TripAdvisor Reviews Hotel U.T.E.D.Y.C. Mar del Plata
Travel Blogs from Mar del Plata
... had started enforcing my rule that if I don't know the Spanish word for something I want I can't buy it; I am hoping this will help me improve my vocabulary. I made soup and chickpeas (garbanzos) for lunch. I befriend an Argentinian who didn't speak any English. Google translate is a dream. He took me to a water tower with great view of the city. After we hung out at the hostel having a few beers before my bus. I got the hostel called me a taxi. The taxi was an unmarked one without ...
... some other tourist **** and sat at the beach in the sun for most of the day. I got home around 7 and no one was around so, I headed up to my room to edit my journal and watch The Good Wife. I realized I should have tried to get the bus tonight, but one more good nights rest will do me well. My observations: I have meant to write this everyday but always forget. The male runners are generally very sexy, they even wear short running shorts. ...
... was right the pier was nothing special (minus seeing all the sea lions), but you do feel like you're in the middle of the ocean. I headed back to towards the hostel to get something to eat. I didn't find any restaurants I felt like eating at, so I asked where the closed grocery store was. I got random food to support life and walked toward the shopping area. The shops are great lots of **** would buy if I had some sort of income. I found a store that sells wool but of course ...
... situation this was the where the need to help me started. He tried to ask me questions usually ones I knew the answer to like where are you from, how long have you been traveling but my accent is too ****** for him to understand. I don't understand how I can say Canada wrong. Anyways, we hop on the bus he feels like need to sit beside me and keep asking questions. He asked, how old I was, my birthday, where I as from, and such and before I knew it he ...
... horn at us - the Argentine equivalent of a wolf whistle.
"That's Argentina," the girls say, grimacing. The guidebook had implied Argentine women accept the machismo behaviour as part of their culture. I asked the girls if it bothered them.
"Oh yes," they said. "But sometimes we are afraid to shout back, in case the guy becomes violent." That sounded troublingly familiar, although I couldn't remember an instance in london when ...
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