Me llamo Roberto

Me llamo Roberto-

So I’ve decided to give myself an alias in South America. Roberto just has a much sexier ring to it than the way people here insist on saying Bob by pronouncing the “O” like you do in go or boat which just ends up sounding too much like boob. This long “O” is most comically illustrated by the way people here say “no” which sounds EXACTLY like Consuela, the Mexican maid from Family Guy (“Noooo”). This, however, will not be the first continent where I had to make some adjustments on my name. In Australia, for a reason I’ll never be able to fully explain or understand, when I would introduce myself as Bob, over and over and over again people heard “Mark”. And by over and over and over I don’t mean 3 times, this happened well over 100 times (no shit, freekin’ MARK!). My best guess is that because of the Australian accent Mark kinda has a silent “R” (as in Maaak) and Bob, if your ears are exposed to a depleted ozone too long, sounds a little like Mark (?) Again this is only a guess, but it was truly remarkable nevertheless. I found myself having to explain “Bob” by saying “no, not Mark, BOB!, as in BOBBY”. “Oh Bobby, got it, nice to meet you Bobby.” The Mark thing got to be so common that a handful of my friends in Sydney began to just call me Mark as a goof (some still do to this day), to which I would impulsively answer to. Whether it was Mark, or Bobby it was a variation from Bob the same way Roberto is here. For the record, and probably because it’s self imposed instead of forced upon me, I am much more excepting of Roberto than I ever will be of Mark.

The town of Ushuaia reminds me a bit of Chamonix in the French Alps. A world class ski town by winter and globally significant trekking Mecca by summer, but instead of 5 star restaurants with degustation menus it’s 2 star diners with a selection of empanadas. The culinary shortcomings aside the town couldn’t be more perfect, nor the people nicer. I completed my 1 week of intensive Spanish school and met some truly amazing people there. The only other student in my class was a solo female traveler from Brazil and after classes her and I got together for a few day hikes and nights out on the town. I will never get over her response when we first met and I told her I was from the U.S.- “Oh the U.S.!, what’s your favorite Friends character?” WHAT!? FRIENDS?? really?… “Um I dunno, I haven’t really thought about that in a while, Chandler I guess?”… “Ahhh yeah Chandler is ok, but my favorites are Ross and Phoebe, I just can’t get enough of that show.” I felt like telling her wait until Parker Lewis Can’t Lose or Small Wonder airs and she’ll really be hooked to American TV. Meeting the director of the Spanish school (Anna) was worth the price of tuition alone. Legitimately one of the nicest people I’ve meet anywhere.

My original plan was to reinforce my week of Spanish lessons by staying with a local family, sitting around the dinner table, interacting with the children etc etc. this is something the school offers assistance with. When I arrived at the school and inquired about it I was turned off because it was double the price of staying in a hostel, so I declined. Anna then told me not to worry, I would have been just staying at her place anyway and that if I ever wanted to come to her house to practice Spanish I am welcome anytime. She suggested, as several other people have, to simply watch American TV shows with Spanish subtitles as a great way of picking up the language. Since then I’ve been to her house twice. Once for a group dinner with some locals and former students. A night that somehow morphed into Spanish karaoke at 4am, and the other time to watch the new Better Call Saul episode on Netflix (with Spanish subtitles of course). I even took her up on her offer to check out of my hostel and stay at her place for free for my last 2 nights in town. Without hesitation she handed me her spare key and said; “Come and go as you please. If I’m not there just make yourself at home.” Returning to a classroom setting did not come without some growing pains. It felt like I was back in college again pulling my hair out over Bio190 class or cheating on my statistics homework. Yes I actually did have Spanish homework and yes I did cheat my ass off on it… Thank you google translate. The teacher was from Venezuela which was a huge bonus because she spoke and taught the Spanish that’s used widely across Latin America as opposed to the Argentinian Spanish which is something else entirely. [Fun fact; the Argentinian Spanish is technically not even Spanish at all. They speak Castellano which is its own dialect stemming from a small town in Spain]. Most students attend for several weeks or months and to be honest I’m not really sure how much 1 week of Spanish is going to do for me. Even the teacher kept repeating when she read the frustration written on my face “uno semana es imposible” (1 week is impossible), nevertheless I am making marginal improvements and am a bit more comfortable with basic day to day interactions. I just don’t see myself confident enough to be scouting out the Home Depot parking lot negotiating for help with my landscaping when I get back to Vegas.

Returning to the realm of backpacking and staying in hostels does not come without some familiar annoyances. Before transferring to Anna’s house I was averaging 4-5 hours of sleep each night due to the combination of my 8am Spanish classes and the insanely late hours Argentineans keep. Dinner here starts at about 10:00 for most family’s, including those with small children. If you were stepping out for the night it would first begin with pregame at someone’s house at about midnight and finally going out to a bar at about 2:00! That’s insane even for a Vegas native that made a career in nightlife. I decided that when it comes to hostels I prefer someone that snores over loud breathers. I mean seriously why do anything half ass? If you’re gonna go for it then just go for it and let er rip. Speaking of letting it rip, my stomach has been in turmoil from not being able to fart when inspiration strikes since there was a few decently attractive Dutch girls in my room… Gotta take the good with the bad I guess. My cuticles are tore to shreds from continuously digging into my pockets which, at all times, contain my most important worldly possessions (wallet, passport, cigarettes, lighter, note pad, pen, gum, sunglasses, loose change, a folded up map and my trusty camera). What continues to be some of my lest favorite people are the travelers that stay and work places several months at a time, like the snobby French girl in my hostel with the elitist, know it all, holier than thou attitude because she’s been in Ushuaia going on 6 months. Well whoopdie fuckin doo. You’re better and more worldly than every other backpacker here. You make me proud. Now stop talking to me please. (Ahh the French). The theory of backpacker relativity is also a curious thing. Back home I would pay $250 dollars for a first class upgrade giving me 2 extra inches of elbow room on a 3 hour flight to Chicago, but when in the backpacking mindset would rather take a 15 hour bus ride instead of a 1 hour flight to save $60. Pretty retarded I know. But, as it were, in a few days time I will be leaving Ushuaia and have a 15 hour bus ride to Punta Arenas, Chile and into the Patagonian interior… Total savings- $62.

Roberto