Attack of the Lobster Tourists

Lately when it has rained in Buenos Aires, it has poured. Sky opens, cats, dogs, full-on goldfish, and every other domesticated pet that would serve as an adequate metaphor, will rain down. The streets flood in some zones, mainly the ones I live and go to school in, rather conveniently. So on Friday at 4:00 o’clock when the sky turned a violent purple as I was just about to start the long 45 minute trek home, I was not the only one preparing for the next water world. I did make it home, but the only thing that made it home dray was the water inside my water bottle (irony!).

The rain continued un-abated despite the fact that we had very set plans for enjoying that Friday night. Nor did the weather forecast look promising, it seems Friday was only the start of the mini monsoon. Well, there was nothing to do but flee the rain, wish it good riddance, and escape to the beach: Mar del Plata, a beachside resort with a sunny weather forecast. Only the brilliance of our plan idea didn’t dawn on us until 10:30 Friday night. Lucky for us, Argentina was a country made for accommodating last minute impulses, or just a country that never, ever sleeps. The 5 hour buses complete with semi-cama seats (comparable to business class avion seats) to Mar Del Plata leave all hours of the night. Which is precisely how we wound up on a reasonably crowded (with all types of normal, average people, thank you Mom) on a bus at 3:30 am bound for the beach...

Mar del Plata is the Buenos Aires of the beach, and a popular escape from the city. Arriving just before nine, and upon rolling out of our bus beds we were instantly charmed by the plentiful sunshine and sleepy streets with their lack of traffic and bustle. We would only find out later, after we were already enamored with our getaway spot, the streets were only empty because everyone, but everyone, was already at the beach. It was packed so full of people there was nowhere to place your towel, I’ve never seen anything like from Miami to California. I was never one for crowds, but I actually didn’t mind for once. There was a great vibe, the sun was out, everyone was strutting their stuff*-- there was a really community atmosphere, everyone was here to enjoy the beach, so what if we each only had our little portion of sand and sun? There were entire families from grandparents to young kids all crammed together in their plot, as content as could be. Friends or even strangers, like the guy in front of us who helped two girls install their parasol, were engaging in mate sharing circles as if drinking a steaming hot tea in a gourd was the only natural thing to do at the beach. Actually, there were beach stands everywhere advertising they provided hot water to fill aplenty mate thermoses.

However, there is a moral to this story. Jumping on the bus in the middle of the night and other crazy ideas can be very rewarding and spontaneous. However, jumping on the bus in the middle of the night, not sleeping well, and going to the beach can be dangerous. True story. Naturally within 20 minutes of sun after a long night of restless sleep, and with sand constantly being kicked around the best defense was to lay back and close your eyes. It was the perfect setting for a small nap. A small nap that turned into an hour of deep sleep, in the sun, in the same position, into the worst sunburn we three have every experienced in any of our young, and apparently careless, rather than carefree lives. There’s no other way to shout out tourist in a beach town than to limp and moan around like a bright red lobster. Reaching deep, REM cycle sleep (I know I was dead to the world) at the beach is probably never the brightest idea, less so in South America. Apparently that hole in the ozone we humans always like to pretend will never affect us, will. This hole is very realizable in South America, I’m still peeling three weeks later to prove it, hellooo skin cancer.

*Cultural note: The beaches and beachwear in Argentina march to their own latin infused beat, carrying a definite Brazilian tune. Brazilian bottoms or less seems to be the model; the suits were skimpy no matter who you were or what kind of shape you were in. And forget having modest swimwear for the over 40 crowd, that concept simply doesn’t exist here. Mostly the general view was funny, sometimes it was a bit more then one would wish to see, but all in all I had to admire the people who had the confidence to stick it out, whether they had something to flaunt or not, apparently “no shame, no gain” mentality really goes here.