Last day (or so) in Argentina

Well, actually, I am back in Toronto now, a bit wiped out after a 14 hr flight in which I sacrificed sleep to watch 'My Super Ex-Girlfriend'. But its worth saying a thing or two about my last night and morning in Ushuaia and last night in Buenos Aires.
The guide, Daniel (not the one with dred locks), called in the evening, cancelling the bbq -- a friend was coming in from out of town, he was still at the airport for work, etc etc -- so no bbq but I did wander into town to find, miraculously, a vast number of restaurants open Christmas night. I chose a fish house with a Bob Marley concert on the TVs and Che paraphenalia everywhere. The grilled trout was simple but fresh and yummy, and the local microbrew, Beagle, wasn't bad either. I had a sudden realization that Ushuaia is really kind of like Victoria or Vancouver of Argentina -- where all the hippies and stoners go to enjoy nature, at the end of the world.
In the morning, I had a boat tour of the Beagle Channel scheduled that was to include a trek as well, but as I suspected, I wouldn't make it back to catch my plane. I was switched onto a massive touristy catamaran, swarming with asian tourists and people who seemed to have just gotten off a cruise ship. Two women were hunched over needlepoint cases instead of looking at the scenery and wildlife. The view from the Ushuaia airport (and of the airport) gives a sense of the panorama.

The trip was saved by a snarky family of New Yorkers who felt just as out of place as I did. They were very entertaining. And despite the immediate surroundings, so were the close ups of the sea lion colonies, the cormorants, some more ibis and other wildlife.


Back to Buenos Aires and to my luxurious room in Palermo Hollywood. The atmosphere was a bit colder, but the place was lovely. And the neighborhood full of restaurants and bars for beautiful people. I had a very nice meal at a beautifully designed place called Dominga, full of beatiful couples and families. Unfortunately, despite my best intentions, I couldn't make myself stay up for a night of drinking and debauchery...I crashed in the supremely comfortable bed around midnight. Woke up, ran around, succeeded in picking up the art I had bought, and then caught a remise for the airport. And now...here I am back in grey cold Toronto. I've downloaded the photos, and soon they will be appearing in the earlier entries. For now, I have to go scavenge for food.

Parque Nacional del Tierra del Fuego

I was picked up Christmas morning at 9am and off we went (after picked up a nice middle aged English couple) to the national park. The walk was relatively easy, but the scenery was spectacular. After a 3K piece through the forest of nidas and lengas we hit the shoreline and followed the path for several kilometres more along the bay. We saw some ibis again, and some oystercatchers, but also some flightless steamer ducks. A highlight was seeing a pair of flighted steamer ducks with chicks that were likely just a week or so old.

More walk along the coast, some pauses on the former trash dumps of the Yanagui (I need to check this) who lived along the coast several thousand years ago, to admire the view of the water and mountains, with the snow capped ones in Chile in the distance. For lunch we took a zodiac boat to an island in the middle of the Beagle Channel, and sat and ate in what turned out to be a sunny (and relatively warm) day.

A short hike after lunch, more views, and then a choppier zodiac ride back into the park to be picked up and shuttled back into town. The guide has invited me to a barbeque he´s having tonight, so we will see how that goes.




Tomorrow I head back for one last night in Buenos Aires, and then back to Toronto.

The Canadian invasion of Gable Island

Although it was supposed to rain, the weather was spectacular. Juan, the dred-locked guide, stopped by to pick me up at 8:30am, and I joined the van on a long and windy drive to a put-in point on a river. We all put on wellies and waterproof pants, grabbed an oar, and jumped into a rubber raft and began paddling down the river.


Winding S-curves, ibis sightings, upland geese and their chicks, and then a portage into the Beagle Channel. We paddled out to an island, where we saw three sea lions sunning themselves, and a bunch of cormarants with chicks.



We paddled on to Harberton Estancia, where we divested ourselves of the waterproofing and jumped on a zodiac which took us first to a colony of Magellan penguins. They are clearly used to the boat coming up, because there was a crowd striking poses for the tourists taking photos.


Amidst the Magellans was a lone King Penguin. Checking out the scene I suppose. Or on vacation. We continued on to Gable Island, spotting an albatross en route. Once there, we had a superior lunch in the cold at a table in back of the naval station there. Well fed, we went on a 4.5K trek through the woods of the island. Gable Island (and Tierra del Fuego) is infested with beavers, imported in 1946 from Canada, with the idea of starting a fur trade. It didn´t work so well, as the beavers have no natural predators here, and they simply dam up the water flow flooding out trees. (aargh...no pictures of beaver handiwork) The next importation might be of French-Canadian fur traders to hunt the beavers. Along the hike, we spotted some woodpeckers. Made it back to the coast to catch another zodiac back to Harberton, and then a van back to Ushuaia. I´m tired. And not tired at the same time.

It´s Christmas Eve, the big party night in Argentina. Happy XMas to those of you who celebrate! I´m not sure I´ll be able to scrounge up something to do this evening, but that´s OK. I have an early start for tomorrow -- a hike along the coastline in the National Park.

the end of the world

I am in the southernmost city in the world: Ushuaia. The rain that was here seems to have lifted, and there is a spectacular view of a blue green ocean and snow capped mountains. It could almost be Vancouver, except the town is a lot smaller, and they speak Spanish here. And Antarctica is a lot closer. I´m staying at a B&B, where the owners are incredibly welcoming and friendly. It´s a few blocks ooutside the center of town, but it is nice to escape from the bustle to a quiet street. Tomorrow I go off on a trekking, boating, off road tour to Gable Island where there are penguin colonies and apparently the perfect sampling of the local flora.

It´s 11pm, and while the sun has set it is still bright out. The orange light of the sun is reflecting off the few clouds in the sky over the harbor, and a pinkish tinge colors the snow on the mountains. It´s about 5C out and there are flowers in bloom. Hyacinths and other flowers I think of blooming first in the spring. But yet it is summer. Ushuaia is at the 54th parallel. And we are just two days after the solstice.

at a loss for words

Today´s outing was to the Perito Moreno glacier, the only non-receding glacier in the world. It stays put, not advancing either. And along with the previous trek, and really all the geography of Argentina, I am having a hard time finding the words to describe what I see. Indeed, I´m not sure I´ve actually processed what I have seen. The geography begets a kind of awe, but one that is different from what I expected...it is a peaceful sort of awe. With the mountains, their scale and immensity, along with the big summer sky here, feels like a kind of cocoon, enveloping and comforting, but not exactly warm because it remains impersonal. Still it feels benevolent --like the mountain will be there for you, for creatures. The glacier today was different. It offered a cold peace. A giant ice blanket, stetching as far as the eye could see, but with spikes and spears jutting up, creating a front line along the Lago Argentino. Not powering forward, but holding the line with a profound strength. The wind ships up off or toward it, threatening to suck you into its cold or blow you far away -- a warning. The glacial awe is cold, and so is its peace -- for it is peaceful. Yesterday, on the glacier was a bit different. The wind still felt as if it were conveying a message, but while we were walking on the ice, the glacier became calm, as if it were an animal being stroked. I suspect part of the skill of an ice guide is knowing how to avoid the winds, but of course, it could have simply been a happy coincidence that we got a calm spell.

Here are some pictures of Perito Moreno Glacier.




Tomorrow I am off to Ushuaia in Tierra del Fuego. The last leg before heading back to Canada. The question is how delayed the plane will be.

Supertrekking

They don´t call it supertrekking for nothing. 30K in 1.5 days, over diverse terrain, including a tyrolean rope crossing and about 2K of ice walking. I am not sure how capable I am of moving. But it was spectacular. Our outing was unusual in two ways. Instead of the usual 14 people, we were 4. And for the first time in 15 days there was no rain. There was, however, a wind that whipped off the glaciar, almost knocking you over. Our guide, Gabriella, said that that was nothing compared to the wind at the Puerto de Vientos pass. The first day we walked through the park to the campsite, through a varying terrain, which included steppe-like areas as well as lenga forests. Through the trees we got views of the Fitzroy range and glacial lakes of an eerie greenish color. After about 10-12K, we arrived at camp and had a rather bad dinner of pasta with a powdered milk sauce. Still the carbo loading was not a bad idea. The next day had about 20K to cover. Diego joined us to lead us to the glacier.

First, a relatively easy hike to a tyrolean rope crossing of the Fitzroy River. Easy, that is, until the end, where the winds from the glacier started blowing. A tyrolean rope crossing involves harnessing yourself to a pulley system and, facing the sky, pulling yourself along the rope.


Getting to the midway point is easy, going up the other end is a bit tougher. A hike across the moraine, and then up a very steep climb, down again, and we reached the glacier itself. We strapped on the crampons and started walking on the ice - up and down ridges, along crevasses, into the middle of the Glaciar Grande at the base of Cerro Torre. Then a quick ice climbing lesson (here I have pictures to prove it!).
Back out off the glacier, up, then down, back over the river, back to camp for the second bit of lunch and then a 10K hike across easy enough terrain out to catch a bus.
It took a little while for our small group to gel but I think in the end we achieved some bonding. I really liked the guides. I promised to send them both some equipment (water bags for their packs), and now that I have posted this I will have to.

Some photos:

glaciers are cold

After a flight delay of 5 hours, and a plane full of American teenagers off to catch a cruise to Antarctica (and some really annoying NYC lawyer type who kept complaining about Argentina being a third world country), I´ve moved south, to Calafate, and relatively speaking, its cold here. Of course, its well above freezing (about 11C), but I´ve become accustomed to the heat of the north. I´m off to a two day, one night trek to El Chalten. The first day involves about 5 hours of hiking. The second day, a tyrolean rope crossing and ice climbing. We´ll see how I survive the cold and this sudden burst of activity.

As a preview, here are some photos from the first day of supertrekking...in El Chalten. The second one gives a hazy view of the Fitzroy range.

no photos allowed

In my brief layover in Buenos Aires before heading south I walked the town, this time to Abasto and Once, the mercantile district. Textile store after textile store. I´m sure I would have seen electronics or leather if I had walked in another direction. I found the two synogogues in the neighborhood, and was whistled down by a police officer while trying to photograph the sephardic temple, with the textile stores at its feet. No photographing. A response to the attacks in the early 90s, and I suppose to the current state of affairs in the world.

the bus

Cordoba bus station

Well. This second bus company was supposed to be better than the first. But. No movies. Only super sweet cookies for food. No blankets and really bad foam pillow. No matter. I was still able to fall asleep. Only to be woken up at 4am by the grinding of an engine that would not turn over. The bus was pulled over at the side of the road, stalled. After about the sixth attempt to turn the engine over, we passengers were cleared off the bus onto another bus going to Retiro as well. In the moment between realizing I needed to grab my bag and bringing it with me to the other bus, I looked up at the sky and saw it sparkling with stars.

This bus was not a luxury bus, which simply means it has narrower seats. I was woken by a whining young boy and two guys who´d clearly never been to the Capital Federal. One was taking photos of the highway with his cell phone camera.

wasting time

I think this is the first day which was not planned. The day hike was canceled, and nothing else panned out. And in the morning it was raining. What to do? I ended up seeing the museums of Cordoba: the Museo des Bellas Artes, which houses a bunch of Argentinian art in an old mansion design in a french style, including some beautiful art deco tiles of calla lilies, and the Carrafa provincial museum which was devoted to the art of Roberto Julio Viola, a man who seems to have been responsible for the creation of the provincial museum. I ducked into what turned out to be a kind of crappy chain restaurant just in time...there was a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder and the skies opened up to a torrential downpour. With the rain the heat broke, and the afternoon, half of which I spent in a movie theatre, was pleasant. At the Museo des Bellas Artes, I had a pleasantly animated chat (in Spanish) with two museum curators. For some strange reason they thought I speak Spanish well (I cant imagine how anyone in their right mind can think this), but, as they said, we are able to communicate. Apparently, we are to some degree. But how? I have two hours or so to pass away before I go to the bus station. The bus leaves 3.5 hours from now at 10:30pm. This is going to take some skill.

its too darn hot

Its 11pm in Cordoba and it must be 85F out (don´t ask me what that is ... 30C?) It is HOT. For some reason at 5:30, when I left the hotel, a running race was being run. How. On. Earth. Can. People. Run. A. Race. In. This. Heat. Cordoba, despite the heat, is kind of a neat city. It houses the oldest university in Argentina, founded by Jesuits in the late 16th century. I took a tour of it this evening, which was quite interesting. Many of the books from the original library on on display, and it is an interesting assortment --Albertus Magnus surprised me a bit, as did many works on medicine and natural history. These jesuits were manic about making money to support their cause. Tomorrow I was supposed to go for a hike in the province, but it seems to have been cancelled -- the guide needs to study for an exam. That means I have to keep myself busy until 10:30pm when I catch the bus to BA. I might try to catch a bus to Alta Gracia, the home of the Che Guevara museum. Why not?

cama coche

In about an hour I will get the chance to experience first class bus service, as I head from Salta to Cordoba...They say you are served champagne, and the seats recline 180 degrees. Full report tomorrow.

Update 16 Dec: Now, there are many bus companies in Argentina, but I can attest that La Veloz del Norte does not live up to the hype. No champagne. No 180 degree recline, only about 140 degrees. And a guy who snored very very loudly. (Also two very cute young children who had to report on everything they saw out the window.) Lucky for me I had ear plugs. Oh, and the bus smelled like air freshener. Still, for a 14 hour bus ride, not so bad. The bus company to Buenos Aires tomorrow night is supposed to be superior, so maybe I´ll get the goods after all. In any case, I made it to Cordoba and to the hotel here. Its nice enough, though a bit off the beaten trail. My job today... wander around, figure out how to do laundry and what to do with myself tomorrow.

Salta la linda

Salta the beautiful. Personally, I don´t find the town of Salta so beautiful, though the three hills to one side (don´t ask me which) and the houses at their base are quite nice. But the province of Salta... Vancouver has extraordinary natural beauty, and so does a fair chunk of the western US. But I was taken aback by the extraordinary beauty of the Salta landscape. While in some ways it is similar to the desertscape of Arizona and New Mexico, ít is different, and on a whole different scale.
The road to Cachi: The lush subtropical jungle changes quickly to a low green cover in the precordillera. Mountains rise up out of the ground, but with crevises that create amazing shadows, especially when combined with those of the clouds. The scale is just a bit larger than life, so that you first lose yourself in the scenery, and then are in a moment brought back to realize just how small you are. There should be giants walking the hills and not humans. And this happens again and again as you change terrains. In the Quebrada de Cordones the green becomes desert, and you find yourself in a cactus forest (dense for cacti, but they are well spread out from one another). The cordon cactus is used for wood, the planks are distinguished by the holes marking them. On the west side of the canyon great mineral mountains rise up. Giant striated triangles, layers of copper oxide, iron oxide, sulfur oxide, lead and perhaps some other mineral ores. The area is rich in mineral resources. The roads are for the most part dirt and unpaved. Cachi is a small quaint whitewashed town that has been there for centuries and existed through all sorts of wars.


San Antonio de los Cobres, Salinas Grandes, and Purmarca: More amazing scenery on the road to San Antonio -- normally a train runs the route, but it is closed regularly in December for maintenance. There are amazing valleys of lush green again, and again the triangles of oxides of different colors. San Antonio is a mining town, and we tourists are greeted by children and old women trying to sell us toy sized llamas. I am most impressed with the salt flats of Salinas -- NaCl at 3600m above sea level. A giant sea of white pentagonal crystal stretching out as far as the eye can see. We visit the pools where they harvest the salt. A day´s work can get 13 pesos worth of salt. Another pass, this one at 4000m, and we head down a steep and windy road through more andean foothills. Purmamarca is a quaint older town, with some Inca heritage, I think, but to me it feels dominated by the tourist industry. The setting is quite astonishing though.



Cafayate (Cafa-ja-te): The town itself is nothing much. The wine produced there is unique to the area -- Torrontes -- but is not very good. The goat cheese is better. A heladeria has a wine sorbet, that definitely tastes of the wine -- kind of cool, but a bit much. The tuna sorbet is delicious (not fish, but rather the cactus fruit). The drive there and back: through a canyon of rich red sandstone. The layers are straight lines. The morning light hits the rock and makes it glow. The scale, once again, is something otherworldly. There is another Devil´s Throat (how many are there in Argentina?) A giant red gorge, and there we all sit at the bottom, swallowed already. Are we supposed to hope that the devil decides to vomit? A little ways down a natural ampitheatre, with amazing acoustics. A symphony plays there once a year. It must sound incredible.


Salta es mui linda.

3 excursions in Salta: the people

For the past three days, I have been sitting in cars for 10-12 hours at a time, being shown the natural wonders of Salta province. I had a lot of concern about this going into this stage of the trip, but it turned out to be OK. The excursions were not in a big bus, or even a mini van, but rather an SUV with either 3 or 4 passengers and one guide. The intimacy was nice and the conversation and people were interesting.
The first trip, I found myself headed to Cachi with two Italians from Vincenza, one is a roofer (Mirco) and the other (Ivano) works for the railway. They were on a four month trek through Argentina, Bolivia and Peru, just starting it. And the guide, Carina, was a total trip. I can truly say that I have never had a tour guide quite like her and I doubt I ever will. Her version of tourism involves informing the tourist of many of the pressing the social problems in the region we were driving through. These included inbreeding, incest, violence against women, and poor education. ALso included were complaints about porteños and chileans. All this while driving through some truly spectacular scenery: an odd juxtaposition. We closed the trip with some recipe sharing to lighten up the conversation a bit. It was great...especially for me, since the entire discussion was in spanish.
Trip two: Mostly in English, which was great for my headache. I don{t know that I would have had the stamina to ride through 12 hours of Spanish a second day. I found myself with Noe, the guide, who though he was a neighbor of Carina, does not have quite the same social conscience or set of opinions, two french women, a mother (Laura) and her 15 yr old daughter (Julia), who made quite a pair, and then a 22 yr old russian (Gleb) who had just finished a second degree in Economics at Gottingen in Germany, and was about to start a job with Goldman Sachs in Frankfurt as an investment banker.

Conversation was lively, but dont ask me what it was about...until we dropped off the frenchwomen. At that point Gleb and I started, somehow, a conversation about relativism (in the philosophical sense). Gleb, being a 22 year old economist, was, of course, a relativist. Efforts to persuade him that relativsim was bunk by appeal to the objectively spetacular scenery were for naught. Noe admitted that he had never had quite this sort of conversation in his car before. Poor guy.




Today, the last trip: Two women, a crazy porteña (Velia)who would not stop talking, a dignified 75 yr old woman, who turns out to be an argentinian naturalised Canadian living in Montreal (Ines): they are cousins; and a very cold chilean man (Fredi) who didnt want to talk or look at the vistas, or really do much of anything but hog the front seat. The poor guide...she dropped me off last, and I expressed sympathy for her, which she said she very much appreciated. I didnt get names, alas. But Ines has had an incredible life...her husband was a Canadian diplomat, a trade commissioner, they met in Lima, and lived in Sydney, Jamaica, Spain, Italy, London, Buenos Aires, Atlanta, and no doubt some other places I am not remembering. Landing, eventually, in Montreal. I saw a picture of her 99 yr old mother, who doesnt look a day over 85.

Update: Today (Dec 15) wandering around Salta, I ran into Mirco, Ivano, Velia and Ines sitting having coffee. It turns out in the middle day, those four had been on a tour together....Its a small town...I joined them, and we spent a great couple of hours chatting over coffee...All of us leave Salta in different directions today.

no pictures

Just to make one thing clear...I do not have the ability to post pictures until I am back in Toronto....but don´t worry pictures will appear (and so I will have to force you to return again and again to my warm and sunny adventure). And no I will not post any pictures of myself tangoing, should that ever come to pass, unless of course I turn out to be a natural!

the problem of Iguazu falls

1. The only people who go to Iguazu (who aren´t already in the neighborhood) go as tourists to the falls. Like me, they hop on a plane from Buenos Aires, get off in the tropical heat and humidity of the airport, get picked up by a prearranged car service and go to their lodgings.
2. Perhaps unlike me (but maybe not) they stay for more than 24 hrs and then head out on a plane back to Buenos Aires again.
Problem: How to actually see the falls in less than 24 hrs.
If you are me, you decide to simply assume the role of ugly tourist and hire a car to take you to the falls and back for 80 pesos. You enter the parque at 3:30 when it closes at 6:30. Rush to go see the Devils´s Throat. Then rush to walk the upper circuit of the other but lesser falls. You then pay another 60 pesos to join a tour group to come back the next day so that they can pick you up with your bag (which you then leave at the park gate locker area) and then once again pick you up to take you to the airport. You do this even though the public bus costs 2.70 pesos each way.


If you are me, though, you are also so thoroughly impressed by the force of the Devil´s Throat as it cascades down in what seems like a giant avalanche of water, and of the sheer elegance of the cascading lesser falls, that you are glad you behaved like an ugly tourist. And you are glad you had the added benefit of seeing the falls at different times of day under different conditions )the park was empty in the afternoon). Your one regret is that you didn´t get to do the nature walk where you might have seen toucans and monkeys.




I have been searching the past few days for words that can do justice to the spectacle -- which can adequately explain why masses of people descend in really insufferable conditions to behold the cascades. The Devil´s Throat felt as if it were sucking me in. I felt a real temptation to fall into the water and ride it down. The roar of the water was load, deafening even, but a loudness that snuck up on me. When I was standing there I didn´t realize how loud it was; it was only once I had walked away that I realized that people were shouting at one another, and that really you could hear nothing but the water. And the walks of the upper and lower circuit, especially the lower circuit, were really well designed, affording nice vistas of arcs of falls against the green forest and the blue sky, and in some distances a close encounter with a fall.




A flight back to BA, a 3.5 hr wait in the airport, a n2.5 hr plane ride, and I found myself in Salta, where I am now. I´ve been going on rather interesting tours of the province of Salta, sitting in an SUV for 10-12 hrs each day. More on that later though.

bicicleta naranja

if I spelled that right.
I´m waiting to leave for the airport to go to my Iguazu in less than 24 hrs adventure, so this will be quick. Yesterday, in walking from the center of town to San Telmo (the older part of town, that was basically lower-middle class after an early 20th century outbreak of yellow fever made the rich folk get away from the mosquitos), I stumbled across a bicycle tour place, and signed up. On a 3.5 hour tour, we road through San Telmo, to La Boca, past the futbol stadium where we stopped and got a long discourse by our guide, ana, about the allegiances of Argentinian football. (Note to Sergio: the Brazilian in the group wanted to go to a match). Got to the touristic Caminito, full of street tango perfomers and 'artists' and cheap souvenirs. Rode through some very clearly poorer neighborhoods, under the highway and then all around the ecological reserve.






We stopped to take in the Rio de la Plata, the widest river in the world at a mere 40km. It looked like the ocean.

Strangely enough, one guy on the tour, Aaron, was also from Vancouver, though he seems to lead a somewhat fantastic life in which he lives in countries for three months and sets up businesses in them. His boyfriend, Peter, was with him, and had quit his job in SF to try his hand at producing world sacred music (think 1 giant leap). The bike tour itself was great, and Diana was full of interesting facts about the history and mindset of portenos and argentinians in general. There seems to be a general obsession with the way in which the other south american countries view Argentina.
In the evening, I went to a community centre based milonga, or tango club. The goal -- to take a tango lesson -- was, alas, not achieved. I couldn´t understand enough spanish to figure out where the beginner group was. I suppose I could have asked, but I was tired and a bit self-conscious. It was just getting going at 11 pm. Maybe I will go back when I return.

more walking, a dinner party, and two easy cab rides

Yesterday I walked. And walked some more. And walked yet more. Buenos Aires is a very walkable city. The subte to Pueyrredon, and then walked into the posh neighborhood to the cemetery at Recoleta. Like all cemeteries it is interesting to walk around. There are crowds of people around the Duarte mausoleum housing Eva Peron (though I am not quite sure what affection people like me, and others with no real relation to Argentina have for her). There are many many tombs of various generals that have a clear importance in Argentine history, but I am embarassed to say I recognize the names by the fact they also name streets. There are some interesting contrasts. My favorite was that between a traditional mausoleum, with an angel hovering over it, classical architecture, and the modernist aesthetic with clean concrete lines, and glass walls. Apparently, architecture makes a statement even in death.

From there I followed the Av. de Liberador to the Museo del Bellas Artes. Some impressive holdings in the european collection, though I did not spend enough time with the Argentine art. Upstairs there was a special exhibition of photography and an interesting multi-media artist. The most interesting piece was a series of cabinets with back walls of 3x5 architectural photos and then in front of them miniatures in marble of other buildings. Wended my way back to Palermo Viejo.

Napped.
Then went to the dinner-party-that-you-pay-for. The concept is a great one. Practice your cooking and menu design by offering to host a bunch of people for dinner in your home. Some people you´ll know. Some people you won´t. They will talk amongst themselves. Problems: you don´t get to do much talking with your guests. So even though I didn´t get to chat with the host (Dan Perlman -- you can find him at www.saltshaker.net), I did get to eat his food. Nice pre-dinner chatting with some Aussies, and shared a table with two Spaniards, and the porteno girlfriend of one. They were very kind to speak in English some of the time. One of the Spaniards did a lot of translating, for his friend, whose english is about as good as my spanish. Really interesting conversation though -- about how the spanish speaking countries actually understand themselves to speak different languages, about university life in Argentina, anthropology, the differences between Spain and Argentina (apparently, the spanish find the Argentines very friendly, and even a little too much in contexts of shops, etc, much more so than Spaniards.) It was a success.
And the biggest achievement was the two cab rides I managed to take with no event whatsoever.

Did a lot today too, but that will have to wait for later.

...last night

Imagine if Almodovar made a High School movie. Now imagine I was a marginal figure in that movie. That was my night. I found myself at about 1am at a ´club´ a bit out the way of everything, but near the river, joining a going away party for someone I don´t know. The club was more or less empty, but two bouncers were carding everyone who was trying to get in. Apparently I look under 18. Slowly, people who really did look like they needed to be carded came filtering in, dropped off by taxis, cars, etc. Many were dressed in costumes. One boywas dressed as King Tut. Another as The Puzzler. Girls dressed as fairies. There was, strangely, a 50 yr old man dressed as a monk. He was by far the oldest person there, and spent the better part of the night sitting on a couch looking monkish. There was dancing. Somebody who had been to Vancouver likened the whole thing to a party at Shenanigans. This was not far from the truth. We were supposed to leave and go somewhere better, but somehow stayed until 4am. The crowd did not get any older.
Now. How did I get there? Earlier in the evening, I sat talking with another guest at the B&B who I had met over breakfast: Pia, a 45 yr old separated mother of 4 who was in town buying clothes for her store in Chile. Pia poured wine for me and Lucila, one of the people who work here, and Cesar, another person who works here. They talked and I listened and tried to talk. Sometimes they tried their english. It was all very nice. Pia and I went for dinner around 11pm. Dinner was good. And from there Pia said we should go to this party Lucila told her about. And so it went. Pia is what makes this an Almodovar movie -- incredibly extroverted and exaggerated and, well, brimming over with frustrated sexual desire for young men. Me: the slightly stiff and awkward nordamericano that allows for the reference to the High School movie genre.

Tonight holds anothre adventure...the dinner party. We´ll see how I handle taking a cab ride by myself.

tourist by day ...

Yesterday: I spent the daytime walking around the central part of Buenos Aires, admiring the strange mix of architecture -- the neo-european (spanish,french, etc), the neo-classical (the main cathedral with the classical exterior and baroque interior, complete with the mausoleum of Liberatador San Martin), the simply strange Casa Rosa (with the weekly demonstration to remind all of the ´missing´ prisoners in front), the great art-deco sky-scraper off the Plaza San Martin, and the ultra modern Puerto Madero - renovated warehouses facing their newer glass equivalents across the canal. Something both elegant and cold. I had a nice light lunch with Maria Jose, a once historical linguist (greek) turned owner of a spanish language school, and got a bit of a sunburn (today I will remember sun screen). Made my way there and back on the Subte (subway) which was amazingly efficient and super-cheap (0.70 pesos/trip). The fun started though when I got back....but I still need to figure out how to tell the story of my evening. So more later...

the airplane fantasy

I think I am not alone in daydreaming before I get on a flight about who might be seated next to me. I imagine a witty and handsome man who will just so happen to have charted a plan similar to my own with whom I could share a post'flight cocktail. Unlike some people, my fantasies are always met with the intrusion of the harsh reality of a boring overweight guy who hasn´t realized that mustaches are a bad idea. This time I got something new. For 14 hours I sat next to a nun. A nun who had for some reason flown to Toronto from Mexico City to catch a plane to Argentina. She was very nice though, and in many ways I could not have asked for any one better to sit next to on a full flight. So much for the fantasy, though.

I am now safely installed in my little B&B called La Otra Orilla (pronounced Orija). You can look it up on the web as I can´t remember how to code the link. It´s at the edge of the hipster Palermo Viejo, and about a 20 minute subway ride to downtown. Very clean, very friendly, and now I am going to take a nap before figuring out how to eat.