, or – right now – at eight, there are still people sleeping. There are always people sleeping. Except at midnight. From midnight to three or four in the morning you'll be alone in the room (with the exception of the one time awkward and terrible things happened on the bunk below me).

You'll start to question yourself – is it really the time it is? And that's when you look outside. Big mistake. Peering out into the street it will appear to be late afternoon. The lights shining on the streets below offer a view of quasi daylight. It is like no night you've seen before. Even on the streets the illusion continues – it is only when you look up and see a fully dark sky that confusion sets in. But you've seen the night sky – you know it's late. So head back into the hostel, hang out in the common room for a bit, and the head off to bed.

You've made another mistake! You've headed to the common room. Your body has no idea what's going on there. People are awake, active, and plentiful twenty four hours a day. The television always plays a soccer game (there's ALWAYS a soccer game) every hour of every day, and – if you should fall prey to yet another cruel trick – looking out the window, you will once again have your sense of day overridden. You were just outside. You saw the night sky. You know it's late. And yet, looking out the window you are offered a glimpse of daylight once more.

Are these the same lights from the streets? Nay – this is an interior opening, with bright lights suspended above every window. High enough to cast environmental lights on all walls near by, creating the illusion of day. It's quite the trap, and I wonder if it was designed with this purpose in mind. You are never tired here. And most people, I have discovered – by the tight tank tops worn by gentlemen, and short skirts worn by ladies – that most people come to BA for the clubbing. And if that's so, well then this is the perfect environment.

But I am never tired here, and yet I feel the need to be awake for the free breakfast. It's a trap.

Enough of these complains though, as I was awake for breakfast – and enjoyed it as best I could. As best as one can enjoy slices of bread, and caramelized milk (quite the treat here – I had it as a McSundae topping too – it's gross.) and spreadable cheese, and juice. Really I just wake up for the juice.

After breakfast I napped for two hours. But fear not, for noon came and I was ready to explore the world around me one more. And what a lovely world it was. One that was full of graffiti. You see, I've not been avoiding taking pictures – I didn't get bored of that excursion. I simply have not seen any Graffiti since Europe (with the exception of Joburg, where I preferred to not die so I could not photograph it.)

Walking to the subway to try my luck once more – having researched it over the interwebs – I discovered that it really was a mere 1.10ARD for a ride. I bought a five ride pass, for about half the price a single ride would cost me in Toronto, and headed on board. It wasn't a difficult system to figure out, and in no time I was zipping to where I wanted to go – up to Plaza Italia.

It was here that I walked the streets, once more feeling like I was in a city remarkably similar to Toronto. At times I felt as if I was making my way to a buddies house to hang out for the day. The trees were the same, the buildings similar, the shops and the advertisements in the right places, and at the right intervals. Even the grass was the same. It struck me then that I'd not seen familiar grass in cities for some time. If you travel, pay attention to this – a blanket of green may be unconsciously accepted as being the same as any other, but this is not the case. Different weeds grow, different widths of grass exist, different types of green ground covering foliage takes root. Here in Buenos Aires was good ol' Toronto grass.

It was as if I was walking North from St. George station, for whatever crazy reason anyone would ever do that. Once more, I was overcome with the sense of familiarity. There was clearly no reason for a tourist to be here, so I must belong, mustn't I?

As I reached the height of this direction, I headed back the way I came along a parallel street. Ending up back at Plaza Italia I decided to walk down to the Avenue of the Liberator. Wandering this was allowed me to look through the fences at the zoo animals. There was a crowd watching the giraffe. I wonder how many local teenagers get drunk on the weekends and sneak peeks at the animals late at night. I wonder how many grown-ups do. It seems like not a terrible idea. Hopefully the animals don't get things thrown at them from passersby all that often.

I considered stayed longer to watch – but – you know: giraffes... Been there, done that.

Wandering ever forward I started to hum Don't Cry for Me Argentina. I don't know why it came to me. I also found it odd that I didn't immediately associate it with my current location. But that's how it is – I didn't entirely appreciate that I was in Argentina. Sometimes when I visit a country I get so wrapped up in the city that I'm in, that everything else falls to the wayside. (Wayside School is Falling Down – there is no floor 13.) If asked where I am, I would reply Buenos Aires – but not necessarily admit to being in Argentina. The same thing occurred in Thailand. I felt I was in Bangkok – but that was the extent of it. Tripping to Chain Mai cured me of that.

The song made me think of Evita, and Evita made me think of her being dead and burried around here. I checked my map to locate the place of burial and, recognizing it as being on the way home, headed off towards it.

On route I picked up a soda. I hate soda. I am addicted to soda. I would love to break the addiction – but I can not. This is why I don't smoke, or gamble, or do anything else of that ilk. Once hooked, I doubt my ability to stop.

This was no ordinary soda. It was the BA soda of choice. If McDonald's carries a drink you've not seen before, recognize it as an important cultural experience. I've come across four – in the States, Dr. Pepper (oh how I wish we offered this in Canadian Mackers); in Scotland, IRN BRU; In recently visited Peru, Inca Kola; and here, in Buenos Aires, Torro. It's a grapefruit soda that's not entirely terrible. Not entirely delightful either, mind you, but worth the try. Cultural experience!

The cemetery is a truly wonderful one. It's like some of the ones in Paris if any planning was put into pedestrian navigation. I followed a tour group to Evita's grave, and was underwhelmed. Still – it's a touristy thing to do. You don't climb the Eiffel Tower because you want to – you do it because you feel you need to. Unless you're with a delightfully tiny Asian girl who can turn it into a grand adventure. Then you do it because you want to – and because complaining is more fun with someone else. Still – touristy things must be done if only to say one has done them, yes? Yes. I'm glad that on that we can agree.

And then it was back to the subway, and back to the hostel. A quick stop was made at the obelisk. This is the object that adorns all BA post cards. The only thing on said postcards, other than The Simpsons, of which there is a terrible amount of merchandise, magazines, hand crafts, t-shirts, and other such things here (why? I have no idea.)

It was – well it was alright. It's just a slab of concrete. It's not like it's a Cleopatra needle. Which shocks me, as I was quite sure those were just given out without care. Had I not seen about sixteen of these things, with historical significance to boot, in Rome, I may have been impressed – as it was though? Not so much.

Still, it was something I could check off my list.

And then off to sleep. Well kind of – it was well past midnight before I decided this was the right choice. Even though I know the tricks, I can't see through them. Tomorrow – tomorrow I will go to Jesus Land! And oh what fun it will be.