danielbaylis.ca

Dear Family and Friends,

It’s been a bumpy week of reestablishing my health and trying to find my Argentinian groove. But despite the beautifulness of the city of Buenos Aires and the friendliness of my hosts, I hit a bit of a wall this week.

Just sayin’.

When I arrived to the home of my host on Tuesday to begin my April volunteer sork, I was escorted to the rooftop and into a little shed where I would sleep for the month. “How darling!” I thought – I was romanced by the randomness of calling a rooftop shack in Buenos Aires my home.  Little did I know that I would spend the night wheezing from the paint fumes, and slapping my exposed forehead to keep the opportunistic mosquitoes at bay.

The romance of the rooftop shack faded quickly, and I opted for a mattress on the floor of the office for the rest of the week. This was a minor improvement, but the new location also featured a cockroach, the smell of dog shit (long story) and the continued ravaging of my precious little, sweet-blooded Canadian face by ravenous Argentinian mosquitoes.

The kicker came, however, last night. My friend Chantal arrived yesterday from Canada, and I had opted to stay with her for a couple weeks, to optimize friend time and to escape the mosquitoes. After a quick saunter for ice cream and catch-up-chats, we settled into our surprisingly cheap hotel downtown (The Clan Hoouse) for the evening. As I lay in bed, happy to be in the company of a friend, my skin started to itch. At first I assumed it was the residual itchiness of the mosquitoes. But then it got worse.

I jumped out of bed, and went to the bathroom to see my arms swollen and covered in fresh bites. But this was not a case of mosquitoes, I presumed, this was a case of bed bugs. My suspicions were confirmed when I returned to the room and flipped on the light to inspect the sheets.

Ewwww – little crawlers on the sheets.

At 1:30 AM, we were on the phone to a different hostel, trying to find a bed. We received the recommendation of a previous hostel that I trusted, but were unfortunately full, and managed to nab a free bed. We arrived and had to visit three rooms, searching for one that had actually been cleaned by housekeeping. In the end we said, “Bring us clean sheets. We’ll put them on this bed. We need to sleep.”

All in all, it’s been a tumultuous search for decent rest here in Buenos Aires. And when I’m not sleeping well, I’m not functioning well. And these blog posts don’t shine as much as I’d like them to.

But what this post lacks in vintage Baylis wit, it makes up for in “ick-factor.”

Great.

*          *          *

When I travel, the distance from home often permits space for reconfiguring how my life might look when I return home.

The other night, I was sitting alone in a San Telmo café, nibbling on an alfajor and letting my mind wander to the multiple possibilities of what my life could look like over the next 5 years. I pulled out a pen and paper, and made a list of some of the elements that might be present in my post-2011 lifestyle: consistent yoga practice, a vegetable garden and the regular playing of music. Clearly, upon returning, I’m going to be the poster-kid for modern, middle-class perfection.

But it was comfort and consistency that I was craving. And, as I was sitting there, “Don’t Dream It’s Over” by Crowded House came spewing out of the stereo system – as if programmed by some great divine DJ, sending me a message to be present in the moment. It was, perhaps, a message from the world to get out of the future, and to come back to the here-and-now.

It’s been a series of days (and nights) that have left me feeling downtrodden. Yes, downtrodden, but not despondent. I recognize the bites of hungry bugs are all a part of international, low-budget, shared accommodation travel. I can deal with it. And, I’m even lucky enough to have a friend from Canada here to laugh about it all.

So things march bravely forward.

And, Mr. Great Divine DJ, for the record, I’m not dreaming that it’s over. I’m just saying that I want a good night sleep.

Is that too much to ask for?

With love and itchiness from Buenos Aires,

Daniel

Waking up Wednesday with my mosquito bitten face!

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