The "Hostel Report"

Traipse fertile valleys, scale ominous peaks, roll your tongue twice! The “Hostel Report” is here. Very “official”. Officially “very”. It´s the only report both Paris Hilton and Martha Stewart will be reading this summer (blogs on tape). Saskatchewan quarterly gave it “three twigs”. Which is a lot better than “two twigs”. Trust.

M.

BTW, I´m in Salta, Argentina about 1,500km NW of Buenos Aires and it´s 24 degrees outside. I repeat 24degrees! Driving in through snowy passes and frosty trees was majestic, but this Angelino was wholly unprepared for this...Might be in Bolivia by weeks end.


The Hostel Report

Hostel, 8:12p.m., Córdoba, Argentina, sitting mostly on left side of bed, though right arm is flagrantly on right side.

Number of inanimate people in the hostel: 2

Number of overly-animated people: none. See hostel “chill rating”.

Breakfast situation: rolls/jam/butter. All the tea, mate, coffee you can drink, powdered milk (better than no milk). Downfall: ends maddeningly early. Served 8-10a.m. Obnoxiously enforced. The only time I successfully made breakfast was when I hadn´t slept yet. Or when I ´borrowed´ rolls from freezer in the early afternoon, and ´stumbled´ upon jam tucked away in the nether regions of fridge. Taken to make my own oatmeal as sugar, milk (powdered), vanilla, cinnamon and nutmeg are available. X.L.Ent.

Overall hygiene of people staying: Only encountered one person that smelled. A little off-putting. Off-putting makes me think of pudding. Tapioca and Chocolate. Chocolate off-putting. If smell doesn´t count hygiene could be decent. Although no soap exists in any of three bathrooms, fact that ´shower noises´ usually coming from bathroom encouraging. Also sharing room with Ray who has hygiene mirroring mine. Excellent! Should be using more Spanish. Excelente!

Bed: Perceptible sagging. Didn´t leave bed to pee in morning until was finally about to ´burst´. Small (possibly undetectable to others) amounts of frost developed around ridge of nose and nostrils. Also lost feeling/sensation in my toes, though okay as I wasn´t irritated by their freezing. Also no threat of bed-bugs as too cold for ´smaller´ life to exist. Unless they crotched mini-blankets (doubtful).

Shower: Only have to wait four minutes for lukewarm water to ditch luke. Also convenient as never have to fiddle with ´cold´ knob.

Mold/Mildew level of shower: Minor spotting on curtain, allows for mild diversion while waiting for ´hot´ water to loose ´frosty´ feeling.

Female Dilemma: No females. No dilemma.

Hostel chill factor (scale 1-10): 7
1 = Truckers on Meth.
3 = Overly-caffeinated peeps
5 = Pretty chill
7 = Chill
8 = Irritatingly macabre
10 = Have to periodically poke people around me to make sure not sitting on couch w/ cadavers.

Room: Hardwood floors, crown-moldings, high ceilings, large wood-framed window. May never leave!

Hostel Location: Two nearby restaurants to note. One with excellent chicken/fries/salad. Another where we discovered a roach crawling to greet us. Positive: Roach could be alternative protein source, possibly vegetarian. Maybe a ´legume´. Hostel also located on main avenue and close to nightlife options, bookstores, etc.

Location Rating (scale 0.89-3.71): 1.77
0.89 = freakin´ incredible.
2.06 = advantages and dis. More or less centrally located.
3.463 = dude we´re off the map.
3.71 = adjacent sulfur refinement plant allows you to ´experience´ something off the periodical table of elements, first-hand.

Internet predicament: Alarmingly only one computer, seemingly always occupied (minor nuisance). Speed: Very good/bordering excellent. Or bordering ´Excelente!´

Coffee/Tea/Yerba Mate Availability: 24/7. Is it any wonder I´ve been holed up here for a week?

In house pets: 1. Yellow Labrador. 8 months old. Name: “Jujuy” after Northern Argentine province/city. Healthy coat, thick and blond, good shine. Shedding level: medium. Cuteness level (1-10): 10. Another reason not to leave. Also dog doubles as toe-warmer when watching DVD on couch.

Beer/ Wine consumed: 1 can of beer. Observations: “malty”, “sticky-taste”. Turtle-urine colored. Note, don´t drink beer from can as not at Sig-Ep party. Wine consumed: 1 glass red. Observations: “mostly-reddish”. Potentially good as am drinking red wine.

Useful things learned: Practiced/learned new French w/ two awesome Belgians. Belgium gains new/improved validity/status in the world. Also red-bearded Canadian suggests cold beer in hot shower. How have I never tried this!?

Misc. Observations (abbreviating misc. not b/c it´s shorter but because I think I no longer know how to spell it.): 1:31p.m. Discovered possible hamster poop pellet on floor. Discouraging since I don´t think hamsters exist in this country. 1:32 p.m. Upon further inspection pellet looks like small roasted peanut. Developing situation.

Food Eaten: 6 Rolls of bread heated on Iron pan on stove.
3 rolls with Zapallo jam (sweet, mysterious fruit. Does not taste like chicken).
2 rolls with Orange marmalade (good chance oranges were used in production. General orangy-taste. Tastes slightly like chicken).
1 roll with ´red jam´. (red).
3 cups coffee- instant with powdered milk. Good except last gulp always has glob of white milk-powder (decent).

1 small roasted peanut (previously mistaken for poop pellet). Medium crunch. Light on salt. Maybe rubbed off on floor.

.

Portraits, Buenos Aires.

The People´s Cafe

I stand out in this café not because I’m reading, nor because I can, but that I’m doing it. Most people stare off blankly, coke or beer in front of them. Some are watching the fútbol match on the teli. I yell out to a waiter to order. My third attempt. One stops at my table, awkwardly, not facing me. Three fingers are placed atop the table. He’s looking to the other end of the café but somehow I sense he’s waiting for me to order. I speak to the side of a face. A slice of Napolitana pizza. An humita empanada. A beer. Draft is good. He pauses a further second to see perhaps if I’m done. The side of the face walks off.

I continue reading. The waiter places my beer on my table mid-stride while walking off to the other end of the café. I circle a particular passage of text. Someone else brings my food. When I look up no one is there, but there are a handful of waiters around, a hazy cloud of stained white jackets, revolving, all suspect.

The pizza’s good, and the empanada how I like it. The beer is beer, cold and I’m happy. People don’t come here for the service. They might come for the food, or they might come because it’s cheap. Maybe just to come. Tired souls. Lonely souls. Families. Sweat and dirt caked on hands. Black fingernails, black lungs. A place where nobody will bother you. Perhaps the waiter’s inattention is a service. Not calculated, rather unconscious. The beer’s cold. The pizza good. The empanada how I like it.

Dignity

His hand is still relatively steady, puts the mug to his lips, sipping beer. Mug down he looks at me, smiles. Uncomfortable I don’t know why, I look away. Still smiling I can see and I look back. His hair is thin, grey, slicked back, furrowed brows brushed and ordered. Friday night, eight minutes til’ midnight.

He’s in a suit and tie, loafers and coat over the suit. You get cold more easily the older you get. The waiter walks by and puts a hand on his shoulder in passing. The most affection I’ve ever seen an Argentine waiter give. Old man pick up on it? He’s looking around the room, as dignified a man as I’ve ever seen. Friday night, six minutes til’ midnight.

He’s sitting across the way alone, beer and a slice of pizza on the table. I’m sitting alone, beer and a slice of pizza on the table. Maybe in fifty years I’ll be looking across the way at the youngin’. Friday night, five minutes til’ midnight.

Cider-colored leaves litter our Autumn streets

Our times are cold streams and deep earth
Our times are destruction and creation
Our times are creation that destroys
Our times are all time, passing, susceptible to perception
Our times are autumn leaves falling in crisp air
Our times are yours and mine and everyone’s
Our times are universal, indiscriminate.

These are Our times
They’re yours and mine and everyone’s
Our times are passing, susceptible to perception
Cold streams and deep earth
Creation-destruction
Autumn leaves-crisp air
Universal, Indiscriminate
These, are our times.