THIEVERY!!

I’ve kept trying to write this blog, but for some reason or another it’s proven to be rather difficult.

This is not for lack of topics, as I would gladly share my opinion on just about anything.  I find myself to be an expert on life in general, as I am an acting, breathing creature that has survived (some would say miraculously) nearly twenty years. 

I do suppose I should do an Argentina update, as this was the original purpose of the blog.

I attempted to go to Salta this past week.

From the beginning, I suspected it was one of the strangest vacations of my life.  Then I was nearly caught in the midst of a drug deal.

Oh, how I underestimate myself.

The bus ride to northern Argentina in and of itself was a bit of a personal nightmare, as we were trapped on the top floor of a violently rocking vehicle while the bathroom was conveniently located below us.  This was a bit of a predicament, as I find walking difficult on flat ground, not to mention navigating through a precariously narrow aisle way without tumbling into the laps of strangers.

I quickly became infamous for my perceived promiscuity.

Furthermore, they did not feed us on the bus.  For twenty-five hours.  I generally eat every twenty-five MINUTES.

Pushing these inconveniences aside as future amusing antidotes in the story that would become our travels, we trekked through the city of Salta in search of a hostel.

Though first we were laughed at by the information desk man for thinking we would be able to find accommodation. 

This was encouraging.

Finally ended up in a location.  I’d prefer to be more specific in my description, yet there is still open debate as to whether it was a prison, hostel, hospital, or clandestine concentration camp.

Despite our hesitation, there was a bed and a roof.  It was a kind of fun having fellow scuttling guests in the room.  Though they we were the only humans...

We proceeded to eat for the next four hours.  (This sentence is worthy of clarification.  No, it is not an exaggeration.  And no, I am not obese.)

After our feasting, we returned to the room and suspiciously lowered ourselves between the sheets.

Woke up the next morning ready to bolt from our current place of residence.

In readying my cosas, I realized I had misplaced my Elvis wallet.

I peered into the depths of my purse, scanning for Elvis.  Confused, I began to paw through my items.  No Elvis.

Hmmm.

A bit disturbed, I sat to ponder a moment. 

But of course!  My backpack. 

Relieved at my own brief insanity, I leapt to the sack began the search anew.  Humming absent-mindedly, I dumped out its contents and began shuffling through them.  Shuffle, shuffle.

No wallet.

Beginning to panic, I shuffled harder.  SHUFFLE, SHUFFLE.  Clothing was thrown from the bed, things knocked askew.

NO WALLET.

I stood above the disarray, panting. 

Robbery.

It was at this point that I was struck by insane rage.

I began pacing about the room, frothing at the mouth.  Thieves!  Bandits!  The scallywags!

Growling, I vowed that my wallet would be avenged.  I had just seen Taken a week before, so I had all kinds of ideas.

I. Would. Hunt. Them. Down.

Realizing my only potential weapon was a rather large hairbrush, and forcibly brushing their hair would only be effective if they were Rastafarians, I poutingly abandoned my plotting.

We took this as a sign of Vacation Failure, and got back on a bus to Buenos Aires.

I would like to insert here that at this point, we had not showered for approximately three days.

This did not stop the catcalls, which made me suspicious of their veracity.  In the defense of the hombres, none of the whistles came from within a fifty-foot radius.

It was on this ride home that the drug bust nearly occurred.  Here, they often stop buses to look at the luggage or check the documentation of the passengers (which is one of the reasons the thief also got my passport in my wallet, the brute). 

Evidently there was a thoroughly suspicious bag on our bus, as the Official Looking Men  stared it down for a half hour, and all the passengers were climbing over each other to watch eagerly out the windows.  Nothing came of this, but there was some intense staring for a good while.  The Drug Mafia must have psychically paid off the OLM.

We also stopped to eat dinner at a restaurant.  The kitchen was a warehouse.  Needless to say, it was a classy joint.  I plan to hold my wedding reception there.

Returned home and showered, much to the relief of the entire country.

The trip wasn’t a complete disaster, as I did return home with a backpack that has a long-necked animal on it (llama? alpaca? giraffe?) that I am madly in love with (there is a pouch for Tony, so he isn’t particularly jealous), and a t-shirt from a concert I didn’t go to.

Photos are forth-coming.

And for those who doubted my relationship expertise, I should like to inform you that through my methods, a consultee of mine is currently well on her way to becoming a Tanzanian princess.

As a final note, dear readers, please feel free to give me topics on which to write.  What would you like to read about?  I have many stories, and even more opinions, all ready for the sharing.

Where to begin?