Reactionary

Some days ago, I posted a cryptic little comment on my Facebook page, “Buenos Aires or Madrid?” Clearly, I wasn’t asking people to decide for me but to communicate how I was torn just then. The next few days passed in getting the time off I had requested confirmed with the Fates (ie. the people who make the schedule at work). If I only got two weeks out of the three, Spain would be more doable thanks to the distance and if three, South America would once again be in the cards. I’d been thinking of Argentina since U2 played there on their last tour. There was a moment there, years ago now, when I almost threw all caution to the winds and went to see them down there at the River Plate stadium. That never happened, but the spectre of Argentina stayed in my mind.

I went to Barcelona for my birthday with a sibling who wanted to sleep in the hotel the whole time and the next spring to the Amalfi Coast and Scotland (I know, it was a terrible idea) with a friend who wound up getting sick, had family issues, and ended up getting exhausted with all the travel even if it had been all her idea (the moving around so much shit).

The spring before I took the job I now have, I went to Rome, enrolled in a language school and stayed with a family. It was the last such trip I’ve taken. I usually enjoy travel more when I’m left to my own devices. It’s said travel is the harshest test of your friendship or family ties and that is absolutely true. I enjoy traveling by myself even though it makes going to restaurants all but impossible. It helps me gets my gears in orders, tests parts of my brain I didn’t even know I still had and conquers fears that may have crept in. It keeps me in order.

But I still have to admit South America kind of freaks me out. I admit part of it is an irrational fear encapsuled by the stereotypes ensconced in the American psyche. The perfect example, like in so many other cases, is in a Seinfeld sketch. It’s the episode where Jerry and George are afraid their accountant may be ripping them off because he’s on drugs. Jerry calls the guy’s office to *demand* to speak to him but then is dismayed when the secretary tells him the accountant is out of town in South America. Jerry and George are horrified. Elaine’s reaction to Jerry’s “Who goes to South America?” is “People go to South America!” Jerry shoots back, “Yeah, and they come back with things taped to their large intestines!” Elaine, being far more sophisticated, waves him off.

No matter how wordly or sophisticated you think you are, though, there’s always that shadow, helped along by stories in the press and stories from Hollywood. South America equals drugs, tyrants who hate America, and kidnappings. So, yeah, I can get by with the language, the exchange favors me, and there must be something to the “Paris of the South” moniker. Buenos Aires was recently on the cover of the Smithsonian. I don’t dance tango (or anything else) and never will. I may retract everything I’ve ever written here. But it still kind of freaks me out, but less than $800 later, I have a non-refundable ticket and barring an Act of God, I’m going.

Posted on August 18th, 2009 under Travels •  Print •  Email • RSS 2.0 feed • Leave a response, or trackback