Week 0, Day 0: Thursday, May 29, 2008.
2 a.m (NY) — Flying over Panama thereabouts. I should be asleep. Instead, my intro: My words are rusty. I am rusty. Life is a poorly written book; I am the writer and the protagonist; and this is a narrative conflict of man versus himself. To come in the following pages: every possible bloated and overprecious cliché about change, the world, its strangers, and the wanderer. Look for blatant and shallow themes regarding the equally harsh and purifying nature of discovery. Look for ill attempts to make sense of the intangible. My search is not for Truth, but merely something true – in life, in myself. Futile as my efforts are, they are, however, above all, necessary. May I finally find that which I am seeking. Now, to dream, perchance to sleep.
Week 0, Day 1: Friday, May 30, 2008.
9:30 a.m. (BA) — Landed.
10:50 a.m. — Sitting on shuttle, heading downtown. I’m not retarded. I remember some Spanish and managed to not look like an idiot at the airport. My first feat of Day 1. Immigration took longer than expected. Long line for exchange. Then organized all necessary things in the airport restrooms.
12:50 p.m. — Somewhat settled into hostel. Nice boy Santiago the hostel caretaker welcomed me. Going to see what there is to see.
4:00 p.m. — Return to Estoril. First walked silly, young, vegetarian UC-Berkeley girl to her hostel. Her first time off the North American continent, was desperately clutching Lonely Planet guidebook the whole walk through. I told her to calm down and drop the book. She was bewildered – and ended up saying nothing as I bid her a quick farewell. Long walk down Avenida 9 de Julio – the widest street in the world. Took first pictures of trip at Congress. Browsed used books on the street. Attempted small talk. Watched an elderly gentleman play two games of chess at a time.
8:45 p.m. — Just returned from café downstairs. Empanadas de pollo. Yum. First Arg. meal. Had a good, casual conversation with a fellow hostelmate, Eva from Boston. Liberal, vegetarian, travels much and shares some of my loves and hates. Talked to an old man, who guessed I was Chinese. Gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek, which I returned, when I left with a “buenas noches.” A pity I must leave Buenos Aires tomorrow, but all’s better if I meet my fellow volunteers in Cordoboa sooner than later. Took a shower earlier. Watched television with hostelmates in the common room. Talking about literature and films with Esteban who works at the hostel.
1:50 a.m. — Talked, talked, talked. And listened to crazy Kerouac stories from two Californian sisters – Andrea and Justine. Kerouac would have sat, drunk, and smoked all night with them, just listening and absorbing. Crazy stories from around the continent. John the Norwegian. They’ve all been traveling since March. All young people –- my age or older. But I think for the first time, I experienced a degree of what Kerouac records in On the Road. Amazing, hearing all those stories. Too many for me to write down, but the evening was the perfect preamble to my own adventure, which begins tomorrow evening. It will be more tame, of course, because I consider myself more tame, but I hope I reach a point at which I am just exploding with stories like the sisters were.
