Waterfalls, a bit of Rio, and the beginning of the story of an Australian named Marcus

Well hello again, people. : ) It has taken me quite some time to get word out to you that I’m alive, but rest assured that all is well in the world of Tina. Quite well and wonderful, in fact, and there are quite a number of things to talk about! Now where to begin… The last time I gave any kind of update, I was in Buenos Aires biding my time while waiting for the interview process to bring me to my next interview. In the meantime, I was doing a whole lot of nothing. Attempting to find cafes with wi-fi close to my hostel; gorging on banana licuados (if you have a blender, bananas and milk, I suggest you combine the three with maybe a little bit of sugar and then you can join me in my latest food obsession); reading; watching a lot of movies and spending lots of time with the boys at Bait (my BA hostel). Then came yet another few weeks’ trip up to Brazil to spend Carnaval in Rio with Jon and Kari. I decided to hit up Iguazu Falls on the way to Rio and hit two birds with one stone—see the beautiful waterfalls that I keep on hearing so much about, and split up the VERY long bus ride in between Buenos Aires and Rio (19 hours from BA to Iguazu and 21 hours from Iguazu to Rio). I can now say that I’ve dabbled in the long-distance South American bus rides with some awful movies…and minor robberies. On the bus from BA to Iguazu, I ended up sitting next to some 19-year old Argentinean boy who struck up conversation right after dinner. I could tell that he’d wanted to chit chat before then, but I was being anti-social with my hoodie up, looking out the window and reading. You know, sometimes I just don’t feel like talking! But as I do, I finally gave into the chit chatting ways and so began the conversing. The conversation meandered from the sub-standard bus food to the ridiculous bus movies and somehow got to the subject of the abundance of robberies in BA. He’s from outside BA so I figured we were commiserating on the same level. I didn’t even think twice when he asked me if I slept hard or lightly, as this was an overnight bus and there were already snorers in the distance. Well, at the next bus stop (after a nice nap) I checked out my bag to verify that all of my belongings were still in place—an act I deemed unnecessary as my bag had been under my seat the entire time, but which I viewed as a good idea to allay any anxieties I might have about getting robbed. To my surprise, I realized that my digital camera was missing along with my iPod charger. Lame! I was pretty sure that there was only one person who would have had the opportunity to do that—lame Argentinean boy at my side. I pulled aside the bus-worker-dude (yes, that's the proper name of the bus equivalent of a flight attendant) to tell him that somebody on the bus had taken my camera and my charger. I told him that my bag had been under my seat the entire time, so it must have been the kid next to me. The kid came back from the bathroom, and there in his pocket I spied the outline of an object exactly the size of my camera. Oooh, my blood was boiling! The bus attendant asked for the kid’s ticket and then asked if he stole my camera, which the boy denied. Big fat liar. The attendant left and the boy sat back down next to me. If that isn’t completely awkward, sitting next to the person that just robbed you when you both know that they robbed you, I don't know what is. I asked the people sitting in front of me what was going on, and they said we were going to get the police to check everybody on the bus. Then 10 minutes passed. 20 minutes. 30. I wondered if we weren’t just going to go to the next bus stop and get the police there. We arrived at the next stop an hour or two later, and the boy got off, so I followed him. The bus driver was searching in the undercarriage for the kid’s bag, and I asked the kid to give me my camera back. He said he didn’t take it, so I told the bus driver to hold on and not give the kid his bag because he’d stolen my camera. The bus driver shrugged and said there was nothing he could do, gave the kid his bag, and the kid took off. Of all the lamest things…of course in hindsight I should have gotten the kid to give it back to me on the bus, but in my defense I was under the impression that we were stopping for the police to get on. I know better now, though it’s not exactly of help and I now find myself camera-less. At least I have traveler’s insurance, so it could be a lot worse. Now I just get to buy myself a better camera--dang! Still uncool, though, because I had to spend my first hour in Iguazu in the police station. All of the policemen were nice, though, all about my age and enthusiastic about the tall blonde girl in the station. One of them even offered to let me stay at his house. Wasn’t that sweet of him. Oh yeah… after making my report and buying a ticket to Rio (which ended up being a day later than I had originally planned, an occurrence that plays a BIG part in the rest of my story—period), I found my way to my hostel, Hostel Inn, apparently the “Club Med” of hostels and one of the nicest hostels in all of South America. I had made reservations there for two nights before getting to Iguazu, but they didn’t have any openings for the last night I was there (that night that I hadn’t planned on being there, the night I had figured I would be on my way up to Rio). So I dropped off my things in my room and headed straight on over to the internet line to try to make some kind of reservation for Saturday night. There I was, minding my own business and waiting for a computer to open up when this guy sits down on the bench next to mine. I noticed him there, but continued looking through the list of places I would try to make reservations at. He, however, decided to break the silence and asked me if I knew of any good hostels around since he and his mates (yes, he’s Australian) weren’t able to get in that night at Hostel Inn. I told him I was just about to look up some hostel options myself, and when he told me he and his friends were headed into town to check out the options, I figured I’d tag along with the Aussies for some hostel hunting. From that point on, Marcus (for that is Australian boy's name--and no, I absolutely could not have seen it coming!) and I were almost inseparable for the next three and a half weeks. We just couldn’t get enough of each other. Three days was all it took. Three days and I was undeniably hooked.

On our second day in Iguazu, Marcus and I set out for the falls which were, as they are famed to be, incredible. Somehow we managed to pick the perfect day to go as it was sunny with passing clouds which were much appreciated. We saw the amazingly long falls, the little ant-eater-racoons that will run up your leg if they see you with food (and can they climb!), we ate cold empanadas and talked about our families, held hands along the catwalks while getting sprayed with mist from the falls, and basically commenced our journey down the road of adorability. Oh yeah, and I received pretty much the best line I’ve ever had. “You have beautiful eyes…stop looking at me!”

While we were waiting for the train to take us back to the main station, I was slapping the bugs (or imaginary bugs) that were landing on me and itching my arms and legs, and I evidently decided to squish a bee in between my knees. And, as bees are sometimes wont to do especially in the midst of being smashed, it stung me. At first, I thought I was just being bit, then the pain just got stronger and stronger until it started burning. I may have done a bit of hand waving and some rapid, “Ow. Ow! OWWWW!!! What’s biting me??? Ow! Get that out of my knee!!!” Marcus, lovely boy, took the stinger out and ran to get me some ice. Or rather, the closest thing he could find to ice which was a strawberry popsicle (that he likes to call an icebox). So he sat and held a popsicle on my knee until a kind on-looker brought us a bag of ice, at which point we ate our popsicles and he continued to hold the bag of ice on my leg until it turned to water. That night he cooked dinner for me…I don’t know how to explain how endearing it is for me to see a boy in the kitchen, and this grows exponentially when they’re cooking for me, but we'll begin by saying that it makes me feel like a princess. I may have unknowingly lit the pan on fire during the process (oil—who knew that it shouldn’t be left over the fire for that long?!) which resulted in some slightly charred-tasting chicken, but it didn’t even begin to matter. When he surprised me with a glass of wine to keep me company while awaiting the food, I was pretty much done for. To complete this picture of domesticity, let me next inform you (as if you couldn’t guess already) that I followed dinner with a three-dozen batch of cookies. Mind you, this was a Friday night and the rest of the hostel crowd was to be found outside, emborrachando themselves. When we walked outside with a plate of cookies, we got some big, surprised eyes and then one of Marcus’s friends called me a sexy grandma. Yup, I’m taking that one and sticking it in my pocket (even if the title really does belong to Bethany).

The next day, Australia day, saw the abundance of Australians with large bottles of Quilmes in hand from morning till night, sitting in the pool. I thoroughly enjoyed watching Marcus’s friend Michael using the top stair of the pool as his own personal dance floor. : ) That night we indulged in some of the worst Argentinean asado I’ve had yet, but fortunately there were troughs full of caipirinhas to balance the very gnawable meat. We engorged, we samba’d, and we went for a nighttime swim. All in all, a lovely evening. I might mention that that was the same evening I realized I had developed undeniable feelings for Marcus. The last few days had basically been perfect, and I knew that we were both enjoying all of the time spent together. We also made plans for him to come stay with Jon, Kari and I in our apartment for his first night in Rio (two days later).

I took the bus to Rio on day four (directly after introducing Marcus to the wonders of the banana licuado). I sat on that bus full of the happy fuzzies, thinking about this boy who was making me begin to question my plans to stay in Buenos Aires, and thinking about the impending visit with Seattle friends. (I also slept with my backpack wrapped up in my arms, not willing to take any more chances with my seat mate.)

And that's where I'll end the story for now, because I haven't finished writing up Brazil yet. I'll work on it and get back to you soon! Getting my computer to interact positively with wi-fi cafes continues to be a feat I wrestle with. So stay tuned!

Oh, and because you can't really see what Marcus looks like in that picture up there, here's another one for ya: :)