Like a Chameleon

While in Peru, I stood out as a gringa. Everyone knew that I wasn´t a local. In Chile, I blended in a lot more. In Argentina, everyone assumes I´m a local. I look more like a local than the locals do. All I need is a cigarette in one hand and a mate in the other, and I´m set. How do I know this? Because everyone asks me for directions. At least once a day, sometimes more. The other day, I was asked for directions twice in 20 minutes while waiting to meet someone. While waiting for Maribeth to change money on Saturday, a woman walked up to me and asked, ¿Vives aca? Do you live here? You´d think walking around with a pale blond English girl would give it away that I am not, in fact, a local, but even with Maribeth around, I´m still being asked for directions. And they go straight for me, while ignoring her. I usually just give them a blank look and say No se.

In other observations, Argentinians smoke more than you can possibly imagine. They also really really like their sweets. I can´t find a decent grocery store, but there are entire stores full of sweets all over the place. Argentina has the highest rate of eating disorders- or so I´ve heard- in the world, I guess because it´s all sugar and smoking.