Buenos Aires Revisited

I'm just a few days from returning back to Britain now, so I figured I'd try and write the last blog of this series... I've been thinking about the time I've spent over here, of things I did that I liked, of how my attitude to the city has changed over the past 23 weeks... 23 weeks is almost 6 months: the original plan was to come here for just over 3. What do I have to show for this extended stay?!

Today I decided to go back to where I started: Congreso. My first impressions of the city weren't good: I found myself right in the heart of the city, it was busy and noisy and dirty and I seemed to be surrounded by poverty. It was unsettling. After leaving that part of the town, first to stay for a week in a hostel in San Telmo, and then to spend three months living in posh Palermo, I never returned: there was nothing to return for, really. But I returned today, to see how that part of town seemed to me these days. The answer? Completely normal, of course! A bit busy, yes, but not overly dirty, and I didn't feel worried about anything (mind you, when I arrived in town, I was walking around with a couple of thousand pesos, a passport, a camera and two iPods, so maybe I had cause to be more paranoid back then...). This was half-expected: I'm now very much used to the city. True, there's not much reason to visit the Congreso area (apart from to see the very pretty Congreso building itself), but it's really no worse than many other parts of town.

This wasn't the first time I'd changed my mind about a part of the town, and this is why I prefer to live in a place for a prolonged spell rather than passing through like a regular tourist. A few weeks ago, I also revisited Puerto Madero. The first time I went there, I was magnificently unimpressed, dismissing it as a soulless business district. In many ways, it does lack soul, and it is for business folk to have expensive lunches during the week. But when I went there one Friday night to visit the beautiful art gallery they've got there (the Colección de Arte Amalia Lacroze de Fortabat), and stopped off for a posh salad afterwards, I changed my opinion. Sure, the food's pricey as hell over there - by Buenos Aires standards. If you convert the pesos to pounds and compare it with London, then it's really not too bad (as in: it's probably cheap compared to a lot of places in London). I chose to go there for my birthday lunch too: I figured I could treat myself, and I fancied giving the business folk a shock when they saw some young scallywag turning up at their restaurant and splashing just as many pesos as they could. By all means, if you're a tourist in Buenos Aires, then it's worth going for dinner in Puerto Madero.

Palermo is the part of town I return to most often, as it's within walking distance (it's a good walk). As I noted when I moved there, Palermo is a posh part of town. But when I lived there, it never struck me as being anything special. However, after living in Almagro for a few weeks, the difference between Palermo and other parts of town became very clear. The women are the biggest giveaway as to the income differentials: they dress very posh in Palermo, and they like to do themselves up as well. There are tall, thin girls with nice dresses and immaculate make-up who clearly have the time, money and incentive to worry a lot about their appearance. Where I live these days, they dress a bit more normally.

I raved about San Telmo when I first went there, but these days I have little love for the area. It can be a little intimidating, as it's both a tourist hotspot and a squatter's paradise. So it's a busy area, where you have to be on the lookout for cheeky chaps trying to pick your pockets. I don't like it at all any more, because I find it unnerving to be surrounded by bums who drink for a living. At night, you just get weirdos wandering around trying to talk to you at times. And it's not like you're going to understand them. I don't like it when people start talking to me and I can't understand what they're saying, especially if they're drunk and dirty. They may have innocent intentions, but they'll always come across as being slightly threatening. At best, they'll always be just plain annoying.

Villa General Belgrano and La Cumbrecita

We checked out of Le Grand Hostel in Córdoba, and got on the bus to Villa General Belgrano. I'd been looking forward to visiting this place since reading about it in my guidebook: I was promised chocolate and fresh German beer from the microbreweries in the town... It sounded like paradise. Indeed, as the bus rolled into the village, I began to think that it was actually paradise. The town's very clean and very posh, and it really did seem like being in Germany or something. We hadn't got round to looking for a hostel or anything before arriving, so we just followed some signs to a suitable inn. March isn't the peak season for the town (or for anywhere, for that matter), so we were lucky with the accommodation prices. We got ourselves a very nice room in a very nice little place, for not too much money ($145 a night, and this wasn't a hostel). I was a bit gutted that I hadn't packed my swimming shorts, as the place had a pool and everything. As it was, we didn't really have much time for swimming in the end (and I don't think I had the energy, either).

After dumping our stuff, we went straight out in search of some food (to be honest, I was in search of beer more than food). I had a nice honey beer. And some nice potatoes, too. It was siesta time, for me at least. The general story of our holiday was that I was continually falling asleep, while Cecilia did whatever Cecilia does while I'm asleep (to some degree, this seems to involve watching me and laughing at how much I twitch and jump while I'm asleep... Before the holiday, I had little idea that I did such a thing... Also, if I sleep on a bus, I look like a sack of potatoes being jostled about, allegedly).

Anyway, with my batteries recharged, we set off to go on one of the walking circuits available to us. We headed beyond the city limits and made our way up El Cerro de la Virgen. It was quite a nice trek, as it goes, although we both managed to sweat an incredible amount. The walk starts in earnest with a fairly steep set of steps - I counted over 110 of them. We climbed them without stopping, then stopped at the top for water and tic tacs. A bit of a rush. The view was worth it, though. I couldn't quite believe how much fun we were having, or that I'd chosen to spend most of my time in a busy and dirty city instead of just living in the country...



It's a shame that I didn't actually take any pictures of the town itself... I must've been too busy looking for beer and chocolate. Still there are plenty of photos available, so here's what the town looked like:



We stayed in Villa General Belgrano for three nights and four days, which was slightly longer than planned. I would have liked to stay even longer, I enjoyed it so much. For the second and third days we were in the area, we took the bus to La Cumbrecita, which was even quieter still...

La Cumbrecita was further away than we'd imagined, but the trip was worth it. We only planned to spend a day exploring the area, but it had lots to offer. Our first day was slightly wasted, anyway, thanks to a later-than-expected arrival, and then a hilarious episode of trying to get lunch (i.e. we went somewhere with virtually non-existent service, before eventually just getting up and walking out). We saw a couple of nice places.



However, upon learning that there was a hill in the town called 'Cerro Wank', my juvenile impulses took hold and I demanded that we return the next day to climb this magnificently-named hill. And so we did, leaving on the earlier bus the next day and wasting no time trying to get served in posh restaurants. A mandarin and an alfajor were enough to give us the energy to climb the hill.

As it goes, I think we took an exceptionally long route to the top. My fault: I was leading. But the paths weren't at all clear, and generally bifurcated with no indication of which way to go. The only sure guide for us was a trail of manure left by the horses that lazier people use to climb the hill. Not us. We're hardcore, and in no need of horses. We climbed higher and higher. I didn't find it as difficult as the Cerro de la Virgen that we'd climbed a couple of days earlier, as it wasn't as steep, but I think it was a longer trip. We found the summit eventually.



The descent was far quicker than the ascent, even though we took a few wrong turns. We got to the bottom, ate a banana, and cooled our feet in the beautiful yet freezing stream. There was only one place left for us to see: the "big" waterfall (hey, I saw Iguazù falls earlier in the year: this wasn't going to be impressive...). We ate some lunch then got going to see that too.

The big waterfall was a lot further than imagined, and I don't think we were the only ones who were surprised by the location, as we passed some older and less fit people on our way there, and they must've found the whole trek incredibly difficult. It was by no means simple, even for an action man like me. But the fall was fairly nice, I suppose. By the time we got there, I was in desperate need of sleep. Thankfully, the bus home wasn't far away...



Indeed, time seemed to fly in La Cumbrecita: we almost found ourselves rushing to get the bus in the end, after stopping off for some refreshment at a little place where the old lady served us tea and raspberry juice instead of tea and raspberry cake. In hindsight, it was better that she served us juice instead of cake, as we were more in need of liquid at this point than food. Whatever, we were soon on the bus home, which was what I'd been wanting for a while. I sat down, put on my iPod, and shut my eyes. Time to mimic a sack of potatoes again!

- - - - -

On our final day in Villa General Belgrano, we had a lie-in before going on another one of the walking circuits: to Pozo Verde.



The walk to the area where the Pozo Verde was located was a lot longer than expected, and far longer than the walk from the park to the Pozo Verde, which was a slight disappointment. It didn't bother us greatly, though, as the place was nice and quiet and we got to sit down and have a relaxing chat. The other attraction of the circuit was another hill. We started the ascent, but decided against continuing, as the midday sun was in full effect and the walk didn't seem to have much shade. So we made our way back to town for some food, beer and sleep before catching the bus back to Buenos Aires. It had been a very enjoyable week...

Alta Gracia

Alta Gracia is a shortish bus ride away from Córdoba: I can't remember exactly how long it took to get there, but the trip didn't seem long (maybe about an hour?). Perhaps Alta Gracia's biggest claim to fame is that it was the home of Che Guevara at various points of his youth: Che was an asthmatic, and back in those days they sent people with breathing difficulties off to the Sierra. And it's true that the air there is clean even today: as soon as we got off the bus, we were struck by how beautiful it was. It was very refreshing and I felt happy and relaxed instantly. We went to stand by the nearby pond to enjoy the freshness for a while.



My Lonely Planet guide only mentions two things to visit in Alta Gracia: the Jesuit Estancia and the Museo Casa de Ernesto Che Guevara. The girl at the tourist office highlighted a few other places on the map for us, but in the end we only saw the aforementioned places. I found the Jesuit Estancia to be very interesting: full of old engineering tricks (nice toilets) and creative designs, such as different uses of leather. My interest in learning more about the Jesuits was growing, but maybe not to the point where I'll ever know quite as much about them as my guide, Cecilia... Whatever, the Estancia was certainly very pretty and well worth a visit.



We mooched around looking for a place to eat, found very little on offer, and ended up back at one of only two eateries we'd come across. After eating, I needed to lie down in the park under the shade of a palm tree and have a snooze. It was quite blissful: a quiet town, at a quiet time of the day, with fresh air galore. The experience would have been perfect had the ants not annoyed me: at one stage, one of them decided to actually crawl into my ear, which I found a bit annoying...

After my little snooze in the shade, we headed for the Che Guevara museum. Neither of us had any real interest in seeing the place (if anything, we had more of an interest in not seeing the place), but there was little else on offer. We had a nice walk from the town to the museum, passing plenty of big houses. We asked ourselves what the people of Alta Gracia do to earn such a tidy living. The neighbourhood of the museum is clearly for rather wealthy people (a quick glance at a couple of posh girls who passed us by in the street confirmed this belief). Anyway, we got to the museum and reluctantly entered. It was small, it cost $5 to get in, there wasn't really much of interest there for either of us. Although I did learn that Che wasn't massively fond of killing animals or eating meat. He made an exception in the case of cows, though. The man couldn't resist a bit of beef! I must admit, resisting the red stuff over here is far from easy... Anyway, the museum was one of several houses Che lived in while growing up. I got to see the toilet he used to sit on and everything. Special.



That was Alta Gracia: we headed back to the bus stop, pausing for a good while at the pond where we started our visit. There were some nice creatures hanging out. It was a very relaxing place. The holiday was getting better, and I wondered what the next port of call would be like... After tasting the air, I was certainly looking forward to staying a few nights in the Sierra. I decided that I'd stop taking my asthma medication to test how I coped in the cleaner environment...

Córdoba

I was lucky enough to spend last week away from Buenos Aires again, and my latest adventure proved to be my favourite trip so far. Cecilia and I went off to explore Córdoba, which isn't too far from us by Argentina standards (only 8 hours). We left at about 11pm on Saturday night, slept on the bus, and woke up at our destination. That's what I call an easy trip :-)

Córdoba was perhaps my favourite part of Spain, so I was curious to see what I'd make of the Córdoba in Argentina. I'd been told three things about the place: the accent was difficult to understand, the girls were the most beautiful in the whole of Argentina, and the Sierra was about as beautiful as the girls. It didn't take long for me to confirm the first of these points, as we checked in to the hostel we were staying at and the guy at reception started trying to explain something to me in a roundabout way, regarding a potential confusion of the booking. Sure enough, we were given a room with three beds in it. Things were looking hilarious. Thankfully, Cecilia took over and we got our point across. There had indeed been confusion with the booking, on a couple of levels: firstly, we weren't after a room with three beds, funnily enough, or even a room with two beds. And, secondly, the site I'd used to book had charged double the price. I had thought it was a bit steep... Anyway, everything got sorted by the time we'd had breakfast: we were promised a double room at a bargain price. Joy! The hostel was beautiful, as it goes. It was more like a hotel than a hostel. If you ever go to Córdoba, be sure to check out Le Grand Hostel. Anyway, enough talk about the hostel... Here's a picture of the church next to the hostel instead:



We kicked things off with by visiting a couple of art museums. The first, Museo Caraffa, had a massive photography exhibition going on. It was the usual mix of photos that were actually interesting and photos that were completely mundane, the latter being accompanied by the standard bullshitty blurb about their artistic merit. As proof of the fact that I wasn't alone during my visit, I took very few notes about what I saw (if I go to an exhibition by myself, I generally spend hours staring at stuff, but if I'm with someone else then I often feel a bit rushed). I did jot down one name, though: Tomy Ceballos. His photo 'Piel de mujer' had me wondering what technique he'd used to get the effect. Unfortunately, the accompanying blurb didn't go into much detail. Whatever, the museum building itself was rather nice. And, as promised, the girls who worked there were rather attractive (and remarkably charming and friendly, too). I don't have any pictures of the girls that worked there, but I too have a picture of the polar bear that was outside the museum:



After a bit of lunch, we went to the Museo Superior de Bellas Artes to see a collection of art from across the ages. From the pre-modern era, there were a couple of nice paintings of animals, but other than that the work was standardly dull. However, the modern and contemporary pieces were a joy. It was a strange building; part posh palace, and part modern nightmare, complete with cowskin material covering the walls and banisters leading to the upper galleries. There was a very nice tearoom, which wasn't in operation, unfortunately. I sat there and stared at the big piece on the wall, regardless.



And after that, we checked in to our new room, got washed, and went for a Fernet and Coke. Córdoba is famous for Fernet, so I just had to drink it while I was there. I'd only tried it once before, on Christmas day. I won't explain what it is: you can read all about it on Wikipedia if you want to know more. All I'll say is: the best description I've heard of it is that it's a bit like drinking Coke after brushing your teeth. Regardless, it's quite tasty. I drank it every night we were in Córdoba. The generosity of the servings varies from bar to bar. One night I was given very little, and another night I was given so much that I was a bit tipsy...

On the first night we were in town, I had a strange dream involving an ex-captain of my school. Funnily enough, the next day we visited a school. It was very nice indeed: one of the many gifts left by the Jesuits. I know very little about the Jesuits, but Cecilia tried her best to educate me, and after seeing some of the good things they did for the development of the country I feel obliged to learn a bit more about them. Anyway, we saw the Jesuit school, then the non-Jesuit and not-so-pretty Faculty of Law that was opposite. A couple of students had just graduated, so they were getting covered in eggs, flower and vinegar, and being stripped. It's a tradition over here...



Afterwards, we visited a pretty little Jesuit house quickly, then stopped off at the museum of the National Bank where I was fascinated by the early machines they had for counting money, and the handwritten ledger that they relied upon in the pre-spreadsheet era. It was far prettier than any spreadsheet I've ever seen, but it must have taken a lot more time and effort to maintain.



One of the things that stood out for me in Córdoba was how vegetarian-friendly it seemed to be compared to Buenos Aires. We had lunch at one of three vegetarian restaurants that I know about in the town. It was a self-service, pay by the weight affair. We got some beans in us. In fact, we went to another self-service (they're called tenedor libre over here) place for dinner, too, after spending the afternoon wandering around the big but not hugely attractive park. I got to play on the swings in the park, anyway, so I was happy.

And that was Córdoba: like I say, it's very pretty, but nowhere near as big as Buenos Aires (perhaps that's why it's so pretty). Allegedly, outside of the part that we saw, the city is a bit ugly, so we didn't venture there. Instead, on our third day in town, we got on a bus to nearby Alta Gracia...

Lezica!

My three months of living in the posh part of town with a mad old woman came to an end yesterday, and I took all my stuff over to my new home in Almagro. It's not Palermo, but it's a decent enough neighbourhood. Palermo's full of rich folk and tourists. My new area's a bit more "regular". I live on a small road called Lezica, right next to the railway track, which is fun, because at the moment my bedroom has a window that opens onto the tracks. I had fun sleeping last night... Mainly due to the heat: my new room doesn't have air conditioning. But it's got a fan and a window, and that's probably better for the environment and my health. The trains didn't bother me: as I'd imagined, the odd train passing by is far more preferable to having an old woman banging around consistently between the hours of 5 and 7, and then the constant ringing of a telephone when she's gone...

So, here's one of the selling points of my new pad - the roof:



It's damn hot up there. The only down side is that there are no bloody chairs! My task for the moment is to perhaps buy myself a chair for up there, so I can sit and enjoy the sunshine. We've got a grill, so there are regular barbecues in this place. It's a cool environment. I mean, it's not really much of a surprise that it's a cool environment, when you see what the landlord uses his roof garden for:



Boom! This is temptation at its finest. No sooner do I lose interest in smoking, then I move in with a guy who's doing exactly what I always said I wanted to do... He's a vegetarian too, as it goes. An artist and a raving queer. Quite a character. I far prefer him to my previous landlady. He's a lot more trusting, fun, welcoming, and on my level (i.e. off his rocker and among the clouds). We have two cats here too, Annan and Kung Fu. They're alright, but a bit annoying, because I have to keep my bedroom door shut. There's no way I want them snooping around my room, lounging in my bed, licking my toothbrush, scratching my MacBook, "playing" with my dolls...



And that's all I can say about my new home for the time being: it's much nicer than the last place. I sat on the sofa last night with my MacBook while my housemate watched The Office. This was after spending the evening on the roof eating pizza and drinking beer. Suddenly, it feels like I'm on holiday... But, anyway, I've got a lot more space to sit around doing work here too. And lots of nice things to look at :-)

Iguazú Falls

Here's a blog about my latest trip, which was only actually the third trip I've made in the three months I've spent in Argentina. But who cares? Still, fair play to the youngsters I've come across who are on a mission to tick off as many towns and cities as they can: at least if you keep moving around, you're less likely to get bored.

I'd originally planned to go to Iguazú in December, but changed my mind at the last minute (after going to the bus station without sufficient pesos in my pocket, as it goes) and went to Pinamar instead. But, since virtually everyone I met told me that I just had to go to Iguazu, because it was amazing, I decided that maybe sitting on a bus for 14 hours would be worth it. As it goes, the bus ride was longer than 14 hours: the journey there took 16 hours, and the journey back took 18 hours. It's a bizarre life when you spend longer travelling somewhere than you actually spend enjoying that place. 

Whatever, I was told that I could spend a good three days enjoying the waterfalls, so I booked myself in to a wonderful hostel for two nights (the Hostel Inn, in case you're wondering: it seems to get good reviews from everyone, and I think it deserves them). It had a swimming pool and everything, which was very handy on the first day, as it was incredibly hot, and I had little else to do when I arrived. The hostel provided a transfer service to the park that contained the waterfalls, but it left in the morning, and I only arrived in the afternoon. It's quite possible to get a different bus there, but entry to the park costs $60, and I wasn't prepared to spend $60 for an afternoon (as it goes, if you go on two consecutive days, the total cost will only be $90, but I discovered that I could see everything in just one day anyway). So instead, I just jumped in the pool, then lay in the sun, then got out of the sun because it was too hot, then eventually went to investigate the tiny town that is Puerto Iguazú.

There wasn't much of note in the town: it's just a place that lives off the thousands of tourists that continually pass through. I bought some cheese, olives, bread and water, which would be my afternoon and evening meals for the next two days (tell me how gross that is). And I took some pictures to try and entertain myself for as long as possible. Eventually, I got the bus back to the hostel, read a bit, swam a bit, had a shower and went to bed early, because I was tired and I had a long day ahead of me the next day. I set my alarm for 7, which was when breakfast started at the hostel. After dining on bread, cheese and olives, I planned to eat a hearty breakfast.

My alarm didn't go off the next morning, because the clock on my phone was set incorrectly (I thought it was 17 minutes too slow, but it was in fact 12 hours and 17 minutes too slow). Fortunately, there was enough noise coming from another source (it sounded like a water pump) to wake me up. I got up and ate my breakfast, then waited for the bus to arrive to take me to the falls. I'd bought tickets for a couple of boat rides to help make the day more entertaining. I made friends with a group that was staying in another hostel, and we set about exploring the park. One of the guys complained to me that 8am until 4 pm seemed like a bit of a long time to be wandering around looking at waterfalls. He was proved wrong: the park was certainly big enough to keep us entertained for the duration of our visit.

We started off by walking around the lower circuit of the park. When we found our first viewing point, we were all quite impressed by the sight. The cameras came out and we started snapping like maniacs. As we continued to walk along, it seemed that the view got more impressive with every few metres we walked. What made things better, and something we didn't appreciate until about an hour later, is that it was early and we were the only ones there. Later, we'd have to fight against the swarms of other tourists that were all trying to get almost identical photos, but on their cameras (I'd be intrigued to see how many photos of the falls are on flickr). Here's one of the 200 pictures I took:

With the exception of one of the girls in the group, we all had a ticket to go on the boat ride that would take us right into a couple of the waterfalls. Getting the soaking out of the way at the beginning of the day made sense, as we'd have longer to dry off. The ride was quite a laugh: getting soaked was refreshing, and disorientating. I've been under a waterfall before: the tiny thing that was in the grounds of the University of Nottingham (the "Water of Soberness", as we called it, after discovering the ability of the water to make the most drunk person feel sober again. Happy days...). But here we had proper falls, and there was so much water that it was impossible to see anything for the most part of the time under the water. Thankfully, the guy in control of the boat could see, or else we'd have been destroyed by the falling water. Whatever, as you can imagine, we got totally drenched. There was not a part of my body that was dry, and I had to stand up slightly to get the water out of my shorts.

After wringing out our t-shirts, we got going again, to see more falls. There's not much to say: the pictures are all on flickr for anyone who really seriously wants to see what we saw. The last place we visited was the Garganta del Diablo (the Devil's Throat), which is perhaps the most impressive part of the park. This is where some of the falls form a big throat-like bay where the water just gushes down in a rather frightening manner. It's a nice place to hang out, if you're not of a nervous disposition. As I looked, I couldn't rid myself of the idea of being thrown down the throat and swallowed up by the water before being smashed into pieces against the rocks at the bottom of the fall. One of the Australian girls in the group wasn't plagued by such visions, and said she felt incredibly at peace up there. Whatever, it was an impressive place.

I left the group for a bit, to meet them back at the bus, as I was the only one who'd bought a ticket to go on the calm boat ride down the river (there were three boat rides in total: one that hurtled down the rapids, the one that went into the waterfall, and this one, that was rowed gently down the river). It was a nice way to end the day, as I got to sit on the side of a dinghy for half an hour and just relax after having walked around for the previous 6 hours or so. Although, at first, there was a slight sense of fear among some of the people on the boat, as we floated along and could see the edge of one of the falls not too far from where we were, and could still hear the sound of the Garganta del Diablo (I clearly wasn't the only one who'd been slightly disturbed by the sometimes terrifying nature of nature). Of course, the boatman knew what he was doing, so we weren't at risk, and he wasn't about to take us to the edge to give us all a thrill either. We just enjoyed a very pleasant ride, and not even the mosquitoes came to bother us.

After the boat ride, it was nearly time to go. It had been a pleasant 7 hours or so of seeing the park. I'd seen the falls up close from the Argentinean side: the next day I'd be seeing things a bit further away, from the Brazilian side. The selling point of the Brazilian side is that you get a more panoramic view. There's not so much to see, though: for this trip, the bus left at 10am, took 45 minutes in arriving, and picked us up again at 2pm. Which was just as well, because I was very tired that day. Whatever, I got my passport stamped a couple of times, spoke a little Portuguese, had difficulty understanding a little Portuguese, got some Reais, and ate a cheese baguette.

With that, it was time to wait for the bus to leave Iguazu again. I could write about my time on the bus, but I really can't be bothered. I returned to Buenos Aires, and it was raining. I just got a cab home to save myself the hassle of the underground and the wet streets, arrived home and started uploading the photos I'd taken.

And that's that.

 

Rosario, and the joy of looking for a hostel

It was about time I wrote another blog, so I decided to go on another trip. I told my friend Cecilia I was heading off to Rosario, an idea I'd put in her head a few weeks previously, and she said that her and another friend were up for coming along too. Happy days! Company for the trip. We headed off on Tuesday morning, a bit later than planned, because the third traveller, Luis, is always late and, true to form, he turned up late...

The bus ride was only 4 hours, which is about as short as bus rides get in this massive country. The coach had the air con on full blast and was about as cold as a fridge, which made things a bit difficult when we got off at the other end, where scorching heat awaited us. I don't know why they do that. But anyway, we stepped out into the heat, in need of food and accommodation. We picked up a sheet of hostel names from the unmanned tourist information booth and went to check a few of them out.

In Pinamar, Doug and I paid $60 a night for a room that was pretty much 3-star hotel standard. So, I was a bit annoyed when we went to the first hostel and some surly German girl showed us a tiny room shared between ten people and said: "That one's $40 each," and then another tiny room for two, but with room for 3 if they throw down a futon and the guy on the floor doesn't mind getting stepped on, and said: "This one's $160 for the room". We went elsewhere. A long walk to the next hostel, which was much of the same. There were two choices: with air conditioning, or without. The room "with air conditioning" (we couldn't see any air conditioning) was tiny, and shared between 8, and the one without, shared between 10, was slightly larger, but equally crap. The price was the same: around $40. Jokes. We deliberated for a while, then looked elsewhere.

We passed another hostel, and I said: "What's the point? It's probably going to be the same as the other two...," but we went in anyway. This one was called "Cool Raúl". They had a room for just the three of us, for only $32 each, and we were relieved and out of energy, so we took it. We went into the room and shut the door while we arranged ourselves and, upon trying to exit the room, we discovered that the door handle didn't work from the inside... We were trapped in the room! Upon knocking, an American girl who worked there came and opened the door for us. She spoke to us in a bizarre mix of appalling Spanish and native English (the opposite of what normally happens), and the lack of any solution to the problem confused Cecilia into thinking that there was something she'd missed. "Oh, no," I said, "no solution was given to this problem. She just said that sometimes it happens, and sometimes it doesn't." Fortunately, Luis didn't waste time in getting a nail and a hammer from the hostel "management", and he fixed the door for us. Of course, the door didn't lock. And the wooden lockers in the room were a bit bizarre: either you couldn't actually lock them, or there was a hole in them, so locking them didn't make much difference. We found one that was actually half-decent, put some stuff in it, and got the hell out of the place (leaving the key in the bedroom: there was no point in taking it with us...) to find some lunch and explore the town.

After spending a nice day out, it was time to return to the hostel. This was the part we hadn't really been looking forward to. Cecilia had a shower, and said that the girl's bathroom wasn't too bad. That made sense, as there were only about three girls at the hostel. I said there was no way I was going to have a shower unless I absolutely needed one, as the boy's bathroom was shared between at least 20 guys, and was a touch neglected on the cleaning front... Anyway, we got away from the place again as soon as possible to find some dinner.

We finished our dinner, so tired that we could barely even speak to each other, but I pointed out that there was clearly no way we'd be getting much sleep back at Cool Raúl. A party had been brewing when we left, and the bar was right next to our room: we had a window looking out into the bar, in fact. I figured they'd be partying all night. We returned at about midnight and discovered that, yes, my prediction had been correct. The front door of the hostel was wide open, and the place was a lot busier. There was a party! Not really in the mood for partying , we went to bed (to be honest, I might well have enjoyed staying up to drink and smoke weed and talk nonsense to strangers once I'd got into the swing of it, but my friends were definitely against doing such things).

Fortunately, I'd brought my earplugs, so I could block out a lot of the noise from the party. For me, it didn't sound like the party was happening right next to our room, but down the stairs. I was able to grab portions of sleep throughout the night, and my dreams were all the same: that I was staying in a hostel with friends (different friends each time, I think, form different chapters of my life), and there was a party going on. Whenever I woke from these dreams, I realised that I was actually in a hostel, with friends, and that, yes, there was a party going on too.

It seemed as if my waking moments coincided with different stages of the party: there was a moment when the party seemed to reach its climax and there was much shouting, and then the moment when the party started to die down and people were leaving, the moment when there only seemed to be a couple of people left, talking nonsense under the influence, and then the very end, when I heard noises in the kitchen. I realised it was time for breakfast, which was a bit of a strange moment, as the rest of the hostel had only just gone to bed. We got up and laughed at the selection on offer: a jar of coffee with a few spoonfuls caked onto the bottom of the jar, some bread, butter and dulce de batata. We ate the plums that Luis had brought with him instead. 

One of the hostel chiefs came and tried talking to us for a bit while we were sitting there. He was blatantly off his nuts and in dire need of sleep. This guy was so wasted that, earlier, he'd been talking to Cecilia in English, even though she'd been talking to him in Spanish. This time, he finally twigged that she wasn't lying when she said she was from Buenos Aires... It was one of those embarrassing situations where someone wants to talk to you, but you have no desire to talk to them, and they just won't go away. Whatever, we all found reasons to leave the table and left him just standing there looking like a lost soul who needed to find his sanity again. 

Fortunately, we wouldn't be staying there another night: the previous day (after checking in to Cool Raúl, as Sod's Law would have it), we'd stopped by at another hostel, where there was a beautiful spacious room with a balcony, in a clean building, for only a few pesos more than we were paying at Cool Raúl (and a lot cheaper than the cramped ten to a room hostels we'd first visited). We didn't hesitate in booking ourselves in there after seeing what was on offer.

We got packed, paid the guy and got going. I thanked him anyway, and shook his hand. He then said to me in English: "There's laughter in my head... I took coke all the night..." And I just laughed, thinking: "No shit, it's kind of obvious what you've been up to!" We got a cab to the hostel we'd stopped by at the previous day , which was far nicer. We got some coffee there and felt happy that we would be able to get a bit more rest and stay in a far cleaner place that night. We said to one of the management team: "Yeah, we stayed at Cool Raúl last night, it wasn't the best place...," and he was all: "Oh yeah... yeah, I've heard about that place...".

Anyway, we headed out to make the most of the day. First stop was Dixon Beach! As we waited for the boat to arrive, I lay in the shade, enjoying the cool breeze and the clear blue sky. Lying there, enjoying the tranquility of my physical and mental environments, I thought back to our friend at Cool Raúl, and the mild coke-induced psychosis he would be having to endure. We were in different worlds...

Mishaps

The sun shone again yesterday: it shone brightly and it shone all day. That was enough to make my day, in spite of the mishaps that poked fun at me...

I didn't mention event number one yesterday, which occurred as I was on my way to the internet place to write a blog, but since it was joined by another event later in the day, it became worth writing about. Like I say, I was on my way to use the internet, with my iPod on, wandering down the sunny street, with my iPod in my hand, looking at the screen, trying to find the next tune I wanted to hear, walking along, looking at the screen - this town isn't like the capital: there's no shit in the streets, so you don't need to look where you're going all the time - I'm walking along in the sun, choosing the next track from my iPod, looking at the screen, and then...

Slow motion. When I thought about it later, I wondered if the music had slowed down too, because everything else seemed to slow down. I was lost in the list of albums on the screen of my iPod and didn't realise what was happening, but it was happening so slowly that I eventually realised that I should stop looking at the screen and consider the world outside of the list of albums. I realised that my right leg was sliding from beneath me and, as soon as I realised, there was that cartoon moment where, upon realising what should happen next, the next event happens. I found myself on the floor, on my side: my right foot had slipped on the sandy incline of the smooth dropped kerb and I was on the floor, on my right hip. After a further moment's thought, the exclamation came: "What the fuck?!" I said, utterly bemused at what had just happened. I then realised that the preceding ten seconds or so had probably only just been a couple of seconds at most, and that, yes, I'd taken a tumble. I got up, looked around to see if anyone had seen what happened, noticed only a guy in the nearby garage working on a car, and went on my way. Fortunately, I was wearing my longer shorts, so I didn't scrape my knee, but my foot took a slight scraping and my hip is a touch bruised. Anyway, I must've known it was coming, because only that morning I decided to put the protective cover back on my iPod. It did me proud. Otherwise, the corner of my iPod would be scraped too.

Anyway, I got over the fall and went to the beach in the afternoon for the first time in a couple of days (it had been miserable the previous day , and previous to that it had been too windy). It was nice to see that the weather was being kind to me on my last day of sunbathing at the seaside. I put my towel down, put my iPod on, and lay in the sun, soaking it all up and drifting off into a peaceful place. It was great: there was a slight breeze which kept me cool, but the sun was shining brightly. I lay there for over an hour.



I lay there for over an hour, and while I was lost in the music and the sunshine and the joys of the beach, I suddenly became alert to the scream of a child, and the sensation that someone was throwing water on my head. It took me a short while to react, but I sat up to see what was going on: who was throwing water at me, why were the kids playing so close to me?! That was when I discovered that I'd been wrong and that I wasn't the victim of a waterfight gone astray: the scream had indeed been related to the soaking I'd taken, but unrelated to my own personal circumstances.

I got up instantly, grabbing my bag and my towel: the soaking had come from the sea, which was coming in, and had suddenly made an unexpectedly large advance up the beach! I got to safety, and couldn't stop laughing. I looked out at the sea: it was close, but not so close that I should have been hit by the water. The advance had been a one-off. I looked around to see if anyone was laughing. I know that I was laughing, and I would have been laughing even more if I'd seen myself become the victim of one of Mother Nature's pranks. I looked at my towel: my giant beach towel was soaked and covered in sand. It weighed a tonne. I checked my bag to make sure my notebook hadn't got wet, and felt relieved that I'd had the foresight to put everything else in the bag in small plastic bags. Everything was safe, fortunately. But my towel was ruined and my t-shirt was drenched too: how was I going to continue the sun worship?!



I realised that I'd have to leave my towel in a place where it could dry off. Luckily, on the beach here there are private areas where people have their own little tents. The frames for the tents are made of steel and a permanent feature of the beach: nearby, such a structure existed that wasn't in use. I headed over there to drape my wet towel and t-shirt over the framework, and used my water bottle to beat the sand out of the towel as best as I could. It was actually quite pleasant to just sit on the sand and watch the towel flapping in the wind: it barely moved at first due to its weight, but slowly began to lighten as it dried, and swung increasingly large distances. After an hour, when the sun had pretty much gone, it was light enough and dry enough to be carried again, and my t-shirt was dry and good to wear.

Still, the towel was slightly damp and still held a fair amount of sand, so I dropped it off at the launderette on my way home. At least I now have a clean towel to take back to the city with me, so I won't be getting sandy every time I lie in the park from now on...

And that's pretty much the end of my little break: I guess it had to end with a small dose of misfortune. Hey, I do it just to make you guys laugh...

Builders!

At the hostel we were staying at (and where I'm still staying), there were Argentinean lads on either side of our room. They seemed like a nice bunch, they just hung out on the lawn in the evenings and ate and drank together. While Doug and I ate on Friday night, they passed us by and all said: "Buen provecho" to us: I commented on how sweet it is that over here and in Spain, if anyone ever sees you eating, they wish you a good meal (unless you're in a restaurant, of course: that would be a bit mad). And, as they passed us again with their own food, one of them asked if we were enjoying the beer. At least, that's what I heard: Doug wasn't sure he understood anything that had been said. I thought I had understood, but realised afterwards that he'd used the Italian word for beer ('birra'), instead of the Spanish. Anyway, after all of this, in addition to the fact that one of the guys had opened our beer for us with his lighter, I joked with Doug that I'd be hanging out with them once he'd gone.They seemed like a good bunch.

I joked, but the next night, before I even had to make the first move, the boys themselves invited me to come and share a beer with them, to save me from boredom. The alternative was indeed to spend the evening on my own, getting bored, so I took them up on the offer. I went off to the shop with one of them, Pablo, to get some beer. He bought me the beer! Nice. Then we started the night and got acquainted. There were three of them: Pablo, his brother Marcelo, and Fabian. I won't lie: understanding them was difficult at best, and generally impossible, especially when they talked among themselves (I did learn, however, that I'd been correct the previous night: he did say 'birra'). But it was fun hanging out with them. "Hey," said Pablo, "this is cool, because we've got a story to tell now! We can tell everyone that we hung out with our English neighbour, and you can tell everyone that you hung out with us!" He wasn't wrong: stories like this make for half-decent blogs...

One thing that I definitely understood was the story of how they'd come to be staying at the hospedaje. I was told it at least six times over the course of two nights, so it wasn't too difficult to get the gist in the end... The boys wouldn't let it go. They were labourers, working on a site nearby, and they'd come here with the promise of being put up in a big house with a TV, DVD player, grill, air conditioning, a kitchen, and all that jazz. But when they arrived, they discovered that the house was already full (with other guys from the site), so the project manager promised them another place. And he took them to the hospedaje... "When he opened the door, we were like: is this a joke?!" After the promise of living in luxury for a week, they were given a room to share between the three of them, in an hospedaje where they had no cooking facilities. The poor boys had to go a week without hot water to make mate with, and no grill for them to have a wonderful asado every night! "You were robbed," I concurred. "¡Hijos de puta!"



But anyway, disgruntled as they were, at least they had each other. On Saturday night, we went off to hang out with another couple of labourers who'd had the good fortune to be given a house. It was understandable why my friends were annoyed: they were having to spend a lot of money on eating out all the time, while the others had their own kitchen facilities. Still, we had a fun night, drinking a bit, then heading off home "early" to stop off for a pizza and more beer. The young waitress at the bar we went to wasn't fond of the boys, because they'd been there earlier to watch the Boca game and had got a bit excited. She was a fan of a rival team. She was all: "Be careful, these boys are idiots," but I had to point out to her that they were actually really good guys who'd shared their beer and their evening with me.

Well, we didn't have the promised grill together last night, due to bad weather and tiredness, but we sat out on the lawn again and I smiled as they talked incomprehensibly between themselves. A nice bunch. I have a photo, but can't upload it at the moment. I'm returning to the Capital tomorrow afternoon. Fortunately, the sun's come back out again, so I won't need to spend today walking around town to keep warm. Yes, guess which muppet forgot to pack a hoodie?! I've been a bit cold in the evenings. Apart from for the past two evenings, when my builder friends have been kind enough to lend me a top. There are some nice people over here: everyone keeps telling me to watch out for the bad guys, but so far I've been lucky enough to meet only the good ones.

Italians

In a small town like this, people notice what's going on... After eating dinner last night, Doug and I made our way towards the town in the hope that we'd find something to do. This town is tiny, and there's not much other than an amusement arcade, but we hoped to maybe find something that we hadn't come across the previous night. Anyway, we left our residence, and as we got to the hotel next door, and old woman stopped us in the street, asking: "Where are you from?!" Doug explained that he was from the States and I was from England. He reckons that she asked the question in Spanish, but I can't be sure any more (there are two languages for me these days: the ones I don't understand and can't place, and the few I understand without bothering about what language is actually being spoken...). Whatever, even if she had asked the initial question in Spanish, there was no doubt that the dear old lady then proceeded to talk away to us in Italian!

Doug looked utterly bemused, as he didn't understand what she was suddenly going on about. I had a nice chat with the old girl: she's been over here since 1952 and she loves it. It was a typical conversation with an aged person, covering all topics in a flash. She told me that I absolutely have to go to see the Iguazu falls (that's where I was planning to be today originally...), that Italy was worse off under the Euro and that she's far happier to be here than there, that she gets loads of Swiss tourists coming to stay here, that the Capital Federal is too hot in February and most of the city comes to Pinamar... She was 82 years old, but she was full of beans. She said that she'd heard me and Doug walking by, and she knew that we were English (she was almost right). Anyway, it made my evening. How bizarre to be walking down the street and suddenly have an old lady start talking away to you in Italian... Like Doug pointed out: if she knew that we were English, then what on earth made her think that she could get away with jabbering away to us in Italian?!?!

Anyway, Doug got up to go back to the Capital early this morning, and I'm currently praying that the clouds are going to go away so I can get some sun. The forecast says that today should be sunny. Sunday and Monday aren't supposed to be quite so nice. Unfortunately, I discovered that after booking myself in until Tuesday... I went for a walk along the beach when I got up, and it was grey. On my way back, there was a tremendous wind blowing in my face. But I can see blue skies now, so hopefully the strong winds have only come to blow the clouds away, and they'll disappear once it's hot enough to lie on the beach. Fingers crossed.

Pinamar!

Forget about the jungle and the waterfalls: instead of paying big pesos to spend almost a day on a bus that would take me to a place where I could see some nice falls and not much else, I opted to get on a shorter bus ride with my flatmate Doug, to go and lie on a beach in Pinamar! We got up early yesterday and jumped on the bus that took us to the coast. Five hours later, and we were there, almost. The bus station is kind of nowhere near civilisation, so we got a cab to take us to the town. Ten pesos later, and we really were there. Excitement!



The first stop was tourist information, which was clearly signalled on the map that the taxi driver gave us. We walked up the relevant road... and didn't find it. Maybe it was on the other road? No, it didn't look like the kind of road for a tourist office. I got out my Lonely Planet guide. Yes, it really was on the road we'd just walked up. We had a number now, and walked back down the road looking for the office. There were no numbers on the buildings. We got to the bottom of the road. Still no sign of anything. I asked a lady if she knew where the office was. She pointed us back to where we'd originally looked, and gave us a more precise description of the location. We walked back up the road. There was a yellow house where she'd told us to go. The house was closed. It didn't look like a tourist office. We continued walking up the road. Where was the office?! I went into a restaurant and asked there. The waiter told us to go back down a couple of buildings. "The yellow house?" I asked. "Yeah! The yellow house!" he confirmed. "It didn't look like it was open..." I said. "No, no, it is," he replied. And we headed back down the street again, towards the yellow house.

Then the waiter came running after us. "No, no, sorry: it's moved! It's up there, on the corner now!" So, we walked up to the corner and, sure enough, there was the office. If only we'd had the right information in the first place... Anyway, the guy at tourist information told us that there was a cheap place nearby and gave us another map (the same map as the taxi driver had given us: he pointed to where we were, and I pointed to the sign for the old tourist office on the map, laughed and said: "Yeah, we're not there, are we?!" He laughed as if to say: yeah, I know where you're coming from...). The hospedaje was very close: he located it on the map for us with a pen, and we made our way there. 60 pesos for the night for a double room sounded like amazing value.

On the way down the street, we pulled out the map to make sure we hadn't overshot the mark, and a woman came up to us and started asking for directions. "I... I need hotel, er, street. Looking for street. Hotel." Doug and I tried hard to understand what she was trying to say. She continued throwing out words of bizarre English at us. Eventually we figured it out: she wasn't actually a foreigner, looking for somewhere to stay, but a local, trying to help us out... I said to her, in Spanish, that we were going to our hospedaje, told her the name of the place, and the street it was on. Still hell-bent on helping us, she took the map from my hands and tried to locate the street for me. Doug and I were amused, bemused and slightly annoyed by this point. She looked at the map, told us where we were, and then pointed to the street we needed to go to. Doug and I were both standing there, thinking: "Can't this woman see that the place we're going to is actually indicated on the map in biro, and that we know exactly where we are and where we're going?!" She told us, helpfully, to continue along the street we were on and take the third turning on the left, turned the map around for me so that I could follow it clearly, and handed it back to me. Then she finally left us alone to go on our way.

Of course, laughter and ridicule followed... What a bizarre episode! Did she not realise that we knew where we were going?! Nutcase...

Anyway, we got to the hospedaje and asked to see the room. For $60, it was amazing. We'd have paid about $200 for a similar room elsewhere in town. Bargain! $30 each for a night!!! We were happy: we dumped our stuff, paid the lady, and went for pizza and a beer. Then to the glorious beach, where I wasted no time in getting into the sea, coming out, lying on my towel and falling asleep. The pair of us were whacked from the day, and just dozed until the early evening.

Doug's going back to the city tomorrow afternoon, but I fancy staying here a bit longer. I plan on staying in the same hospedaje: even $60 a night is cheap. You'd probably pay about $45 to share a 6-bed dorm in the shabby hostels here. I think I'll stay until Tuesday, walk on the beach in the morning, lie on the beach in the afternoon, swim in the lovely warm sea, and enjoy the break from the city. This is my Christmas holiday! Woop!

Pesos and Pounds

The most common note in my possession is the 100 peso ($100) note: I have lots of these, because when I cash in traveller's cheques, that's what they give me. I'm also told that you should expect $100 notes if you withdraw cash from an ATM. 100 pesos seems like a huge amount, but it works out at roughly £20. It's all psychological...

The value of a $100 note is exaggerated further by the fact that most places seem uncomfortable about accepting them: unless I'm spending more than $20, I feel like I'm putting people out by paying with them. I generally apologise if a $100 note is all I have to pay the $10 bill in a cafe. You get a fistful of notes in change.

Anyway, $100 is £20. I'm thinking back these days to just how often I would hand over a £20 note, and get less than half that amount back in change. $100 seems like a huge amount to me over here, while £20 in the UK was at times the average amount I'd spend in a day, just on breakfast and lunch, and other bits of food and drink. I'm thinking back to the last night out I had in London, where a round of three drinks cost a surprising amount of money: I must've got through at least $200 in that night alone, and it wasn't even particularly long or wild... The other day over here, I was horrified to be greeted with a bill for $15 for a pint of beer.

One of the things I was looking forward to about this trip was not having money to burn. And I'm enjoying myself more out here than I ever did in London when I was blowing at least $1000 a week. I'm not sure if I want to return to Britain and the pressure of getting a high-paid job again, because it all just seems absurd to me at the moment. Mind you, looking at the headlines, it seems absurd to quite a lot of people at the moment.

This Saturday

The pressure's mounting on me to leave the city. Get real: the Pound's devaluing faster than Brown can say "shit", people are losing their jobs in Britain faster than they can say "bollocks", and the range of adjectives at my disposal to describe the country I left no longer includes many more words than the ones just mentioned, even though I'll never be able to say anything quickly: just look at the length of this opening sentence if you need proof of that... Anyway, I'm now casually looking for work, and for a way to stay here longer than originally planned (hey, well, the original original plan was to stay for a year, so that's not strictly true). When I say "casually", I mean "not really, but sort of". You don't need a work permit to work in this country. A US bank account would help, though.

Anyway, I'm waiting for my camera battery to charge. I left the flat early this morning, with the intention of taking photos of non-tourist attractions. Fortunately, I tried turning the camera on as I was going down in the lift and discovered it wasn't working. I got to have an extra ride in the lift. I raced my flatmate the other day, and we discovered that both lifts in the building actually go at the same speed. This disappointed us slightly. Anyway, I was talking about the camera. Yeah, the camera battery's on the recharge. I'll snap some photos of homeless people, dog shit, dirt, bin-searchers, and girls rollerblading in bikini tops and hotpants, later.

That's all you're getting from me today. What else do you want? I had scrambled eggs for breakfast and I'm going to go a few days without coffee to see how I feel. I'm spending all my money on stamps for postcards at the moment. A stamp for Europe costs the same as a cortado (that's an espresso with milk, or a macchiato, as I once knew it). Oh, I had a very chocolatey drink yesterday. I didn't take a picture, so I'll have to have another one soon... End of blog.

Multimedia

Yes, check me out. I made this for the benefit of iPhone users, but everyone's entitled to watch it. Beats reading words, innit?!

Feriado

There was a holiday over here yesterday, in celebration of the Immaculate Conception. Hey, that's one way to get people to believe that the book of fantasy that is the Bible is actually speaking the truth...

I might as well write something here to entertain anyone who's been checking in over the past week, desperately searching for something boring to make their own life that little bit less boring. I've been busy writing other things, mainly of a personal nature (to other people. No, not insults to other people, but emails). I might as well say something here of a public nature, even though there are other public places out there were far more interesting word doodles of mine can be found.

I'm getting through a set of essays on the work of Macedonio Fernández. I could say more, but it's not like it would mean anything to anyone, so I won't. I'm also getting through a book on programming techniques. I'm cooking more frequently than I have done in the past year, which is good, and strange, since over here I have the most useless array of kitchen tools, and I can't even store most of my food in the kitchen. But I have free time.

I also have a bite on my elbow. Last week I had a bruise in the same place. I'm wondering why the elbow's getting all the attention.

Vivid dreams continue. It must be the relative lack of human contact I'm getting, or something. Last night I was on the train to work (what work?!), and Graham Coxon was sitting behind me. I was wearing Blur shoes. Do such things exist? I was wearing Blur shoes: they had a Blur logo on them (it looked like a Nike logo, to be honest). The one on my right foot was inside-out. I was also wearing my jeans on the inside-out. All this, because I was thinking back to my teaching days yesterday, and imagining what I'd have to do to teach them "inside-out". 

Anyway, the dreams I'm having all take place in England, and in the future, because when I talk to people, my time in Argentina is spoken about in the past. I've been here over a month now, which means I only have about 10 weeks left. That's not long. I'm annoyed by that. Can somebody stop time for me?

I have a stack of postcards, half of them have words on them, my mission for this morning is to post the ones with words on them. I'll do that while I'm on my way to the cafe for breakfast. In the meantime, this will be published in England at lunchtime. Okay, so I'm having a late breakfast....

More to follow when I can distract myself from personal emails again.

Entertainment this morning

I did some late-night shopping at the pharmacy last night: I needed some razor blades. However, even if I shave, I'm going to look pretty rough today, after the most bizarre night. I was woken up at about 4.40 this morning, as my nutty landlady decided she couldn't sleep, and started crashing around the kitchen to make herself a drink. There was no getting back to sleep after that. I think I only actually managed to get to sleep at about 1 anyway, so I'm in a daze at the moment.

In my awake state, I discovered that I really do get woken up by her before 7 every morning: her alarm clock goes off at 6, and I can hear everything that goes on in her quarters of the flat. Including farting when she goes to the toilet. That's the part that's really starting to get to me. I've seen the layout of her area now, after "fixing" her PC yesterday (I turned it off and then back on again), and I've learned that her bathroom isn't actually right next door to my room as suspected, but across a corridor. Maybe I should ask her to shut the door in future, so I don't hear her?

- - - - -

I logged on to the Guardian website and read the latest from Bangkok, and discovered that Google needs to tweak its adsense software a bit. The headline of the article was: "Thai anti-government protestors defy police warning to leave airports", and it had the subheadings: "Fears of widening unrest as blast injures 51 people" and "Emergency flights sent to pick up stranded tourists". And what are Google advertising below the article? Cheap flights to Bangkok! "Don't waste time! Book now!" Hardly appropriate, but it made me laugh.

- - - - -

Last night I watched the first TV show that's grabbed my attention in a while. It was totally sexist, but I can't deny that I love such shows, if only because they're honest in a way that other shows aren't (take news programmes, for example, and the abhorrent contradiction between the moral stance they take and the way in which they behave themselves...). The show is called "La noche del Domingo, con Gerardo Sofovich", he seems like an Argentine Bruce Forsyth (but not as charismatic as our Bruce). Two attractive girls with short skirts and amazing legs were playing ten pin bowling. I didn't really pay attention to the pretext for such entertainment: hearing one of them shout "LA PUTA!!" when she came close, but not close enough, to getting a spare, was entertaining enough. "La pucha...", Gerardo would remind her calmly, trying to get her to refrain from swearing on the live show.

There are the girls in all their glory. I think they must be B-list (and D-cupped) celebrities over here.

- - - - -

Anyway, our maid has arrived to hang out in the house all day, so I'm going to take a shower and then book myself into a hostel so I can maybe get some sleep... 

Torrential

I've been having vivid dreams since I arrived in this country: my mind must be in overdrive, trying to make sense of all the new things it's coming across. My dream last night involved the girl from the launderette. Not my launderette, but the one next to it. When I first when to pick up my clothes, I walked in there, said "Hola," looked bemused, then realised what I'd done. She looked at me as if she could tell from my face what I'd done too, and no sooner had I said "This isn't the right place!", than she was laughing in agreement. "I need to go to the other one!," I said, as I made my way out of the door and headed in the wrong direction to find the right launderette. She pointed me in the right direction. I looked at her through the glass, and banged my head with my hand to let her know that I wasn't quite with it, and she had a laugh...

So, I found this girl in my dream last night. Upon seeing me, she instantly started laughing, banged her hand against her head just as I had done, and said: "Hey, you're the guy who walked into the wrong launderette!"

Anyway, dropping your clothes off at the launderette is the only way to do things here. Unlike in my dream, where we actually had a washing machine in the flat that I'd never come across before.

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The weekend has been rained off in Argentina. Check out the football match between Huracan and San Lorenzo!

Madness!

Want me to write more? I'm not going to. The picture's said enough.

 

Banging pots and pans

I turned on the TV last night while eating my dinner, and caught some images of a cacerolazo taking place in some region of this enormous country, where they're protesting about a lack of power and water. A cacerolazo is the traditional Argentine way to protest: you get a pot or pan of some sort from your kitchen, together with a wooden spoon or something else with which you can beat out your protest rhythm in the street. Anyway, that's what's going on in some part of Argentina. I may be safe from such governmental neglect, as I live in a posh part of the important capital, but who knows?

It appears my slightly deranged and early-rising landlady (she pretty much stages a cacerolazo of her own every morning...) didn't spend the night at the flat last night, and this enabled me to have an almighty sleep, which saw me completely out for the count until almost 11am. Within ten minutes of getting my senses in order, I'd been greeted with the news that, outside of Argentina, there was even more unrest than a bunch of housewives in the street.

The siege in Mumbai is fortunately over now, but that could be the beginning of a new wave of something bad. Thailand's in a mess, and the tourists are stranded. I have two friends over there at the moment, as it goes. One of them will be "celebrating" his birthday tomorrow. Fun days... And, after reading so much about how nobody's shopping in the States any more, a Wal-Mart employee got killed in a stampede of shoppers, who then almost started another riot when they were told that the store would have to be closed because of the death. They needed those cut-price plasma screens.

I mean, that last story is just too much to take. This economy that we've created that can only function if people continue to buy stuff they don't even need is a complete and utter joke. Why can't a human stampede kill off a few of the investment bankers, advertising gurus and sensationalist journalists that are fueling the lunacy?

Amigo del Malba

In my dream last night, I was in England, and it was raining. I said: "Hey, it's baking hot over in Buenos Aires!" And someone then told me that, actually, it was raining there too. He turned on the TV and showed me. I woke up and it was raining.

Must've been able to hear the rain in my sleep or something. But, anyway, yesterday was a scorcher. I went sunbathing proper for the first time. Didn't last long: it was incredibly hot. I want to start using visible sun cream, so that I can see which parts of my body aren't covered, because I generally miss a bit. They should make blue stuff. Then I could paint myself blue when I go out to lie in the sun.

I have a new friend. I've become a friend of The Malba, the trendy art gallery down the road from me (a lot of things are "down the road from me", it just depends on how far I want to walk. The Malba is actually further than I thought: about 40 mins rather than 20...). Anyway, it's new and it's cool. 

(That's not my picture above, by the way. I've started questioning whether I should be taking pictures of sights and sites that have already been captured on film a million times. I'm hardly going to bring new perspectives to things: I'm not a photographer... I may now spend more of my time taking pictures of things that aren't already on flickr, like pictures of the street that's just covered in dog shit... Seriously, there's shit everywhere in this town, but the street that runs alongside the City Zoo - República de la India - seems to be the main dog toilet for Buenos Aires. It's disgusting. And, as it's right next to the zoo, well, just imagine how bad it smells...)

When I first visited Malba, I realised that this was the museum I thought I was visiting when I went out on the Noche de Museos... THIS is where all the avant-garde Latin American art is displayed! The Museo de Arte Moderno is full of European stuff, a lot of which is by artists I already know about. Very nice, but not new to me.

Anyway, I'm not writing any more here. See that? I started, but didn't continue. I love an abrupt end to things.

Puerto Madero (and that other part of town)

I woke up early on Sunday morning, and realised I’d have to do something with my day other than sit at my computer trying to get PHP to send mail. A couple of natives had told me that Puerto Madero was a nice part of town to visit, and since there’s a bus that goes there from right outside my flat, I decided to take myself off there…

The bus ride was quite pleasant, actually, but then, at 10am on a Sunday morning, neither the buses nor the roads in Buenos Aires are particularly busy. The buses here don’t really seem to be designed to hold many people, so I’d hate to travel on one in the rush hour. Anyway, it got me there easily enough, and I stepped out into the dazzling sunshine and blistering heat.

There’s not really much to be said about Puerto Madero. I took quite a few pictures (look on flickr) just for the sake of it. It really just seemed to be a dull place where rich people live (the estate agent I got the flat from said that about a third of the properties there are owned by people from the US, who only come here in the summer). I didn’t come across any shops, just a few brasseries and restaurants along the riverside. I would have liked to stop for a drink and a rest, but I figured the prices would be silly.

Walking further away from the river, there’s a big expanse of grass, and more normal folk were hanging out there, sunbathing. I would have stayed, but there was absolutely no shade, and I wasn’t there to sunbathe. I walked back the way I came, taking photos along the way to entertain myself. I must say that I liked the cranes in the area: I always like big cranes.

I studied my map, and after about 5 minutes (my map-reading skills are perhaps improving with all of the practise – though I still feel for the hapless girl who asked me for directions last weekend, who I sent in exactly the opposite direction to where she wanted to go. Hey, that was her fault for being lazy: there was a map right next to her that she could have consulted, but she chose to ask a foreigner instead…) I discovered that I was actually right next door to San Telmo!

Anyway, I went to San Telmo to watch the Ajedrez de Tango Viviente once more. I took some videos this time: you can watch them someday, when I upload them… I’ve tried all day with youtube, but the quality’s been terrible. I’m now tweaking the settings of the video for export, and I’m going to try uploading them to Vimeo instead. Videos are a bit trickier to get online than photos. Here’s a photo of the beautiful dancing people to tide you over. Like you, they’re waiting for the show to start…

And you can watch videos of the tango on Vimeo. I took a few, so go and watch them. Here's the opening dance:

Ajedrez de Tango Viviente - Opening dance from Pete Loggie on Vimeo