I guess things kind of came to a head when they tried to buy me a prostitute.
Wait, let me backtrack.
After meeting up with my sister, and traveling with her for a few weeks, I ended up spending a few months in Buenos Aires working on my College Application essays, those good ole “Personal Statements.” I was staying at a hostel the entire time, Tango Backpackers, and it was right close to this neat little cafe. I had my sister’s computer, so I’d go down there every day during the week, order a tea, and get to the writing. After a few hours, I’d order a warm brownie with a scoop of ice cream on top (mm-mmm good), and that was my habit. It got to the point where I would walk in, and the waitresses would bring me my tea, and then a few hours later my brownie, without my even having to get a menu. Talk about consistency.
So when Mendoza, one of the hostel workers, stood up on a table during the weekly rooftop barbecue, and asked everyone to chip in a few pesos to by yours truly a “working woman,” it having come out that I was, at that point, a virgin, I knew that things had become far too consistent for a traveler to abide by.
If there is one thing I do know, it is this: patterns can be comforting, and easy, but falling into a routine can be treacherous for a backpacker. I’m glad I stayed in one spot for the purpose of writing those essays, not that I really dedicated myself too hard to them (only got accepted to one out of the five places I applied to, heh), but having the same daily ritual was, in retrospect, a drag. So, within a week or so of that dinner, I jumped ship and went north to Brazil, land of sketchy ghettos, mostly beautiful women (in skimpy swim suits), and monotonous food.
Besides, they only managed to raise about $3.00, a stick of gum, a cigarette, and a condom.