What Happens in Rome, Stays in Rome (Or should)

The adage, often attributed to Jorge Luis Borges, that "Argentinians are Italians who speak Spanish, dress like the British and pretend to be French" is, as most adages and stereotypes are, rooted in no small measure of truth.

This works for the people of Argentina who have less shame than nearly anyone I've met minus perhaps the lovely people of Brazil, where an obese man wearing a banana hammock (thong) at his child's piano recital is commonplace. It also makes the viewing of the European Cup considerably less painful. For in normal years that allows the average Argentinian the opportunity to feel as though his or her team has won the cup while cheering on a quarter of the field of sixteen. I say normally because England is usually able to eek out three points against the powerhouse of European football, Macedonia, but not this year.

"When in Rome, do as the Roman's". This is not easy in Buenos Aires given these aforementioned identity issues of the local population. I imagine in order to pull it off you would have to: avoid the shower for a sixth consecutive day, dress yourself in your best ascot making sure your watch fob matches your belt buckle, drown yourself in copious amounts of cologne or AXE bodyspray, fall down in the street(hoping to draw a penalty) as you walk to your Vespa and drive like an idiot dripping in arrogance to meet your friends for Yerba Mate.

Yerba mate is a mixture of god knows what, steeped in hot water, and drank from an affectation that only Argentines and Liberace could find comfortable. More so for Liberace as the metal straw needed for mate consumption looks like Cartier's cock and, well, that's not a huge stretch of the imagination for those of us who remember the flamboyant one. And this brings me to my point....

You, itinerant traveler and hostel dweller, look like a proper cock sipping on this bitter brew. I have seen mountain climbers and trout fisherman that require less gear than a mate drinker. So as you make your way to more impoverished parts of this continent with your 80 Gig Ipod chock full of Manu Chau, reach into your bag for your unholy grail, mate, thermos of boiled Evian, and electric thermometer, please remember the reason people are rolling their eyes is because you truly are a cock, not Che, despite your numerous screenings of The Motorcycle Diaries and T-Shirt.

Don't Be Cheap

I'm sick and tired of people being cheap. Hostel guests tend to be some of the cheapest people I've met. "I'm so broke", "I'll get you back next week", and "Can I have a bite of that", are like annoying broken-english mantras ringing in my ears on a daily basis. This week I finally fucking had it. I had to lay down the law. Let me explain.

There's a young German who works* in the hostel at nights, as kind of like a night manager, in exchange for free rent. He's got another volunteer job during the day, and overall is a nice guy. The problem is that he's incredibly cheap, and tricky about it. Basically, he doesn't get paid for either job, and therefore has to be careful with how he spends. I get that. What I don't get is how brash and downright inconsiderate his cheapness is.

If you're eating something, drinking something, smoking something, or doing something, he wants in, wants some, and pouts if he doesn't get it. Sharing is fucking caring, right? But when does coerced sharing become mooching? Here's when. When someone asks you if you'd like to order food, tells you what they want, makes you order, and then tells you he has no money when the food comes.

I told him the price when I got off the phone, he said cool. Then the doorbell rings, I ask him for cash, and he looks at me like his cat just died and tells me that he has no money. After a "what the fuck" response from me, he blankly stares some more and says he has no cash for a few days except for 10 Brazilian Reais. That would be lovely dovely, except for the fact that we're not in Brazil.

So I paid for the food, tossed it on the table, and gave him another "what the fuck" look. He ultimately got someone to change his Brazilian cash into Argentine pesos, and he paid me. But it's the principle of this that kills me. I work, but make a limited income. I'm in no position to be sugar daddy for anyone, let alone a 20-year-old German I live with. To me, it's the equivalent of walking out on your tab at a restaurant. Plus, this shit adds up.

That's all. Just needed to vent. It's cold today, and I'm thinking of checking out some monkeys at the zoo. Peace out cubscouts.