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Published: February 11th 2007
Buenos Aries; I've Been Tangoed.
Sunset over Buenos Aries from the rooftop garden of 'The Garden House'.Monday 5th February to Thursday 8th February, 2007.
My bus departed Bahia Blanca at 10am with me onboard feeling a tad guilty at wanting to get out of town. It had, after all given me a taste of what I was wanting to experience on my journey and now it was gone again. The ten hour drive to Buenos Aries dragged by for a combination of reasons; nothing to read, nothing to eat and a never changing backdrop of blandness and when the bus finally pulled to a halt one thing had already become patently obvious. Buenos Aries is huge.
It was over an hour from entering the furthest reaches of the suburbs to The Retiro Bus Terminal and a lesson in the classes, poor farming communities on the outside, through ghetto's, suburbia and middle class tree lined avenues to the suited Mercedes Benz drivers of the City centre and a twenty minute cab ride later I was knocking on the door of The Garden House Hostel in the Cities San Telmo district.
I'd telephoned the hostel from the bus terminal in Bahia Blanca to book a bed for five nights but unfortunately there was no bed was
Buenos Aries; I've Been Tangoed.
Juan, the meticulous barber for cut No. 3. Mr Bailey, note the fully equipped bar in his salon, I'll be expecting to see row upon row of optics when I return. available for Tuesday, the second night, a problem I decided I'd tackle when I got to it.
I met two English lads on the steep stairs who were just on the way out to eat and they invited me to join them, we went local and I had my first experience of real Argentinian Beef. Mmm.
In the course of dinner our conversation inevitably got onto football. Simon, the more outgoing of the two told me he was an Ipswich fan and I was just about to shock him with my allegiance when Rupert piped up "and I support Norwich". We clicked straight away and after dinner retired back to the hostel and it's wonderful rooftop garden which came complete with hammock, a very useful commodity after days spent walking exploring and were joined by Lisa, an extraordinary twenty seven year old Canadian girl who was in Buenos Aries studying.... to be a clown !! I wasn't sure if she was kidding at first. How or why the hell do you study to be a clown ? but any lingering doubts were elimiated when we were later joined outside by the night shift receptionist Pablo who was studying
Buenos Aries; I've Been Tangoed.
I was quite pleased with the results. the same subject in a different class. Funnily enough I seem to have been coming across clowns at every corner ever since.
I also chatted to Lieve and Orfund, a retired Norwegian couple both aged sixty six who, despite complaining about their poor feet having spent all day walking the streets, had more zest and enthusiasm for life than most people half their ages I went to my bed knowing I was going to enjoy my stay at The Garden House.
Good news greeted my arrival at the breakfast table. Daniel, the camp but extremely helpful guy from reception informed that he'd just received a cancellation so I didn't have to move out after all and over my bread and orange juice I decided, as I was staying until the weekend, that I would try to explore a specific area of the City a day. First stop San Telmo, my local neighbourhood where I stopped off for the third haircut of my travels. Juan was metuiculous and after an initial numero tres up the sides he seemed to cut each hair individually and even gave attention to my ears, eyebrows and nose. Of more importance was his shop,
Buenos Aries; I've Been Tangoed.
With Lieve, the 66year old going on 25 Norwegian. She reminded me of Marg. as though he was inviting you into his home, the back wall taken up by a fully equipped dark wood bar. He asked if I'd like a drink but it was 10:30am so I politely refused. David Bailey please take note, I'll be expecting an improvement when I next return to Town Lane.
If architecture is your thing, and I must admit I'm becoming more appreciative by the day, then Buenos Aries is THE place. On every turn there are wonderful buildings and monuments and despite being mainly residential San Telmo boasts many. I stopped at a bank mid afternoon as I was down to my last nine Peso's (one pound fifty) and was aghast when the machine threw my card back with a curt 'No Acceptable?. Try again I thought. By the sixth bank I was getting very fraught and fortunately for me it was a case of seventh time lucky and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
I had also decided that with Rio looming and the inevitable jump in prices that accompanies Carnaval that I would spend the week on a bit of an economy drive. Argentina is very cheap but it wouldn't hurt
Buenos Aries; I've Been Tangoed.
And Arufinn aka Magnuss Magnusson. to have a few nights in, especially in a place such as Garden House and I cooked in and spent the night alternating between being slumped in the mound of bean bags watching one of my favourite movies 'The Big Lebowski' and chatting in the garden to Lieve and Orfund. They had had a bottle of wine when I first sat down and were both a little tipsy and during the course of the conversation I mentioned my favourite piece of classical music to be The Peer Gynt Suite by Norwegian conductor Edward Grieg. I was vaguely aware of the story, based on a Norwegian folk tale, but they gave me the full chapter and verse, very eloquently told and it makes me smile to think what any stranger would have thought coming out to the garden to see the three of us humming the tunes loudly, Orfund with head back, his eyes closed and his hands whirring as though he was conducting the full LSO.
Lieve reminded me of a mixture of Judy Dench and Margy which I told her and several times during the remainder of the evening she asked me to say hello to my mum
Buenos Aries; I've Been Tangoed.
Rupert and I at La Boca's Stadium. Two Canaries in a hotbed of S.American soccer. for her.
Rupe, Simon and I had decided to visit another nearby neighbourhood La Boca, home also to Boca Juniors FC where Maradonna learnt his trade, on day 2 but Simon had had bad news from home, his 1800 pounds final wage had come through as 200 and he had to try and sort it so it was just Rupert and I, two Canaries in the hotbed of Argentinian soccer.
Daniel had drawn our route on a map and marked a big cross in the area adjacent to it. 'Not safe' he said. I don't know if it is naiveness, innocence or just plain stupidity but just recently I have been getting the feeling in my mind that if I was, God forbid, to be accosted by a knife wielding mugger that I'd be able to plead with him "Oh don't take that, I've got some great piccies on it" or "let me keep that, it's got all my favourite songs on". Probably a mix of all three but definitely stupid.
The tour of the football stadium was just as expected, tons of camera clicking gringo's, me to the fore of course but the one thing that
Buenos Aries; I've Been Tangoed.
Please welcome our new signing..... surprised me was the proximity of the stands to the actual playing surface. Very, very close, no doubt making it a very intimidating place for any opponent on matchday with 56,000 Bombaderos screaming down at you. After each game the 3,000 away supporters are allowed to leave the stadium to make good their get away whilst the home fans remain locked in, like greyhounds in a trap for 45 minutes before being released to hunt down their foe.
Rupert left me at 1.15 to head off for his Spanish lesson and I spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around this multi coloured and friendly neighbourhood. I stopped to watch some local kids playing soccer in a tennis court sized fenced in pitch and couldn't resist when they asked me to join in. Of course I was David Beckham and bare feet was unfortunately the footwear of choice. As a result I left them ten minutes later sweating profusely with the blister from Mount Villirica coming back to life with amazing rapidity and headed for some lunch.
La Boca itself, at least the 'safe' parts circled by Daniel was delightful. Cobbled streets, pastel coloured buildings, mostly in the
Buenos Aries; I've Been Tangoed.
A typical street scene in down town La Boca. blue and gold colours of the Boca Juniors and happy people. It dawned on me at lunch that there is nothing in the world to match a smile, the greatest gift that can be either given or received and yet so simple and inexpensive. We should all do more of it.
By 4pm the post football blister was throbbing but still I walked on. I headed back towards San Telmo and had received an e mail from Adele saying, amongst other things, that England were playing Spain in a friendly so I asked the guy in the internet cafe where I could find a bar with a TV. The first two that I tried were, rather inevitably, showing France versus Argentina and it then occured to me that rather than watch a bunch of overpaid, over rated Englishmen playing in a meaningless game of soccer why not watch a bunch of overpaid, over rated countrymen of the place where I was staying playing a not so meaningless game of soccer. Argentinians passion for soccer is renowned, they just love it and the super dark oak and brick filled bar that I found was full of locals, women, children and
police officers included watching as though it was the world cup final.
I returned, jacobed to the hostel at about 7pm and declared myself unfit for excercise, the by now throbbing blister making walking a problem, let alone running.
Overnight the hostel had taken on a totally different vibe. It seemed half of Deutschland had moved in and you know Germans. A mid twenties couple and two girls, highly suspected by the rest of us as being lesbians, who had spent the last twelve months cycling around the world. I think their months of exile spent together in a tent in the middle of Australia had affected their social interaction, getting a conversation out of them was like getting blood from a stone especially the butch one. They huddled in a group speaking loudly in their mother tongue so, with Rupe and Simon having gone to a tango night, I sought refuge in the garden and was later joined by Lisa the clown, Franco a forty seven year old Italian apple farmer whose English was worse than my Spanish and a Swedish girl who all along I'd assumed to be American. I had gone through the day dreaming
of an early night but when 2am arrived I finally realised the chance had passed me by and retired.
After Daniel had explained to me the best way of reaching Recoleta I headed for the number sixty seven bus stop. Recoleta is an area of the city known for housing the crematorium that is the resting place of Evita, Eva Peron and I was off to pay my respects.
My attempts at explaining my destination, even with the aid of a map, to the bus driver were met with rolled eyes, a shrug of the shoulders and a wave of the hand that said "I can't be arsed with this. Just get on and I'll tell you when to get off", he wouldn't even take my money and half an hour of traffic stalemate later I got off right outside the gates. I went in and even in the blinding sunlight felt a strange sense of the macabre. Row upon row upon row of tombs, catacombs and shrines stretched as far as the eye could see, each resting place unique, extravagant and eerie, the coffins just lying there for eternity gathering dust, some as old as two hundred
Buenos Aries; I've Been Tangoed.
The little girl looked like she'd just been to a wedding, her mum like she was on her way home from work. years and a few with strange stains seeping through the timber. It resembled a scale model of a town with many splendid buildings, The City of Death.
My initial plan was to stick to the outer wall and gradually work my way in. That way I thought
I couldn't possibly miss Miss Peron. Forty five minutes later I was lost, stranded in the midst of this huge and deathly maze. Two American women approached and asked me if I'd seen Evita and they were equipped with a map!. It was another twenty minutes before I turned a corner and saw a small group of people clicking away and realised I'd found it. Whether or not intentionally Evita's resting place was disappointing, just a small black marble tomb with four bronze plaques stating who lay within on the wall, nothing like some of the gothic masterpieces that were all around.
From there I explored Recoleta, in particular looking for the Gothic Architecture Daniel had told me of but found only one example, an incredibly huge building which is part of the university and which cannot be repaired for fear of it falling down. It was straight out of Gotham
City and after a visit to the Cathedral, which resembled a town hall from the outside back in Centro District I returned to the hostel and the sanctuary of my hammock.
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non-member comment
Fantastic.Good idea about the bar.Any ideas how to keep Caroline back from it?