Oh dear. So I got accosted by an Argentinian and a Uruguayan man tonight. Lucky me, no?! The Argentinian man was short and old and spoke very little English but attached himself to me like a burr (while I was trying to dance with the others) and he kept touching my hair so he could move it out the way to speak broken bits of Spanglish into my ear. Shudder. I think he may have even told me he loved me at one point, but I'm not sure if that was what he meant to say or not.
Then there was the Uruguayan. He didn't speak too much English either but we managed to exchange the basics: names and where we were from. He then told me his girlfriend ('er, how you say? my best friend? novia?') was going to London today to visit her grandmother. About twenty minutes later he grabs me for a salsa dance, at which I fail miserably. Twenty minutes after that, as I'm about to leave, he grabs hold of my face and says 'I give you a kiss now'. I firmly reply 'Er, NO,' using my now trademark push tactic. I eventually manage to wriggle my way out by offering him my cheek instead, but he wasn't satisfied until he got to kiss the other cheek too. It wasn't a quick peck either, I think he was hoping for a cheeky angling. So much for the 'girlfriend'. He may have just meant girl friend to be honest, but actually, given what I have already experienced of the South American way in these matters ('she's in London visiting her grandmother! she is very far away! it doesn't matter!'), maybe not. I think I need a new Spanish phrase. I already know 'aqua minerale sin gas, por favor', but how can I order 'dance with my mates without hassle, please'?!?!?
They weren't even fit, in any way, so it was sin consolation too. :P Sigh.
Thursday, 18 November 2010
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
greetings from uruguay
Hola! I'm still alive, just haven't had much opportunity to access t'internets. I'm writing this from the empty lounge of our hotel in Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay. The rest of my tour group bar one is currently out on a bicycle tour of the city but I wussed out because I don't want to get run over and/or fall off my bike and embarass myself due to lack of practice. They say it's like swimming and that once you learn you never forget, but still...
Making the switch from travelling purely solo to joining the group was initially a bit difficult, because I'd become spoiled with being able to do or not do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Luckily though, the way GAP tours are set out is pretty flexible. You're given the opportunity to join in group activities if you wish, but there's no pressure because nothing is compulsory. So if you want to do your own thing, you can.
My group is 15 in total, including me. There are 8 girls and 7 guys, with an age range of about 22 to 38, from England, USA, Canada, Japan, Belgium, Germany, Sweden and Australia. It's also quite interesting that everyone except the two Swedes, who are friends, is travelling solo like me. From what I can tell, it's a nice bunch! No social retardation, or highly-strungness in evidence. And it seems the other girls, though they all look slender and fit, are not afraid to eat, which is awesome.
Disaster struck early on though. On Sunday a bunch of us really wanted to visit La Boca, which is one of the southern barrios, so called because it's located at the mouth of the river. La Boca is known best for the area known as 'El Caminito', which is full of buildings splashed in vibrant primary colours by the immigrant dockworkers who originally settled there, and the La Bombonera football stadium, which is home to the Boca Juniors football team.
El Caminito bustles with cafés, market stalls, street artists and tango and flamenco dancers. However, we'd been warned that the streets surrounding the small tourist centre are not safe, and my guidebook advised that you get a taxi for any onward journeys rather than try to walk.
One of the girls, whose name was Akiko, had ventured out in the morning with one of the German guys to have a gander. However they must've taken a wrong turn somewhere, because we later found out that they had been ambushed by four men and robbed at knifepoint, in broad daylight. Unfortunately it seems that this kind of thing is pretty common. The tourist area of La Boca only takes up three blocks; apparently you only need to stray just one block beyond this and you can be in trouble. The robbers stole Akiko's backpack, which had her phone, cards, money and camera in it, and cut her in two places. Luckily she's ok, but what a horrible way to start this leg of her trip. She told me that she's really scared now of strangers, and has had nightmares about being attacked. So that was not an auspicious start, but the rest of us took heed and proceeded on to La Boca uber-cautiously.
Fear of being mugged aside, I really liked it there. The colours are beautiful and there's a buzzing atmosphere. Lunch was awesome too. We had more empanadas (my favourite this time was chicken), and tried some cake things which had a layer of dulce de leche in the middle, which is milk caramel and a very popular flavour in South America. I don't usually like caramely type things but these cakes were delicious. I must try to find some to bring back home with me.
After La Boca, we headed off to Plaza Dorrego in San Telmo, which is the oldest barrio in Buenos Aires and famous for its antiques market.
Buenos Aires on a Sunday is absolutely market-tastic. I know London has quite a few markets, but I don't think I have ever seen quite so many markets altogether in one place on the same day. And the sheer variety on offer is mind-bending. I must have walked a mile down Defensa street, and even though there were some standard genres (leather, jewellery, knick-knacks, curios, handicrafts), it seemed like every stall had something different. I was also astounded by the creativity and skill on show. I'm generally quite skeptical about markets, particularly when on holiday, because a lot of the time you can smell the 'tourist tat' a mile off, but I was sipping my freshly squeezed orange juice and oohing and aahing all the way down the road.
On Sunday evening the group activity was to go see a tango show, but it was quite expensive and I was leaning more towards spending the money on great steak and a milonga, a la Wednesday evening, as my way of rounding off my time in BA. So, I managed to persuade two of the girls to form a breakaway rebel alliance for a return (for me, anyway) to La Cabrera.
We headed first to Plaza Serrano in Palermo. So much love for this part of town. The vibe is a bit more bohemian, it's a bit more green and leafy than the centre, and cool looking bars and cafés line the square, with people sitting out on the roof terraces chatting and drinking cold beers. There are also little boutiquey type shops showcasing clothing from different local designers, similar to what we have in Brick Lane. Market stalls were out in force here too. Nandie and Anna, the girls I was with, tried a snack from a street vendor which I think was basically figs on a stick, coated in popcorn and held together with sticky caramel. I have no idea what it was called but it was really tasty. Nom nom.
Continuing on the subject of mind-bending and impressive handicrafts, I spent quite a bit of time staring goggle-eyed at one particular stall, where a man was selling coin pendants. Now, adding a little loop to a coin and making it into a necklace is not particularly skilled or even interesting, and if this were the case I would've just walked on by. But this guy drills into the coins and then uses a hand saw to cut around the detail inside the coin to create really unique-looking, delicate pieces of jewellery. His coins were from all round the world. The best ones, the most intricate and visually interesting were from Peru. There were a few from the UK too, including a pound coin, a ten pence and a 2p. I ended up buying the 2p one. It is awesome. I have a photo of it on my camera so hopefully I'll be able to upload it soon, but I'm already regretting not buying more. I haven't seen anything like it before.
We headed to La Cabrera for 7 but only to find out that both branches of the restaurant were fully booked until 10pm. Given the last time I was there, this was not that surprising to me. So we bar hopped and snacked on delicious pizza in the interim.
It was a bit of a wait but I think that Anna and Nandie were not disappointed. They were there solely on my recommendation, but together we felt like we ate our own body weight in pure meat. This time I went for kobe beef, which I'd never had before, Nandie had the sirloin and Anna had the medio lomo. I was a bit disappointed that Anna's steak hadn't really come medium rare as she'd asked, and as I'd had it, but it was still really good, and far superior to the steak we'd had as a group the night before, which was disappointingly mediocre.
We left at about 1am, completely satiated and wondering whether we'd ever be able to eat meat again (answer: ...yes).
Nandie and I finished the night off at Confiteria Ideal, a dance hall which holds midnight milongas every night of the week:
Like on Wednesday, there were only a few couples left, but when we arrived they were getting their groove on to salsa and meringue, which was unexpected! We nestled down at a table and shared a cold Quilmes. Soon the music changed back to the crackling, melancholic notes of the tango. This time, I wisely turned down the offer to dance and remained a spectator.
It was a fantastic, low-key, yet comfortingly local way to end my last night in Buenos Aires.
*
I need the loo now and have been hogging this computer for ages so I will have to leave Uruguay for another day!
Making the switch from travelling purely solo to joining the group was initially a bit difficult, because I'd become spoiled with being able to do or not do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Luckily though, the way GAP tours are set out is pretty flexible. You're given the opportunity to join in group activities if you wish, but there's no pressure because nothing is compulsory. So if you want to do your own thing, you can.
My group is 15 in total, including me. There are 8 girls and 7 guys, with an age range of about 22 to 38, from England, USA, Canada, Japan, Belgium, Germany, Sweden and Australia. It's also quite interesting that everyone except the two Swedes, who are friends, is travelling solo like me. From what I can tell, it's a nice bunch! No social retardation, or highly-strungness in evidence. And it seems the other girls, though they all look slender and fit, are not afraid to eat, which is awesome.
El Caminito bustles with cafés, market stalls, street artists and tango and flamenco dancers. However, we'd been warned that the streets surrounding the small tourist centre are not safe, and my guidebook advised that you get a taxi for any onward journeys rather than try to walk.
One of the girls, whose name was Akiko, had ventured out in the morning with one of the German guys to have a gander. However they must've taken a wrong turn somewhere, because we later found out that they had been ambushed by four men and robbed at knifepoint, in broad daylight. Unfortunately it seems that this kind of thing is pretty common. The tourist area of La Boca only takes up three blocks; apparently you only need to stray just one block beyond this and you can be in trouble. The robbers stole Akiko's backpack, which had her phone, cards, money and camera in it, and cut her in two places. Luckily she's ok, but what a horrible way to start this leg of her trip. She told me that she's really scared now of strangers, and has had nightmares about being attacked. So that was not an auspicious start, but the rest of us took heed and proceeded on to La Boca uber-cautiously.
Fear of being mugged aside, I really liked it there. The colours are beautiful and there's a buzzing atmosphere. Lunch was awesome too. We had more empanadas (my favourite this time was chicken), and tried some cake things which had a layer of dulce de leche in the middle, which is milk caramel and a very popular flavour in South America. I don't usually like caramely type things but these cakes were delicious. I must try to find some to bring back home with me.
After La Boca, we headed off to Plaza Dorrego in San Telmo, which is the oldest barrio in Buenos Aires and famous for its antiques market.
Buenos Aires on a Sunday is absolutely market-tastic. I know London has quite a few markets, but I don't think I have ever seen quite so many markets altogether in one place on the same day. And the sheer variety on offer is mind-bending. I must have walked a mile down Defensa street, and even though there were some standard genres (leather, jewellery, knick-knacks, curios, handicrafts), it seemed like every stall had something different. I was also astounded by the creativity and skill on show. I'm generally quite skeptical about markets, particularly when on holiday, because a lot of the time you can smell the 'tourist tat' a mile off, but I was sipping my freshly squeezed orange juice and oohing and aahing all the way down the road.
On Sunday evening the group activity was to go see a tango show, but it was quite expensive and I was leaning more towards spending the money on great steak and a milonga, a la Wednesday evening, as my way of rounding off my time in BA. So, I managed to persuade two of the girls to form a breakaway rebel alliance for a return (for me, anyway) to La Cabrera.
We headed first to Plaza Serrano in Palermo. So much love for this part of town. The vibe is a bit more bohemian, it's a bit more green and leafy than the centre, and cool looking bars and cafés line the square, with people sitting out on the roof terraces chatting and drinking cold beers. There are also little boutiquey type shops showcasing clothing from different local designers, similar to what we have in Brick Lane. Market stalls were out in force here too. Nandie and Anna, the girls I was with, tried a snack from a street vendor which I think was basically figs on a stick, coated in popcorn and held together with sticky caramel. I have no idea what it was called but it was really tasty. Nom nom.
Continuing on the subject of mind-bending and impressive handicrafts, I spent quite a bit of time staring goggle-eyed at one particular stall, where a man was selling coin pendants. Now, adding a little loop to a coin and making it into a necklace is not particularly skilled or even interesting, and if this were the case I would've just walked on by. But this guy drills into the coins and then uses a hand saw to cut around the detail inside the coin to create really unique-looking, delicate pieces of jewellery. His coins were from all round the world. The best ones, the most intricate and visually interesting were from Peru. There were a few from the UK too, including a pound coin, a ten pence and a 2p. I ended up buying the 2p one. It is awesome. I have a photo of it on my camera so hopefully I'll be able to upload it soon, but I'm already regretting not buying more. I haven't seen anything like it before.
We headed to La Cabrera for 7 but only to find out that both branches of the restaurant were fully booked until 10pm. Given the last time I was there, this was not that surprising to me. So we bar hopped and snacked on delicious pizza in the interim.
It was a bit of a wait but I think that Anna and Nandie were not disappointed. They were there solely on my recommendation, but together we felt like we ate our own body weight in pure meat. This time I went for kobe beef, which I'd never had before, Nandie had the sirloin and Anna had the medio lomo. I was a bit disappointed that Anna's steak hadn't really come medium rare as she'd asked, and as I'd had it, but it was still really good, and far superior to the steak we'd had as a group the night before, which was disappointingly mediocre.
We left at about 1am, completely satiated and wondering whether we'd ever be able to eat meat again (answer: ...yes).
Nandie and I finished the night off at Confiteria Ideal, a dance hall which holds midnight milongas every night of the week:
Like on Wednesday, there were only a few couples left, but when we arrived they were getting their groove on to salsa and meringue, which was unexpected! We nestled down at a table and shared a cold Quilmes. Soon the music changed back to the crackling, melancholic notes of the tango. This time, I wisely turned down the offer to dance and remained a spectator.
It was a fantastic, low-key, yet comfortingly local way to end my last night in Buenos Aires.
*
I need the loo now and have been hogging this computer for ages so I will have to leave Uruguay for another day!
Saturday, 13 November 2010
what a load of rubbish
Aw man. The week's exertions are finally catching up on me methinks. I've been walking shitloads all round town in my flip flops, so now my left ankle is somehow bruised, the insides of my toes feel raw, and my lower back is killing me. Owie.
I don't know if I've already mentioned this, but Buenos Aires is dirty. Like, seriously. After about 8 or 9 o'clock at night, the streets are suddenly strewn with garbage. There's just shit everywhere. It's like Cornmarket Street in Oxford on a Saturday night, or Whitechapel Road in London after the market's been and gone. Smelly and suspiciously damp. But here it's not just confined to one road or one night, it's everywhere in the centre of town. Distressing!
Anyways, I have to check out my hostel in 8 hours. Tomorrow, I join the tour group! Exciting. Hopefully I'll have a bit more luck making friends with that lot than I have here. I went down to the hostel bar last night at about half 1 cos I just wasn't quite ready to go to bed yet and I fancied a lil drinkie. Thing is though, everyone there was already engaged in Conversation; I wasn't feeling confident or pushy enough to barge my way into one of those conversations, and no-one came to talk to me, so after about 10, 15 minutes of hovering around looking like a slightly creepy, friendless weirdo, I turned around and left. I rate that as my second non-finest moment behind passing out on the loo.
But hey, though this travelling malarkey is fun, it can't all be a bed of roses eh! Sometimes, it's a bed of rubbish. Quite literally. But speaking of bed, that is where I must go. Night!
I don't know if I've already mentioned this, but Buenos Aires is dirty. Like, seriously. After about 8 or 9 o'clock at night, the streets are suddenly strewn with garbage. There's just shit everywhere. It's like Cornmarket Street in Oxford on a Saturday night, or Whitechapel Road in London after the market's been and gone. Smelly and suspiciously damp. But here it's not just confined to one road or one night, it's everywhere in the centre of town. Distressing!
Anyways, I have to check out my hostel in 8 hours. Tomorrow, I join the tour group! Exciting. Hopefully I'll have a bit more luck making friends with that lot than I have here. I went down to the hostel bar last night at about half 1 cos I just wasn't quite ready to go to bed yet and I fancied a lil drinkie. Thing is though, everyone there was already engaged in Conversation; I wasn't feeling confident or pushy enough to barge my way into one of those conversations, and no-one came to talk to me, so after about 10, 15 minutes of hovering around looking like a slightly creepy, friendless weirdo, I turned around and left. I rate that as my second non-finest moment behind passing out on the loo.
But hey, though this travelling malarkey is fun, it can't all be a bed of roses eh! Sometimes, it's a bed of rubbish. Quite literally. But speaking of bed, that is where I must go. Night!
Friday, 12 November 2010
24 hours in buenos aires: part 2
Right, where was I? Oh yeah, Recoleta and Barrio Norte. So, after my little jaunt at the cemetery, I ambled over to...
The Best Bookshop in the World
El Ateneo is a chain of bookshops in Argentina, but the El Ateneo Grand Splendid on Av Santa Fe is like no other bookshop I've ever seen. It's housed in an antique cinema and theater, where the great god of tango, Carlos Gardel once performed, and it looks like this:
Pretty sweet, eh? Behind the curtains in the stage area is a café, so I rested my weary feet, tucked into an empanada and sipped my first glass of Malbec. Mmm.
Back at the hostel, I had a little rest, but the evening was about to get very interesting. In an unexpected but fortuitous turn of events, I gained a steak/tango buddy for the night. Her name is Lewis and she is the younger sister of an ex colleague's girlfriend. Bit random, but basically I found out that she was currently out in Buenos Aires learning Spanish and volunteering, and was keen to meet up.
So, I hopped onto the Subte and took the green Linea D out to Palermo to meet her. This was at about half 9, and I was already pretty hungry by this point. All I'd had to eat all day was a small bowl of cereal, a bread roll, an empanada and a mini tub of Pringles. I was ready for that steak.
Love Me Tenderloin
Lewis wanted to take me to a restaurant called La Cabrera, which is a parilla, a grill place/steakhouse. She said she'd been there once before, and although on first impressions she wasn't sure, as it smacked of being a tourist trap, it turned out to the best steak she's had in all her time here. Well, I was sold.
We got there at about 10 o'clock, but there was a throng of people milling around outside and the restaurant itself was packed. Outside the front enrance stood a pretty, petite woman with a laptop on a mini round table. This was the holy grail of reservation information. Lewis asked if there were any tables available but we were told to give our names and come back in 40 minutes.
Off we went to a neighbouring bar for some cerveza and nibbles. I procured a bowl of fries to help stave off the starvation, and we chatted.
40 minutes passed. It was time. We returned to La Cabrera, but there was still a throng of people, though different ones this time. I could hear English, American English, French and Spanish voices. The sense of anticipation was intense. Those were some eager, hungry people, us included. I've never seen anything like it. It was mad! The restaurant lady would call out names at irregular intervals and as she did so she soberly bestowed a magic piece of paper to the chosen ones, bearing their name. Off they went, to enter the temple of beef, leaving the rest of us behind, consumed with envy. There were two old French women who kept trying to sneak round the table to peek at the laptop, seeing if they could discern when their turn would come. It was quite confusing. Eventually though, Lewis' name was called, and I let out a triumphant YESS and punched the air. 'It's like winning the lottery!' someone said. Oh yes. The best kind of lottery. STEAK LOTTERY!!!
Lewis ordered a chorizo steak (chorizo here is both sausage and a cut of beef), and I ordered a 'medio lomo', a medium tenderloin, which is apparently the best cut.
Was it as big as my head? Nearly. Lewis' steak was HUGE, and mine came in three sizeable juicy portions; it looked like three fillet steaks. The steaks arrived on big wooden platters that took up the length of our table, complete with little pots of side garnishes. The smell that emanated from them was maddeningly divine.
My knife sliced through the tenderloin like it was butter. I'd asked for it medium rare, and inside it was pink and oozing juice. I put the first slice in my mouth, and it practically melted. This steak was FIT. Quite possibly, the best steak I've ever had. It was pure meat, cooked simply and to perfection. No sauce, no seasoning, it simply didn't need anything else.
The chorizo steak was completely different in taste and texture. Delicious too, but I felt my tenderloin had the edge.
We accompanied the steak with a bottle of really smooth, tasty Malbec. I could barely finish mine in the end. Including tip, the bill came to about 20 pounds each. Gaucho Grill, eat your heart out. This is where it's at.
Milonga
Next on the agenda, and another of Lewis's recommendations, was a milonga (tango social dance) at a place called La Catedral, which is one of the more underground milongas. The venue itself is incredibly cool. It's up one floor in a converted garage, with moody lighting, and a high, vaulted ceiling. On one wall, a blown up, pixellated, black and white photo of Carlos Gardel's face watches over the dancefloor.
However, by the time we arrived it was 1am and unfortunately most people had already gone home. Nevertheless there were one or two couples dancing, so Lewis and I sat down with a glass of wine to watch.
At one point, the dancefloor now empty, an elderly gentleman from one of the other tables came up to us and asked me to dance. I was already a bit pissed, and tried to protest that I didn't know how, but he insisted. So, embarassingly, I took to the floor, and felt like I was single-handedly committing heinous tango murder. Bless him for trying, but the last time I had danced any kind of tango was about 3 years ago in Manchester. Throw in wine-related co-ordination deficiency to the mix and you have a poor attempt at what is otherwise a very fluid, sensual dance.
Sensing the party was well and truly over, we decided to head out to Puerto Madero, to a club called Asia de Cuba.
Man-onslaught-er
'So this is where the bright young things of Buenos Aires come out to play?' thought I, as we entered into the fray, having haggled down the entry fee from a tenner down to a fiver. Actually no, I wasn't really thinking that, in reality it was much simpler and baser, closer to 'WANT DANCE NOW OMG!"·/%!$·'. My first mistake was to drink a vodka + red bull, followed by flaming sambucca (it seemed a good idea at the time, especially as Lewis had confessed to me that she's never had sambucca before). I'd already been drinking beer, and then red wine. Why, Alaka, why?
But, dancing is what we'd come to do, and dancing is what we did. I've noticed this in other cities too, but the local crowd seemed so tentative and, well, lame. Lewis and I looked around in despair. Where was the oomph? So to help compensate, we wholeheartedly threw ourselves into it. Gave it some welly, as my old P.E. teacher Mrs Ross might say.
Then began what I have now termed as manonslaughter. Man #1 was called Juan, I think, and was from Argentina. It didn't take me long before I whipped out what Tom told me would be my most important phrase whilst out here: tengo novio! (I have a boyfriend). Juan's initial response was: 'I am jealous! Very jealous!' We had a bit of a dance, non-sexual like, and he was trying to sidle up and make a move. 'NO PUEDO!' I shouted over the music (I can't), 'E NO POSIBLE! Tengo novio in Ingleterra!' His response? 'It doesn't matter! He is very far away!' Charming! I quickly set him straight.
Man #2 came out of nowhere like a sexually charged bulldozer. I don't know what his name was but I shall call him Juan Kerr. He was quite forceful and basically launched himself at my face and was a little bit gropetastic. Not great. I found that good old-fashioned shoving worked wonders there.
Man #3 was called Carlos, and was from Brazil. He had a nice smile and was much less offensive. I used my 'tengo novio' line on him and I can't quite remember now what he said but I think it was some variation on Man #1's disappointment, which is nice.
Man troubles aside, Lewis and I had a bloody good boogie to the electronic pop blasting from the speakers, and at about 4.30am decided to call it a night.
By the time I got back to my hostel it was coming upto 5am. I staggered into the loo and sat there, head in my hands, desperately willing the room to stop spinning. I remember thinking, I must stay here and breathe until the urge to vom goes away. Next thing I know, I'm looking at my watch and it's 7am. How the hell did that happen? Did I really pass out on the loo? Not my finest moment.
I fell into bed and spent the rest of the next day (today) with a stinking hangover, feeling sub-human and wanting to die. But it was worth it.
And that was a full on 24 hours in Buenos Aires.
The Best Bookshop in the World
El Ateneo is a chain of bookshops in Argentina, but the El Ateneo Grand Splendid on Av Santa Fe is like no other bookshop I've ever seen. It's housed in an antique cinema and theater, where the great god of tango, Carlos Gardel once performed, and it looks like this:
Pretty sweet, eh? Behind the curtains in the stage area is a café, so I rested my weary feet, tucked into an empanada and sipped my first glass of Malbec. Mmm.
Back at the hostel, I had a little rest, but the evening was about to get very interesting. In an unexpected but fortuitous turn of events, I gained a steak/tango buddy for the night. Her name is Lewis and she is the younger sister of an ex colleague's girlfriend. Bit random, but basically I found out that she was currently out in Buenos Aires learning Spanish and volunteering, and was keen to meet up.
So, I hopped onto the Subte and took the green Linea D out to Palermo to meet her. This was at about half 9, and I was already pretty hungry by this point. All I'd had to eat all day was a small bowl of cereal, a bread roll, an empanada and a mini tub of Pringles. I was ready for that steak.
Love Me Tenderloin
Lewis wanted to take me to a restaurant called La Cabrera, which is a parilla, a grill place/steakhouse. She said she'd been there once before, and although on first impressions she wasn't sure, as it smacked of being a tourist trap, it turned out to the best steak she's had in all her time here. Well, I was sold.
We got there at about 10 o'clock, but there was a throng of people milling around outside and the restaurant itself was packed. Outside the front enrance stood a pretty, petite woman with a laptop on a mini round table. This was the holy grail of reservation information. Lewis asked if there were any tables available but we were told to give our names and come back in 40 minutes.
Off we went to a neighbouring bar for some cerveza and nibbles. I procured a bowl of fries to help stave off the starvation, and we chatted.
40 minutes passed. It was time. We returned to La Cabrera, but there was still a throng of people, though different ones this time. I could hear English, American English, French and Spanish voices. The sense of anticipation was intense. Those were some eager, hungry people, us included. I've never seen anything like it. It was mad! The restaurant lady would call out names at irregular intervals and as she did so she soberly bestowed a magic piece of paper to the chosen ones, bearing their name. Off they went, to enter the temple of beef, leaving the rest of us behind, consumed with envy. There were two old French women who kept trying to sneak round the table to peek at the laptop, seeing if they could discern when their turn would come. It was quite confusing. Eventually though, Lewis' name was called, and I let out a triumphant YESS and punched the air. 'It's like winning the lottery!' someone said. Oh yes. The best kind of lottery. STEAK LOTTERY!!!
Lewis ordered a chorizo steak (chorizo here is both sausage and a cut of beef), and I ordered a 'medio lomo', a medium tenderloin, which is apparently the best cut.
Was it as big as my head? Nearly. Lewis' steak was HUGE, and mine came in three sizeable juicy portions; it looked like three fillet steaks. The steaks arrived on big wooden platters that took up the length of our table, complete with little pots of side garnishes. The smell that emanated from them was maddeningly divine.
 |
| bife de chorizo |
My knife sliced through the tenderloin like it was butter. I'd asked for it medium rare, and inside it was pink and oozing juice. I put the first slice in my mouth, and it practically melted. This steak was FIT. Quite possibly, the best steak I've ever had. It was pure meat, cooked simply and to perfection. No sauce, no seasoning, it simply didn't need anything else.
The chorizo steak was completely different in taste and texture. Delicious too, but I felt my tenderloin had the edge.
We accompanied the steak with a bottle of really smooth, tasty Malbec. I could barely finish mine in the end. Including tip, the bill came to about 20 pounds each. Gaucho Grill, eat your heart out. This is where it's at.
Milonga
Next on the agenda, and another of Lewis's recommendations, was a milonga (tango social dance) at a place called La Catedral, which is one of the more underground milongas. The venue itself is incredibly cool. It's up one floor in a converted garage, with moody lighting, and a high, vaulted ceiling. On one wall, a blown up, pixellated, black and white photo of Carlos Gardel's face watches over the dancefloor.
However, by the time we arrived it was 1am and unfortunately most people had already gone home. Nevertheless there were one or two couples dancing, so Lewis and I sat down with a glass of wine to watch.
At one point, the dancefloor now empty, an elderly gentleman from one of the other tables came up to us and asked me to dance. I was already a bit pissed, and tried to protest that I didn't know how, but he insisted. So, embarassingly, I took to the floor, and felt like I was single-handedly committing heinous tango murder. Bless him for trying, but the last time I had danced any kind of tango was about 3 years ago in Manchester. Throw in wine-related co-ordination deficiency to the mix and you have a poor attempt at what is otherwise a very fluid, sensual dance.
Sensing the party was well and truly over, we decided to head out to Puerto Madero, to a club called Asia de Cuba.
Man-onslaught-er
'So this is where the bright young things of Buenos Aires come out to play?' thought I, as we entered into the fray, having haggled down the entry fee from a tenner down to a fiver. Actually no, I wasn't really thinking that, in reality it was much simpler and baser, closer to 'WANT DANCE NOW OMG!"·/%!$·'. My first mistake was to drink a vodka + red bull, followed by flaming sambucca (it seemed a good idea at the time, especially as Lewis had confessed to me that she's never had sambucca before). I'd already been drinking beer, and then red wine. Why, Alaka, why?
But, dancing is what we'd come to do, and dancing is what we did. I've noticed this in other cities too, but the local crowd seemed so tentative and, well, lame. Lewis and I looked around in despair. Where was the oomph? So to help compensate, we wholeheartedly threw ourselves into it. Gave it some welly, as my old P.E. teacher Mrs Ross might say.
Then began what I have now termed as manonslaughter. Man #1 was called Juan, I think, and was from Argentina. It didn't take me long before I whipped out what Tom told me would be my most important phrase whilst out here: tengo novio! (I have a boyfriend). Juan's initial response was: 'I am jealous! Very jealous!' We had a bit of a dance, non-sexual like, and he was trying to sidle up and make a move. 'NO PUEDO!' I shouted over the music (I can't), 'E NO POSIBLE! Tengo novio in Ingleterra!' His response? 'It doesn't matter! He is very far away!' Charming! I quickly set him straight.
Man #2 came out of nowhere like a sexually charged bulldozer. I don't know what his name was but I shall call him Juan Kerr. He was quite forceful and basically launched himself at my face and was a little bit gropetastic. Not great. I found that good old-fashioned shoving worked wonders there.
Man #3 was called Carlos, and was from Brazil. He had a nice smile and was much less offensive. I used my 'tengo novio' line on him and I can't quite remember now what he said but I think it was some variation on Man #1's disappointment, which is nice.
Man troubles aside, Lewis and I had a bloody good boogie to the electronic pop blasting from the speakers, and at about 4.30am decided to call it a night.
By the time I got back to my hostel it was coming upto 5am. I staggered into the loo and sat there, head in my hands, desperately willing the room to stop spinning. I remember thinking, I must stay here and breathe until the urge to vom goes away. Next thing I know, I'm looking at my watch and it's 7am. How the hell did that happen? Did I really pass out on the loo? Not my finest moment.
I fell into bed and spent the rest of the next day (today) with a stinking hangover, feeling sub-human and wanting to die. But it was worth it.
And that was a full on 24 hours in Buenos Aires.
Thursday, 11 November 2010
24 hours in buenos aires: part 1
Oh dear. I have achieved nothing today, apart from feeling like the walking dead (urrrrrggh), but then I guess that is the price I pay for having a veeery packed day yesterday. My brain still feels it's trying to hammer its way out of my skull but I'll see how much I can piece together...
Erica
The day began at 8am. Uncharacteristically for me, I awoke ahead of my alarm, and before 12pm. Miracles do happen! Downstairs at breakfast I made friends at the coffee machine with a crazy Australian lady called Erica. She is the kind of person who uses words like 'soul', 'healing' and 'energy' in general conversation. She's also incredibly open, and boy did she have a story to tell.
She has been in South America travelling by herself for the last 8 weeks and this is now the last few days of her trip. It's also the first time she's ever travelled overseas. She told me that she had a lot of shit going down back at home, which helped prompt her to make such a massive, spontaneous decision to quit her job, pack her bags and get out the country; the death of her father, her now ex-fiancé's descent into depression and alcoholism, her best friend suffering a brain aneurysm and being taken to hospital... In the end, she said that she just fell apart, and a little voice in her head told her to go to South America. So she did.
That's definitely one of the best things about travelling; the way in which other people, the ones who make up the giant mass of people who you don't know, suddenly start to become more than just unknown, unimportant faces. In just 5 minutes you can find out so much about someone, and it just makes you realise that everyone really does have a story.
After breakfast, she had some time to kill before she had to catch her ferry to Uruguay, so she suggested we head out for a walk. So we did!
Recoleta and Barrio Norte
Buenos Aires is basically split up into neighbourhoods, called barrios. It's a bit like how Paris is split up into different arrondissements. Every barrio has its own distinct flavour and focus. I'd set out towards Recoleta because I really wanted to see the cemetery there, which is where Eva Peron is buried.
The cemetery is, quite simply, awesome. It reminded me of a mini Pompeii. Hidden inside the walls is a labyrinth of narrow alleyways, containing rows upon rows of mausoleums dedicated to many wealthy, important figures in Argentine history. Many of the mausoleums are in a state of disrepair and decay, and show visible signs of their age. Fine cobwebs grace rusty locks and roses hewn in stone, the modern black sheen of marble rubs up against fiery orange brickwork, classical statues raise their heads to the sky, and small, bright flowers burst forth from cracks in the walls.
Needless to say, me and my camera had a field day, particularly given my slight obsession with rust.
I also took the obligatory photo of Eva Peron's family grave, which is marked 'Duarte', and sang the end of 'Don't Cry For Me Argentina' to myself as I wandered round. Salve regina, mater misericordiae...
Taxi Driver
Then I received a great compliment from a friendly taxi driver, who thought I was from Venezuela and was surprised to find out I was not in fact South American. Apparently all the Miss World's come from Venezuela. Get in!
Oh dear, there are people waiting to use the internet so the rest may have to wait until later. I also need to eat something and drink wayyy more water. Urgh.
Still to come: the best bookshop in the world, the best steak I've ever had, bad dancing at a milonga, drunken rave and man onslaught at Asia de Cuba.
Erica
The day began at 8am. Uncharacteristically for me, I awoke ahead of my alarm, and before 12pm. Miracles do happen! Downstairs at breakfast I made friends at the coffee machine with a crazy Australian lady called Erica. She is the kind of person who uses words like 'soul', 'healing' and 'energy' in general conversation. She's also incredibly open, and boy did she have a story to tell.
She has been in South America travelling by herself for the last 8 weeks and this is now the last few days of her trip. It's also the first time she's ever travelled overseas. She told me that she had a lot of shit going down back at home, which helped prompt her to make such a massive, spontaneous decision to quit her job, pack her bags and get out the country; the death of her father, her now ex-fiancé's descent into depression and alcoholism, her best friend suffering a brain aneurysm and being taken to hospital... In the end, she said that she just fell apart, and a little voice in her head told her to go to South America. So she did.
That's definitely one of the best things about travelling; the way in which other people, the ones who make up the giant mass of people who you don't know, suddenly start to become more than just unknown, unimportant faces. In just 5 minutes you can find out so much about someone, and it just makes you realise that everyone really does have a story.
After breakfast, she had some time to kill before she had to catch her ferry to Uruguay, so she suggested we head out for a walk. So we did!
Recoleta and Barrio Norte
Buenos Aires is basically split up into neighbourhoods, called barrios. It's a bit like how Paris is split up into different arrondissements. Every barrio has its own distinct flavour and focus. I'd set out towards Recoleta because I really wanted to see the cemetery there, which is where Eva Peron is buried.
The cemetery is, quite simply, awesome. It reminded me of a mini Pompeii. Hidden inside the walls is a labyrinth of narrow alleyways, containing rows upon rows of mausoleums dedicated to many wealthy, important figures in Argentine history. Many of the mausoleums are in a state of disrepair and decay, and show visible signs of their age. Fine cobwebs grace rusty locks and roses hewn in stone, the modern black sheen of marble rubs up against fiery orange brickwork, classical statues raise their heads to the sky, and small, bright flowers burst forth from cracks in the walls.
Needless to say, me and my camera had a field day, particularly given my slight obsession with rust.
I also took the obligatory photo of Eva Peron's family grave, which is marked 'Duarte', and sang the end of 'Don't Cry For Me Argentina' to myself as I wandered round. Salve regina, mater misericordiae...
Taxi Driver
Then I received a great compliment from a friendly taxi driver, who thought I was from Venezuela and was surprised to find out I was not in fact South American. Apparently all the Miss World's come from Venezuela. Get in!
Oh dear, there are people waiting to use the internet so the rest may have to wait until later. I also need to eat something and drink wayyy more water. Urgh.
Still to come: the best bookshop in the world, the best steak I've ever had, bad dancing at a milonga, drunken rave and man onslaught at Asia de Cuba.
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
what's new, buenos aires!
I'm going to try to keep this one short, for a number of reasons: 1) cos there appears to be a 20 minute limit on the hostel computers, 2) cos I am fookin' KNACKERED and 3) this Argentinian keyboard confooses me.
I have arrived, but ee by gum did it take a long time. The flight was 12 hours of overnight non-sleeping agony, complete with leg cramps and screaming children (of course, for what longhaul flight would be complete without it?), followed by a 3 hour wait at Sao Paolo and then a 2 hr delayed transfer flight to Buenos Aires. Once I arrived at Buenos Aires I had already missed the free shuttle bus I booked to take me to my hostel (d'oh). The airport is set out like a bloody wibbly wobbly worm, so it's not immediately obvious where the hell you are when you emerge, spat out and bleary eyed at the international arrivals bit.
So basically, I floundered around for a time at the airport, squinting and shuffling backwards and forwards ineffectually and continually zipping and unzipping my bag in search of... something. Intense sleep deprivation basically turns me into an old lady. I managed to cobble together some bits of Spanglish and exchange some dollars and book a shuttle bus into town.
I made a nice friend on the bus. He started talking to me when he saw me whip out my Lonely Planet guide and realised I was English. His name was Sebastian and he was a lovely Argentinian engineer who was visiting Buenos Aires for the week on business. He told me he's actually from a small province to the far north east of Argentina, and he seemed to have the same attitude towards BA as I do towards London - mainly that people are much friendlier where he comes from, and that he finds that in the city, it's far too hectic, and though people as individuals can show kindness, en masse they're much 'colder' (his word). He very kindly walked me to my hostel from the bus station, even though it was totally out of his way, and did not sleaze on me in any way.
I also made a nice friend on the flight to Buenos Aires. He was a 'porteño', from Buenos Aires originally, but had travelled in from London like I had. When I mentioned how much I was looking forward to eating steak he was very happy to give me some restaurant recommendations. Then it turned out that he's actually a chef! He told me he'd worked in Buenos Aires for ten years, but then moved to Europe for a change, first working in tapas restaurants in Spain in the Costa Brava, then in London, and now Hampshire. He was telling me about how he worked in a few Michelin starred places in London, and basically left because it wasn't sustainable for him to be working 12-14 hours a day 6 days a week with no free time or energy to enjoy the city. He also mentioned a restaurant called Murano which is an Italian restaurant but headed up by an Argentinian chef, a friend of his. Note to self: must check it out!
Oops, I digress. But anyway these two guys basically gave me a good first impression of the people of Buenos Aires.
As for the city, I haven't had much of a chance to explore, but from the little I have seen it feels that Buenos Aires is a majestic, grandiose, but also crumbling and shambolic city. As Sebastian remarked, the city is made up of a really interesting, hotch potch mix of architectural styles, of the old jostling up against the new, and I saw as much on the bus ride in. Beautiful, towering colonial buildings sit side by side with gleaming skyscraper monoliths and broken down, graffitied shells that have seen better days. It definitely feels European too, and reminds me of Madrid, Paris, Rome, and even London, all smushed together.
My hostel is awesome. My room is clean with huge lockers, it's a 4 bed dorm and has its own bathroom decked out in pretty mosaic tiles and a massive mirror. There's a lot going on here and I'm right in the centre of town. I also have a BA 'night pass' which I intend on using this week to sample the nightlife. Not sure if the little old English lady in me can manage beginning a big night out at 2am but I guess I'll have to try!!
Not had any steak yet, but I did try a local delicacy called empanadas which is basically the Argentinian version of the pasty. Mmm. Cheap too! About a pound a pop.
I tried to have a nap earlier and failed miserably, but now, after two apple martinis in the downstairs bar, I'm feeling pretty wiped out so I think I'm going to shuffle off to bed now.
Bit sad that it doesn't look like I'll be able to illustrate this blog with photos but if I figure out a way I will definitely sort it out.
Tomorrow will hopefully see me in more of a gung-ho, happy-snapping tourist mood. I want to see jacaranda trees, and the Recoleta cemetery where Eva Peron is buried, and the multi-coloured corrugated iron facades of La Boca, and the more upmarket gentrified Palermo district, and lots of other stuff.
Will try to update again soon!
I have arrived, but ee by gum did it take a long time. The flight was 12 hours of overnight non-sleeping agony, complete with leg cramps and screaming children (of course, for what longhaul flight would be complete without it?), followed by a 3 hour wait at Sao Paolo and then a 2 hr delayed transfer flight to Buenos Aires. Once I arrived at Buenos Aires I had already missed the free shuttle bus I booked to take me to my hostel (d'oh). The airport is set out like a bloody wibbly wobbly worm, so it's not immediately obvious where the hell you are when you emerge, spat out and bleary eyed at the international arrivals bit.
So basically, I floundered around for a time at the airport, squinting and shuffling backwards and forwards ineffectually and continually zipping and unzipping my bag in search of... something. Intense sleep deprivation basically turns me into an old lady. I managed to cobble together some bits of Spanglish and exchange some dollars and book a shuttle bus into town.
I made a nice friend on the bus. He started talking to me when he saw me whip out my Lonely Planet guide and realised I was English. His name was Sebastian and he was a lovely Argentinian engineer who was visiting Buenos Aires for the week on business. He told me he's actually from a small province to the far north east of Argentina, and he seemed to have the same attitude towards BA as I do towards London - mainly that people are much friendlier where he comes from, and that he finds that in the city, it's far too hectic, and though people as individuals can show kindness, en masse they're much 'colder' (his word). He very kindly walked me to my hostel from the bus station, even though it was totally out of his way, and did not sleaze on me in any way.
I also made a nice friend on the flight to Buenos Aires. He was a 'porteño', from Buenos Aires originally, but had travelled in from London like I had. When I mentioned how much I was looking forward to eating steak he was very happy to give me some restaurant recommendations. Then it turned out that he's actually a chef! He told me he'd worked in Buenos Aires for ten years, but then moved to Europe for a change, first working in tapas restaurants in Spain in the Costa Brava, then in London, and now Hampshire. He was telling me about how he worked in a few Michelin starred places in London, and basically left because it wasn't sustainable for him to be working 12-14 hours a day 6 days a week with no free time or energy to enjoy the city. He also mentioned a restaurant called Murano which is an Italian restaurant but headed up by an Argentinian chef, a friend of his. Note to self: must check it out!
Oops, I digress. But anyway these two guys basically gave me a good first impression of the people of Buenos Aires.
As for the city, I haven't had much of a chance to explore, but from the little I have seen it feels that Buenos Aires is a majestic, grandiose, but also crumbling and shambolic city. As Sebastian remarked, the city is made up of a really interesting, hotch potch mix of architectural styles, of the old jostling up against the new, and I saw as much on the bus ride in. Beautiful, towering colonial buildings sit side by side with gleaming skyscraper monoliths and broken down, graffitied shells that have seen better days. It definitely feels European too, and reminds me of Madrid, Paris, Rome, and even London, all smushed together.
My hostel is awesome. My room is clean with huge lockers, it's a 4 bed dorm and has its own bathroom decked out in pretty mosaic tiles and a massive mirror. There's a lot going on here and I'm right in the centre of town. I also have a BA 'night pass' which I intend on using this week to sample the nightlife. Not sure if the little old English lady in me can manage beginning a big night out at 2am but I guess I'll have to try!!
Not had any steak yet, but I did try a local delicacy called empanadas which is basically the Argentinian version of the pasty. Mmm. Cheap too! About a pound a pop.
I tried to have a nap earlier and failed miserably, but now, after two apple martinis in the downstairs bar, I'm feeling pretty wiped out so I think I'm going to shuffle off to bed now.
Bit sad that it doesn't look like I'll be able to illustrate this blog with photos but if I figure out a way I will definitely sort it out.
Tomorrow will hopefully see me in more of a gung-ho, happy-snapping tourist mood. I want to see jacaranda trees, and the Recoleta cemetery where Eva Peron is buried, and the multi-coloured corrugated iron facades of La Boca, and the more upmarket gentrified Palermo district, and lots of other stuff.
Will try to update again soon!
Monday, 8 November 2010
fat lips and fever
I fly in under 12 hours, but this weekend has been far from the auspicious start I was hoping for.
Firstly, on Saturday night, I had a somewhat unexpected reaction after eating this dish at Wagamama's:
It was pretty hot, that chilli squid, but you know, even though I'm not massively fond of chilli-doused foodstuffs, it's not like it's completely alien to me. I am brown after all. Anyway, quite soon after I'd eaten a few, my top lip began to tingle rather alarmingly. It then proceeded to swell up to gargantuan size, so that I began to resemble this:
Any hopes that this unfortunate incident may have indeed been a blessing in disguise, magically transforming me into a Angelina Jolie or Scarlett Johanssen, were misplaced indeed. A quick glance in the nearest shop window put that silly idea to bed immediately.
So I took my trout-pouty, Botox-disaster face home and went to bed.
The fun didn't end there. I spent the rest of the night, and most of the next day, in a fevery, achey haze. I can only assume this is a side effect of the vaccines I had last Thursday. So I've already prematurely dipped into my holiday medicine stash... Will need to replace the paracetamol methinks.
Oh dear. Anyway, feeling a bit better today, and desperately hoping my body will pull itself together by this evening so that I can attack the long-haul flight with gusto rather than wishing I was nicely ensconsed back home in a massive duvet with a cup of tea. Wish me luck!
Firstly, on Saturday night, I had a somewhat unexpected reaction after eating this dish at Wagamama's:
It was pretty hot, that chilli squid, but you know, even though I'm not massively fond of chilli-doused foodstuffs, it's not like it's completely alien to me. I am brown after all. Anyway, quite soon after I'd eaten a few, my top lip began to tingle rather alarmingly. It then proceeded to swell up to gargantuan size, so that I began to resemble this:
Any hopes that this unfortunate incident may have indeed been a blessing in disguise, magically transforming me into a Angelina Jolie or Scarlett Johanssen, were misplaced indeed. A quick glance in the nearest shop window put that silly idea to bed immediately.
So I took my trout-pouty, Botox-disaster face home and went to bed.
The fun didn't end there. I spent the rest of the night, and most of the next day, in a fevery, achey haze. I can only assume this is a side effect of the vaccines I had last Thursday. So I've already prematurely dipped into my holiday medicine stash... Will need to replace the paracetamol methinks.
Oh dear. Anyway, feeling a bit better today, and desperately hoping my body will pull itself together by this evening so that I can attack the long-haul flight with gusto rather than wishing I was nicely ensconsed back home in a massive duvet with a cup of tea. Wish me luck!
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