Hospitality American and Argentinian style

by Anne King (Australia)

Making a local connection Argentina

I was 30, freshly divorced and inexperienced at overseas travel, about to embark on a great adventure that would redefine me and lodge in my memory banks forever. My worldly girlfriend Kat had persuaded me to backpack around the world. I had never left Australian shores before and was now diving into the unknown, to exotic places – South America, Egypt, India, Thailand, the Greek Islands. Just the sound of the words took my breath away. This was before the intrusion of the internet, when the world still held a hint of mystery. I never guessed that two of the highpoints would be forming human connections. We were waiting in a Las Vegas bar for an overnight bus to LA when a woman started a conversation with us because of our Australian accents. Carla was an Air Traffic controller at Buffalo Airport and, by a great coincidence, we would be soon winging into Buffalo. Carla generously invited us to stay with her in Darien Centre, a small town in Upper New York State. Her husband Paul, blissful unaware, was playing the tables in the casino. Five days later we were greeted by Carla and given a tour of the airport control centre. Later that night Paul and Carla had a dinner to attend, marking the end of the ten-pin bowling season. Before they went to dinner we were introduced to some locals at an adjacent bar. The General had a token system which allowed patrons to shout drinks; we were so popular as inhabitants of a quirky foreign land, that we accumulated a huge pile. When Carla and Paul arrived after dinner, we had gained celebrity status and were enthralling a crowd with our novel accents and stories. Upper New York State in winter was bursting with picture postcard snow scenery and Niagara Falls, partially frozen, breathtaking. We learnt how to make apple cider and indulged in Carla’s apple pie. Prior to meeting Carla, we had spent some time travelling on a Greyhound bus. Big mistake! The buses shelters tended to be in shabby neighbourhoods littered with even shabbier people. Until we met Carla, we had a very jaundiced view of America and Americans Our next encounter happened when we flew into Cordoba, Argentina burdened with our backpacks and weary after partying for a week in Rio. Whilst we were searching through a guidebook for cheap accommodation, I felt a tap on my shoulder. To my surprise I was offered a note, written on the back of my itinerary, with my photo attached! I had completely forgotten that one of my work colleges had regaled me with stories of his Rotary Exchange to Cordoba and his host, Gustav, and I had promised to look him up if I could find him. The note introduced the bearer, Mario, who was a servant of Gustav, but didn’t speak English. Mario was going to take us to Gustav’s country house in Carlos Paz. With some slight trepidation we jumped into the back of his car and embarked on a mystery tour. During our journey, as we zipped around winding roads with sweeping views of the countryside, we tried to engage Mario in basic conversation using our trusty Spanish translation book to no avail. We had no inkling of what was in store for us or how long we would be travelling. Two hours later we arrived at the “weekend house”, more appropriately labelled as a castle, complete with turrets and winding staircases up to the fourth-floor roof. Edging our way through the front door, we were warmly greeted by about 30 people, of all ages and gender, some who spoke English, but all remembered my colleague Neville. It was delightfully bewildering. What followed was a wondrous week. Gustav gave up his city apartment for us and moved in with his mother! The hospitality was overwhelming, we did not pay for anything – great restaurants, road trips, nightclubs and a farewell formal dinner with Gustav’s family. When heading to the airport Gustav’s girlfriend Adriana said, referring to the beginning of a shower,” Cordoba is crying because you’re leaving”. I am not sure about Cordoba, but we were close to tears, already missing our new friends.