The Wait

  6:47am - I leave the house and walk up to the entrance of my barrio. I take a seat on the grass. It's a beautiful early Monday morning (if such as thing exists) and the week dawned upon me with a crystal blue sky. I was awaiting a taxi that would come and pick me up and take me to Capilla del Señor to work as a councillor on another camp. The idea of a taxi picking me up and driving me directly to the camp location, as opposed to negotiating a number of local buses and their awkward timetables, was a complete luxury. Even the 6:10am wake up couldn't bring me down, and the fact I'd managed to get myself ready and out the house with time to spare was pat on the back moment.

  It was going well.

  The taxi was due to pick me up at 6:50am. I wasn't stupid though, I knew that could mean anything between 6:50am and an undetermined hour (or number of hours) later. They're not exactly renowned for their punctuality here. Ever since I arrived in Argentina it has been something that has prodded and poked at my typically British obsession with being on time or worrying about something that is not. We are the class swat and they are the lazy kid at the back teasing us, dragging us into their ways. Either way, it meant I wasn't particularly phased as the minutes passed without the arrival of my horse and carriage.

Turn Down For What Now?

  As a 21 year old, I am currently sitting in a state of limbo between youth and adulthood. Whilst I am on the point of becoming a 'proper grown up', I still see my playground days as a recent memory and therefore I would have counted myself as pretty intact with the trends of the youth of 2016. Having worked here as a teacher and a camp councillor, as well as staying with families that have children between the ages of 6 and 19, my exposure to the interests, jokes and loves of today's tomorrow has been intense. It's something that's been a big part of my time here and has shocked and amused me enough to justify an article #LetsDoThis. 

  Before I start on the content of this kind of 'case-study', it's worth saying that this isn't just a couple of kids in class that exhibit this stuff. It's universal. I would say a decent 80% of kids between 5 and 15 that I've encountered over here (which is a lot of kids believe me) have showcased some of this stuff that I'm going to talk about. That's what strikes me most. If one snotty kid flips a bottle and dabs when celebrating its landing, it's not just a small entourage that appreciates it - but everyone. The cool kids, the sporty kids, the clever kids, the boys, the girls. It's quite the epidemic.  

  As you walk through a school playground here, I could easily make a bingo card of things you would see or hear - and you'd be guaranteed a quick-fire full house...

  I won't go through all of these, but just the key players. The songs for example (bar one) are just in trend at the moment and they'll pass as all pop music does; although the hysteria/addiction of the kids here for the latest tunes is really something. However the bits I do talk about in a bit more detail have been in it for the long run and their longevity is as impressive as their simplicity and popularity. 

Meet the Parents

  "So Jack, what do you know about dead bodies?" This was the kind of occasion when a year abroad comes into it's own. It was hardly the category of question that I had been faced with across my 7 years of classroom Spanish interactions. I was sat with the father of Carlos (the Dad of the family I am staying with) in the corner of a post-Baptism family celebration. He reminded me instantly of Robert De Niro's character in the Meet the Parents series. The head of the family with a fascinating history of stories to tell. He took a shine to me, and we had a really in-depth chat about his trip to London and the DNA of serial killers. But not before I mistook him for a stripper.

Honoured to be a temporary member of
this fantastic family 

*Background Information*  Ever since arriving in Argentina, I have presented myself as 'Jack' (or 'Shack' as it is now) and frequently been responded to with a jubilant cry of 'Jack El Destripador'. Primarily I assumed they meant 'Jack the Ripper'; however after experiencing some hysterical laughing with the phrase, a part of me convinced myself that 'Destripador' ('D' sounds almost silent) might mean 'Jack the Stripper'. I'd never heard of any such thing but I guessed it might be a thing here. Anyway that was what I was now going with (with a weird half-hearted stripping charade to match).

  So here I was. I presented myself as 'Shack' and the grandfather laughed as he bellowed 'Shack El Destripador', before saying that he himself used to be a 'Destripador'. I nervously chuckled a long as he already struck me as a joker and I thought he was pulling my leg. This was until he invited me to come and look at his car, in which there was a captain-like hat sitting on the dashboard - you know, the kind a stripper might wear as part of a costume. At this point I was a bit more shocked and he continued to say he did it for a bit of cash here and there. I even asked some questions (that now seem transferable between both a stripper and his actual job) and got answers. It was only when he asked me about the dead bodies that I realised that 'destripador' does in fact mean somebody who deals with dead bodies (and 'Ripper') and not 'stripper'.

 Complete and utter 'vergüenza'.

All Black Everything

  A Bucket List is one of things that everyone has, whether they know it or not. Whether they call it a bucket list or a list of things to do before they die, it's an almost constant factor of our DNA. Whether you're watching natural phenomenons on TV, tweeting about your dreams or liking Instagram pictures of paradise locations, it all accumulates towards the hypothetical holy grail of your own personal 'Bucket List'.

Just like watching Uni Varsity...

  Before coming to South America I identified a few items of my personal Bucket List that would be achievable across my Year Abroad. We're talking things like visiting Christ the Redeemer, seeing a glacier, watching a South American football match and witnessing Iguazu Falls (see Chasing Waterfalls to see how that went). There were other items on my list that were put aside for a later time in life, considered unrealistic whilst in this corner of the World: run a marathon, see the Northern Lights, watching the Haka performed live by the New Zealand rugby team.

  Little did I know that, fast forward only a couple of months into my adventure, and I would be standing front row of the local crowd watching the All Blacks line up to perform their enigmatic war cry. We were up against the gated fencing that lines Argentinean stadiums and listened to the autonomous hush of the audience, as an incredible aura of respect circulated around the Estadio de José Almafitani. The black uniforms lined up and the Haka was performed in a way that - predictably - triggered the emotion of awe and admiration that comes when witnessing the elite.

  See the All Blacks perform the Haka live - Tick.