potato tears

I just cried over my potatoes in a cafe where the owner and waitress laughed at my strange, small food order late at night after they had kept the cafe open just for me. I cried because I didn't want to be alone in Buenos Aires anymore. I didn't exactly want to go home to my room in my parents' basement and my lack of a job - I just didn't want to feel strange and uncomfortable anymore. Sadly, the uncomfortable feeling just continued on as I walked into my hostal to find that the patio outside the French doors that lead to the unheated bedroom that I am sharing with a Portuguese banker was filled with people talking and smoking. I had wondered upon introduction to my room if I would hear everyone eating breakfast outside my room. Now I realize that the open vents in my wall will not only let in the winter air here but also the sounds of animated Spanish conversations and Reggaeton (that's dancey music with a loud, incredibly repetitive beat and lots of base.) At this point there is nothing to do but laugh. I guess I'll have to go through the crowd outside in my pajamas if I want to brush my teeth and wash my face. I get to do that in a bathroom that has corrugated tin dividers which make me feel quite like a barnyard animal when inside.

Wow, I can't understand a word of the conversation outside my room. I think it's Spanish, but there is so much of it that I can't pick up a single thread of conversation even though it's loud enough that it might as well be in my bedroom. I'm feeling strange and uncomfortable, but at least it's funny now.

Summary = week #5 - Elissa is ready to go back to Huanuco and stay put in a place that is semi-familiar for a few weeks.

...the music just got louder. i don't think this is going to stop anytime soon. this is really funny.