Awkward conversations in Argentina - Mendoza & Cordoba

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Arriving into Mendoza on the worst bus in the world from Santiago (see previous post) I was relieved to find a warm, relaxed and actually quite trendy town surrounded by vineyards, bodegas and snow capped mountains. This was my first day in Argentina and so I didn't really know what to expect, the bus from Mendoza to the Bodegas in nearby Maipu however was a good indicator of how things would be. Presumably due to inflation here the buses often have fairly ridiculous payment methods – you pay using only coins or a topup card on a machine. The only problem was that the bus fare was 3.25 pesos which is about 45p. Given there are 5 and 2 peso notes here in Argentina you don't tend to receive in change many coins. Standing there like a disbelieving lemon with the bus driver not even remotely interested in the fact that I had 4 pesos in notes luckily a local woman felt my pain. She scanned her card and gave me a ticket and at first was reluctant to accept my 4 pesos as payment. I don't think this would ever happen in London, it has however been a nice hallmark of my time here – the people here just seem really friendly, especially to people from England I've found which has surprised me somewhat given some of the exchanges in the news about certain islands recently.



Spending a day in the sun at the Bodegas in Maipu learning about and tasting the Malbecs and other local varieties I found out is thirsty work, so in the evening a group of us from the hostal decided to head out for some food and a few more drinks in Mendoza. We ended up going to a really great bar with its own microbrewery with great ales and steaks – in Argentina it seems that whilst being the same price as pizzas back home wherever you go pretty much the steaks are amazing. That night it seemed like the whole town were out for the local wine festival with the main street having been turned into dancefloors and various food and wine tents. The atmosphere was great. The following day I decided I'd have a relaxing morning in the local cafes followed by a walk to burn off some of the alcolohic calories accumulated to Cerro de Gloria – a memorial at the top of a hill outside of town. Whilst treking in blistering heat to the summit I made a pact with myself that I would get a taxi back given the distance. Walking for over an hour I couldn't understand why there were so many Argentinians on relaxing on grass verges by the side of the road sat on picnic blankets and chairs. Upon attempting to return via a taxi I found out why, a big cycle race meant the road was closed and with it any chances of getting a taxi had disappeared. Needless to say I slept like a baby on the nightbus to Mendoza that evening.



Arriving via nightbus into Cordoba I had high expectations given the descriptions of colonial architecture and a buzzing nightlife in the Rough Guide book. I have to say that I didn't really find an extensive amount of either so after spending the morning visiting the centre and a few museums I hopped on the bus to nearby Alta Gracia to visit the childhood home of Che Guevara, now a museum. Arriving into town I found a really nice Panaderia (bakery) and grabbed a sandwich and a cake to have in the square in front of the famous Jesuit monastery. Cue awkward conversation numero uno with the local drunk Sergio. Stumbling over the road speaking only Spanish the conversation was somewhat slurred (him, not me) but ultimately I think also good practice:



“Hello, how are you?” - Sergio

“Very well, you?” - Me

“Where are you from?” - Sergio

“England, but I speak a little Spanish” - Me

“Spain! I love Spain....” - Sergio

“No England, not Spain” - Me

“Why have you come over here from Spain” - Sergio

“I'm on holiday, but I'm not Spanish I'm English” - Me

“Ah no, not Spanish. English?” - Sergio

“Yes English, I'm from London” - Me

“Malvinas, yes...” - Sergio

“Erm, yes” - Me

“English...” - Sergio

“Yes. Anyway is that the time, I've got a bus to catch back to Cordona (lie)” - Me

“Cordoba....yes” - Sergio



After that highly entertaining exchange I headed off to Che's house which I have to say although relatively expensive for a museum here is very interesting and worth the visit. It was even visited by Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez a few years ago.



The next evening I was getting a nightbus from Cordoba to Buenos Aires. In the morning I visited the local museums of Natural History and on the D2 Cordoba police unit. This was the unit that had been responsible for various local detentions, torture and disappearances during the junta era. Similar to Santiago this was a somewhat interesting but also downbeat experience so I thought I'd have a wander around the City park in the sunshine for the afternoon. This is a somewhat strange park in structure with landscaping, sculptures and water features positioned in somewhat strange locations. Coming across a derelict, grafitied swimming pool that I thought looked somewhat odd but cool I decided to stop and take a photo. I'd noticed a couple of slightly odd things around that area whilst walking through, nothing hugely alarming but clearer with hindsight. Cue awkward conversation numero dos:



Man pulls up in a Renault Clio, again speaking nothing but Spanish.

“Hey, are you looking for a place” - Man

Not fully understanding him I replied “I'm not from Cordoba, I'm just visiting. Are you looking for somewhere?”

“Am I looking for somewhere? What do you mean?” - Man

“I thought you were lost?” - Me

“Are you looking for a Man?” - Man

“Am I hungry?” - Me (the words man and hungry are very similar – trust me.

“Are you looking for a Man?” - Man

“Sorry. I don't understand.” - Me

“There is a man over there” - says Man pointing to another man furiously listening to music in front of some bushes.

Oh no I thought, either this is a risky area for getting mugged I thought or possibly this guy is a bit dodgy. Or both.

“How do you say in English? Gay?” - Man

Smiling with relief that I wasn't about to get mugged I replied. “No I'm not. I'm just a tourist a bit lost”



The man looking inquisitively at me from the swings of the park opposite, the male cyclist doing repeated laps of the roundabout 50 meters away with no obvious purpose, the man listening to music in front of some bushes. It all became clear, I'd stumbled across the local grinding spot for Cordoba's gay community and clearly the swimming pool was some kind of meeting point. Swiftly I made my exit back to the the other side of the park. Pool wasn't even worth photographing anyway.

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