So here you have the bedroom kitchen combo... Liz can snooze while I cook (and of course the other way round as well... I wouldn't want anyone to think there's any advantages being taken here)




And another look out of the window.

It's a big old window...

And are those trees out the back? Hell yes...    ¶ 2:41 PM 2 comments

  Most of the roads round us are tree lined, some have really weird trees, with twisty turny trunks as though they had been grown by a twisty turny gardener.

That's a gardener I'd like to see...    ¶ 2:38 PM 0 comments

  Last saturday we did a little more cemetery strolling, this time to the chcacarita cemetery. The place is enormous, one side is a city of the dead, mausoleums and the tombs of the rich and famous, the othere side is a more conventional looking (to our English eyes at any rate) graveyard. But underneath the whole place (about the size of... erm well, it's about 12 blocks by 6, pretty big, here, look for yourself.

So we were wandering along and there, in the distance, was the faint tinny sound of tango, being played, as it turned out, on a battered red sony walkman with a speaker which sounded like it was made of tin foil and glue. It was at the tomb of Carlos Gardel (that sounds like a Longfellow poem, or at least the start of one) the most famous tango singer in the world (who looks like George Formby, a bit). There was an old fellow who stank of stale urine, in a coat that looked as old as he was. He was handing out photocopies of pictures of a grinning Gardel, and in return he expected a couple of centavos in his collection plate made from a tin of hair pomade.

He launched into some unintelligible Spanish, pointing to different 'we love you Carlos' signs, but we couldn't understand a word, I suspect even if we were fluent the results would have been the same.

On the other side of the cemetery it's like some underground crypt, what am I saying, it is and underground crypt. Under the grass are three floors of subterranean vaults, each 12 coffins high. You need a map to find your way around but we were enjoying the sun too much to explore down there. Another time.
  ¶ 7:06 PM 2 comments

  The river Tigre and about a hundred others form a massive delta North of the city. It used to be a very popular summer retreat (I guess we'll find out about the mozzies later in the year) but was overtaken in the fashion stakes by the beaches of Mar Del Plata to the south. Not to be confused with La Plata apparently, or the rio plata.
So the delta is pretty big. We went there and took a 1 hour paseo (trip) on a long narrow boat. Note: this was not a narrowboat, even though it's similar dimensions. I have never been in a narrowboat that throws up a two foot wake. I think the pilot (I'm choosing my words with some care here) thought it might have been a bus (a colectiveo) for which the standard driving tactic is on or off. Either full throttle or braking hard. Anything else is wimpy. The boat was the same. As soon as we were clear of the quay he floored it and the prow of the boat rose good way.

The Tigre delta is popular with a lot of water sports enthusiasts (the BA rowing club has a mansion on the riverside, built in 1875 or so) and there are loads of rowing boats and Kayaks. They seemed to cope alright with the massive wakes but they must have had a lot of practice. No 4mph on inland waterways here.

The delta itself is like a playground for the mildly well off. It reminded me of the US (the Indianapolis suburbs to be precise), where houses are grouped on lawns back from the road but with no paths. Well apart from the fact that there was no road at all, it looked similar. At the front of each garden was a small jetty. Some in pretty shocking states of repair. We passed the floating shop, there's a school, and a church, lots of hotels, clubs and restaurants tucked away, a boat ride from the city.

At the moment it's autumn, and we were advised to go this weekend because the trees were supposed to be really beautiful colours. Well they were. And it's a definite that we'll go back, maybe rent a boat and go get lost in the delta (whether that's our plan or not, I guess there's a good chance of that).  ¶ 3:33 PM 1 comments

  Okay, Buenos Aires: 1812
Carlos: Hey Julio, how's it going? [holds out hand]
Julio: Oh, Hi Carlos. Not bad. [takes hand and moves in for a kiss on the cheek]
Carlos: What! What are you doing!
Julio: I thought it'd be nice to... you know... greet you with a kiss.
Carlos: Where the hell did you get that idea?
Julio: Well. It looked quite nice when the girls did it.
Carlos: Where are you from?
Julio: BA
Carlos: No. Before that.
Julio: Napoli
Carlos: An what would happen if you tried that in Napoli?
Julio: There would be knives involved I guess.
Carlos: Damn right.
Julio: Sorry.
Carlos: Still.... how did it feel.
Julio: Oh it was pretty good.
Carlos: Really. Let me try [they kiss on the cheek]
Julio: Ow! Right cheek. Right cheek only.
Carlos: Oh. Sorry. Once more. [they kiss again]
Julio: So what do you think.
Carlos: Well... it's going to be difficult to get the Welsh to do it.
Julio: Hmmm....
Carlos: And you need to shave.  ¶ 1:40 PM 0 comments

 

Bar Clandestino That's what our neighbour, Marina, told us was opposite the day we moved in. As you can see from the photos it looks pretty innocuous. We walked past it a few days ago and there seemed to be some music coming from inside but nothing more than you might get from a normal Argentine front room.

Marina said you have to ring the bell to get in... seems very dodgy. But up[at the top corner there is a sign that says, in opticianly small letters, that it's a bar, restaurant and whiskeria (nothing to do with cat food though, despite the spelling).

So last night, it was around eleven and we decided to check out our local. Liz pressed the buzzer and I looked at the sign again, there weren't even any lights to indicate the commercial nature of the place.

Not sure what to expect, we were surprised when the door opened to reveal a long dark stylish bar. There were people at most tables but it wasn't busy, the stereo was playing nice flameco and samba, the lighting was low, augmented by candles in glasses. We found a couple of high seats and had a look at the cocktail menu. It was a pretty hip place. At the bar next to us there was a waif and her boyfriend (they had food, and cake: I suspect she won't eat again until June). It was all relaxed and easygoing. On the wall behind the bar they suggested drinks, one set you could have was the tour de ecosia, Caol ila, glenlivet, balantine single malt and chivas regal. I settled on a Martini (with hhhhjin? asked the barman... of course).

The place started filling up towards one and there were a few Americans in a big group who all seemed to say the same thing we were thinking... 'you'd never know this place is here.' But the music went downhill, Abba remixes and gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight. The waif seemed to enjoy it but the man who we thought was her boyfriend left and the older man on the other side of her was revealed as the true object of her affections...

So we left and took the long walk home, okay it's not directly opposite but it takes less than ten seconds to walk there. Next, we'll try the happy hour, 8pm until 10pm, when it'll probably be empty.

  ¶ 1:32 PM 0 comments

  John:
I have never kissed so many men.

Okay, that's a sentence I never really thought I'd ever say/type. At Bonchi's party, each bloke I was introduced to came over and...

Well, it's like this. In Argentina, whenever friends meet, they kiss. But a kiss can be different things to different people. Here, it seems, there is a standard. You greet someone and touch cheeks, right cheeks, and make a little kiss sound. There isn't always lip on cheek contact, I think. And it's definitely the thing to make physical cheek connection, no LA air kissing here. Amongst men it seems that only good friends kiss so the behaviour of people I'd never met before was a little unexpected. Mind you, you have two options, be terribly English and all embarrased about it, or go with the flow, you came here to experience another culture. And kissing a dozen men one night certainly counts as that for me.

Liz now says that I 'initiated' a kiss... I 'lunged' apparently... she's wrong of course, I think, but it was early and I was tired, maybe a little unsteady on my feet (stop laughing at the back, it might be true)... Truth is, I probably did, it seems so natural when everyone else is doing the same thing, and it seemed only polite.  ¶ 2:29 PM 2 comments

 
So I've been repeating myself... sorry (thanks for pointing that out Carolynne). We are currently sans internet but there have been a few things going on.

Saturday morning and the owner of the old apartment was supposed to come round at 10:30 to give us the deposit back and charge us for the phone calls we'd made. As ever, it seems in Argentina, we waited. Punctuality is not seen as the same necessary virtue it is in the UK, and it's not rude to keep someone waiting, it's actually the norm. Mind you, as foreigners we usually turn up bang on time and we expect to hang around. Florentina showed up at 11:00, not a word about the time, after all, where else would we have been? She proceeded to talk the hind legs off a donkey I had metaphorically brought along, had we been to Tigre? (no, but we planned to: "do it soon," she said, "The leaves are all good colours at the moment"). Where were we going? (Villa Crespo: "Oh, I was born there," she said, "On Guruchayga, it's up and coming, she added, I knew that as soon as I saw that they opened a bonboneria [v fancy chocolate shop] on the street I was born").
So we got into a taxi at around midday and were met by a chap from the property agency (we haven't got the cheapest deal, but the agency gives all their profits to the red cross and to homeless charities in BA so we figured it was money well spent).
A couple of hours luxuriating in the space, the quiet, listen are those birds I can hear, are those trees out the back (including a huge avocado tree, we think) and it's as though Santa Fe is another world.
Then, off down to Retiro, to the bus station to catch a bus to La Plata. Liz's friend, Heather, passed us the email address of a friend (Bonchi) in the city a couple of weeks ago. After a few exchanges of emails he invited us to his birthday party. So of course we said yes. The party was due to start at 10pm, which of course means 10:30 at the earliest. La Plata is a small university city to the south, it's the capital of Buenos Aires province. It's about 60km away, an hour's bus ride. A comfy bus too, with seats that recline a long way, so comfortable that it was difficult to stay awake (but I'm glad I did, because it meant I could see the pampas, the slums, the shanty towns, the police... okay, maybe I should have nodded off).
La Plata was designed, the streets are all numbered (funny to be talking about directions and to have someone say 'oh it's on 24, between 60 and 61) and there are 16 major squares in the city, each connected by diagonal boulevards. We spent a few hours walking around, the streets were almost deserted. A few coffee stops and photography stops and we were ready to head to the party.
We found the address and rang the wrong bell, which started a dual tirade of Spanish and barking, figured out the right one and voila.Bonchi and his friends are bohemian, and relaxed about having two strangers turn up, speaking almost none of the language. We spent the evening chatting away in Spanish, like two loquacious four year olds, occasionally just staring blankly as a bit of rapid fire Castilliano sped past. Bonchi's girlfriend had made some sandwiches and what with that and the wine and the talking, all of a sudden people were putting on coats and heading off. It was 4am. A couple of the guys we were chatting to (Felipe, who's a film maker, Julio, who's an actor, and Mouse (he may have been introduced properly but it got away from me, after that his mates called him Raton) asked if we wanted to go to a bar. Our alternatives were: the bus station, where we could wait for a couple of hours for a bus, or the bar... guess which we chose.)
At 4:30 the streets were packed, not packed like in Leeds just next to the nightclub at letting out time, but packed in the sense that a lot of people were just arriving. We wedged into a tiny bar full of people enjoying dodgy 80's choons and had a beer. After a little while, Felipe said, Nos vamos... and we did. It was a little loud and by that time tiredness had wrecked my (already small) ability to understand anything on the first (or second) try. We said we'd head back to the bus station and Felipe walked with us... a lot of people on the streets, much more at 5am than there was at 5pm.
Felipe insisted on walking us all the way back, even though it meant a 30 block walk back for him, so Liz bought him a coffee (seems like small recompense but he did insist).
We got the bus back and arrived in Retiro at 6:45am, it was still full of people. From there we hopped on a colectivo (which was full after a couple more stops) and walked the last bit home just as the sky was getting light.  ¶ 2:23 PM 1 comments

  John:
So tomorrow we move apartments, off to the quiet leafy streets of Villa Crespo, where, according to the Time Out guide, nothing happens. Excellent.

We've spent the last couple of days in a pleasant 'oh, that's the last time we'll (insert: eat here, walk past, get annoyed by, wake up at 2am thanks to the buses)' kind of mood. There are a few things I'll miss about the present location:

-There are decent cafe's and restaurants all over the place.
-We're close enough to walk to work.
-The shops.
-The cafes, oh did I mention them already... well, a couple just deserve an extra mention: El cuartito, the pizza place. Cafe 1234 with the friendliest waiter in the world (a fresh faced chap who's smile is permanent and genuine). Mantra, where breakfast is still 'como siempre' (the usual) and the staff all know us.

This time tomorrow we'll be here.
  ¶ 2:27 AM 2 comments

  Liz:
I got paid this week, for the first time as an English teacher, so I thought I'd tidy myself up a bit with a new haircut. The hairdressers shops here are literally 'open all hours'.

There's one on the corner of our block which is open 7 days a week. I've noticed it's still busy at 8.00p.m on Sundays with both ladies and gentlemen dropping in for a 'brushing' (wash and set). The girl who cut my hair today told me that she is one of 40 hairdressers at that salon (it's huge, I had my hair cut upstairs) and that the staff there all work 6 days a week and do 12 hour shifts, either 7 til 7 or 11 til 11. So I made sure I gave her a good tip and she gave me a kiss and said 'Suerte!' which means 'Good Luck' and seems to be a common way of saying goodbye here.

One of my new jobs is at the headquarters of REPSOL, Argentina's biggest oil company. I'm working with two P.A.s to The Big Boss, who was out to lunch unfortunately (so I couldn't say 'Hola' or get his opinion on my new hairstyle). Judging by the size of his office I imagine he might look a bit like a Latin Blake Carrington.

Then I was onto the subway and up to Belgrano to teach at nightschool. Trying to do my good deed for the day I gave up my seat to a blind man getting on the train. He was very wobbly and his stick was going everywhere, so I turned him around and tried to put him in his seat. He seemed to be putting up a bit of a struggle when I realised he had got on the train to do some collecting....I apologised and watched him lurch off among the other passengers shaking his cup.  ¶ 12:48 AM 0 comments

  John:
While I lazed around this morning, watching cookery shows in Spanish given by cheerful Japanese chefs, Liz was out for a walk.

When she got back she suggested we go see this sculpture. It was installed in 2003, and it's pretty big. Okay, massive. It looks impressive, the circular pond underneath gives a great reflection. Best of all, it closes each night at dusk: I asked the security guy and he said it depended on the strength of the sun (somewhere between five thirty and seven pm). So kind of like the bad light detectors at a cricket match (not that the security guy said anything about that: I added that bit myself).

So we think we'll head back there tonight to see....
  ¶ 7:11 PM 3 comments

 
After having a good Yorkshire winter, and I hear it got a little colder after we left, we have little time for the plaintive whinings of the porteños. 'Hace frio' they say, wrapping scarves tightly and wearing quilted coats... it's 20 degrees at 3pm for goodness' sake. Okay, so it's a brisk 7 or 8C at 7am but that's just a good wake up call. They have begun (shoot me now...) making the dogs wear clothes. T shirts with the sleeves rolled up (on an Alsatian), camouflage gear (on a poodle) and, dogs in hats (fashionable beanie hat on an Airdale).

So, with the depths of winter fast approaching, we took the opportunity to try one of the classic BA winter treats (imported from Barcelona I think). Chocolate con churros. The oleo guide to BA's restaurants says La Giralda vies for the top spot when it comes to true BA ambience, by which they go on to say the white tiles (think public loo), the worn out pipes and the decrepid waiters were unparalleled in the city.

Sus azulejos blancos (tiles), los tubos gastados (worn pipes) y los mozos milenarios (ancient waiters) nos preparan para el mejor chocolate (the best chocolate) habido y por haber

They also do really good chocolate (apparently: I don't do hot chocolate, Liz said hers was pretty sweet, in both senses of the word). To go along with the chocolate we had churros rellenos. Imagine: take some doughnut dough, put it in an icing bag with a star shaped nozzle. Pipe a 6 inch length straight into hot fat, using some bizarre culinary magic to fill them with fudgy dulce de leche.

Once out of the oil, sprinkle with sugar and serve. They are eaten dipped in the hot chocolate: Liz is now contemplating a rigorous exercise regime because they are, well, not health food. I need to do the same... even though I had my churros with a healthy coffee ;-)  ¶ 11:03 PM 0 comments

  John:
Everything was shut on Monday. Except the bigger cafes, so, after a lazy start, we strolled down to the Plaza de Mayo because it was May the first and there were going to be a lot of workers parading.

As usual, we were early. But that was okay because the streets had been closed off to traffic and it meant everyone was taking advantage and taking pictures in the middle of the road. So we did too.

As we walked up Avenida de Mayo, the road that links the Casa Rosada to the Congresso building (President's house to the government building) the demonstrations started coming down the other way. They were good natured and loud. There were loads of families and a not inconsiderable amount of drumming (and some truly awful chanting- distorted through cheap speakers, and out of tune).

It seemed a little small, for a demo, but after we crossed the Av 25 July (in one go, because it was closed off too, that was a first, normally it takes two changes of lights to get across) we met a street full of demonstrators. It was made up of loads of small groups, socialists, union branches (someone even tried to sell me trabajador socialismo) a biker group (who had the loudest fireworks).

Unfortunately, it's a little weird taking shots of this sort of thing with your tiny minolta... it seems wrong, like you're only a tourist. It was one of those situations where a whopping 35mm SLR was the way to go.

At the edges of the street people were spraying walls (lo mismo hambre, lo mismo represion: the same hunger, the same repression) and posting up pictures of skeletons.

After eight or nine blocks we took a side street and walked for a while, revelling in the quiet...
  ¶ 1:31 PM 0 comments