Dos dias mas

Oh dear time is running out swiftly. Only two more whole days left prior to us departing Argentina's shores.

Snif snif!

Stop blogging and start frequenting cafes, talking to Portenos and soaking up the city.

Five cafes in one day

It all started with breakfast at El Federal; coffee and croissants over the Buenos Aires Herald.

I set off on a day of shopping to Palermo. Walked up to the Subte at Catedral and caught the green line to Pueyreddon, then wandered Ave Santa Fe for three hours shopping. Stopped around 3 for some empanadas, agua and coffee at a little bakery/cafe on Santa Fe. On consultation with my map, I summoned up enough energy to walk the remaining blocks to Malabia in Palermo. The place is amazing; leafy trees and wide streets which are more than two person wide. Kids in their school uniforms chat animatedly and the streets are lined with cafes and designer stores. By now its 4.30pm and I am meeting M at 5pm at Plaza Italia.

By now my boots have done some serious kms so we decide to head to the famous El Preferido in Palermo for some sustenance. The place is super cute with high bright green wooden tables and resident cats bat pieces of paper around the floor. I order a tortilla espanola, empanada and 2 cafes. It is all amazing; great coffee and delicious homemade food.
We wander again, taking photos of street art, looking in stores, wandering through the plaza. We decide to have a beer at a place called Dos Hermanos where we sit and watch children on a carousel in the park across from the cafe. Then we head to the Subte to go back to San Telmo, via the final cafe of the day, La Poesia for a light dinner of a sandwich, pumpkin ravioli and papas fritas.

What a delicious day.

A bad meal, a good meal, a good conversation

Despite a bad service experience at La Poesia yesterday, I convinced M to eat breakfast there again today. It is such an amazing little cafe and the coffee and food is so good, plus writers hang out there, I'm sure.
But once again, our bad 'camarero' Alejandro was working, frantically striding up and down the wooden floors, taking orders, delivering medialunas and generally looking very important. We sat and waited for a while, reading the Buenos Aires Herald and pretending we didn't care how long we had to wait. But we were both secretly fuming at his dismissive approach (or lack thereof).
After a delicious breakfast and a resolve to go somewhere else for a more relaxed breakfast next time, we headed up Defensa to do a reconnaissance to find a church which was holding a concert that afternoon. The San Telmo markets had begun already and we wandered slowly, stopping to browse and ask a few 'Cuanta cuestas?'. I managed to procure two delightful vintage dresses on the way, amidst confusion of my whereabouts for poor M when I went off to try on the dress in to a building and didn't return for half an hour. Once I was back and safe, he headed home with the bounty to rest his ailing ankle and I had some heavy duty shopping to do. I work best alone when it comes to shopping and I found a treasure trove of goodies. Within an hour I'd bought a pair of red leather vintage tango shoes; and they were my size, que sorpresa! Only $60 Arg ($20 aus). Then I picked up an antique lace and silk nightie, beautiful capped sleeves and super soft, looks like never been worn, only $40 Arg. Then I bought a little black leather bag with gold chain, kind of a Chanel rip off but not branded thankfully.

As I bounded down the stairs of the Mercado to head home, the sun was shining and all the Portenos were out eating lunch and enjoying the weather. Couples kissed at tables over papas fritas and the smell of grilled delights filled the air. I came home to M and told him we should head out to eat and he agreed so we went to a pub on our street which we've been dying to try; El Federal.

Owned by the same people as La Poesia and almost the same menu, but the experience was 100% better. Our camarero was so friendly and understood my Spanish (always good news) and the food was divine. We ordered a picado, or a plate of things to pick at. We had the Gran Federal plate with olives, salami, prosciutto, blue cheese, mantega cheese, tiny slices of tortilla, artichoke hearts and fresh soft bread. Oh and two cervezas.

With full bellies we left the restaurant and realising it was 3.30pm and the concert was at 4.30pm, we stopped home for a momentito to refresh then headed out to the church. The concert was a recital and live recording of a piece with percussion and piano and a choir of many. We had to line up to get in and luckily nabbed spaces for two on the tiny pews along with lots of old ladies dressed in their finery.

I noticed the two little ladies beside me were chatting to each other and sending text messages. They asked me a question which I didn't quite catch then we started a delightful conversation in Spanish; me telling them where we were from, talking about where Darwin is, them asking me where I learnt Spanish, talking about Barcelona and Buenos Aires; basic stuff but the most fruitful conversation I've had during my time here so far.

The piece then started. The craft of the music and voices were amazing, but about 20mins in, my bum was numb from sitting on the tiny hard pews, we were all cramped up together as there were so many people there and I fought hard to keep my eyes open. An hour and a half later it finished thankfully and M and I breathed sighs of relief, as did my new friends beside us. We had another chat with them and they told us about the old church and how they didn't enjoy the piece so much either (although they seemed quiet as church mouses and stoically sat up straight for the duration while I fidgeted).

M and I then said adios and mucho gusto to the ladies and wandered back home through the markets which were in full swing.

Finally finding the rhythm of the holiday

I've reached the stage of holidays when I can't remember which day it is, what we did yesterday and have no need to watch the clock. I've also reached the stage where I am a lot more comfortable conversing in Spanish and am used to the Argentine accent and (some of) the Argentinian words that are different to those used in Spain.

Sleeping in after a big day at the ranch yesterday, we read for a while and contemplated getting up and heading to breakfast at my new favourite spot, La Poesia. Its a true literary cafe, with black-framed pictures of writers on the walls and beautifully bohemian clientele. I imagined a little old man sitting near us to be a famous author and wordsmith a la Borges or Cortazar with his red vest, beret cap and artistic twinkle in his eye. We ate slices of fresh jamon and the tastiest cheese ever upon brown bread. I don't think I've ever tasted such a delicious ham and cheese sandwich. M and I've finally worked out which coffees suit us best; for me I've started asking for 'leche fria' or cold milk so that I'm able to drink it within ten minutes of it being served as its so hot; and M has found the Argentine equivelent of a mocha.

We've also finally mastered the art of catching buses (colectivos) and jumped on one to La Boca to see the markets and rainbow-coloured houses. We spent an hour or so at Boca, being true tourists snapping away at the streetscapes and M even posed with a tango dancer for $10. We bought postcards and paintings for family then jumped back on the bus to San Telmo for more markets and shopping. The buy of the day was a little peach-coloured jacket/shawl from an antique shop hidden away in the back of a tiled arcade. Cost a mere $ARG 80- $25 AUS roughly. So special!

Tonight is La Noche de Los Museos, an annual evening where more than 100 museums in BsAs put on dance, cinema, performances and music for free. We've pinpointed three museums around San Telmo to see some tango and jazz. After complaining about the lack of decent nightlife in Darwin, I'm so delighted to be doing this!

Getting caught in the rain with cowboys

Big adventure today with a day trip to an Argentinian estancia, or ranch at San Antonio de Areco, a town 112km north of the city. Our guide Laura was simply delightful from the start, telling jokes and slipping seamlessly from Spanish to English in her fantastic commentary (albeit a little close to the microphone). As we headed out of the city, the apartment buildings turned into the flat plains of the Pampas, true gaucho country. The estancia was called Cin Cin, because of the native trees in the hood. On arrival we were met with a man dressed in traditional gaucho garb; puffy pants, long leather boots, a red scarf around his neck and a thick belt covered in coins. He offered us homemade meat empanadas and salami which we all tucked into, including me, despite my so-called vegetarianism. The day was steamy so after a few refreshments, we had some tiempo libre (free time) to ride a horse or join a group on a carriage at the nearby gaucho yards and stables.

The storm clouds were slowly surrounding us as we headed back for lunch, the typical Argentinian asado barbecue. Places were laid for us at a long table in the dining room, and an Argentinian played beautiful piano for us as we tucked into the salads and uncorked bottles of local vino tinto. My bid to be discreet with my vegetarianism seemed to be working for a while. I said si to two of the plates of roast meat that came around by the minute; sausage, black pudding, steaks,finally succulent roast chicken. But after a bloody cut landed on my plate, slightly curdling my stomach, I had to admit my preferences to the New Yorker sitting across from me. He laughed and said he was 90% vego also. But he was heartily enjoying the carne.

After lunch was a show of folkloric dances. The sky outside was black, and the humidity soared. When we made our way to the stables for the gaucho displays and games it started to spit. The gauchos lit cigarettes and coolly aboarded their steeds as the winds increased their fury. We stood shivering under a corrugated iron roof as the cowboys thundered by on horseback, in a bid to collect a tiny ring with a small pen-like object. We laughed and applauded and then the storm reached its peak and we ran for the cover of the stables. The rain was coming down heavily and broken branches which had come loose circled around the shelter. The horses stoically stood with their backs to the wind. The gauchos laughed and talked quickly to each other, trying to find something to burn to light a fire and keep people warm. All were saturated. It was quite a sight; about ten tourists, most non-Spanish speaking, drenched, over and under-dressed, sheltering in a small stable with Argentinian gauchos.

Finally the rain lightened enough to make a run for the house where there was some hot mate waiting for us and some pan dulce.

The simple joys

The only items on our to-do list today were to visit an English bookstore around the corner from our apartment, pick up some strawberries and avocados from the markets and spend some quiet time reading.

Spending the morning inside, sleeping in and making tea, we fell asleep on the bed with the sunshine streaming in the double breasted doors. We awoke to banging on the door, and jumped up, bleary eyed and putting clothes on. A number of people entered the room with the intention of cleaning it so we swiftly got dressed and headed outside to the sun wearing thongs and tshirts. Our hair was still a bit askew as we wandered into the bookstore on Estados Unidos, one street up from ours.

The Walrus books store was amazing. Hundreds of literary offerings stacked strategically in the windows such as F Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway and Charles Bukowski. M and I browsed for about an hour, the only ones in the store apart from the introspective owner who was reading intensely at the back. I bought two books; one book of short stories by expat writers based in BsAs and another of interviews of 'uncommon' writers in Paris.

We then trundled down the cobbstoned streets to a cafe we'd been lusting after for days called Territorio. The music and mood was sombre, with David Bowie and St Etienne on the stereo and the waiter was wearing all black. It was 3.15pm by this stage, ideal lunch eating time, but strangely there weren't many in the restaurant.
We ordered brusqueta caliente for the first plate; toasted bread with brie, eggplant, roasted tomatoes and rocket. I gobbled it up, it was simply divine.

The second course was a huge salad for me with avocado, mushrooms, eggplant and roasted tomatoes and M had a giant meat hamburguesa with cheese dripping out the side and roasted potatoes and mayonnaise.

After coffees and warm thanks and a tip to the waiter, we wandered around to the markets to buy a little bag of groceries and stroll through the antique markets before walking home. We climbed the narrow stairs and opened the door to a shiny clean apartment. The rest of the afternoon was spent lazing on the blue and white striped lounge on the terrace in the sun reading my new tomes.

One week in to the BsAs stay and things are blissful.

Heavenly and earthly delights BA style

I've discovered two delights of Argentina. Empanadas and dulce de leche. They are local delicacies and available at every corner store it seems. And I'm taking full advantage. The empanadas are like little calzones; pastry folded over containing different delights such as tuna, vegetables, meat, jamon y queso etc. The dulce de leche is like creme caramel and comes in helado (ice cream) and in tubs at the supermarket. M and I bought a heavy duty batch last night. It didn't last a day.

Today's adventure took us to Recoleta Cemetery; the place where the wealthy and famous of BsAs and their families are laid to rest. Our plan was to walk up to Plaza de Mayo - about five blocks - then jump on the Subte to head to Plaza Italia and walk down to Recoleta. But the Subte lines were down all day today, on strike because of negotiations between the Argentinian president and the BsAs Mayor. So we decided to walk. Armed with our trusty laminated map, a hat and comfy shoes, we headed off. Roughly a two kilometre walk, we happily wandered down side streets and stopped at shops and sat in parks, so it turned into a longer meander. We walked through the leafy streets of Recoleta and Plaza San Martin, past designer homeware stores and shiny hotels. Finding the cemetery walls finally, we wandered the perimeter searching for the entry gates. It wasn't hard to find, we followed the street stalls selling jugo de naranja and ponchos (hot dogs). The cemetery was magnificent, in a sombre sort of way. It was weird to see hundreds of tourist walking through the cement sanctums, clicking away and having photos taken in front of peoples' burials. M saw a Japanese man walking along whistling 'Don't cry for me Argentina' heading towards Evita's grave. He likened it to a little empty city, and we were walking through streets of abandoned houses, with only the ghosts of the people who used to live there present.

After the big walk, we had a need to up the blood sugar again, so munched on ponchos outside the cemetery and chatted with in Spanglish with the street seller. We then made the long trek home to San Telmo, via a shop for empanadas. I had found a yoga school and just got home from my class. Was a great class but not good doing twists with empanadas in my belly.