I now always pride myself on the fact that I USED to not be afraid of flying. That I'd hop on any plane of any size, fall asleep or read a book or make all sorts of friends. Now I'm more like the one tapping my armrests in sheer panic, looking around at everyone in my vicinity jealous that they'll die with a loved one or at least dressing less a slob than I, so obviously less stressed and better off. No wait, I AM exactly that one, and as much as I don't love the feeling, I've learned that having a little fear is good. I also learned this fear from my most beautiful best friend, so we can't fault me too much.
And that's a cute picture. At the park they show a warning poster of coatis robbing, scratching, biting and even a picture of one strangling a fellow coati and scratching his face with the most fearsome claws I've ever seen. Let's be real, these creatures "steal" things.
So being trapped on a tight metal walkway, surrounded on three sides soon to become four by these demon rodents, I was afraid. Not even considering that I was also surrounded by hundred foot waterfall drops and breathtaking vistas like this:
I went to Iguazú Falls yesterday, absolutely beautiful, and standing over the falls I really wasn't afraid of much. The problem arose when I was surrounded by at least three dozen coatimundis. They're this creature here
There was also a moment the other day when my friend and I realized we've never been afraid of walking around cities alone or as two girls who obviously aren't from there. We got on a city bus on this particular day in Buenos Aires and we're told by an albeit-slightly-psychotic man (I can say this because my mom is a psych nurse and she instructs us in spotting these types daily) to only go on this bus line going the opposite direction, north. We carry on, get off, walk through rundown neighborhoods, all for a concert in a beautiful concert hall. We leave the concert and are told by guards at the door that we could go to this other place because it's not quite night, but it's also not quite day so we should be careful. Finally fear took over and I decided I didn't care to see any of the sights we'd set out for. We headed home to drink wine.
Fear has crept in as I've ridden buses for 23 hours, mostly in the form of knowing that if a bus crashes while I'm in the putrid bathroom on board, that would be the worst way to die. Or when I see a really creepy man pull into the seat next to me at 11:00pm, 65+ years old, stomach hanging out of his rotten shirt as he sleeps, smelling like a dirty smoker's mouth, and toting a briefcase from the Brazilian Conference on Mastectomies. Yuck.
Where I really should have fear, and I will keep you updated as to whether this continues and what the results are, is in food and water. Argentines drink tap water, so I do too. That means I also eat street food and salad in restaurants. When the entire national cuisine is based on meat, meat, bread, fried meat, barbecue, and hamburgers, one has to get her nutrients somewhere. And how good does salad look next to what essentially is chicken fried steak?!
So I'll work on finding a balance between fear and loathing (myself, that is) and keep eating and drinking and moving about as I am comfortable. But if you want an adventure, come find me, I'm always more adventurous with a sidekick. I also make a great sidekick! Think on it...
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