Becoming the Hulk

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of Argentina  , Capital Federal District,
Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Although it's lashing down with rain and I contemplate canceling it, I still force myself to attend the Graffitimundo tour, which is a unique attraction of touring Buenos Aires neighbourhoods enjoying the vibrant street art which adorns many walls and shop fronts.  In the end I'm really happy I did, because it's a terrific way to spend an afternoon and a really interesting and alternative slice of BA tourism.  The skill of the artists working is clearly evident, but for me, it's their imaginations that are their real gift.  I like to think I can draw decently, but this stuff is just unreal, and you have to wonder what the hell goes on in their heads.  Some of them surely need to see a doctor.

So it comes down to my last night in South America.  What a crazy run it's been.  I'm very sad to be leaving, but one door closes and another one opens.  Europe awaits, as does the rest of the world, and I'm excited to have a change of scene.  Traveling really does take it out of you, it's not all sweetness and light, and I need to ditch half the stuff I've been lugging around in my pack.  The journey continues.

I have hostel buddies left right and centre telling me to go out.  I've got three options.  Stay in, go to bed when the bar closes, or go out and power right through until my flight.  The advantage of doing that is I'd pass out on the plane and miss the horribleness of the take off.  However I'd still have to negotiate the nightmare of an airport probably still under the influence of booze.  I get chatting to a very pretty Irish girl with her boyfriend sitting next to her, and I rue the fact that I never seem to catch a break in this situation.  A married couple last week, now a boyfriend-girlfriend combo here.  The chat is decent, the beer flowing freely, then the guy begins to talk about his girlfriend as if she wasn't there.  From out of nowhere I catch a lucky break, and this Irish Gweneth Paltrow-Bridget Fonda is interested.  She's even demanding I kiss her.

Knowing it's in the bag is a great feeling.  That instant where you've been putting in the spadework all night, and you catch the flash of the eye, the cheeky smile, the grope down the front of your pants.  Not that it's happened to me, I'm just using poetic license.  So I sit back and enjoy the evening, the pressure off and then discover her upstairs talking to the usual 6ft Aussie dude that haunts my every waking moment.  My breathing gets heavier, my eyes narrow my skin starts to change colour.  Before I know it, I'm ripping my shirt off, turning green, roaring my intentions and striding over to dispose of the new suitor.  At least this was happening in my head.  Not this time.  I'm not getting beaten again by the thief who sneaks in at the last minute and with little effort whisks away my quarry. 

"Errr, David wants to talk to you downstairs" I blatantly lie, noting with glee the devastated face of the guy I've just outstandingly cock-blocked.  Yes.  Get in.  Get that up you son.  You're not having this one.  I lead her to the stairs, turn, admit my subterfuge, and she plants her lips to mine.  Thankfully I'll be staying in and I'll make my flight tomorrow.  Goodnight Buenos Aires.

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