I’m typing this sat in a cafe in Rosario, Santa Fe, Argentina. The sound system in here is playing “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” by Elton John. In fact, the Academy Award-winning “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” by Elton John. I quite like this song. I know it’s wrong, but I do, so shut up.
There’s no Wi-Fi, so shortly I will go and sit in the lobby of the hotel I checked out of this morning and put this online. See my unswerving dedication to bloggery? It’s not really dedication to you, so don’t go around feeling all special or owt; it’s just that I’ve got a bit of time to kill, and I’m not feeling very well, so I’m not particularly up for museums and stuff.
Seems like a fairly nice little city, this. Reminds me a bit of Curitiba in Brazil, in the sense that you get the feeling that it is quite a groovy place for a provincial city. And it’s the home town of Lionel Messi. And some bloke called Che Something-or-other. Not that you’d know it, I’ve not even seen a postcard with his face on it. There seem to be no statues or anything; even the house where he was born has no mention of it on a plaque:
Update 4.45pm: Actually, that’s rubbish; I just went past the house in a taxi and noticed there was a sign saying Casa natal “Che” Guevara right next to the house. It was early, I wasn’t looking properly, so I apologise for the incorrect information. Looking at my photos, I’ve even got one where you can see the sign. Look:
While we’re doing show-and-tell, here’s a picture of a dog bathing himself.
And here’s one of a naked bint using a fish as a loofah.
And here’s a photograph showing that nine preppy cunts could walk into this shop and all walk away wearing different outfits.
Anyway, last night I stayed in a nice hotel. Still fairly cheap, but it was nice. A good mattress, space to spread out, multiple towels in the bathroom, complementary shampoo and conditioner (two separate bottles!) and Wi-Fi. It’s the first hotel I’ve stayed in on this trip which came close to looking like the sort of hotel I’d choose to stay in on a business trip, and after ten days in a very basic hotel in Buenos Aires, I felt justified in spoiling myself for a night, especially considering I’ll be taking a 13-hour bus journey later today. (Extra justification is that I’m essentially getting “free” accommodation tonight, sleeping on the bus.) but, as I inferred above, I’ve got the shits, so I’m not particularly up for much sight-seeing. If it wasn’t for the fact that the same bus is fully-booked tomorrow, I would’ve delayed my journey by 24 hours and stayed here an extra night.
I hate checking-out of nice hotels. It’s always tinged with a touch of sadness that the pristine world is being left behind when you loft your backpack on again and are reminded that you’re a backpacking knob-end, not a swanky business man. And there’s always the nagging doubt that I will have left something behind in the room, even though I check the room twice over; I still feel that it’s totally possible for my eyes to somehow block out seeing my iPod on the pillow or something.
As it is, though, aside from the potentially grim prospect of using a bus toilet a lot on my journey up to Posadas, I’m looking forward to being on the bus. I coughed up the extra 60 pesos (about 12 euros) to go in the swanky bit where the seats are bigger and recline virtually completely. Plus, I’m on a solo seat, not one that has a neighbour which is flipping ace, frankly. On my journey from Buenos Aires to Rosario, I had the aisle seat, and was sitting next to a young fellow with unfortunate jeans.
He reclined his seat quite soon in the journey. And when I felt like doing so, I found that something inside me wouldn’t let me do it. My long-term loathing of aeroplane-seat-reclining-people aside, it just feels weird to be reclined next to a stranger. I’m fine sitting next to a stranger, it’s something most of us do on many occasions during a week. But to be reclined, almost lying down! Next to a stranger!? That’s just plain weird. Somehow the reclining turns being “next to” someone into “with” someone. You are lying down with them. Next stop hand shandies? I reclined about three inches less than him to keep things civil. At one point in the journey, while he was napping, he turned and he was facing me. Now, imagine I’d reclined fully, and I’d also fallen asleep, and was facing him, too. You wake up and you can feel the breath coming out of their nostrils on your face. And how awkward would that be if we both woke up at the same time? And it’s not a gay thing; it’d be awkward if it was a woman, too… I think too much about these things. Cogito, ergo sum. For me, though, that would be “I think, therefore I can’t ever relax properly.” Which, sadly, I don’t know how to say in Latin.