1/7/15
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Every good story needs an epilogue, and, though I suppose the events
in New York of the four days after I get back would best be considered the
epilogue, this is more properly the epilogue of my voyage to Antarctica. After ten days by bus and boat and plane with
100 fellow passengers, every one of which knew my name, plus the staff and crew,
I find myself on my own. I find myself
sitting on a ledge in the streets of Buenos Aires, watching thousands of
nameless and faceless strangers pass me by.
After leaving all of my new friends, a half dozen of whom I even came to
love, I find myself in a city of millions where I do not care a whit of the
fate of a single person other than myself.
Once more, I am on my own, and it should be a familiar feeling. It is the way I always travel.
Why then does this feel so strange? Why then do I wish that I were back on that
boat with my new friends? Why then do I
wish I were back at my office in New York with my coworkers, at the cigar store
with my old friends? When I set out to see the world, I did not do
it because I wanted to meet people. I
wanted to see things, to check boxes off of my list, to experience new
cultures. Why then do I just want a big
box of Chinese food from Hop Won? Why
did I pass up the opportunity to say Uruguay Complete in exchange for lazing
around the streets of Buenos Aires? Why
then did I choose socializing over philosophizing? What has become of me? I am on my own, just as I like it, just as I
have chosen to live almost my entire life.
Why am I not ecstatic? Why am I
miserable and lonely?
The other night I
was telling Beth how when people ask me about my travels, the first question
they ask is if I meet any interesting people.
I told her that I usually respond, “Not if I can help it.” No, this trip was different. Just like my trip to Israel two years ago,
this trip was about the people that I met.
Sure, I will show the pictures of glaciers and penguins. Sure, I will tell them how amazing Antarctica
was. However, the best stories will be
about my new friends. Because it is
appropriate talk to a cigar store, I will share the stories of my late night
adventures with Francis and Danny and Davy, but how do I put into words other
things that made the trip what they were?
How do I describe L---’s biting wit or Vanessa’s warm
aura? There is no way to describe all of
that.
It would have been so easy for me
to spend the entire trip outside on the smoking deck, reading my philosophy
books while I smoked, heading back into my cabin to write and warm up between
smokes. That would have been very
easy. Instead, I did what was hard. Instead, I accepted Danny’s invitation to
play charades that fateful night. It was
a night that changed the entire experience of the trip for me. If that offer was never made, I would have
stuck with Plan A. If I had not accepted
his offer, I would have spent the entire trip working on my philosophy. Instead, I made new friends. Did I make the right decision? I think my reader will agree that I did.
After I closed last night, I was way too
tired to publish, but I did save a paginated draft to the blog. I fell asleep quickly without my sleep
machine. I woke up shortly with a very
dry mouth, as I always do when I don’t use my sleep machine. I got my sleep machine set up and transferred
my photos. Once more, I was too tired to
properly publish. I woke up around 9:30
AM, and I think that I published then.
Breakfast was a disappointment, just like the hotel itself. I had gotten a late check-out of 11:30 AM,
standard check-out being 10 AM. As I was
opening the door to the restaurant, I got my thumb stuck in the door. It was a very poorly designed door, and, if
you weren’t expecting it, there was no way to avoid hurting yourself. I was bleeding. I thought that I could probably sue them or
something, but then I realized that Argentinian tort law would probably not be as
plaintiff friendly as American.
I went
back to my room, where I looked up the Casa del Habano and where to find
souvenir shops. I found both, and I ate
the rest of my steak from last night. I
changed into my Palmer Station shirt and left the rest of my luggage with the
front desk. The clerk there had what we
might say in America was a “San Francisco” accent, and I had read that Buenos
Aires has one of the largest gay populations in Latin America. He asked where I was from, and I said, “Nueva
York.” “Ah, Sex in the City.” Okay, so my guess was definitely
correct. I lit up a Cohiba and headed
towards where the souvenir shops were.
As I was walking, I saw a bunch by Congress, and there was Wi-Fi, so I
sat down and ordered a crucial part for my sleep machine that had broken, well,
a few months ago. I could not put it off
any longer, and I wanted to have it when I got back. I then went on to Facebook. A few minutes later I asked myself if I was
really just going to spend my day in Buenos Aires on my laptop.
I put away my laptop and got back on my
feet. After I finished my cigar, I
realized that I was starving, and I stopped for lunch. It was shockingly cheap. In fact, many things here were shockingly
cheap, the prices they charge in pesos often being appropriate to a cost of
dollars in New York, even though the exchange rate is about 10 to 1. He offered me silverware, but I turned him
down, having chopsticks in my bag with me.
After lunch, I lit up a Fuente and was on my way. I found flag pins at a newsstand, and then I
found the perfect souvenir shop that had everything I would need, even a model
of Congress. I started to walk up the
street some more, but it was pointless, since I didn’t want to do anymore
shopping. I saw someone sitting on a
ledge, so I joined him. There was a
woman standing next to me, chanting the same sentence in a low and quick voice. Was she crazy? It was not long before I realized that she
was offering to change dollars. I had
read that there was a “blue” market for American dollars. I guess this was it. Anyway, I proceeded to write this entry,
which I will now close so that I can explore some more, maybe going to the
Casa. My flight is not for nine hours,
but I want to get to the airport earlier to write a proper reflective entry,
along with a personal journal entry, and maybe one for my new blog.
And so I found myself back on the bench. Actually, I’m not even sure if it’s the same
bench, but it’s the same area. I have
spent the the entire day #OnMyOwn, and it sucked. I just wanted to be back on the ship with my
friends or back in New York. I was dead
tired, and I felt that I could have slept all day. In fact, I did almost pass out in the
Casa. I might have been better served just
going straight to the airport lounge after I got my souvenirs and taking a nap
there. Reader, reflect on that last
paragraph. I had an entire day with
nothing planned, in a major capital city, with no worry of running out
funds. I could have done whatever I
wanted.
What did I do? I slept and shopped and smoked. Other than the souvenirs, I could have done
exactly the same thing any weekend in Scarsdale. I had a chance to get a new country and a new
WHS, and I passed it up. I caught a taxi
to take me to the Casa, and I would later realize it just took me in a big
circle, and I probably could have gotten there quicker on foot. However, the fare was nominal, even with the
tip less than what it would have cost me to take a taxi from Grand Central to
my apartment. I did not see any prices
on the cigars. Instead, she had a big
binder with prices.
I asked the price of
a Churchill, and the price quoted was at the high end, very high in fact. I started to look around, and I felt very
uncomfortable with the idea of her following me around the humidor and having
to ask the price of each cigar. Besides,
it takes me a few moments to convert a verbal number in Spanish into something
that makes sense. Instead, I asked her
if I could look at the binder. She got
all offended and turned the binder away from me. Did she think that I didn’t believe her about
the price? Well, if this was how the
game had to be played, I walked around and asked the price of each cigar. There were some decently priced Partagas cigars,
but everything else was too much. I got
three of the small Partagas cigars, along with one Churchill, and a Partagas
D4. I asked us for a glass of the
premium Havana Club rum. I went to
checkout when I saw a sign that said they were currently not taking credit
cards. I definitely did not have enough
cash on me for that, having expended most of the rest of my pesos at the
souvenir shop.
Okay, I went in search of
a Citibank. Some of the ATMs weren’t
working, others couldn’t read my card, and one didn’t have any cash. It was quite a process. In the end, I got the pesos I needed, and
stopped for a milkshake on the way back.
I didn’t get the D4, but I got the other four cigars, along with the
rum. I sat down and lit up the
Churchill. There was Wi-Fi, electricity,
and air conditioning. I could have
stayed there until I needed to leave for my flight. I got caught up on my emails, uploaded my
photos, and checked my social media.
After I finished the Churchill, I lit up one of my own cigars, an ESG. Yes, I had a whole afternoon #OnMyOwn in
Buenos Aires, and I spent it in a cigar store.
It actually was not a bad way to spend an afternoon.
After the second cigar, I packed up and took
a cab to Congress. On the way, I saw a
building that could only be the famous, historic Casa Rosada, the Argentinian
equivalent of the White House. I tried
taking a picture out of the cab, but it wasn’t the best. However, there was a red light, so I got out
of the cab, snapped a few quick pictures, took a sip of water, and was back in
the cab before the light turned green.
Absolutely starving at this point, I wanted to go to that 24-hour grill
I had seen last night, but it was closed.
I did a double take. “Siempre
abrierto” it had said. Hmm, that was
curious. Even more curiously, it is
opened now. Do they close for an hour
between meals or something? Anyway, I
found a place that seemed like a pizzeria or something, and I got a slice of pizza,
along with some steak and fries. It was
perfect.
Afterwards, I headed back
across the street to the bench, where I could see the sun setting behind
Congress. I lit up one of my new Ardor
pipes and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can
change into my suit and head to the airport as soon as my pipe is done. Just as I smoked that pipe in the hotel in
Istanbul at the very end of my New Year’s trip last year, I did the same thing
here, thinking it ridiculous to take these pipes halfway around the world and
not smoke a single one of them. As my
time #OnMyOwn comes to a close, I can now begin #TheJourneyHome.
Ministro Pistarini International Airport, Argentina
Due to typical Argentinian slowness, I will not have time for a proper
reflective entry, though I guess I really have been doing nothing but reflecting
this whole trip. When I get back to New
York, I will be true to myself in every way, as I vowed in my Day 5 entry. What that means and where that will take me
I’m not entirely sure, but the person I have been over the past six months will
have no place in 2015 and beyond. New
Year, back to the old me, indeed. I will
also, as is my custom, treat the entirety of #TheJourneyHome in one entry when
I get back to New York.
While it is very
easy to say that this has been the best trip of my life, I’m not sure if that
is true. Right now, I’m not even sure if
it will crack the top five. Right now,
all I feel is stress and exhaustion. Stress
about things happening thousands of miles north and exhaustion from what
happened thousands of miles south. I do
not want to think anymore about what awaits me at home. I will go back to work and deal with what is
there. I will get my new cell phone and
deal with that. I haven't thought about the state my apartment will be in. Did I take out the trash? Are the lightbulbs all working? Do I have clean clothes? All of that will be dealt with in its due course. I will be back in the air almost as soon as I
get home, not even ten days later. I
haven’t even fully planned that trip yet, and I have a feeling I might even
have to cancel it if I can’t figure out how to get to the WHS.
The thing about Latin America is, it’s all
the same. The architecture, the culture,
the people, everything. It’s hard to
tell one country from the other. It’s
hard to tell Panama City from Buenos Aires.
Sure, each country has its own nuances, and I might be exaggerating a
bit, but it is more the same than different.
It is a place that I could never live.
It’s too hot, the attitudes too indifferent, and the sense of urgency
absent. Something that is interesting,
however, is how my Spanish works and does not.
As I mentioned, I can make myself understood, and I can understand the
basics enough to get by. I do much
better if someone has some rudimentary English, but, even when we are
conversing in English, a lot of Spanish creeps in. “Where are you from?” “Nueva York,” I will always answer. Anything that has an answer in numbers, I
will usually answer in Spanish, even if I am asked in English. “Por favor,” “Gracias,” and “Lo siento” are instinctive.
I have taken so much away from this trip, and
I don’t just mean souvenirs. I don’t
even mean my camera, tablet, sweats, and parka.
I don’t even mean the memories and photos. All of that is wonderful, and I cannot look
back on my photos without smiling.
However, this does not feel like the triumphant airport entry. For all the good that has happened on this
trip to the south, there is too much stress that has been on my mind about
things back north, things I cannot get off my mind, things that I cannot escape
once I return home. However, I was able
to forget about everything for long periods of time while I was hanging out with
my new friends. When I was drinking with
Danny or smoking with Davy or working on overcoming my shyness with the girls, I could take
my mind off of everything. When I was
staying up late with Francis or chatting with John or joking with Phil, nothing
else was on my mind. The past day #OnMyOwn
that was not the case.
This is not the
triumphant entry, in no small part because I chose to forgo Uruguay. There was no race to the airport. There were no activities today that had to be
done under a certain schedule. Just
sleep, eat, shop, and smoke. It was a
very relaxing day #OnMyOwn, but it was boring.
I just didn’t have the energy to do anything more. When I get back to New York, I will
know. Once I have caught up on my sleep,
I will know. Once I have dealt with my
stressors, I will know. Once I know, I
will be able to figure out just how this trip ranked. On that note, I close. Tomorrow, I will write #TheJourneyHome.
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