Wind, surf, and sand are all key ingredients for a relaxing weekend away from the loud car horns, dog poop, and the rare but evident American-hating citizens that pollute the city (we somehow embody our irrational government in the eyes of many a Porteno are the frequent recipients of cold stares and middle finger salutes). I couldn’t wait to dig my toes into the sand and lay out on a quiet beach, reading my book without distraction, feeling the openness of the cool ocean breeze on a secluded playa on the coast of Mar del Plata. I must have overlooked during my minimal research, though, that Mar del Plata’s beaches are constantly polluted by overpopulation, and after turing to Google to find out what’s up with that, one source warned me to “expect to be kicked in the face with sand. It’s just the way of life.”
However, this overpopulation was not due to pesky American tourists such as myself, but by Argentines from all over the country who came for a beach getaway. In fact, I only ran into other Americans once during the trip. As opposed to my time so far in Buenos Aires, I felt much less like a tourist when my friends and I were the only outsiders in town (a statement that cannot be entirely true, because as a vacation town, most beach-goers were outsiders as well). We found our place amongst the tightly-proximated crowd and commenced relaxation despite our claustrophobic notions and (my) disdain for screaming children.
When I think of a beach town, I think of Carsbad, California, the destination of my two best friends and my spring break road trip last year, with sandy white beaches lining the coast for literally hundreds of miles, each one playing host to only a handful of sunbathers or surfers. Or I think of Montanita, Ecuador, the location of the crazy beach vacation I had near the end of my trip in Ecuador last summer, where my friend Emily and I sipped Coco Loco’s and laid out in the sun for two days straight with little interruption but from a drunken birthday boy who played us comically insulting music on his guitar and his friend who insisted that we take his handmade jewelry for free so that “his spirit lives on after he’s gone.” However, I cannot rightfully be disappointed for not reliving the purely blissful beach excursions I’ve had in the past, because Mar del Plata is not a beach town, it is a beach city, and even with the expanse of the Atlantic in front of me, I couldn’t escape the buildings and hotels that make up the skyline behind me. This was one of those times in travel where “adaptability” is an important trait, and I smugly shoved my nose into the pages of my book while I acclimatized to the crowd and the city sounds.
Despite my surprise and disappointment that my friends and I would not have the whole beach to ourselves and free reign of a torch-lit tiki hut, I still had a great time in Mar del Plata after I realized that the hoards of people were harmless.
On beach vacations, I never plan activities. I only plan to spend as much time as I can along the shore, and it came as a surprise that there were lots of sights to be seen in Mar del Plata. I respectfully declined my Lonely Planet Guide’s offer and instead focused on my book, practicing photography, and taking in deep, salty-aired breaths when I could catch a beautiful empty view of the ocean.
Without a strict schedule and a come-and-go attitude, I was able to wander off quite a bit to hone in on my shutter speed, aperture, and ISO aptitude to (hopefully) produce better images, and with a variety of views to work with, I definitely feel like I re-learned a lot of what I was taught in my freshman-year photography course.
Wandering around a rocky pier dividing Playa Grande and Playa Chica, I felt like I was reliving my childhood summers on the rock beaches of Duluth, Minnesota, jumping from boulder to boulder finding all varieties of graffiti and litter. I laughed when I saw a sleeping surfer taking an afternoon siesta.
Everyone was dipping in and out of the water. It was a playground for both young and old, for the conservatively-swimsuited and for the speedo and bikini-thong wearers, for the foreigners and the locals. I didn’t get the sense of being eyed for anything but my pasty skin that clearly hadn’t seen sunshine in a while.
Despite my initial disdain for the fact that my beach weekend would not be an escape from the city, I softened a bit when I realized how beautiful the scape of Mar del Plata really is. It is extremely well-kept, and although it is an Argentine city it gave of vibes of the sleepy Florida beach town Destin.
My friends and I stayed at an AirBnb, which was an amazing decision over a hostel any day. Sure it lacked the interaction with other travelers, but we all had time to bond over our beautiful view and our one-block-walk to the beach.
It was also a HUGE plus that we got to make our own food! A luxury that we have all dearly missed after living with host families for over a month and being permitted from touching the stoves.
In the morning on the last day, I had every intention of waking up early to see the sunrise but somehow had still hit snooze on my alarm. Karl came and found me after having stayed up all night, alternating drinking Fernet & Coke and yerba mate. He was wired and ready for the day as he and our friend Nolan helped me climb out from the window to the 10th floor balcony for an incredible view and photo-op. I flinched as Karl put the metal filter-straw to my mouth and made me drink the bitter tea to wake up. I love tea, but it is definitely an acquired taste and one of the things I must assimilate to if I want to look like a true local.
Our stolen balcony, while not in the direct path of the sunrise, offered incredible views of Mar del Plata and the resonating colors that wake up the city. Being out there was like being at an industrial playground. I had a blast taking photos of the moss-covered pipes, walls, and construction material, but mainly of the sky in surrounding me.
The sun rose just beyond the tall building on the right, but to turn my camera any further would have obstructed the already-gorgeous view and rendered it less interesting and less explorative, because all I wanted to do was swing down from the balcony and find my way around the buildings to the amazing sight. I guess if we hadn’t been in a city that wouldn’t have been a problem, but by this point I had made peace with it.
At the time I was exhausted, annoyed to be woken up and ready to go back to bed (which I did), but it was an amazing way to start off the morning. The ocean breeze was rich and salty and everything had a pinkish hue. There is beauty in everything, and not everything can be compared. I decided then to stop thinking of how much better my beach excursions on the Pacific coast in the past year had seemed at first and focused on what is amazing about this Atlantic one.
I don’t have any worthy photos of it, but on the first night my friends and I skipped down to the now-empty beach with every intention of frolicking. We stood on the pier, sharing laughs and conversations as a few people jumped for joy as the tide broke on the front edge of the pier, sending splashes of water upwards making them feel like they controlled the elements. I tore off my sandals and went in the water, the breeze coming from the city at night warming it and making it bearable to wade in. I joined my friends at the other side of the pier, who were dancing in the water and making beautiful fools of themselves, and I felt so lucky to be part of an amazing group. My friend Lindsey and I hurriedly scribed away in the sand with our shuffling feet, beginning with A-R-G-E only to have the tide wash up and erase our work. We moved up the beach a few meters, and creating letters taller than ourselves, wrote out ARGENTINA.
I have had an amazing time so far in this country, and have been reflecting on it a lot since the halfway mark is just around the corner. Everyone on the trip now is at the point of knowing each other, but now we are at the stage where we are bonding and forming strong friendships, making extensive plans to travel together, and helping each other have amazing experiences despite any homesickness of deficiency in Spanish skills we might experience.
In less than two weeks, some of us will be departing for a 16-day adventure in Patagonia. We all have high expectations from the hype and I do not think those will ever falter or be disappointed. Personally, I will be testing myself in completely new ways, such as with a 5-day hike through Torres del Paine National Park that we have planned. I know that it will help me to continue to grow as a traveler and only worsen my wanderlust, and I am so anxious to get on the trail.