Bored-oba

Somewhere between 'Dream Lover' and 'We Belong Together', Mariah went from innocent diva to manky ho. Debate raged at Cordoba backpackers as to the exact point of metamorphosis, many people revealing far too much about themselves than they may have wished with their familiarity with Music Box. Was it Glitter that sent her over the edge? Or was she already on her way with 'All I want for Christmas is you'? No - it definitely wasn't by Hero - that Israeli dude with the long hair it just talking more shit that he has no idea about. In the end, with the aid of an MTV special, it was resolved that Honey was the critical moment which led to the creation of 'slut' Mariah, a downfall somewhat mirroring the fall of Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader. And at that moment, the person that was Mariah was destroyed...

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I know what you thinking - you must be - isn't there anything better to do it Cordoba? Answer - no... What does Cordoba have to offer? Nada. Well, very little. In fact, the other day, I filled out a for which asked 'in 25 words or less, what are your impressions of Cordoba', to which was answered - It's a hole. Harsh but fair. More than fair really. The Mariah conversation demonstrates the level of boredom I have reached in Cordoba. Is it pretty? Nup. Is it exciting? Not quite. Is the weather good? Fucking average. Is it sophisticated? Like Alf from Home and Away. Perhaps the greatest indictment that I can offer, however, is the fact that not even the absolute ridiculous number of beautiful women in this city can redeem it. Cordobesa chicas? Bonitissima. Si. Cordoba? Hole. Me in Cordoba? Bored.

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How bored am I? Below is a list of some of things that I have resorted to to pass the time:

- played Street Fighter II in a random little local arcade;

- cooked a meal. Really;

- took photos of my shoes;

- watched American Football on TV;

- seen how many times I could say Jesus ('Haysoos') in a conversation with a local - just because it sounds cool; and

- contemplated running around the city naked, but resolved that sleeping was a much more worthwhile use of my time.

Pretty bored hey. I mean - American football?

The other day, I was thinking 'is this cynical view of Cordoba a result of post-Buenos Aires blues? Perhaps. Coming immediately after Buenos Aires certainly hasn't helped my impression of Cordoba. But, at this stage of my travels, having been spoilt so immensely by magnificent destination after magnificent destination, it's getting harder and harder to be impressed. It's true. You could call me a city snob. Let this be a lesson to coming cities. Don't have an obelisk or a city wall? Average. Not set against a dramatic backdrop of volcanoes, ancient ruins or natural wonderment? It's a domination. Ain't got rich culture, atmosphere and magnificent nightlife? Struggletown - population you. Not even hot chicks are going to redeem you. Having applied the above criteria to Cordoba, it has been revealed that it falls well within the category of Struggletown. It struggles in almost every respect - you know what I'm talking about? How can I describe it? You know the kind of struggle where it's difficult to get out of bed and put on clothes? The kind of struggle that you experience when you have a massive hangover of death and can't find a KFC? This is Cordoba. You know the kind of struggle where you get woken up by the phone, run across the house and the phone stops ringing? Cordoba. What about the struggle when you finally get 5 minutes for lunch, go downstairs and find that only those fucking curried egg sandwiches are left? Cordoba. Getting a mosquito bite on your little toe? Cordoba. The kind of struggle where the best thing to do is talk about Mariah Carey's career? Cordoba = Struggletown. A formal application to change its name will be made this afternoon.

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Overcome by a need to escape, I pen this entry as I sit in a cafe in the town of Villa General Belgrano, south of Cordoba. So what's here? Well, the other day I overheard someone saying - 'yeah, it's a little German town with lots of traditional German influence' and thought to myself - 'yeah. Little German town. Traditional German influence. Good thinking'. Of course, it was only once I got here that I remembered that I don't really like little German towns. Given this, this disneyland-inspired, touristy, artificial, faux German abomination of a town stood little hope of impressing. Endless tacky wooden signs featuring cerveza chugging, leiderhausen clad gents seemingly happy to be stuck in this awful town is enough to drive anyone mad. Or perhaps, it's just enough to drive someone mad enough to buy a truck. A big fucking pick-up truck. The town is full of them. I love it. Indeed, it is the best thing about the town - big pick-up trucks. Quality... And just to complete the entire experience, like a cherry on top or a tierce de picardi at the end of a prelude, Villa General Belgrano also made me instantly recall some of those wonderful, near death experiences of the World Cup Road Trip of the Devil of the Death, the mere reference to Leberwurst still enough to send nauseating chills pulsing through my body. Going to the German town - good thinking.

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In summary, Cordoba and Villa General Belgrano? Holes. In the ground. Contour lines on a map of Argentina would probably reflect this.

So, to the Top 5. By now, you may have realised that I don't have the greatest opinion of Cordoba. Yes - it's a hole. But plenty of other places that I've visited have been holes as well. For some perspective, here are the Top 5 holes fallen into so far on the Trip of the Devil of the Death from Hell:

5. Santiago de Chile

4. Strasbourg

3. Casablanca

2. Kaiserslautern

1. Cordoba

I've dug myself out. To Salta...

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