Misiones
Trip Start
Feb 01, 2004
1
2
43
Trip End
Ongoing
My parents come from a little shit province in the north of Argentina called Misiones. Misiones means "missions", so that's where them Spaniards began their process of "re-civilization". All in the name of God, of course. As a cultural note: those Indians did stand a chance, but they were successfully bamboozled with colorful mirrors and spicy paella. If you see the Spanish today, you'd think they're better aligned with Africa's "success story" than Europe's, but back then, they were admirably cunning.
Anyhow: Misiones. That's the gate through which God entered America and that's where those parents of mine spawned. It turns out, the soil is red in Misiones. I don't know why, but it's Mars-like red. And it gets stcuk all over your shoes, your clothes, your body. It's freaking awful. You'd wish that was the only problem, but then people speak with a funny accent (the "what fucking language do you guys speak here?" type of funny, though), poverty is rampant, it's 40 degrees all year long and mosquitoes are deadly.
People are nice, though, not that after all this calamity of a description it matters a bit anymore.
Anyhow: Misiones. That's the gate through which God entered America and that's where those parents of mine spawned. It turns out, the soil is red in Misiones. I don't know why, but it's Mars-like red. And it gets stcuk all over your shoes, your clothes, your body. It's freaking awful. You'd wish that was the only problem, but then people speak with a funny accent (the "what fucking language do you guys speak here?" type of funny, though), poverty is rampant, it's 40 degrees all year long and mosquitoes are deadly.
People are nice, though, not that after all this calamity of a description it matters a bit anymore.


