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Published: February 16th 2007
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Buenos Aires (2); The Weekend
Avinda Del Libertador. The widest road in the world, 18 lanes and half way across the lights changed ! Thursday 8th February to Sunday 11th February, 2007.
I'd been in my hammock for about ten minutes when Simon came out wanting his run. He'd realised he too needed to feel as though he was doing something, anything, to retard the growth of his beer belly and wanted to accompany me. I felt strangely rejuvenated running with someone else, it is so much easier and as though the competitive streak that courses through my veins was pushing me on and after fifteen minutes he was doubled up telling me to go on.
After a Beef Chorizo dinner, fillet steak to you or I, with the lads I retired to the garden and spent the night chatting to Patrick, a cool 27 year old Swiss semi pro wind surfer with a great outlook on life.
On Friday morning I was ready to make my Subte debut. Subte is the Buenos Aires tube system and for 70 cents (9 pence) you can travel from one side of the City to the other provided you don't pop up for air. I was chaperoned by the experienced Subte campaigner Rupert although his almost horizontally laid back nature saw me having to take
Buenos Aires (2); The Weekend's Here
Phillipe and Marco, the young Chileans I had to look after. the initiative on most decisions and our target was the bus station at Retiro to purchase tickets for the onward journey to Iguassu. When I'd originally arrived in the City five days earlier it's vastness as I taxied through the night had made me think that Retiro was in another timezone from the hostel but in reality it was really quite close. All my previous bus journeys in Argentina had been semi-cama (2nd class) but this trip was to be a fifteen hour night ride so we agreed to splash out and spend an extra four quid to upgrade to full cama, effectively a bus with beds.
After we'd purchased our tickets I took the subte alone to Palermo, Palermo Veijas and Palermo Hollywood and after an afternoon walking and exploring eventually descended the subte steps to return home. I was so tired after a day on my feet that the last thing I wanted to do was end up on the wrong side of the track and head off in the wrong direction and as there were no apparent signs I asked the first person to pass, a young lad in his late teens, for assistance. Things couldn't
just be simple, how was I to know I had chosen Buenos Aires' only deaf, dumb and fortunately not blind kid for assistance. Initially I thought he just didn't understand a word I'd said and fair enough, even if he wasn't deaf he probably wouldn't have but by the time I finally boarded the train his disabilities had become clear and I'd reluctantly gained a companion.
Any journey on public transport in BA or South America for that matter forces you to up your awareness of your surroundings and my initial, unfounded thoughts were that he was after getting his hands, figuratively speaking of course, in my pockets so after I'd found a space on the crowded train with my back to the wall I was able to relax. Throughout the journey he kept pointing at the end of the line on the strip plan where'd I have to change lines and me, unable to respond with yes, si or okay found myself answering with with thumbs up, a nod of the head and raised eyebrows which seemed to attract the attention of all on board towards us both. When the train reached the station he marched ahead of
Buenos Aires (2); The Weekend's Here.
She Means Business. The end of the night out with Marco and the three Argentinians. me turning every two or three seconds to check I was still following and to beckon me on. We went past his turning and I tapped him on the shoulder and pointed that he could go his merry way and that I'd be fine now but he was having none of it. He was on a mission to deliver me safe and sound to my destination and my handshake appeared a reward beyond his wildest dreams before he disappeared into the throngs.
The English collective had arranged a night out but things didn't quite go to plan. Two 23 year old testosterone filled Chilean lads, Marco and Phillipe, had checked in to the hostel on a weeks vacation. By 2.30am they were both very tipsy and desperate to be shown a spot of BA nightlife. Rupe had got himself embroiled in a game of Chess and Simon thought the hour too late so it was left to muggings to act as their guide. I hadn't had a night out for a week after all.
We went to a bar in San Telmo and were joined by a local lad, Gabrielle who I'm sure was as bent as a
Buenos Aires (2); The Weekend's Here.
Me, gay Gabrielle, his mate and the Chileans just after the bottle had gone over the top. ten bob note. He seemed to enjoy the novelty of having an Englishman and two Chileans for company and obviously thought his pals would too as fifteen minutes and a phone call later they joined us. About three thirty we headed to a local club and it was on the way that I had my first feelings, thankfully unfounded as it turned out, of impending danger. Here I was, in a strange town in the dead of night with five South Americans that I didn't know from Adam. In their condition Marco and Phillipe would have been little help had we been walking into a trap and when we turned the corner to the club I was greeted by two hells angel style bikers who were acting as doormen for the night. Strangely I felt safe.
We headed up to the balustraded landing that overlooked the downstairs area and took a table. After five minutes Gabrielle knocked his drink over and I stopped the glass before it fell to the floor. Alas there was nothing I could do to stop the contents which spewed over the table, between the balustrades and down to the floor below us. It was
Buenos Aires (2); The Weekend's Here.
Patrick the Swiss wind surfer and Franco the Eyetye apple farmer. fortunate the glass didn't follow because as we both peered over the edge to greet us, looking up with beer dripping off their heads and shoulders were the two hells angel doormen. Shit. I still don't know how he managed to talk his way out of it.
When we finally emerged from the club the sun was cracking the flags. It was 7am and as a result Saturday was a day of complete and utter rest. I was woken at 1pm by the German dykes laughing and talking loudly in the dorm. There is an unwritten rule of hostels that when someone is sleeping, no matter the time of day, that dorm noise is kept to a minimum. These two were either not aware or simply intent on making me pay for having had the nerve to enjoy myself the night before.
Saturday night was to be Rupert and I's last in Buenos Aires before our trip to Iguassu, an occasion that obviously called for a night out and at 11.30pm we headed off with Simon and the Chileans, who both vowed they were never drinking again, to Palermo and a beautiful restaurant for more excellent steak and
Buenos Aires (2); The Weekend's Here.
Beef Chorizo three quarter's way through. Mmm. wine. It cost a fiver and was followed by a few drinks at the crowded plaza and another visit to one of the local clubs. In Argentina they seem to operate in everything they do four hours behind the UK and entering a nightclub at an hour (3.30am) when back home you'd be tucked back in bed is strange to say the least.
For some strange reason I woke early, noon, and at 12.30 was winging my way in the scorching heat on a run through the nearby Puerto Madero, the Albert Docks of BA almost as if I was making myself pay for my sins.
Sunday in San Telmo attracts people from all over the City to it's huge street market and I whiled away the whole of the afternoon alone browsing the stalls and watching the various entertainments on show. It was fascinating. I finally stopped for lunch about four o'clock and was joined by Lisa, the Canadian clown who just happened to be strolling past before returning to the hostel ready for the 15 hour drive to Iguassu. I was sad to be leaving.
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Looks like you're having a great time Matty Boy.All that steak is making you look a lot healthier also.I think that the South American wing of your travels looks the best thus far.I really want to go there which is more than I can say about NZ or OZ to be honest.Keep enjoying yourself - England awaits!