Uruguay, he's a guay, but that's a prostitute

April 10, 2008
Buenos Aires

This weekend I will be heading to Colonia, Uruguay. This small town is on the other side of the mouth of the River Plate - the border between Argentina and Uruguay. I never expected to be visiting such an obscure country so soon, but the change of scenery from the hustle-bustle of Buenos Aires will be nice.
This city never sleeps - there are always people on the streets - lots of them. The buses ad subways are always packed - there also seems to be an unusual amount of dog shit on the streets here. It is only a matter of time until my chic, columbia hiking boots are displaced from their ivory tower by an angry mass of feces.
I've spent the last few days attending school, aimlessly roaming the streets, and getting the tourist activities of this town out of the way. A force beyond my control compels me to visit cathedrals, historical markers, and graves. I think it was how I was raised.
The other night I went to Palermo SoHo with the three Germans from my school. This is a nice part of town with artsy bars, boutiques, and restaurants. I ordered a 16 peso item (about $5) in the vino tinto section - expecting a glass- I received a bottle!
The Germans, of course, drank beer. I kept pace with them and our tongues became looser. Our conversation meandered from light topics to heavier ones, eventually I found myself asking them about WW II - a topic most Germans are not eager to discuss (for obvious reasons). I have never met a nationality more ashamed of its' past. I understand their uneasiness, but I want to know more about their perspective. Perhaps this is a topic best left alone for now.
We continued the night at another bar where I convinced the Germans to drink "Irish Car Bombs" - I watched from the sidelines because of my gluten allergy. America III - Germany 0. I do not think they will trust my beverage choices again.
The night concluded with a 3 dollar taxi ride to my side of town. I am always convinced I am being driven in circles while in a taxi - so I tried (through my broken spanish and relaxed inhibitions) to let the taxi driver know THAT I KNEW where we were and where we were going. I just came off as an ass.
They next morning I awoke to a delightful sensation of seismic activity in my cerebellum.

Mother H