In Argentina all towns seem to have the same names for their streets. One name that exists in everyplace I've been is San Martin. San Martin is not a saint, but rather the liberator of Argentina, Chile, and Peru; here in San Ignacio he is honored by naming the main street after him. At one point, I had the pleasure of living on this street, and getting proof of residency papers under that address.
I actually established my residency at San Martin 187 before I really lived there. In late November Silvia's husband's friend, Agustin, moved to San Ignacio to work as a cook here at the hostel. It's rather common here that museums, provincial/national parks, and various other attractions have different entrance prices depending on where you are from. If you live in San Ignacio the beach and ruins are both cheaper, for example. The day Agustin got here we started talking about this practice for some reason, and decided that me, Agustin, and Jimmy (Silvia's husband) should establish our addresses here so that we could take advantage of cheaper entrance fees. On a whim, we set out to the police station, with Silvia and Martin as our two witnesses, to become Misioneros (someone from Misiones province).
Outside the police station we quick asked Martin what his address was. "San Martin 187." We paused to repeat that a few times before going inside. Now let me explain my former living situation: Martin, my ex, has two houses on his property. Silvia and Jimmy lived in the smaller one, and Martin lived in the main one, but they both had the same address. That day Agustin moved in with Martin, and I was already planning on moving in when I got back from my trip to Peru and Ecuador. So the five of us went to the desk to have our residency papers filled in. First went Agustin, with Silvia and Martin as his witnesses. First they asked Agustin what is address was. "San Martin 187." They filled in all his info and then needed the info for his witnesses. "San Martin 187," Silvia and Martin each responded when asked their addresses. Then went Jimmy, and then me. By the end of the process we had repeated San Martin 187 so many times that it was impossible to say it without laughing. The police looked skeptical that we could all have the same address, but since this is kind of the boondocks they didn't care enough to question us about it.
It became a running joke that Martin's house was constantly referred to as "San Martin 187." Let's watch a movie at San Martin 187 later. Are you eating lunch at San Martin 187 or at your Grandma's? Is Jimmy at San Marin 187? Well, a few weeks after that Caitlin came to visit, and she hilariously also began referring to his place as San Martin 187. As Caitlin and I went to Buenos Aires and Peru we would just randomly call out "San Martin 187" at times, and crack up laughing. We decided to send everyone there a post card from Peru for the sole purpose of being able to write that on the address line.
As I was on my trip with Caitlin I had all sorts of images of what life at San Martin 187 would be like. We would all hang out and drink mate and watch movies and cook together and laugh and there would be rainbows and unicorns. But this story has a sad ending. My first week back in January, Jimmy and Agustin, who worked together in the restaurant, got in a big fight and haven't spoken since. Only one of them could be in common areas in San Martin 187 at a time. Silvia and I have opposite schedules at the hostel, so we were never at San Martin 187 at the same time. Martin got really clingy and serious, and I couldn't stand San Martin 187 any more.
And just like that San Martin 187 fell apart. First I ended things with Martin and moved out. Then Agustin got tired of the awkwardness of living with Jimmy and moved out. Finally last week Jimmy got a job in Iguazu and moved out. So now San Martin 187 has only two inhabitants, and is no longer the place to hang out. But I still have my residency papers, and on my trip last week I got the Misionero price to the two parks I went to!
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