Life was obviously going a little too well here and we were bought back down to earth on Tuesday when my wallet was stolen by a pick-pocket on the underground. It was a pretty low point in an otherwise fantastic time in Buenos Aires. Despite the annoyance of losing, money, cards and our traveller’s street cred we are both fine and determined not to be taken again.
On a more positive note however our last week in BA has been very full, cramming in all the final sights and restaurants we’d not managed before. The colourful buildings you can see below are in Caminito, an old dock where the workers used leftover paints from the shipyards to decorate their houses. Slightly less colourful was Recolata cemetery, the final resting place of Evita and a freaky place full of coffins and cats. There is a lot of one-upmanship going on between family mausoleums resulting in some incredible and grotesque tombs. The place is like a maze and we wouldn’t fancy being there after dark!
Back in San Telmo we fell in love with the antique soda Siphons sold at the flea markets and although possibly the most impractical thing to send home we just had to have one. Likewise with a painting we commissioned from the talented young artist Gustavo Ferrari. It says ‘My Beloved Buenos Aires’.
We leave our lovely apartment in the morning and head off to Uruguay for a brief visit before returning to Argentina to kick start our round-the-world adventure with a journey south to the very cold Patagonia. We’re going to miss a lot about this place; the amazing restaurants, Spanish lessons with Gustavo and his cat Benita, late night rubbish sifters, subte salesman, our favourite cafe with it’s perfect empanadas, submarinos, dinner at midnight and bottle after bottle of malbec. We won’t miss the national drink ‘Mate’ so much! The bar has been set high for the rest of South America and we can’t wait to start exploring.
Life here is pretty damn sweet. After work is over we attend our Spanish classes at the home of our very patient teacher Gustavo and his lovely Siamese cat Benita. Progress is definitely being made although somewhat more slowly in my case; I put it down to my age. I shall miss the classes when we move on but definitely not the homework which has seen me regress into a stroppy teenager, never wanting to do it and always finishing it minutes before the next lesson.
We have also been introduced to the world of Argentinian Tango, an incredibly sexy and passionate dance, only not when we do it. Our sweating clumsy bodies were a world apart from those of our teachers, who continually corrected our poor posture and awkward movements. It’s good fun nevertheless and we love the music although we may just stick to watching the professionals.
In the evenings we usually head to one of BA’s many excellent restaurants. We are really spoilt for choice where we live with an abundance to munch our way through. I have even had to make a shortlist of the ones we will manage to squeeze in before we leave next Monday. The Parilla’s (grill houses) serve up any kind of meat in enormous portions and are Mark’s favourite. I have become rather partial to visiting the numerous coffeehouses on every street corner and sampling their pastries and washing them down with a submarino, hot, frothy milk with a bar of chocolate dropped into it.
Many of you regular blog followers will have noticed in the photos that my white Malon streak (another one of Mum’s inherited features, thanks very much!) has been growing steadily. For your diplomacy in not mentioning this I thank you. A particularly dear friend (naming no names, you know who you are Clare) however felt she could not contain herself any longer and told me in no uncertain terms to get it sorted! The search for a competent English speaking, decent hairdresser in BA turned out to be like the search for the holy grail. Finally however I succeeded and we turned up, me looking like Morticia Adams and Mark whose Hair had got so big it looked like he was wearing a crash helmet. To his credit the lovely Ryan did not run a mile but rolled up his sleeves and got stuck in. We are now both sporting new cuts with thankfully much less grey.
Despite my Dad’s great disappointment Mark and I are not great followers of ‘the beautiful game’. It would however have felt rude to come to Buenos Aires, home of Maradonna, and not visit his first Club, Boca Juniors. Unfortunately the area of Boca makes Hillfields look like the land of the Telly-tubbies and everyone warns against coming here even in the day. Despite this however Mark, myself and our friend Dave decided we would venture there alone, with very little Spanish between us and try to buy tickets for the evening match. After being shouted at by the police that there we no tickets available we thought we’d just stand around and wait for the touts to approach us. Some of the dodgiest looking people ever tried to convince us to buy there highly inflated and probably fake tickets. We resisted and decided we’d head for a huge group of people which we assumed were the ticket queue. Unfortunately for us they were no queue, but what we now think were the crowd of the Barra Brava (Boca hardcore fans). Suddenly they started to surround us and I can honestly say that was the most edgy thing we’ve experienced on our whole trip. Grateful that we escaped with everything in tact we hot-footed it to the nearest cab and got drunk at a local expat bar that actually served beer in real pint glasses!
Mark, Not wanting to be beaten by this experience decided we would try again to buy tickets for the World Cup qualifier of Argentina v Columbia. It was far more successful this time at the River Plate stadium on the nicer side of town. Here the guards were super friendly and within 5 mins we walked away with 2 tickets for the match, paying the same as all the locals.
Mark had never seen a live a footie match before and this was certainly a great choice to ‘pop his cherry’. Although the football was pretty crappy there were loads of aggressive tackles and an amazing atmosphere both in and out of the stadium with drums, chanting and the occasional flare being let off in the Columbian colours.
We were both put slightly on edge by the enormous flags in the popular (Standing) area with images of the Malvidas with a union Jack on them and “Somos Argentina!” (”We are Argentina!”) brandished everywhere.
I was far more interested in watching the tiny dot of Maradonna (he’s the one hugging a Colombian player in a crowd of Argentina players on the pitch) than the match. He jumped about and got more irrate than anyone I have ever seen, especially when Argentina scored. It was really good fun and we’re really pleased we persevered in seeing a game. We even ventured back to Boca in the daytime with our own cabby that waited while we took some snaps of the ground and surrounding buildings.
BA is officially one of our favourite cities in the world and living here has been a real treat. We took a few free walking tours around the city to get a Porteno’s (locals) view of the history and politics of the place. Its impressive European architecture came form the days when Argentina was one of the wealthiest countries in the world and buildings from France, England, and Italy were taken apart, shipped over here and built again in some of the poshest neighbourhoods.
Since 2001 however things have gone somewhat ‘tits up’ for the Argentinians and through a series of bad political moves and poor financial investments their wealth has severely depleted. Consequently now several of the really amazing buildings have been left to decay without the funds to kick out the squatters and restore them. There are many beggars here and quite a bit of graffiti but neither of these problems come even close to the issues they face with dog poo. Everyone has a dog and no one clears up their offerings. If someone were to introduce pooper scoopers here they’d be minted. Suprisingly Mark who is normally a magnet to dog poo was beaten to the post by me, who slightly the worse for beer skidded in a fresh pile and spent most of the following day trying to remove it from the intricate sole of my trainers.
Casa Rosada (The pink house) their version of Downing street was open to the public at the weekend so we had a very informative tour all in Spanish, where we just nosed around the impressive interiors while everyone else I’m sure learned lots from the guide in his funny uniform.
The Islas Malvinas (Faulklands for us Brits) monument (red wall with guards) was interesting to visit and have the war explained from an Argentinian point-of-view. We now understand how all of those American backpackers must have felt travelling in Vietnam.
The flower sculpture was really impressive and opens and closes daily with the sun light. Mark’s Rocky moment on the steps of the law school was clearly a physical outburst from all the pent up energy he’s been storing whilst sitting and working the 9-5 for the last 4 weeks.
