Molasses on a Cold Day

This is going to be, in all likelihood, the least eventful travel update that the good people at RealTravel have ever read on their website.  The past few days I've done essentially nothing except play pool with a few random backpackers, endure the insufferable introductory conversations about where we're all from and where we're going next, and the all-too-common and aggravating "Well, one time I was in New York and I went to this pizza place.  I forgot what it was called, but it was on a street with a number, I think.  Do you know where it is?"

And when I consider why I've been so unproductive, it boils down to a few factors, I think.  The first is that all cities in Argentina are pretty much the same, and once you've done Buenos Aires, Mendoza, Cordoba, Rosario, Salta, and all the rest start feeling like deja vu.  All the streets are named the same things, usually centered around a Plaza de Independencia with stores as far as the eye can see selling knock-off "Adidis" t-shirts and the usual collection of plastic trinkets.  You eat empanadas, steaks, the occasional spongy pizza, and move on from there.  Sure, Mendoza has wine, but that's six hours tops and only for one day.  Cordoba's a "university town," but that doesn't do anything for you if you don't actually attend those universities.

The second factor, I think, is that travel is simply hard, and as much as it sounds weird and perhaps a little jaded to say, I just don't get all that excited about many things anymore.  I'm looking forward to Machu Picchu in a week, for sure, but besides that, I literally went through a map of South America and said, "Brazil and Colombia are too dangerous, Venezuela's out, Chile's dirty and expensive, Bolivia's cheap but really dirty, French Guyana: no, Nicaragua: no, Panama: no,... no, no... no..."  I've settled on Peru and Costa Rica more or less by default for my last two months and change, because what it really comes down to is that besides Iceland, Antarctica, Easter Island, and maybe a few scattered atolls in tropical places in the Pacific and Indian Oceans, I've sort of seen what I wanted to see on this trip.  I'm tired.  My clothes are wearing thin, as is my patience for every Dutch and Italian backpacker who feels an insatiable need to get to know my life story.  Even worse are the Israelis who don't know me and who, upon hearing I'm from New York, try to weasel an invitation to stay with me when they come to the city.  As if I'm going to say, "Oh, by all means, I won't be around, and my house is like an hour from Times Square, but hey, just drop by this address--nope, no need to call ahead--and we'll set you up."  It's to the point where I just have automatic talking points that I go through depending on nationality.  They are, for those of you who can't come up with your own:

Britain:  The sitcom "The Office," soccer, my relatives in Liverpool and the northern suburbs of London.

Ireland:  The two Irish phrases I know:  Slainte and Cead Mille Failte.  ("Cheers" and "A thousand welcomes.")

Sweden:  The three Swedish phrases I know:  Muket Efterbliven, Yuli Tom Ton, and Pastel Fiskar ("Very stupid," "Santa Claus," and "Colorful Fish.")

Germany:  My weekend in Munich

Switzerland:  Zermatt, the time we missed the car train through the Furkapass, and more Zermatt.

Italy:  My weekend in Rome

Israel:  Cinema City in Herzliya, the two weeks I spent with relatives in Azur, everything Shai and Zvika taught me.

Australia:  Perth, Nando's, Aussie Rules Football

New Zealand:  Shed 5, Franz Josef Glacier, the Spaceship company.

South Africa:  Crime (hey, they bring it up).

France, Belgium, Canada, Holland, Norway, Japan:  Nothing.

The fact of the matter is it's just hard to keep making good friends and losing them, so that means trying in vain to have worthwhile conversations with people you don't know, which in turn leads to politics and me having to excuse myself before I get called a warmongerer and an American imperialist.  The only thing left to do is drown ourselves in superficiality and say, "Oh, so you know where Stanmore is?  Wow, two tube stops.  That's close," or "Yeah, I went to Marienplatz.  Berlin?  No, I didn't have time," and pretend like we care.  For all our desires to meet new and interesting people, all we're ever doing is meeting the exact same people a hundred times over.  I think the scariest part of knowing this is that none of us is really all that special or original, no matter how many years and countries we've tried to collect to convince ourselves otherwise.  All part of the experience, I suppose.

I'm really looking forward to recharging my batteries in a week.  Until then, back to Mendoza and three American study abroad girls I met a few days ago.  Oh, and the automatic topic of discussion when meeting Americans is Facebook, in case you were wondering.