Buenos Aires - Days 3 and 4: Sandbagger

Sunday was a lazy day, but ended up being a long one. The plan was to have breakfast, and then head out to check out the market at San Telmo – not too far from the hotel. What we were going to do after that was anyone’s guess? I was certain it wasn’t going to take all day to see the street performers, musicians and shops (since I had been here back in 1996 and knew what to expect - more or less,) and with Randy coming in, having never met him, I was keeping my options open.

So I met Rich at about 9am for breakfast, and too soon afterwards needed some time alone in the men’s room to, um, flush my system. Bottled water? Cooked eggs? The open pitcher of orange juice? I don’t know what it was that caused this disruption in my innards, but it wasn’t fun for a bit. Fortunately, it didn’t last long and I was up and about in a flash – or a flush as the case may be.

While hanging out in my room waiting for the stampede running around inside my intestines to calm down, Randy calls and has arrived at the hotel. Hey, that’s pretty cool. Good timing. So at about 10:30, roughly the same time the buffalos decided they had had enough of me, we all meet down in the lobby. Randy recognized me pretty easily. When you’re in a foreign country, it’s usually not too hard to locate the American tourist with a camera bag slung over the shoulder, jeans, and sneakers, when everyone else is, well, international. It may have been a good thing that I didn’t wear my green/pink spiky hairdo today, and had forgotten to bring my Stetson, chaps and spurs, but then again, this is meat country, so I may have fit in a little better wearing the spurs than the sneakers. Anyway, we head outside to hail a cab.

Just outside the hotel is a small taxi stand where one just happened to be waiting for a fare. So we head over and Randy asks if he’ll take us to San Telmo – in pretty decent Spanish! Now wait just a minute. Randy’s been telling me how little Spanish he knows, and now he appears to be talking to the cabbie in the native tongue. Hmmm. However, the cab driver won’t take 3 of us, only 2. There aren’t any other cabs around, but this one does have space for 3.  But no, he won’t do it. So we go back into the hotel, and ask them to get us a cab. Now I really don’t remember exactly how it happened, but either the desk clerk called the taxi company or he went outside to check, but at some point the driver relented and waved us all to get in. Apparently when the hotel tells them to take 3 people, they take 3 people. And not for anyone else. Sheesh.

So we head over to San Telmo, about a 5 minute drive. Not bad. We get out of the taxi and across the street see the party going on in full swing. The fair is confined to a long stretch of one street that is closed to traffic. Maybe about 10 blocks or so. Not exactly the way I remember it, but interesting nevertheless. So the three of us plow headlong into the crowd.

It’s pretty much the same kind of arts and crafts we had seen yesterday in Recoleta, but a heck of a lot more of it. And since this was on a regular street, although a narrow side street, there were shops and bars along the way. So after slugging it out in the hot, burning sun of the Argentine summer, we finally decided to stop at a local watering hole to quench the deep thirst we had developed along the way, after a long haul of about 2 blocks.

Now over the past week or two as we’ve been putting this rush job of a trip together, Randy’s been telling me that his Spanish is pretty bad, even though his wife is from Venezuela, and his kids can speak the language. Now I did question that to myself when he first told me that he didn’t speak Spanish all that well, but since I really didn’t know him, I just let it go.

So we find a table and sit down, while Randy begins to order a Jack Daniels Black, speaking to the waiter, again in Spanish. Now this isn’t your regular USA high school stumbling and bumbling Spanish that I speak, or rather blurt from time to time when I have to, but it’s the kind that only one who has been speaking it for years can do. The bastard’s been sandbagging me. Come to think of it, he’ll fit right in with this crowd! And over time, he does. And that's a good thing.

After the waiter returns with our order, Randy downs his tumbler of JD Black, Rich knocks off his bottle of cerveza, and down my gullet, I pour a frozen lemonade with ginger and mint. Now what’s wrong with this picture?

Once we have satisfied our dehydration with our manly drinks (ok, so 2 out of 3 were manly) we head back down the happy trail of sightseeing and shopping goodslooking (I’m thinking that it’s time to come up with a new word for shopping, such as goodslooking, as I’m really getting sick and tired of not only hearing it, but writing it as well.)

So we meander down the street wandering through the thickets of knitted sweaters, leather belts, hand-crafted earrings, really cheap shot glasses, and other touristy goods, or bads, when we hit the end of the road. Huh? Where’s all of the music and tango dancing and face painting and other stuff we were warned about? Oh? Whatta ya mean it’s a holiday week? Yep, it’s the tail end of a holiday week here in Bs As. Go figure.

This reminds me of the time back in ’96 when I was in Rio de Janeiro for 1 day on business. My business associate and I arrived the day before a scheduled customer meeting, and we were staying at Ipanema beach. Yes, this was the most famous and (arguably) sexiest beach in the world. Skimpy bathing suits, volleyball playing, bike riding, girl people watching. My hotel room was on the 16^th floor directly across the street from the beach with the most perfect view you can imagine overlooking the beach. Kids, it doesn’t come any better. Well, maybe it does. At the hottest beach in the word, it was raining and the beach was deserted. Depression and a deep bout with alcoholism with years of therapy followed almost immediately afterwards.

But back to yesterday. I purchased nothing, Rich got a baseball cap to protect his shaved noggin from the sun, as he and I were getting somewhat red from all of the shopp walking we’ve been doing. And I don’t think that Randy got anything except for a strained neck from looking at all of the, um, jiggling things that were happily bouncing around. Oh, I got that too.

After we took inventory, we headed back to the hotel to regroup.

Since I have to head out at 5am tomorrow for Bogota, I’m gonna have to shorten this as it’s now a bit after 9pm. 

Our trip co-ordinator, Elisabeth, met us for dinner at a really nice restaurant that serves Parilla (Argetine Parilla - delicious grilled meats and sides Parilla is every day Argentine food served on virtually every city block of Buenos Aires…), after being about an hour late because she had to “charge her phone.” Yeah, right. But we all had a really good time and did the normal European dinner thing starting to eat at about 9pm and not finishing until about midnight. Great food, great company, and great time had by all. Not a bad day after all. Except for being sandbagged that is. 

And the story for today goes like this: Woke up, had a bite to eat, went to the office, listened to a presentation, gave a presentation, listened to a presentation, listened to a presentation, went to lunch, came back from lunch, had a discussion with the locals on how to compete against our nemesis', walked back to the hotel, went down to the pool where when the wind blew the wrong way it stunk from the plumbing (or lack thereof), and then finally began writing my blog. 

So here it ends for day 4, our last day in Buenos Aires.  Tomorrow, Bogota, and having dinner with old friends. Can't even imagine what might happen.

Ciao.

Buenos Aires - Day 2

One of my newest co-workers used to live in Buenos Aires when in college, and she kindly gave us a list of places to visit while we’re here. Now Becky’s a really nice person, and she loves the Tango (and salsa,) so you can imagine that the vast majority of places she suggested we visit included something about the Tango. There’s even a place that we must visit that has wall paintings of the Tango. Now I enjoy a good Tango every now and then too (having danced it the last time I was here – 15 years ago), but I’m not so sure Rich and I are as into it as much as Becky. But ya gotta love her for it.

One of the areas listed was the Recoleta market where the artisans sell their goods, and another is an area called Palermo for funky shops and restaurants. And surprisingly, neither had anything to do with the Tango. So those were our first choices.

Our other co-worker, Randy, isn’t due to arrive until tomorrow, so it appears that today is going to be a nice bonding day between Rich and myself.

Rich and I got to Recoleta at about 10:30am and walked around looking at all of the jewelry, leather goods, clothing, and all of the stuff you’d expect from a market such as this one.  Nothing much that really caught my eye (of the crafts that is, however, there were other architectural sights that were quite interesting), but nice crafts just the same.

One thing I did learn; shopping with a guy is quite a different experience, as opposed to, let’s say, my wife. Rich was totally agreeable to anything I wanted to do, and I was the same. So when we needed to make a decision on which direction to walk, one of us would say “that way” and the other would just follow along, no complaints, no discussion. Easy. That’s pretty much the way it went the entire morning. One of us would say, “let’s go …” and the other would just agree.  Strange, very strange. Is that the same when two girls go shopping?

Now Diane and I have been married for 31 years, and I don’t remember a day where we had that simple of a discussion about who wants to do what and which way to go and when and how and for how long. It’s usually more of something like - I’ll say, “Let’s do this,” and she’ll say, “Is there shopping there?” And I’ll say, “Dunno, I want to see the sights.” And she’ll say, “But I want to go shopping first.” And on ad nauseum until she wins and we go shopping. So the situation between Rich and myself almost had me stumped and questioning my sanity (can this be true?)

At one end of the market is an old cemetery that is a tourist attraction because of the mausoleums, as well as it’s the cemetery where Eva Duarte Peron is buried. So we go through the gate and get immediately accosted by a British woman with a very thick British accent, pushing the cemetery map for 8 pesos. After listening to her for just a short period pointing out where the more important people were interred, I couldn’t take it any more and gave her the 8 pesos, and we went in. Here I was in Argentina listening to a worker with a British accent. Now believe me, I love the Brits, and wouldn't mind living across the pond for a while, but my mind wasn't prepared for this in a Spanish city.

The cemetery is an interesting place. I visited when I was here in ’96, which is why I wanted Rich to see it as well. He was impressed. All of the crypts are extremely ornate as you can see in the accompanying photo.

Here I am showing that I haven't a clue how to model in front of someone's crypt.

Not sure how much value those interred got for their money, but I sincerely hope they are doing well in the afterlife. These things must have cost a small fortune – and in many cases, it was probably a large one.

After paying our respects to the dead, we did our final tour of the market and decided to go on to the next recommended location – the Palermo section.

The problem with locating the Palermo neighborhood is that there are three areas with the same name; Palermo Soho, Palermo Hollywood, and a Palermo botanical garden area. I had emailed Becky about which one we should go see, and all she could reply was that she didn’t recall exactly, but just ask anyone, including the cab driver. So that’s what we did. We grabbed a cab and asked the driver to take us to Palermo. Unfortunately he didn’t speak a word of English, so we pulled out the map and pointed to the areas of Palermo and said, “shopping y comida” Shopping and food. “Ah!” he said in Spanish, “shopping, si.” So he began to drive.  

We drove for about 5 minutes when the driver pulled over to the curb in an area that initially looked about normal for an urban shopping area. However, when we paid the fare and got out of the cab, we found that the driver had just taken us to the local shopping mall, in Palermo. Ugh! Not exactly what I had in mind, and memories of my Budapest trip going shopping were starting to inflict serious mental disturbances.

Suffice it to say that Rich and I immediately agreed that this is not exactly what we wanted to do or where we wanted to be. So we kicked around some ideas of what to do and where to go, as we had no idea of where the “funky” section was. And of course, I had no idea of how to say “funky” in Spanish to a cab driver or anyone else. However, I am a bit pleased with my 1^st grade Spanish that took me 6 years to perfect – from 7^th thru 12^th grades. Ordering beer and water in Spanish, and Empanadas (in Spanish they call them – empanadas, so that’s an easy one) has been a great help. Trying to tell the cab driver where we want to go, obviously hasn’t.  But I digress.

So we reconsider our options, look at the map once again, take a reading of the sun with my sextant (ok, I didn’t bring a sextant –but I did use my iPhone Google maps app), and decide to check out the botanical gardens. It’s only about 6 blocks away, so not bad. So we begin the hike.

When we arrived, we found that there was virtually nil growing except for some love proffered by some serious kissing between a pair of 20-somethings. It’s the middle of the summer and nothing is really blossoming right now – with the obvious exception for hormones that apparently flower any time of year.

So we head back to the hotel to regroup, and ask the concierge where the real Palermo can be found. But first we have a snack.

We go into a restaurant that Rich had pulled one over on yesterday. The story he tells is that while I was doing my thing back at the hotel, he took a walk and went into this restaurant to have some tea – which he did. When he went to pay for it, all he had was a 100 peso ($25) bill. For some reason they couldn’t change it, or didn’t want to, and told him his drink was free. What a deal.  So Rich felt bad and wanted to repay the favor by going back. Very nice of him. In retrospect, I think he wanted to pull the same stunt, but we ate too much and had the proper amount of cash this time.

At the hotel, the concierge pointed out the area in Palermo where we wanted to go, and after some rest we headed back out.

We grabbed a taxi, whereby I pointed out the center of the boxed-in area on the map where we wanted to go. I was simply making sure that we weren’t going to another shopping mall.

We get to the area…and it’s great! There’s lot’s of people, restaurants, interesting stores, more craftspeople on the street, and just a nice fun atmosphere. Perfect! In the center was a band doing their thing. Very cool. And we didn’t have to go shopping. So we walked around a bit checking out all of the sights, and for two guys walking around the streets in this area, in the summer, there’s lots to see (wink, wink.)

So we hung around and walked around and drank some beer around and saw the sights around and just kidded around for a few hours, and as it got dark, headed back to the hotel. And all without argument. Wow.

So at the end of the day I thought - why can’t a woman… be more like a man? (inspiration: My Fair Lady)

Tomorrow is more street fairs with couples doing the Tango, face painting, and other oddities. Yes Becky, the Tango. See ya then. Ciao.

Trip To South America

When I went to Budapest a few months ago, I wrote a daily blog because there were so many things going on that I found sincerely interesting, and at times, humorous. (http://triptobudapest.blogspot.com/2010/10/getting-ready-to-travel.html). Being with old and new family members, and trying to get around a foreign country where English appears to be a last language, made it really interesting, and at times, very funny and fairly writable.

However, on this trip, it's business, and I'm here at the moment with a guy who doesn't like to shop as much as my wife (hmmm, seems to me that's gotta be a good thing, no?), who is interested in many of the same things as I am (more or less), and another guy will be joining us whose wife is from Venezuela, but he doesn't speak the language, so I'm not quite not sure what value he brings to the trip? And more importantly, there's no strudel (see blog URL above). So what could anyone find interesting enough in that to write about? There's no drama from the tug-of-war between husband and wife, there doesn't seem to be a great central story line (we're just here on business trying to get a few days in of warmth and sightseeing before we have to do a song and dance in front of a few hundred people), and there's certainly no love interest - well, maybe I'll offer an exception for the food - but there's still no strudel. So therefore, I'll just spout off here as necessary to blab anything of Earth-shattering interest that I might come across. Don't expect much.

I'm sure you're thinking "Thanks for wasting my time, Jerry, for those two paragraphs of nothing. That's 5 minutes of my life I'll never get back."  Hey, isn't that what blogging (and Facebook) is all about?