Leaving the buffet, our stomachs fat and minds slow, Mauro, Andrew and I resolved to find a cheap boat to view the river from. Pedro, our Brazilian friend who had been hit hardest by the food coma, decided to explore the town of Tigre by foot instead. Borrowing a pen from the waitress and scribbling out our information on place mats, we exchanged emails and full names for later Facebook addition and finally parted ways.
Spirits high, los tres amigos set out to find the cheapest boat for the sunny afternoon. Walking across the park, we found a small room advertising boat outings. We entered and after some spanish conversation that left andrew and I in the dust Mauro told us 45 pesos for a 40 minute ride. After hearing we could buy a few beers at the local store and bring them aboard, we agreed.
We had time to burn, so we walked around taking pictures of the beautiful surroundings and elegant buildings. Grabbing a brewski and exhausting the local sites, we walked to the park to crack a beer and exercise our jaws and bellies with comedy. (An open beer in public is a legal activity here) Swapping pranks and dirty jokes appropriate only for 20 something males, we laughed until it hurt; upper deckers, el gauncho oxidental, Lacoste y mas.
Finally boarding the the boat, beers in hand, we found it quiet and empty, us comprising three of the seven people aboard. Happy to be loud and not offensive we travelled the cool brown flow of sedimentary river. The beautiful scenery held me at gunpoint. Unable to move or speak for fear of missing something missed only once in a lifetime, workers dredged the river and abandoned boats lay wasted on the heavily jungled shore, contrasting with stark reality the amusement park situated on the other side of the river. Passing the tourist destinations, the river gave way to quaint houses, with docks laid on stilts to protect them from the ebb and flow. The boat lay quiet save the roar of laughter produced by our small corner, giving life to the boat, and fuelling it forward. Finding commonality in comedy, we laughed over inappropriate topics, never to be discussed again making it all the more priceless.
Returning on the boat and finding shore, we finished our last beers and returned to the red brick train station. Tired from a full day and never ending jokes, we hopped the 50 minute train back to the center of the city, and took the subway to the hostel where our beds laid in wait. Riding the subway Andrewś jaw fell to the ground as he witnessed the subte during rush hour, an experience wholly unique to a busy metropolis subway sweltering with the flow of its work force. Laughing all the way home, our jaws sore and stomachs aching from los chistes, we returned to the hostel for electronic communique and a siesta before the night began.
Waking up, the hostel was quiet, save the sound of rain pounding on the roof top, and the occasional clash of thunder bringing light to the darkened sky. Descending to the central courtyard we met each other once more, sharing the company of three Spaniards travelling Sur America. Practicing my Spanish until 3am, we swapped stories and dodged softball sized avocados as they were knocked loose by the billowing winds brought in by the storm. One avocado fell not five feet from me, smashing the ground with a force that drowned out the sound of the thunder clashes that echoed in the distance. Picking it off the ground, we devoured it as a late night snack, smacking our lips in victory. As I fell asleep, the sound of raining avocados reverberated through our tiny room, conjuring thoughts of good fortune, and allowing me to revel in the beautiful differences this new continent brought to light. And peacefully, I slept, dreaming of tomorrow when I could again awake and experience new adventures, known only to those brave enough to lose sight of the shore.
Spirits high, los tres amigos set out to find the cheapest boat for the sunny afternoon. Walking across the park, we found a small room advertising boat outings. We entered and after some spanish conversation that left andrew and I in the dust Mauro told us 45 pesos for a 40 minute ride. After hearing we could buy a few beers at the local store and bring them aboard, we agreed.
We had time to burn, so we walked around taking pictures of the beautiful surroundings and elegant buildings. Grabbing a brewski and exhausting the local sites, we walked to the park to crack a beer and exercise our jaws and bellies with comedy. (An open beer in public is a legal activity here) Swapping pranks and dirty jokes appropriate only for 20 something males, we laughed until it hurt; upper deckers, el gauncho oxidental, Lacoste y mas.
Finally boarding the the boat, beers in hand, we found it quiet and empty, us comprising three of the seven people aboard. Happy to be loud and not offensive we travelled the cool brown flow of sedimentary river. The beautiful scenery held me at gunpoint. Unable to move or speak for fear of missing something missed only once in a lifetime, workers dredged the river and abandoned boats lay wasted on the heavily jungled shore, contrasting with stark reality the amusement park situated on the other side of the river. Passing the tourist destinations, the river gave way to quaint houses, with docks laid on stilts to protect them from the ebb and flow. The boat lay quiet save the roar of laughter produced by our small corner, giving life to the boat, and fuelling it forward. Finding commonality in comedy, we laughed over inappropriate topics, never to be discussed again making it all the more priceless.
Returning on the boat and finding shore, we finished our last beers and returned to the red brick train station. Tired from a full day and never ending jokes, we hopped the 50 minute train back to the center of the city, and took the subway to the hostel where our beds laid in wait. Riding the subway Andrewś jaw fell to the ground as he witnessed the subte during rush hour, an experience wholly unique to a busy metropolis subway sweltering with the flow of its work force. Laughing all the way home, our jaws sore and stomachs aching from los chistes, we returned to the hostel for electronic communique and a siesta before the night began.
Waking up, the hostel was quiet, save the sound of rain pounding on the roof top, and the occasional clash of thunder bringing light to the darkened sky. Descending to the central courtyard we met each other once more, sharing the company of three Spaniards travelling Sur America. Practicing my Spanish until 3am, we swapped stories and dodged softball sized avocados as they were knocked loose by the billowing winds brought in by the storm. One avocado fell not five feet from me, smashing the ground with a force that drowned out the sound of the thunder clashes that echoed in the distance. Picking it off the ground, we devoured it as a late night snack, smacking our lips in victory. As I fell asleep, the sound of raining avocados reverberated through our tiny room, conjuring thoughts of good fortune, and allowing me to revel in the beautiful differences this new continent brought to light. And peacefully, I slept, dreaming of tomorrow when I could again awake and experience new adventures, known only to those brave enough to lose sight of the shore.
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