I’m on day 46 of my trip (I think). Since I last wrote I’ve swung briefly through the States, chilled out on a Honduran island in the Caribbean Sea, and am now in Argentina.
I’ll start with Miami, possibly highest on the list of the worst places I’ve ever visited! And I had to go twice! The only things I loved about South Beach, Florida were the gorgeous art deco buildings, the warm weather and my air ticket out of there. I spent one night in South Beach en route to Honduras. A brief stop, really only long enough to witness a hit and run and wander the local streets taking in the sights. I stayed at the Jazz hostel on South beach, a clean, cheap ($14AUD/night) hostel a block from the beach and ocean parade. The staff really didn’t seem to know their heads from their feet when it came to local information, but they were happy and friendly in their ignorance which made it hard to complain.
Canals of Tigre in northern BA.
Second stop in Miami was New Years Eve. Jazz Hostel had hiked its prices to a staggering $70AUD/night, and South Beach in general was teeming with people winding up for the following night’s celebrations. I had little more time with this trip, having arrived in the morning, so set out to soak in South Beach. The beach itself is very similar to our Gold Coast. Long golden beaches packed with people, the backdrop draped with high-rise apartments and hotels. Step back from the beach though, and that’s where things change. AIA – the avenue Vanilla Ice made famous – is amazing. Everything on the whole street has been pimped. The cars, the attitudes, the pimps; all pimped! Everyone behaves, or misbehaves as though they are stars in a TV show, or big name hip hop artists. I wouldn’t say South Beach lacks culture, instead it overflows with a type of pop, pulp MTV culture that is hard to take seriously.
I hung out at the news café on Ocean Parade, hoping to get a glimpse of one famous person; instead I saw thousands of people who all thought they were famous. News Café is a cheap flashy café with fantastic service and gay paraphernalia outlining the who’s , where’s and what’s of gay South Beach. However, after witnessing my second hit and run where the van, the scooter and the rider were all seriously de-pimped, I decided to blow off Miami, before I got a cap in my arse or a chance to taste the night life.
I hit Honduras to meet some mates for Christmas on an island in the Caribbean Sea. The Bay Islands are a group of three islands that belong to Honduras – politically. The largest of the Islands is Roatan and can be reached directly by air from Miami. Had I done my home work before my trip I would have known that and saved myself a bus ride through San Perdo Sula (in Northern Honduras) past armed cowboys in utes, houses with three-metre-high barbed wire fences and into a bus compound that had four armed guards manning it.
Colourful caminito in la boca, Buenos Aires.
Roatan is 65km long by 12km wide and is a tropical paradise readily being ruined by tourists like me. Until two years ago the West End was the pretty much the only area inhabited on the island, which is surrounded by the second largest coral reef in the world. Now, just about every green space on the island is up for sale. It’s cheap, with one Aussie dollar making up 17 Honduran lempiras. A bottle of beer is about 25-30 lempiras and unfortunately, a packet of ciggies is about 30 lempiras. It made it very hard to say no to both. So, Roatan: long hot days, sunsets that seem to last for hours and beautiful beaches lined with palm trees and bars with thatched rooves. Each bar pumps out reggae or the more local Garafuna music. The locals aren’t particularly warm with tourists – we are pretty much ignored by them in fact. The locals we did meet refused to speak Spanish, and balked at any suggestion of them being a part of Honduras. Their language is a type of pigeon English that can be understood only if it’s spoken slowly.
Fortune had it that on our second night there we came across the only local gay in the village (by her account, but maybe she was trying to keep three Sydney lessers to herself?!). Bernadette was not out to anyone on the island other than drug dealers and fugitive gangstas from the mainland. Whilst she said homosexuality is generally accepted in Roatan, I took it from the company that she kept that she was either a bad ass muther f*cker, or took friendship where she could get it. Nonetheless, she took us out with her homeboys to show us a good time at the local bar, Fosters.
Ever colourful, South Beach Miami.
If you are a local, this ramshackle place that juts out over the sea, is the place to be! Ice cold beer flows as beautiful Caribbean women shake their booty on the dance floor to the loudest, thumping Garafuna music I’ve ever heard (cause I hear it all the time back home). I’m not Madonna, but thought I could move to anything with a beat. Oh how my ego was shattered as within minutes I managed to clear an entire dance floor. The agony might not have been as bad had I actually noticed in time. Instead, I remained there surrounded by women aghast and men confused as I, with my eyes closed wiggled my skinny white girl hips like I was Beyonce! Drunken and disorderly we left with Bernadette in tow to continue the party back at our hut!
It’s so easy to get itchy feet when you have the whole world to see. I’m told this will abate as I’ve been away longer. But I had to leave Roatan to tango my way to Argentina, the land politically led by its female president, but in people’s hearts led by a coke-addicted has-been soccer star.
Now, I don’t profess to have seen much of the world at all. I’m not terribly worldly, and I’ve really only experienced Sydney and London’s gay scenes, BUT – I am going to make a bold statement and reckon that Buenos Aires may well be the gayest place on earth! Women wander down the Avendidas hand in hand and no one bats an eye. Young guys splash and mince about in plaza fountains and people don’t even turn their heads. It could be because it’s too bloody hot to kick up a fuss about anything in Buenos Aires, but the number of gay and lesbian bars in this town clearly indicates its OK to be GAY!
San Telmo was my home for the week. A hot, divey little hostel named appropriately, The End of The World Hostel. I was one of very few gringos in the place, with most of the inhabitants either South American students or young people who’ve landed in BA in search of prosperity. One of few gringos I was, but one of muchos muchos homos. The hostel population aligned with the estimated world stats, in that out of the 100 staying there I counted nine out poofs and little old me waving the flag for the girls. Nacho, my young gorgeous gay room mate told me that The End of The World is the place to be if you’re a poof that needs a place to stay in BA. At about $7AUD a night it’s a steal and checking out the art and decor of this hostel could be a day trip in the Lonely Planet unto itself.
Around the corner is The Pride Café on Balcare in San Telmo. It’s the only gay venue in Buenos Aires that opens before 8pm and its air-conditioned. A big bonus as BA´s temperature pretty much stayed at 41 degrees day AND night for the duration of my stay. It’s a quaint little gay-owned and run café with relatively cheap food. It has the pink press necessary for anyone who wants to find out what’s going on. The local mag Rhonda – yes, that’s right, Rhonda – is a must and outlines where to shop, where to eat, where to drink, where to go for a pre-dance and where to go for a dance.
There are so many things to do in gay B.A, and it all of a sudden seemed I had so little time! I picked the Flux bar in the central city, but arrived to find they had shut up for summer vacation – an act not out of the ordinary for Buenos Aires. It seemed many businesses had just closed up shop to head south for the beach.
Stop the Homophobia, government building, BA.
So with no luck there I decided on the girl bar with the sexiest name I’ve ever heard... Marlene. Marlene, in Once, has a bright purple exterior flagging to the world that it is a gay bar, but to enter you have to find the hidden doorbell and buzz it before a friendly big butch comes and escorts you downstairs. Downstairs to the decorated scout hall where the fittings and fixtures let this place down, but the friendliness of the crowd and the price of the beers make it well worth a visit! Beer isn’t sold on tap anywhere in Argentina, but a long neck (they call it a cervesa grande) will set you back $8pesos, which is about $3AUD.
It’s funny how a smile is the international language, because that is the only way I could communicate with my new friend who promptly threw me in a taxi to our next destination: Bar Bach, a great fun night club in Palermo with a good mix of guys and gals. Everyone seemed to know each other and like each other and not five minutes passed without being offered a drink by someone new. The place was still heaving at 8am when I stumbled out arm in arm with my five new Argentinian girl buddies!
Kitsch art in The End of the World hostel.
Gay bars aside, there is so much to do in BA if you can handle the heat and the humidity. In La Boca is the famous Caminito Street, lined with tango dancers and amazingly colourful buildings. In San Telmo is the Plaza Dorrego which is filled with bars offering al fresco dining as you watch the tango dancers or listen to the live jazz. Just out of town is Tigre, a picturesque little land of canals and islands where you can while the day away under a tree watching the world pass by. I lasted a week in the heat, but will definitely be back in BA before my trip is out.
Now I am on the Western side of Argentina near the base of the Andes in a town called Bariloche. It’s cold, it snowed yesterday and I’m staying right beside Lago Nahuel Huapi which is surrounded by snow-capped mountains which look ripe for adventure! I’ve just arrived, so will save my tales of the Argentinian Lake District and my adventures through glacier country for my next blog.
Until then, play hard and drink lots of water!
Kerro
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I’m on day 46 of my trip (I think). Since I last wrote I’ve swung briefly through the States, chilled out on a Honduran island in the Caribbean Sea, and am now in Argentina. 
