So... we´re still in Bahia Blanca
It´s been kind of amazing how easily one day rolls into the next. After sleeping in the train station our first night here, we spent the entire next day hanging out in the park, occasionally talking about potentially making decisions, though when darkness fell, nothing was set. No one seemed concerned. There seems to be an overall and overwhelming consensus that everything will work out just fine. We found a pencion that had some beds available, but we also heard about a free crash pad for jugglers, but our only directions to find it were something like: "It´s over there somewhere." Lucy and Sam were walking around downtown, kind of looking for the place, but mostly wandering, when they decided to try asking someone. They stopped, turned around and the first person they asked said, "Yes. I know it. It´s my house."
Crazy! The first person they ask in a town that reportedly has about 500,000 people.
What are the odds?
And so we went to the crash pad.
I thought we´d only stay a night. I think this is the kind of assumption I need to stop making. Last night makes 4, and we´re still gathering information about getting out of here. Who knows how long it will take us to decide?
We´ve been spending our days basically the same way. Juggling is the activity we all share and therefore do most often, but then we all have our individual hobbies that fill up the rest of the time. And so the days just slip on by.
The space we´re staying in is pretty cool. It kind of reminds me of the Juggle Farm, or what the farm would have been like if it was in a giant warehouse. There´s a bunch of them where we are that were mostly abandoned when the economy tanked a few years back, though apparently, all of the utilities have remained on. Our host pays nothing for the space, and neither do we. This has definitely contributed to the fact that we´re still here.
The space is kind of dirty, which we all seem quite comfortable with, and is decorated with old circus flyers, cut-out stars and colorful swirls painted on the walls. We´ve been sleeping on mattresses scattered in one corner of the giant room that is sometimes used as a performance space. It´s a big space and must be great for shows, though I don´t think we´ll get to see one. The entrance to the building is a big sliding door adorned with stars and swirls on a muddy alley we entered through a broken-down wall also decorated with stars and old circus advertisements. There´s another sliding door on the opposite side of the building that opens onto a little backyard, patio area and some train tracks that can barely be made out through a thick patch of fennel that has overgrown as far down the tracks as I can see.
Our host is a gracious fellow named M. It´s difficult to guess his age though I´d put him past 40. He´s about 5´5", really skinny, drinks about 100 Mates a day, has scraggly hair to his shoulders, and the only thing he might love more than circus, is butt-rock. He´s a total headbanger and he´s not alone. People stop by all the time and they´re all into it too. From what we´ve heard, Argentina is big into rock and so we´ve been rocking since we got here. It was fun at first. It´s less fun now, though not unbearably so. Yet. But M is great and he seems to love having us here. His accent is kind of difficult for me to understand and even Sam has trouble with it sometimes, but we usually end up talking about music which works out. Sometimes though, and I´ve noticed this with lots of the Spanish speakers here, he´ll say a word in English, but with such a thick accent that I think it might be a Spanish word at first only to realize that he´s asking me if I know Boston, or L.A. Guns or some other crazy-hair band. Listening has become such an active part of my existence hear. It requires so much more focus.
But we should be out of here by Saturday. The cheapest way out is the train that leaves every Saturday that we just missed the Saturday before. This town isn´t the most culturally exciting, though we´ve all been pretty successful working. We´ve only done the one big group show, but we´ve all worked the stoplights at this point and its been pretty successful. More on that later. I´m hungry. Peace.
Crazy! The first person they ask in a town that reportedly has about 500,000 people.
What are the odds?
And so we went to the crash pad.
I thought we´d only stay a night. I think this is the kind of assumption I need to stop making. Last night makes 4, and we´re still gathering information about getting out of here. Who knows how long it will take us to decide?
We´ve been spending our days basically the same way. Juggling is the activity we all share and therefore do most often, but then we all have our individual hobbies that fill up the rest of the time. And so the days just slip on by.
The space we´re staying in is pretty cool. It kind of reminds me of the Juggle Farm, or what the farm would have been like if it was in a giant warehouse. There´s a bunch of them where we are that were mostly abandoned when the economy tanked a few years back, though apparently, all of the utilities have remained on. Our host pays nothing for the space, and neither do we. This has definitely contributed to the fact that we´re still here.
The space is kind of dirty, which we all seem quite comfortable with, and is decorated with old circus flyers, cut-out stars and colorful swirls painted on the walls. We´ve been sleeping on mattresses scattered in one corner of the giant room that is sometimes used as a performance space. It´s a big space and must be great for shows, though I don´t think we´ll get to see one. The entrance to the building is a big sliding door adorned with stars and swirls on a muddy alley we entered through a broken-down wall also decorated with stars and old circus advertisements. There´s another sliding door on the opposite side of the building that opens onto a little backyard, patio area and some train tracks that can barely be made out through a thick patch of fennel that has overgrown as far down the tracks as I can see.
Our host is a gracious fellow named M. It´s difficult to guess his age though I´d put him past 40. He´s about 5´5", really skinny, drinks about 100 Mates a day, has scraggly hair to his shoulders, and the only thing he might love more than circus, is butt-rock. He´s a total headbanger and he´s not alone. People stop by all the time and they´re all into it too. From what we´ve heard, Argentina is big into rock and so we´ve been rocking since we got here. It was fun at first. It´s less fun now, though not unbearably so. Yet. But M is great and he seems to love having us here. His accent is kind of difficult for me to understand and even Sam has trouble with it sometimes, but we usually end up talking about music which works out. Sometimes though, and I´ve noticed this with lots of the Spanish speakers here, he´ll say a word in English, but with such a thick accent that I think it might be a Spanish word at first only to realize that he´s asking me if I know Boston, or L.A. Guns or some other crazy-hair band. Listening has become such an active part of my existence hear. It requires so much more focus.
But we should be out of here by Saturday. The cheapest way out is the train that leaves every Saturday that we just missed the Saturday before. This town isn´t the most culturally exciting, though we´ve all been pretty successful working. We´ve only done the one big group show, but we´ve all worked the stoplights at this point and its been pretty successful. More on that later. I´m hungry. Peace.
posted by Zackataca at 9:25 AM
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