W.B has some shitty luck and calls me a 'bastard' in German

Monday, 23 August 2010

dear stinky saukerl:

i was thinking about you quite hard when i took the ride to the airport in buenos aires.

mainly because it was like the ride from hell.

On the last moments in Buenos Aires and old photographs

Friday, 20 August 2010

When asked 'so how do you like Buenos Aires?!' by proud-faced portenos, I would stubbornly refuse to add to the gushing bluster that their fat fucking egos expect to hear from the city's tourists.

It's a captivating but frustrating place; at once chaotic and sanctimonious, prim, polished and polluted, loaded with both churches and telos (sex hotels), with thousands upon thousands of the most kind, hospitable people you could meet, all brushing shoulders with the thousands and thousands of distrustful, selfish arseholes that make up the rest of the city.

"You're flying to the other end of the continent tomorrow" ... "Oh. Cheers"

Wednesday, 18 August 2010

Tomorrow, I head to Colombia.

This morning, I had no confirmed flight, no accommodation and nothing better to do than sit in the children's section of an Argentinian bookshop on a tiny red chair.

Then, whilst trying to read a book about a little worm who crossed the sea in a paper boat, I received the text message I had been waiting for, with increasing scepticism, for the past 2 weeks.