BanksInArgentina

Well would you look at that.   It would seem that I have spent almost an entire year abroad here in the delightful country of Argentina.  It doesn’t feel that long.  Oh no.  On the contrary.  Feels as if I arrived yesterday. Time passes so rapidly that its difficult to believe.  It feels like my AFS venture is being cut right in the middle of its prime.  There is still many more fascinating people to get to know,  places to visit, incan villages to be explored,  obscure brands of craft beer to be investigated(and consumed)  spanish to be spoken and despite all my efforts, there are still massive quantities of the argentinean population who still dont know how to perform the haka.  I leave on the 16th to Buenos Aires to attend the leaving camp and head off home on the 19th I believe.   Not too keen on leaving for home truth be told.  I am potentially weighing up the option of burning my passport and escaping  to the depths of the jungle where I will find a savage cannibal tribe to live with..    Much more appealing than going to University.

So, I’ve spent the last few weeks doing wee excursions around the place with my felow afsers  to little colonial villages in the salta region and In JuyJuy as well.   That, and buying enough fridge magnets for africa. ( haha because thats exactly what the starving nation of Somalia needs, amusing hand painted llama magnets)  And of course trying to hone my spanish language skills to the highest level possible before my departure.  Thanking to my estudying and speeching of espanish now I no understand very mucho ingles.  In all seriousness, the other day I completely forgot what the following words meant, alleyway, snooping,  nefarious, template and meandering.  I should probably just change my name permanently to Mateo.  Good riddance.

Here are a few photos from my trip to the province of JuuJuy.  The people in the photos are my fellow exchange students from Salta.   Pretty neat scenery huh.

I finished my academic year at the School of Jean Piaget on the 11th of December.  I didn’t do much homework.  I was too busy teaching my class mates to swear with enough vulgarity to nauseate a sailor.   Imma miss the people but to be honest it was really boring most of the times because the teachers never gave me things to do and you can only occupy yourself so much with your own spanish coursework  from home etc.   Big shout out to my two Bench mates Koro and Dario (even though I somehow have my doubts they will ever see it)

Another mentionable fiesta that went down here in Salta was that of New Years.  Sweet jebus those Argentines sure do know how to throw a good night.  The party/writhing horde of intoxicated dancing south americans was held in a  stadium called gimnasia y tiro in middle of town.   The problem is that the three biggest clubs in town  (Clubroom, Club XXI and Wasabi) had a bitter fight over the rights to host one the biggest celebration of the year.  So eventually they settled on spliting  up the stadium into three different tent covered  sectors,  each with its own music, DJs and comfy padded armchairs (no kidding).  Anyway, it was a properly spiffing night out and I didnt get home until 8.30am. ( do you see what argentina does to you?)

A hazy photo from new years.  No one remembers exactly what happened that night or what we did or who we were with but we were able to get somewhat of an idea by looking through facebook photos and searching our pockets to find receits,  phone numbers, pamphlets and tickets to boliches.  Kinda like the Hangover,  except we didnt have a monkey that likes to nibble on penises.

Jajajajajajajaja  Que culio

Seeing as though tonight is the last Saturday of the year I shall go out to the Balcarse for one last night of pura joda in the form of adult beverages, dancing and staying out till sunrise.  For those of you delightful people who don’t know, the Balcarse is in fact a street of the same name full of pubs, nightclubs, restuarants that positively buzzes with loud music,  the chatting of diners and lairy drunk people until roughly 7.00am.  The ritual of an Argentinean night out is as so,  first of all you head out to a cosy wee bar with all the gang and order a round of litre bottles of beer to share, usually accompanied with peanuts and chips.  After a few hours have been passed drinking and generally being merry its off to the boliches or nightclubs  at around 1.00 1.30.    People generally dance to cumbia http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9PPpVJYyIsA  Reggaeton http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=guhjoEs7XIs&feature=related  and a bit of classic american party songs thrown in for good measure.    People leave the clubs round five then tuck into a good hotdog or pancho before heading off home.   Man I’m really gonna miss hitting the town,  the nightlife has definatly been one off the highlights of my experience.

I also finished my course at a Spanish language institute in town.  It was massively helpful to have someone to help me along the rather difficult road of learning another language.    Thanks a lot to my teacher Carmen.

As I am typing this blog in this very moment the time is 2.14am and my flight to Baires leaves at 8,  so I best head off and grab a little shut-eye.   Thankyou to the city of Salta for undoubtedly the best year of my life so far.  I will hopefully get to visit you some time in the not too distant future.   No words are able to express just how much I am going to miss your people, places, customs, culture and life style.  I learnt so much about myself and I am truly grateful that I was given the opportunity to undertake this year as an exchange student.

Chau mi querida Salta,  te voy a extrañar un monton.

Hasta la proxima, Matthew John Clark Banks.

Hola, Como andan dear readers of my blog?  Very well, I hope.  It would appear that I have have not updated my blog for nearly 3 months.  My deepest apologies to swarthes of people around the globe who religiously follow it haha.   There is much to tell, in all truth quite a lot has happened here in Argentina over the past few months.  Ive changed familes, thus having to adapt to completely different rhythem of life and people,  scored a try against the fearsome Tigre rugby club, busted out some fresh dance moves downtown and taught every second person I met a Maori war dance called the Haka (its actually more of a medley of various maori dances I learnt at school I was a kid,  but they dont need to know that haha)  Oh, and we won the Rugby World Cup.

Before anything else its fair to say that my exchange year is coming to a close.  With a bit less than two months remaining I can already feel a lump growing in my throat as the day that I will have to depart from the beautiful land of Argentina draws ever closer.   I find it hard to believe that I have lived the past 9 months of my life here In Salta.  It is staggering how quickly the time passes.  Its somewhat cruel really,  just as the place is begining to feel like home,  I have to start developing the mentality that my time in Argentina is limited and oh so precious and that well, nothing lasts forever.

Quite frankly I would be delighted to tell you why I was forced into changing families but the exact reason still remains somewhat shrouded in mystery.  Throughout the year various factors were making it increasingly difficult for my family to continue hosting me.  Their son had gone to germany on the exact same exchange program as me, AFS.  That meant that money was extremely tight.  The family were not exactly swimming in cash anyway but the added presure of financing their son abroad in Germany where a loaf of bread costs 8 trillion dollars really didnt help.  It got so bad that sometimes there quite simply was nothing to eat.  I was forced to eat my left arm to stay alive.  Wasnt very tasty.   I just dont think they were ready financial or mentally to accept an exchange student like moi.  And so some strings were pulled and we said our goodbyes and I walked out the door.  Ive now moved from the humble neighbourhood dwellings of San Remo to the bright lights and well groomed hedgerow sof Tres Cerritos.  My new family in its entirety consists of seven although 3 of the seven have gone off to uni in other provinces of La Argentina.   Marisa my host mother is a retired school teacher who has become a full time madre.   Giyo the father,  is as far as I know the owner of a nightclub and car dealership, he has his fingers in many a different pie.  15 year old Tomas is a athletic representative for Salta and he recently competed in nation wide tournament.  He did pretty well.  11 year old Juan likes to play Call of Duty, and eating.   Diego is studying in Cordoba,  Belen in Tucuman and Mariela in Buenos Aires.  The three university kids come and visit every now and then but the distance makes it difficult to do so.   Ive been living with them for the past month or two and I seem to have settled in nicely.  This house actually feels like a home.

Gathering in In Tucuman to celebrating birthday of Mariela (person holding cake)The girl at the bottom right is called Belen, she is studying architecture in tucuman. And her boyfriend (Between Tomas and I)Here we have YiYO (on the left in the light coloured shirt) Tomas and older brother Diego.  Plus we have a special appearance by random kid on the left who has nothing to do with the photo.

Something that has obviously been quite difficult about my year abroad is missing out on all the happenings back home.  I gotta say that Facebook really has been a morale killer coz ye see, I am informed about everything that happens wether it be something insignificant like someone‘s get together or something huge like the leavers assembly for my Year.  It really is a pity that so much must be sacrificed in order to spend a year overseas.

Other notable things that ive done recently include an expedition to the magnificent Iguazú falls.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iguazu_Falls.  I went with a travel company called conocer a la argentina.  I had the pleasure of sharing my experience with an italian guy named Guido and a german girl who goes by the name of Alma (her name mean soul in spanish pretty cool huh).  We had the option of travelling to the province of jujuy as well as iguazu but that seemed rather silly seeing as though its situated right next door and I can visit it any old day.   So us salteñeans joined the tour at a later stage by busing straight to the city of puerto iguazu (the port of iguazu) in the province of missiones http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archivo:Provincia_de_Misiones_(Argentina).svg.  As you can see in relation to Salta on the map its quite a long way to travel.  We undertook the journey in two 12 hour stints, sleeping in the province of Resistencia as a halfway point in the house of an afs volunteer.  He also showed us downtown Resistencia which was cool but I couldnt take any photos because I didnt bring my camara out with me.  ¡’Que Boludo que soy!.   We also stopped off along the way to engage ourselves in some amusing outdoor activities such as Rappelling down a mini waterfall and cascading through the tree canopy in a flying fox.  Great stuff.

This is a kinda like a flying fox, but en serio.

Me looking rather dashing as I am about to be hurled above the jungle at frightening speed

Us rappelling down Iguazu‘s younger cousin.  Jeff.

Our faithful green truck that ferried us around the Argentinian jungle

As for the falls themselves, they were truly spectacular. Im not normally one to get all gushy about the natural scenery of a place but trust me when I say that Iguazu is jawdroppingly beautiful from every angle.  The sheer magnitude of water falling was mindboggling and the booming of thousands of cubic feet of water consumed the air and conquered our eardrums. A fine mist of water is everpresent as you scale the various walkways and paths that snake their way throughout the dense subtropical rainforest.  You get properly soaked.

Just some guy.

Three New Zealanders.

AFS People.

My own stunning photography.

People precariously poised on a skinny and slippery walkway that would most certainly lead to death if they were to fall.  When I was there I saw 27 people tumble over the edge into the precipice.  Perhaps the health and safety people should hire a man with a long hooked pole to grab people by the scruff of the neck just before they’re about to plummet to their doom.  I suppose they also have the option of raising the height of the barrier but nah,  that would be just silly.

Next time I update this thing I will give you an insiders report the workings of an Argentinean Asado or barbeque and I shall also explain to you the reader the delights and mortal pleasures of  la calle Balcarse to the Salteñean in the know.  If all goes to plan I will try to write more things on my blog seeing as though my exchange is drawing to a close.

One thing that always makes me smile is watching a team of fully grown french rugby players crying like children.  Dulce Victoria

Hope all is well, Matthew.

Hey loyal blog followers, ¿como va?   All continues to be pretty swell here in the land of Arg.  At the moment my life revolves around college, learning spanish, rugby, outings on the town and trying to live as an argentine in the beautiful Ciudad de Salta   My year long exchange program has now reached its halfway point, with the completion of six months here in South America.  My word, feels like I arrived yesterday.

Here in argentina my academic pursuits consist of ocasionaly writing down a few sentences of what the teacher says, having siestas and teaching my classmates to swear in english with enough vulgarity to nauseate a sailor.  But alas, the long arm of education has converged upon me with a vengeance and confronted me with the age old question of  ” just what the hell am I going to do at university?”.  I change my mind every few days.  Perhaps I will relenquish a life of knowledge and prosperity and become a deranged hermit who lives in Wilton’s bush.  Who knows.

A few weeks ago I flexed my literal and metaforial muscles as a fisherman and general wilderness explorer when I embarked upon a perilous expedition to a glorious lake in a forest called La Viña with my host father and a few of his tobbaco-chewing  yokel buddys.  We stocked up on essential supplies such as pringles, butter rum toffies and fernet and ventured deep into the argentine badlands.  After a 5 hour journey and 30min trek through dense and spine-ridden undergrowth we arrived at their special lake-side fishin‘-spot.  We spent the day casting rods and sipping fernet and coke,  marvelous.   It would have been a  truly picturesque scene if it wasn’t littered it with cans, rubbish bags and empty wine boxes.  While I may not be a dreadlocked, tree hugging hippie, I have to admit that they seemingly had no regard for the environment or the cleanliness of the lake.  They nonchalantly burned small mountains of plastic bottles, tossed cans in the lake and left enough wrappers to choke every manatee in the sea.  I dont want to seem overly virtuous or holier than thou but the place was filthy purely because people couldnt be assed picking up their trash.  Be a tidy kiwi aye.

Anyway, the ranks of my fellow AFS students have diminished considerably with the departure of…  well, basically everyone.   I arrived here in Salta around febuary with 3 others, Yuka from Japan, Krit from Thailand and Ardsley from The States.  There was about 7 others, but they only had about5 months left until they had to return to their countries.  So now we are only three, myself Krit, and of course Yuka, but I dont know if she really counts, shes kind of elusive and mysterious.   She maintains an enigmatic and intangible persona, somewhat like the Ninjas of her native land.  Anyway, we hired out a local function place and had a bit of a farewell party.  We were all told to bring a botte of something as entry.  Some guy brought an 8 litre keg of Heineken and suddenly everyone became his friend ahahaha  It was certainly a memorable night, full of potent beverages, dancing, me trying to dance and drunk people running into bushes.

My loyal blog readers will also be properly chuffed to hear that I made  a pasta last night.  It was pretty damn tasty with a delightful combination of onions, bacon, mushrooms and red peppers but disaster struck when the pasta became a bit soggy due a moments lapse of concentration in the boiling process.  It was a crying shame.

I also went to the birthday party of a fella who goes by the name of Nicolas Barrio.  So yeah, HB good sir.  We all headed on down to the Balcarse club district and set ourselves up in a cheery little pub called the Hairy Lemon Bar and ordered copious amounts of cranberry juice and fairy bread.  In the early hours of the morning as the festivities were drawing to a close, a bit of a riot broke out.  In spanish it could be called a riotita.  People were throwing bottles everywere, shouting, and generally trying to maim and brutalize anything and anyone that moved.  Their cant of been more than 15 people involved and while the fight lacked in size it sure as hell made up for intensity and violence.  It continued for a good ten minutes but in the end the police turned up in their impresionante armoured bus thing and dispersed the louts with baton unt shield.  Top stuff Rozzers!!!

Every day that passes brings the Rugby World Cup ever closer, which makes me want to curl up into a little ball of depression.  I have resigned myself to the fact that my world cup experience will be seen through the faded, slightly cracked screen of my 30 year old television.  Sob.

De la puta madre, wish I could be there.

Nos vemos, Mattiu.

A few days ago these two badass cowboy dudes (both of them had a machete) came to dance at our school on the Dia de la patria or National day.  On this day all things Argentine are celebrated with patriotic fervour.  In my region of Salta the legendary Gauchos are still held in high esteem.  Strong silent heroes who came to fight for their homeland  during the Argentine war of independence between 1810 to 1818.  They are all dancing Baile Folklorico which as you may have deciphered,  means Folk dayncin.  I suppose it could be described as a dance style that emphasizes local folk culture with incorporated ballet characteristics, pointed toes and exaggerated movements.  Perhaps one could further illustrate that for the most part Baile  Folklorico is highly choreographed.  Well done Wikipedia, excellent team work.

My word. I havnt updated this thing for nearly a month.   Procrastination sure is an evil mistress.

So, lets get down to it.   ¿What in the name of jebus is a Quince?  I know thats the question that has been plauging your minds for the past few weeks.    Shhhh, Sit still.   I shall explain.  So, a Quince is a HUGE party to celebrate a girls coming of age or passing into the realm of womanhood.  You get the idea.  And so on the 25th of May I was invited to one  by a girl whom I had never spoken to before.  So, I  reluctantly used my international celebrity status to get some free cake and booze.   The celebration was held in a chinese diner called Yummy Chums, Pure class.  They filled up the whole place with silk laden tables for 8 with plenty of pink lace.  Yours truely and one hundred or so others peered into the glittery balloon infested restuarant as a less-than-delicately-framed bouncer ordered us to form a line.   The doors were opened and we stampeded inside and claimed our seats.  We mingled, wined and dined for a few hours, there was a ridiculous amount of food and then a team of highly-trained giant otters cleared away the tables to create a dancefloor.    I cant remember what type of dance it was, either reggageton or cumbia, you had to get down really low and sway you hips from side to side, not easy for my 6foot5 self, but had a good time trying haha.

Later on they had  the official ceremony where 15 of the girls closest friends all held candles in a circle (to represent each of the 15 years of her life).  She walked around and blew each one out, thanking that friend for being with her through the good and the bad etc.  And then all the male relatives descended upon the poor girl for a traditional waltz.  It was pretty embarrassing, one of her uncles thought he could dance.  He couldnt.  Check out this video of the candle lighting ceremony. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-uSZp5yCv8

Also we had another AFS camp.  All pretty routine.  Heaps of exchange students from Salta and JuyJuy gathered at a holiday park called Las Cabañas de Sol to do some role playing exercises and have a bit of heart-to-heart.  We did a little skit thing, we were told a girl would like to go on a date with another boy but it turns out he is muslim and her family are jewish.  We had to act out how her parents would react to her bringing him home.  I met a guy from argentina who is going on an exchange to new zealand, he spoke pretty decent english and he tried to teach me a card game called Truco which was one of the most complicated games I had ever seen.  I also warned him about the dangerous realm of Porirua and advised him to give it a wide berth unless he wants to relinquish his shoes to a 13 year old Machete wielding delinquent.

This is a photo of me pretending to be a car.

Contrary to popular belief, I am Not,

My family and I travelled once again to the province of Tucuman to spend Fathers Day/Dia del Padre in the home of Marcelo my host uncle.  Along the way we saw a convoy of gigantic military tanks, it was pretty impressive.  But then again anything would be impressive when you consider the fact that New Zealands army consists of four sheep with sharpened hooves.  We also passed by a lake where there was a bungy jumping bridge haha.  We watched one guy pussy out and demand that he be taken off the platform.  He was mercilessly heckled by his family hahahaha.  Whilst in tucuman I continued on my epic quest to find rugby boots that actually fit me.  Size 13 is basically impossible to find anywhere I search.

I also had a wander round downtown with Hugo and his cousin.  There was a really beautiful central plaza and a proper cool restuarant which was like subway‘s long lost hotdog cousin.  The deal is you buy a plain footlong dog and pile on whatever the hell you please.  Corn, rice, assorted salad, meat, sauces and crispy bacon bits.  I wish I could‘ve taken a photo of the deliciousness but I didnt have a camera.  In town a man kept trying to sell me a pink Hannah Montanta unbrella.  He just wouldnt give up, in the end I politely told him to piss off.

Just down the road from Marcelos house, a little girl was kidnapped by a drugged up burgler.  It was insane, there were policemen with guns swarming over the place and checking wheeliebins and bushes in a frantic effort to find him before harm was done to the little girl.  I have no idea what happened to the girl, hopefully she was alright.

The other day I was asked if I could perform the Haka in middle of a crowded shopping mall.  I think not.  I would sooner massage toothpaste into my eyes.

Hasta la vista amigos, Mattiu.

A certain air of menace has descended upon the Torres-Diez Gomez family.  Thats because my host brother has become a criminal.  A genuine criminal.  The story is as follows.  Hugo and 8 of his underage school chums were enjoying a few adult beverages on the sidewalk in celebration of a friends birthday.  But chaos ensued when someone cAlLed dA pOLICE.    Obviously I did not witness these events take place and therfore I can not be certain as to whether they are true or not.  What I can tell you is that Hugo came home looking pretty shaken up and with a chip up on his shoulder towards ze boys in blue.  Basicaly two baton toting officers stormed up to the group and ordered them on the ground.  Hugo hesitated (understandably) and one of the cops swung his bashy stick and began cuffing anything that breathed.  Hugo said everyone was taken back to the station and breathtested.  He also said one of his friends ran away from the scene and was caught and beaten up (I dont know to what extent).  Hugo was processed, given an official warning and released back onto the streets a hardened criminal.  I would like to reiterate that I can not sure of that story’s validity.  It’s just what I heard.  Hugo also recieved the silent treatment from Sylvia for about a week.

Rugbys coming along swimmingly.  It turns out I am going to assume the position of lock.  Training is every tuesday and thursday.  Rugby is played in a massive sports complex near my house called Jockey.  Theres a dizzying array of sports fields, turfs, courts and centres.  Hockey, football, tennis, lacrosse, squash, basketball and competitive marmot racing.  It has it all.  To all you aspiring locks out there, it seems the idea is to keep your legs together, back straight, and not to flinch when two of your team mates thrust you high into the air.  Every saturday I go along to our games .    To far flung suburbs I travel, with Papa Abel in his badass red truck.  Often getting lost.  Often wishing we had GPS.

The other day my team won the whole rugby league.  The season seemingly finished and started with no break inbetween.  So we just keep on playing and training as normal.  Ive never plyed a game before and im already a champion rugby player haha.  After we won, there was much jubilant celebration and the whole team went out for the night. The ladz nd I went downtown to the bar and club district called Balcarse.  We scoped out a Boliche (disco/club) and I had a great time celebrating something which I had nothing to do with and put no effort towards.  The club was booming with Reggageton.  Which sounds kinda like zis http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5zdwImXOuo.  There were hordes of girls in criminally short skirts.  Some of them applied their makeup using the ”smear with crayon ” method.  Nearly everyone thought I was German. Don’t even get me started.  We went all headed towards the floor and got our groove on.  I dance as well as a drunk, epileptic foal on ice haha.  I unleashed such timeless classics as “snake eyes ” and “stir the cauldron of love”  Here in Argentina its perfectly normal to go out at 12pm, dance and drink until 6am, have a bite to eat and  then wander home around 7 haha.  I am not complaining.

I am also realizing how much I miss NZ.  I would swear in front of the Pope for some Fish and Chips.

My spanish is progressing nicely, im going to  have a look at a language school that mum showed me.  Cheers mum.  Although sometimes it can seem a little patchy.  Especially when people talk really fast or ask me wierd or unexpected questions.  Such as, ¿Have you ever been dogsledding?  haha someone actually asked me that.  The other day in economics I was surrounded on all sides by incredibly attractive girls.  I was surprised at how quickly my spanish evaporated

This weekend I have been invited to a quince (pronounced Keen-se)  I will tell you exactly what that is and how it went in my next blog update.  Hows that for a cliff hanger?

Thankyou both to Julie and Nelson, and Jess for sending parcels of goodness.  They were very well recieved.  The little knitted Kiwi was pure class.

Yours truly, Matthew Johnathan Clark Banks VIII

Good day to everyone. Recently, I read Hairy Maclary From Donaldson’s Dairy to my 5 year old host brother, I am happy to report that his favourite dog is Schnitzel von Krumm, and that he was suitably terrified by my Scarface Claw impression. Just in case Ive somehow acquired some new followers from Moldova, this is the book I be tawkin bout. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hairy_Maclary

The other day I visted the cathedral in the town centre. Pink and white marble with ornate spirals snaking up its pillars and strikingly beautiful internal dome structures. It was a really impressive piece of architecture. There was an abundance of pious looking priests roaming about the place engaging in religious activities. One of them was sporting a Friar Tuck bowl cut. It was pretty banging. I walked around the place for a while but eventually I became tired and I bit bored so I sat down on a bench and started thinking about Jessica Alba. Im pretty sure the statue of Jesus started scowling at me.

I certain degree of normality has ensued in my daily routine. I get up around 6.30 every day. Have no breakfast, do my makeup and catch the bus to school. I basically just go to whichever class I want. Ill be like, ¿how about some philosophy this fine morning?,or ¿perhaps some applied physics?. Here the teachers change classrooms, which means youre stuck in the same seat all day. You get a 5 minute break every 40 minutes. School goes from 8am to 1pm. For lunch I make my way to little canteen shack, buy 5 sandwiches and devour them in a ravenous orgey of ham and cheese.

I went to the gym for the first time in like 6 months. I started off fine, but towards the end of the session my limbs and muscles surrendered and decided to flee for the hills. Oh my lord how I ached the next day. I have now decided that exercise is bad and that im going to sit on the couch and eat M&M’S all day. Oh, thats not possible because Ive started playing rugby. Theres a club about 5 minutes from my house and one of my host brothers school friends took me along to one of the training sessions. My rugby experience consists of watching a handful of All Blacks matches and messin bout with a ball in PE class. Basically I have to learn from scratch. So, late on a Tuesday afternoon I went along to training with a guy named Negro who I had never meet before. We meet the coach, Aldo, at the gate. He is a man who personifes the shark. Built like a fortress, with rows of razor sharp fangs and a dorsal fin. I bet he eats kittens for brekfast. The man-shark shook my hand and introduced me to the team. I nodded approvingly at those who were wearing AB jerseys. Someone blew a whistle and everyone began running around the field. I stayed behind with the team manger to discuss where I was going to start. For the first session we just practiced basic passing and tactics. It wasnt too hard. But I have much to learn. Fear not, loyal blog readers, for you will be updated soon on my rugby progress.

I also went to the Salta history museum in town. It was mostly antique ceramic pots and bronze coins, which did not get my pulse racing. I would give it a 3/10 on the highly complex Matthew Banks Museum Rating Formula.

Once again, we drove to the province of Tucuman to spend easter with Marcelo, who is the brother of my host mother. Along the way we made a detour to view a massive outdoor religious performance. The show was held in a beautiful natural amphitheatre.   It basically told the story of the life of Jesus, I think. Even if it was in english I still would have had trouble following,  Im not exactly evangelical. All in all, the performance was pretty good and definitely not lacking in the action department, there was a stampede of nuns, a man on a horse and the part where roman soldiers become a bit stabby with JC was highly realistic.

It was a routine road trip. Along the way we stopped for fuel, chewing gum,toilet breaks and photographs. Normal. But on the way back home, as we were crossing the border into Salta, we witnessed a motorcycle crash. It was fucking bad. The bike just ploughed into the back of a 18 wheeler truck and the dude was thrown into the air. We were about to get out and help but a customs officer told us to move on. I dont think the rider died, but he was in real bad way.

Sorry Jepson I havnt assassinated Maradona yet, but dont worry, thats scheduled for next Thursday.

Hasta luego Chicos, Mateo.

Last week I experienced first-hand a South American football match.  The fans were less than subdued and the atmosphere was more than electric.  You have to remember that this is only a small provincial team.  Bigger games in bigger cities are 10 times the smoke, passion and noise.  The game was between Central Norte (us) and Cordoba.  The arena had terrace like seating for around twenty thousand.  The team mascot is a magpie and at half time they had this funny little man running around the field covered in black  feathers haha.  On paper Cordoba was the better team so we did well to win 2 nil.  Also an intoxicated man with no shirt gave me a smoke stick (like the ones in the video) and so I held it aloft with pride for my new football team.  ¡Santo Puto!

Recently, we went to a video arcade and I won 5 nil in airhockey.  Hoo.  Ray.  As my more loyal readers will know, it was my birthday not too long ago.  Friends who did not send a birthday parcel will be deleted from Facebook.  Guess what some people got  me for my present?  A packet of gum.  I wept tears of joy.   I mean, it isnt necessary to splurge on me like that.  A packet of mint Topline really is a bit overkill.    Also, a lot of people here think Im German.  The other day, an Austrian tourist shook my hand in town and verbally confronted me with a foreign tongue that was presumably German.  Strange.  I dont know if its because I look German or the way I speak, its a bit of a mystery.  If I remember correctly, one of my brothers rowing friends back home  used to refer to me as “your German exchange student brother”  haha.  Quite a few people from school and some of Hugos friends ask me, what part of Germany are you from?  Then I shake my head and explain that I am from New Zealand, blank faces is usually what I recieve.  The other day,   I told a guy who asked if I came from Berlin (not kidding) that in 2004 NZ honourably became the 51st state of America, I explained we are situated to the north-east of Latvia. That our national sport is bird-watching and that our primary export is Pine nuts.  He lapped it up and said he might consider a visit.  Serves him right for not knowing anything about the glorious nation of nuew zulind.

We didnt have school last Friday because of the Falklands War memorial day.  Argentina lost 649 young men, most of them 18 year old conscripts. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Falklands_War.  Here the islands are called Las Malvinas and the Argentines firmly and bitterly contest the British soveringty.  I asked one of my dads friends what he thinks of the English.  I would love to publish what he said but I cant go above PG13.  Otherwise my sponsers would desert me.   It doesnt surprise me that there were no British students at the arrival camp.

I saw a ruthless looking policeman/Imperial stormtrooper with a shotgun in town today.  I sat down on a park bench to observe his movements.  I was only there for a few minutes and I saw him shoot dead 7 jaywalkers.  I hate to imagine what he does to people who litter.

As of yet, I havent recieved anything in the way of packages or parcels.  The post system is notoriously bad here in South America, so hopefully it will come through.  Or maybe a vertically challenged customs officer with a moustache named Jorge Lopez is gorging himself on my precious cargo of Pineapple Lumps as I type.  I will hunt you down sir, and pilfer some biscuits from your cupboard.  Vengeance will be mine.

Happy Birthday Mum.

Untill next time, Matthew John Clark Banks.  (Hilarity ensues when the argentines try and pronounce my full name jaja)

Last night there was a Rock and roll concert in town for memorial day.  The concert was held for the memory of the some 15,000 missing people in the so called dirty war, from 1976 to 1983.  It was a civil war between students and militia.  Ugly times.   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dirty_War

I took the bus into town with Hugo and a neibourhood friend called Maxi.  We walked to the main street called Balcarce where the stage was set up and discovered that we were the more or less the first ones there and so we lingered with anticipation for about 20 minutes until the first band got started.  It was pretty docile to begin with but as the night progressed, more people arrived and more adult beverages were consumed.  Eventually it became an undulating tide of argentines.  There was about one thousand people packed into the  main street balcarse.  Ludicrosity.   Its entirely possible that I was the tallest one there.  Which came in handy when at the end,  I caught one of the drumsticks of the main act.  I was quite pleased.  I wish I had taken photos but I could barely stand, let alone operate a camera. There was about ten bands and they were all genuinely good.   Some of them were a bit too screamy and tatooey for me but I put my hands up in the air nonetheless.  The concert finished late at night and we returned home with Tinnitus.

Chau, Mateo