The airport is busy - busy and cold. I have succumbed to McDonald´s, something I haven´t done in many years, because it is much cheaper than the cafes and LAN does not have me down for a vegetarian meal so I won´t eat much again for a long time. I am having an egg and cheese bagel after having thrown off the ham. The coffee I am drinking is the first I have had in Argentina and it is gross. Only 1 sugar and it is too sweet.
Oy, where to resume...
Buses in Buenos Aires, smaller than in Australia or America, used to be highly decorated because drivers drove the same bus all the time and, in W´s words, were very proud of their buses. Many are still decorated at least somewhat. Last night I rode in a bus with a scalloped tapestry banner across the top of the windshield and above the front windows were two mirrors engraved with names in each of their four corners.
The city is so full of people and construction and narrow sidewalks that it is frustrating to get around if you are in a rush, which I mostly was - particularly irritating since I am on holiday. I dodged and bumped and careened around. People in Buenos Aires don´t seem to be in a hurry ever, which is good I guess.
Yesterday I took the tourist bus ($25 pesos), which I have mentioned. No morning cafe stop but a subway ride instead. Linea A is the oldest line, opened in 1913 and still running its original cars, wood-panelled on the inside with wooden benches. Buenos Aireans find these trains beautiful, not something I ever hear from Melbournians about their old city circle trams. Taking the tourist bus was a great idea (thanks, W.) It takes tourists around a large section of the inner city, letting people hop on and off as they please and runs commentary throughout. I recommend to anyone travelling to Buenos Aires to take this bus first and then decide which neighbourhods to linger in further.
The bus starts at Plazo de Mayo, the banking centre of Buenos Aires. It is one of those many parts of BA that has amazing colonial architecture, including a cathedral, in streets of stone and windows, yet somehow misses being beautiful. I think maybe it is patchy and yellow grass, fences (even plain wrought iron ones), and, well, too much street, that gets in the way. The bus goes through Retiro, a main street of mansions; the outskirts of San Telmo; La Boca; Puerto Malero, where there is a huge native reserve of marshland and glass skyscrapers recently built to reclaim the port area for the wealthy and tourists; Palermo, which has an architect designed neighbourhood of super-mansions, now mostly embassies, and streets covered in tree canopy, a tiny part of the city beautiful in that aristocratic European way; and passes Recoleta, the zoo, botanical garden and Japanese garden.
I only had time to hope off the bus at La Boca, which immediately became my favourite part of the city. I only skimmed the surface of its charms, but I fell in love. It should be the hippy part of BA, but W said it is dangerous (poor) and unhealthy due to the high level of contamination in the River Plate, which indeed looks brown and sad.
Friday, May 29, 2009
5.00am, Saturday May 16, airport ....I actually get to the party part
Shit. I am at the airport way too early. It is 5.00am and my flight is at 8.45. 6.30 is when I wanted to arrive here - by bus. However, W couldn´t get an answer over the phone to her inquiry as to whether the bus that goes to the airport runs all night and no one else seems to know. W thought it best I take a taxi, a very expensive option at $75 pesos. (Nothing I paid for on this trip so far came anywhere near to that price.) The bus takes two hours to get to the airport so I left myself two hours. The taxi took 20 minutes. I could have kept dancing to a ´90s pop performer for another hour and a half. Since, as I explained to W, Australians begin and end their nights out a bit earlier, I had lost it by 4am, forcing my zombie sways to resemble dancing.
The ´party´ that we were at involved a weird drag queen show with a Jewish theme. It was not really my kind of music but I felt like I was in a movie about someone going to a club in Buenos Aires, what with its dark maroon tin roof and lowered circular dance floor, huge, a rounded balcony, a stage with curtains and TV screens, and a dance floor littered with drink bottles. The place was packed, fortunately mostly with gay young men who were mostly nowhere near as camp as Australian gay young men in dance clubs, though I did get to watch a few couples of boys kissing each other like kissing was going out of style. It was a very young crowd but, as W promised, a crowd with good vibes. No one tried to pick us up or touch us - everyone just danced and drank and occasionally stuck their tongues in each other´s mouths.
Before dancing, W, two of her friends, and I went to dinner at a lovely restaurant/bar. It was a bit rustic/a bit trendy, set up in a big old house. It had a green and cloudy stained glass window in the back in a simple pattern, bamboo-like branches in pots and low tables and couches, with a deep red decor. We sat on an enclosed balcony under gas heaters. Dinner was my thanks to W for her lovely hospitality. I had a delicious meal of large tortellini stuffed with mozzarella and basil in a tomato and mushroom sauce. The sauce was dark-flavoured and may have had sun-dried tomatoes in it as well as what I think were porcini mushrooms: very dark with a spongy-crumbly consistency. I think this is the first time I´ve actually tasted the stuffing in a tortellini (the mozzarella, not the basil). W, also a self-proclaimed food lover, ordered the same and we both exclaimed over our food throughout the entire meal. We were brought a big basket of assorted bread rolls and breadsticks and I selected a bottle of marlbec syrah, a sharp, strange wine. W´s male friend ordered a sandwich and chips and we gals at his chips, lovely fried potato rounds, not thin like packaged chips but not thick like fries or wedges, but just perfect.
Me, W, and glass of wine at restaurant (notice my face thin out in later photos. Travelling, and summer, is good for me...)
W´s male friend was hot. Young - 26 - but tall in this city of short people and broad, with straight teeth, a ready smile and straight hair he pushed out of his face. I wouldn´t have minded the opportunity to kiss him... He was an old-fashioned sort, keeping us safe. It was nice when his big hands guided my back. He took my email address but when he asked me if I like metal and I said no, Pink Floyd is as hard as I get, he said Pink Floyd was too Left and he was Right (this was all partly spoken in English and partly translated by W). He asked if I was Left or Right and I said Left and asked W to tell him I´m a feminist. He said he thinks women are more important than men but W couldn´t translate my question of whether he thinks women should be able to do whatever they want.
I am invited back to W´s place whenever I again find myself in Buenos Aires and to her friend´s place as well. I must get back soon.
The ´party´ that we were at involved a weird drag queen show with a Jewish theme. It was not really my kind of music but I felt like I was in a movie about someone going to a club in Buenos Aires, what with its dark maroon tin roof and lowered circular dance floor, huge, a rounded balcony, a stage with curtains and TV screens, and a dance floor littered with drink bottles. The place was packed, fortunately mostly with gay young men who were mostly nowhere near as camp as Australian gay young men in dance clubs, though I did get to watch a few couples of boys kissing each other like kissing was going out of style. It was a very young crowd but, as W promised, a crowd with good vibes. No one tried to pick us up or touch us - everyone just danced and drank and occasionally stuck their tongues in each other´s mouths.
Before dancing, W, two of her friends, and I went to dinner at a lovely restaurant/bar. It was a bit rustic/a bit trendy, set up in a big old house. It had a green and cloudy stained glass window in the back in a simple pattern, bamboo-like branches in pots and low tables and couches, with a deep red decor. We sat on an enclosed balcony under gas heaters. Dinner was my thanks to W for her lovely hospitality. I had a delicious meal of large tortellini stuffed with mozzarella and basil in a tomato and mushroom sauce. The sauce was dark-flavoured and may have had sun-dried tomatoes in it as well as what I think were porcini mushrooms: very dark with a spongy-crumbly consistency. I think this is the first time I´ve actually tasted the stuffing in a tortellini (the mozzarella, not the basil). W, also a self-proclaimed food lover, ordered the same and we both exclaimed over our food throughout the entire meal. We were brought a big basket of assorted bread rolls and breadsticks and I selected a bottle of marlbec syrah, a sharp, strange wine. W´s male friend ordered a sandwich and chips and we gals at his chips, lovely fried potato rounds, not thin like packaged chips but not thick like fries or wedges, but just perfect.
Me, W, and glass of wine at restaurant (notice my face thin out in later photos. Travelling, and summer, is good for me...)
W´s male friend was hot. Young - 26 - but tall in this city of short people and broad, with straight teeth, a ready smile and straight hair he pushed out of his face. I wouldn´t have minded the opportunity to kiss him... He was an old-fashioned sort, keeping us safe. It was nice when his big hands guided my back. He took my email address but when he asked me if I like metal and I said no, Pink Floyd is as hard as I get, he said Pink Floyd was too Left and he was Right (this was all partly spoken in English and partly translated by W). He asked if I was Left or Right and I said Left and asked W to tell him I´m a feminist. He said he thinks women are more important than men but W couldn´t translate my question of whether he thinks women should be able to do whatever they want.
I am invited back to W´s place whenever I again find myself in Buenos Aires and to her friend´s place as well. I must get back soon.
May 15 continued
After talking over a pizza lunch on Thursday, E and I walked through the little botanic garden. I gave a slice of pizza to a young girl who asked E for money. She looked well taken care of for a beggar-girl and eagerly took the pizza when E offered her our last slice.
The garden doesn´t look like any other botanic garden I´ve been to. According to the tourist bus´s commentary there are plants from all parts of the world in the garden but I didn´t notice this - my time there was more like a leisurely stroll through a city park. The garden consists mainly of dirt pathways through treed grass swathes. The occasional greenhouses strewn about the park were homes for ferns, palms and other leafy things. There were no signs identifying plants and only once did I see a sign - reading ´French garden´.
in the botanic garden
There was no gift shop or cafe but instead a plethora of stray cats, like in the Recoleta cemetery. I had a good old love-in with one tabby who slowly inched further up my lap until its head was nuzzling my neck. I think of cats as creatures that want food rather than affection, so I was surprised at such a display. I would love to live near a park where there is always a cat available to purr on my lap that I neither own nor am responsible for!
The garden doesn´t look like any other botanic garden I´ve been to. According to the tourist bus´s commentary there are plants from all parts of the world in the garden but I didn´t notice this - my time there was more like a leisurely stroll through a city park. The garden consists mainly of dirt pathways through treed grass swathes. The occasional greenhouses strewn about the park were homes for ferns, palms and other leafy things. There were no signs identifying plants and only once did I see a sign - reading ´French garden´.
in the botanic garden
There was no gift shop or cafe but instead a plethora of stray cats, like in the Recoleta cemetery. I had a good old love-in with one tabby who slowly inched further up my lap until its head was nuzzling my neck. I think of cats as creatures that want food rather than affection, so I was surprised at such a display. I would love to live near a park where there is always a cat available to purr on my lap that I neither own nor am responsible for!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
8ishpm, Friday May 15 ....party, party, party
I am in bed at W´s, resting before a long night out at a ´party´we are on the guest list for. W is one of those people who knows people. She makes zombie films and is a photographer. Parties here apparently don´t get started until 2.00am and I will have to leave around 4.00am to make sure I catch a bus, coach or taxi to the airport to be good and early for my 8.45am flight (hopefully I catch the bus, which takes 2 hours).
I´ve been dutifully jotting down notes for when I have the time to write properly, but I would love a nap before heading out tonight. It felt like I was awake for much of last night, partly because I was cold. I keep waking up early and today was no exception, despite wearing earplugs so I wouldn´t hear the sounds of W´s father coming home in the early morning from his night shift.
I am leaving this city without having done much - I didn´t get to the fine art museum or the national library and didn´t see San Telmo or La Boca properly in only half-hour look-ins. I did sample the pizza and ice cream. The pizza here has a very thick spongy base with no real crust. It is like a foccacia. I had pizza with E before we walked around the botanic gardens. The pizza had mozzarella, fresh tomato and a few olives. E said this pizza place near Italia Plaza was one of the best in the city. I liked it better than Australian pizza but I prefer NY pizza to both. There is a long Italian history here, hence the pizza. Also a Jewish history, beginning in the late 1860s. I did not notice any bagels or Jewish food, but did spot some Hasids and yarmulkes.
The chocolate rocher ice-cream (helado) was as good as W promised Argentinian ice-cream would be - as good as my favourite Baci gelato in Melbourne.
I´ve been dutifully jotting down notes for when I have the time to write properly, but I would love a nap before heading out tonight. It felt like I was awake for much of last night, partly because I was cold. I keep waking up early and today was no exception, despite wearing earplugs so I wouldn´t hear the sounds of W´s father coming home in the early morning from his night shift.
I am leaving this city without having done much - I didn´t get to the fine art museum or the national library and didn´t see San Telmo or La Boca properly in only half-hour look-ins. I did sample the pizza and ice cream. The pizza here has a very thick spongy base with no real crust. It is like a foccacia. I had pizza with E before we walked around the botanic gardens. The pizza had mozzarella, fresh tomato and a few olives. E said this pizza place near Italia Plaza was one of the best in the city. I liked it better than Australian pizza but I prefer NY pizza to both. There is a long Italian history here, hence the pizza. Also a Jewish history, beginning in the late 1860s. I did not notice any bagels or Jewish food, but did spot some Hasids and yarmulkes.
The chocolate rocher ice-cream (helado) was as good as W promised Argentinian ice-cream would be - as good as my favourite Baci gelato in Melbourne.
afternoon, Friday May 15 ....need more time
I am in the sun in La Boca, a fantastic neighbourhood of old, old brightly-coloured buildings, a port on the river Plate, once the immigrant area and home of Boca Juniors´ football stadium. I so wish I had known about this area earlier! There are tango restaurants and cobblestone laneways with tango dancers and musicians playing on platforms amongst the outdoor tables; market stalls with nice handmade jewelry, arts and clothes, prints of paintings; courtyard shops in the bright buildings. This is the neighbourhood I would want to live in. I could have stayed here a whole day - and spent a lot of money.
La Boca
I have taken the double-decker tourist bus around Buenos Aires. It is such a big city that this is a good idea even if it is a touristy thing to do. The recorded tour gives much too much information. One thing I remember is that Buenos Aires has a copy of Rodin´s Thinker and that it, along with Philadelphia, were the only two cities to order statues of their own.
Last night W´s mom showed me a prized avocado picked off a tree on their building´s grounds. The residents fight over the avocados on the tree so they are difficult to come by.
La Boca
I have taken the double-decker tourist bus around Buenos Aires. It is such a big city that this is a good idea even if it is a touristy thing to do. The recorded tour gives much too much information. One thing I remember is that Buenos Aires has a copy of Rodin´s Thinker and that it, along with Philadelphia, were the only two cities to order statues of their own.
Last night W´s mom showed me a prized avocado picked off a tree on their building´s grounds. The residents fight over the avocados on the tree so they are difficult to come by.
May 14 continued
On the way to work, a slightly different route every day, W and I passed a bakery with chocolate-coated pastries of various kinds and I had to go back to get one after dropping by W´s office. It was a roll scrolled with dulce con leche and covered in dark chocolate. It was only okay.
Here, next to the botanic gardens, in the Plaza Italia, are several booksellers. Buenos Aireans must be intellectuals: I spotted Foucault´s Discipline and Punish right away and recognised names of famous Spanish and Argentinian authors. Maybe the low level political ferment here (W complains about the constant worker protests that block off streets but otherwise accomplish nothing) keeps lefty types reading Marxist philosophical political science. If so, viva la revolutionary tendencies!
I chatted, so to speak, with one of the booksellers, an old ruddy-faced man. He knew a few English words, I knew my few Spanish words, but we went okay. He told me, I think, that his little son isn´t learning English and that, in Spanish, adverbs and adjectives are in reverse order with nouns compared to English. This was accomplished with the example ´mujer bonita´.
Okay, I remembered some things. Now off to meet E. The sun has gone behind the clouds.
Here, next to the botanic gardens, in the Plaza Italia, are several booksellers. Buenos Aireans must be intellectuals: I spotted Foucault´s Discipline and Punish right away and recognised names of famous Spanish and Argentinian authors. Maybe the low level political ferment here (W complains about the constant worker protests that block off streets but otherwise accomplish nothing) keeps lefty types reading Marxist philosophical political science. If so, viva la revolutionary tendencies!
I chatted, so to speak, with one of the booksellers, an old ruddy-faced man. He knew a few English words, I knew my few Spanish words, but we went okay. He told me, I think, that his little son isn´t learning English and that, in Spanish, adverbs and adjectives are in reverse order with nouns compared to English. This was accomplished with the example ´mujer bonita´.
Okay, I remembered some things. Now off to meet E. The sun has gone behind the clouds.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
2.30pm, Thursday May 14 ....snatching a half hour
I am sitting in the botanic garden, snatching a half hour to write before I meet E. I have been hanging out to write all day as so many thoughts say hi to me, but I found myself in an internet cafe instead, organizing to meet E (another couchsurfer) and blogging this journal. I probably won't remember most of what I wanted to write now that I have pen and paper in front of me.
This morning W and I walked through a different section of her neighbourhood to get to a farther entrance to the train station so we could by tickets from a human being who will accept notes and give change. We both had run out of pesos. This wealthier area of Haedo had many large houses, some quite old and colonial.
a descript house in Haedo
I realize the reason why I find W's suburb nondescript is because the houses are all shuttered and non-alive, and all very different from each other. There is no overriding style or material to get a hold on.
I have wanted to mention for ages the garbage baskets. Instead of big ugly council-owned bins, people have small baskets on poles. Only the presence of garbage bags in the baskets (raised to withstand the neighbourhood dogs) would give you any clue to the purpose of the often quite pretty steel baskets. W explained that some house owners make their own from shopping carts, but I only saw one or two such hodgepodge affairs. When I commented on how comparatively small the baskets are (bike-basket size), W said the garbage man comes every morning.
Haedo's neighbourhood street paths are a hodgepodge of different sorts of tiling, as they are laid by houseowners. The day began with an auspicious start - sunshine and a double-decker train with empty seats. We sat up top and I was able to see the passing suburbs, with tall, tall apartment blocks, old colonial houses and other assorted dwellings. I wouldn't mind walking through some of these suburbs.
This morning W and I walked through a different section of her neighbourhood to get to a farther entrance to the train station so we could by tickets from a human being who will accept notes and give change. We both had run out of pesos. This wealthier area of Haedo had many large houses, some quite old and colonial.
a descript house in Haedo
I realize the reason why I find W's suburb nondescript is because the houses are all shuttered and non-alive, and all very different from each other. There is no overriding style or material to get a hold on.
I have wanted to mention for ages the garbage baskets. Instead of big ugly council-owned bins, people have small baskets on poles. Only the presence of garbage bags in the baskets (raised to withstand the neighbourhood dogs) would give you any clue to the purpose of the often quite pretty steel baskets. W explained that some house owners make their own from shopping carts, but I only saw one or two such hodgepodge affairs. When I commented on how comparatively small the baskets are (bike-basket size), W said the garbage man comes every morning.
Haedo's neighbourhood street paths are a hodgepodge of different sorts of tiling, as they are laid by houseowners. The day began with an auspicious start - sunshine and a double-decker train with empty seats. We sat up top and I was able to see the passing suburbs, with tall, tall apartment blocks, old colonial houses and other assorted dwellings. I wouldn't mind walking through some of these suburbs.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
sometime after 11pm, Wednesday May 13 ....a long day over
Today was a difficult day. My deadline to be back at W´s office at 3.45 ensured I couldn´t relax on my journey to San Telmo; despite peeing at the empanada restaurant I had to pee again a half hour later so was anxious about where I was going to find a loo; I confirmed that the $20 peso phone card I was sold at the airport communications centre does not work in public phones and I couldn´t call the other couch surfer I was hoping to catch up with; not knowing how to figure out which bus to take or having the change (caja) for it even if I did (the bus fare machines only take coins and W warned me before I arrived to save 1 peso coins because everyone needs them and no one has them) meant my journey there and back would be long.
It was already 2.30 when I arrived in San Telmo, a very old part of town. It is quaint, with crumbly pastel buildings and many antique shops and old pubs. I stumbled upon an indoor market with atmospheric stalls of antiques, jewelry, fruit and vegetables, lighting fixtures, dolls, etc. It also had bathrooms (yay!). I bought a small avocado and a handful of yellow cherry tomatoes from a fruit seller. I was sold a lovely piece of chocolate by two young (twenty-somethings, I think) gypsy-like Chileanos. I think it was homemade and it was rich and surprisingly good.
I only had time for this small wander and then had to head back to the office, but I didn´t make it back in time for W and I to go to the 4.30 planetarium show. I walked as fast as I could in this city full of people and works to dodge but it was too far a walk and, of course, I took a few wrong turns, lengthening my journey. After walking in the wrong direction for a little while, I asked a woman which direction Once station was in, she pointed to a bus and gave me a bus number. I watched this bus pass as I left her, so walked farther to another bus stop. I missed about 3 buses because I wasn´t in the exact right place and quick enough to get on the buses that sometimes don´t stop at all. I finally did get on a bus after a long wait (10 or 15 mins?) but then got off too early. The whole day was stressful and walking in the grey drizzle didn´t help my mood. Sometimes I felt sorry for myself, despairing as a frightened traveller. Other moments were good.
The day ended well at the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA). W and I wandered around exhibitions of modern and contemporary art, including works by Frieda Kahlo and Diego Rivera and Botero. I saw Kahlo´s famous self-portrait with monkey and bird. I preferred Rivera's earlier work, which I presume is pre-Communist. It is more abstract. I didn't find the paintings of large worker scenes to be very unique or genius. To me, the worker's faces are amateurish.
It was nice wandering the gallery with W. Sometimes we loved the same paintings, other times our tastes diverged, but as a photographer and generally arty person, she had interesting things to say about why she did or did not like a work, matters of form and content. There was one painting in shades of brown, a fairy forest scene with monster-headed people and a dragon-slaying that was dated to the 1950s, much ahead of the time I think of as popular for such fantasy scenes, which are quite current. Even more surprising was that it was painted by a woman.
It was already 2.30 when I arrived in San Telmo, a very old part of town. It is quaint, with crumbly pastel buildings and many antique shops and old pubs. I stumbled upon an indoor market with atmospheric stalls of antiques, jewelry, fruit and vegetables, lighting fixtures, dolls, etc. It also had bathrooms (yay!). I bought a small avocado and a handful of yellow cherry tomatoes from a fruit seller. I was sold a lovely piece of chocolate by two young (twenty-somethings, I think) gypsy-like Chileanos. I think it was homemade and it was rich and surprisingly good.
I only had time for this small wander and then had to head back to the office, but I didn´t make it back in time for W and I to go to the 4.30 planetarium show. I walked as fast as I could in this city full of people and works to dodge but it was too far a walk and, of course, I took a few wrong turns, lengthening my journey. After walking in the wrong direction for a little while, I asked a woman which direction Once station was in, she pointed to a bus and gave me a bus number. I watched this bus pass as I left her, so walked farther to another bus stop. I missed about 3 buses because I wasn´t in the exact right place and quick enough to get on the buses that sometimes don´t stop at all. I finally did get on a bus after a long wait (10 or 15 mins?) but then got off too early. The whole day was stressful and walking in the grey drizzle didn´t help my mood. Sometimes I felt sorry for myself, despairing as a frightened traveller. Other moments were good.
The day ended well at the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA). W and I wandered around exhibitions of modern and contemporary art, including works by Frieda Kahlo and Diego Rivera and Botero. I saw Kahlo´s famous self-portrait with monkey and bird. I preferred Rivera's earlier work, which I presume is pre-Communist. It is more abstract. I didn't find the paintings of large worker scenes to be very unique or genius. To me, the worker's faces are amateurish.
It was nice wandering the gallery with W. Sometimes we loved the same paintings, other times our tastes diverged, but as a photographer and generally arty person, she had interesting things to say about why she did or did not like a work, matters of form and content. There was one painting in shades of brown, a fairy forest scene with monster-headed people and a dragon-slaying that was dated to the 1950s, much ahead of the time I think of as popular for such fantasy scenes, which are quite current. Even more surprising was that it was painted by a woman.
Monday, May 18, 2009
1.18pm, Wednesday May 13 ....tiny empanadas
Eating as a vegetarian in a country in which you don´t speak the language is a pain. I am at La Tucumarita on Rivadavia street, sitting in the loft after ordering two little empanadas. One is stuffed with cheese.
I hate speaking here. I feel so stupid, uncultured, annoying. In a restaurant one can´t take the time to try to put a sentence together.
This second empanada has corn and cheese inside. Mmmm...
As I walk through the city I think about coming back to live here (I walked down Ave. Corriente, which had bookshop after bookstall after bookstall, both upscale and discount. This is also the street where the theatres are). It is a grey and drizzly day and I can´t say that Buenos Arieans are particularly smiling people. Perhaps that is just the same in any big city. When I think of living here, I can´t imagine how one neogotiates such a big and unfamiliar city, its neighbourhoods and transport, even if one could speak the language and find work. I don´t even know how I´d begin to think about living in a city like this. This makes me feel limited. People move to strange cities all the time.
I hate speaking here. I feel so stupid, uncultured, annoying. In a restaurant one can´t take the time to try to put a sentence together.
This second empanada has corn and cheese inside. Mmmm...
As I walk through the city I think about coming back to live here (I walked down Ave. Corriente, which had bookshop after bookstall after bookstall, both upscale and discount. This is also the street where the theatres are). It is a grey and drizzly day and I can´t say that Buenos Arieans are particularly smiling people. Perhaps that is just the same in any big city. When I think of living here, I can´t imagine how one neogotiates such a big and unfamiliar city, its neighbourhoods and transport, even if one could speak the language and find work. I don´t even know how I´d begin to think about living in a city like this. This makes me feel limited. People move to strange cities all the time.
12.15pm, Wednesday May 13 ....untitled
I am in an awesome, awesome bookshop/cafe. It is a long, long shop, with the cafe at the entrance - hardwood floor, dark red square wooden tables, colourful paintings of musicians and dancers for sale. An enormous open wrought-iron sliding gate separates the cafe from the bookshop, which has a balcony along three sides of the shop, beginning halfway along. It looks so inviting, all that dark metal balcony and wall-lining shelves of books. There are skinny male booksellers all in black and a huge sociology section. Lots of politics, philosophy. I saw Badiou´s new book, the sequel to Being and Event, on a table! On display! If I read Spanish I would have stayed there for a long time.
Instead I sat down to eat a medialuna (small croissant), hoping to stave off my ravenous hunger until I get to the cafe recommended by W. I won´t linger here as much as I´d like to as I am on my way to San Telmo and need to be back to W´s office by 3.45pm so we can make it to a planetarium show and then to the Latin American art gallery.
Instead I sat down to eat a medialuna (small croissant), hoping to stave off my ravenous hunger until I get to the cafe recommended by W. I won´t linger here as much as I´d like to as I am on my way to San Telmo and need to be back to W´s office by 3.45pm so we can make it to a planetarium show and then to the Latin American art gallery.
The marble cathedral
I forgot to write about the cathedral in Recoleta. It is difficult to remember everything when I have the time to write and to write when I am remembering what I want to get down. Thus, I won´t be detailed but simply mention that the cathedral is amazing, with statuary friezes down the walls and even large dolls in cases, which I think must be representations of young Jesus. It was one of the most sumptuous cathedrals I have seen and I feel sad that I didn´t write about it at the time to describe it better.
I have taken some photos - I´ve been trying not to take too many, just a shot of the most important things, but already I am on to my second disposable camera. I won´t be able to get them developed until I am in NY, so you will have to be patient, but they will come. We shall see if my writing manages to give the right impressions!
I have taken some photos - I´ve been trying not to take too many, just a shot of the most important things, but already I am on to my second disposable camera. I won´t be able to get them developed until I am in NY, so you will have to be patient, but they will come. We shall see if my writing manages to give the right impressions!
Saturday, May 16, 2009
6.46pm, Tuesday May 12 ....pickpocketed already?
Today I sat in a cafe with a blue and pink pastel ceiling, where I was served four different little biscuits with my $6 peso cup of tea. The cafe is in the Recoleta Cultural Centre. I was too tired to write. I certainly couldn´t keep up with Sartre, so I read Sarton, but only for a bit. After finishing my tea I lay down on a concrete bench in the gallery´s courtyard, next to a fountain. I listened to the falling water and pretended to doze.
I enjoyed very much the art at the RCC, new works - a retrospective of a project using cigarette vending machines to display small works by a variety of emerging artists; an exhibit of large resin and glass objects inspired by natural forms but also with an element of the built and technological - large objects, for example giant open pod-like structures - made of shattered glass; giant colour photographs of people at various South American beaches; comics, titled Tesorito, about a mother and her two children, one a baby.
The centre was originally part of a convent and the exhibits were housed in narrow rooms off a central hall, as was the cafe. I´ve never quite seen a gallery like it and it was unusually lax on security guards.
Before visiting the gallery I spent a lot of time walking around the Recoleta Cemetary, a miniature old city of mausoleums for the rich and important. I´ve never seen its like. Inside the mausoleums were shiny wooden coffins, Jesus wall statues, vases, glasses, dishes, flowers, portraits. Some were intricately cobwebbed, others losing sprays of plaster or offering loose planks of wood. Outside of Eva Peron´s family mausolem was a hill of flowers. There were many wandering cats in the cemetary, several peacefully lying under a small tree near a marble bench. I spent a couple of hours wandering around, lost in the plethora of lanes.
Recoleta Cemetery
Today I ate bread stuffed with cheese, olives, tomato and pesto, bought off a stallholder in front of the Recoleta church. I also lost something like $30 to $40 pesos. I may have been pickpocketed but I just as likely missed my purse when putting my money away. Sigh... that´s a fair chunk of pesos, though not that much Australian dollars.
Next, I must tell of the marble cathedral.
I enjoyed very much the art at the RCC, new works - a retrospective of a project using cigarette vending machines to display small works by a variety of emerging artists; an exhibit of large resin and glass objects inspired by natural forms but also with an element of the built and technological - large objects, for example giant open pod-like structures - made of shattered glass; giant colour photographs of people at various South American beaches; comics, titled Tesorito, about a mother and her two children, one a baby.
The centre was originally part of a convent and the exhibits were housed in narrow rooms off a central hall, as was the cafe. I´ve never quite seen a gallery like it and it was unusually lax on security guards.
Before visiting the gallery I spent a lot of time walking around the Recoleta Cemetary, a miniature old city of mausoleums for the rich and important. I´ve never seen its like. Inside the mausoleums were shiny wooden coffins, Jesus wall statues, vases, glasses, dishes, flowers, portraits. Some were intricately cobwebbed, others losing sprays of plaster or offering loose planks of wood. Outside of Eva Peron´s family mausolem was a hill of flowers. There were many wandering cats in the cemetary, several peacefully lying under a small tree near a marble bench. I spent a couple of hours wandering around, lost in the plethora of lanes.
Recoleta Cemetery
Today I ate bread stuffed with cheese, olives, tomato and pesto, bought off a stallholder in front of the Recoleta church. I also lost something like $30 to $40 pesos. I may have been pickpocketed but I just as likely missed my purse when putting my money away. Sigh... that´s a fair chunk of pesos, though not that much Australian dollars.
Next, I must tell of the marble cathedral.
Tuesday continued
W and I passed a cardboard box collector this morning. Cardboard is often what garbage vandals are after and cardboard is a roaring trade. Ah, I see another customer (in the cafe, in case you have forgotten where I am), a dignified woman in red and black also with a plate of three things, so maybe I am not as greedy as I thought.
I am proud of my Spanish speaking. I obviously looked confused as I looked at the open shelves of bakery delights to the side of the shop and the boy behind the counter offered me a plastic basket and tongs. I said, ´¿Como aquí?´and the boy motioned to me to take a table!
It is a chilly morning but the sun is showing itself. Buenos Aires is not beautiful. There are dramatic old buildings in this area, but they are offset by the greyness of the narrow streets. Haedo may be beloved but its houses are hodgepodge and odd, its apartment buildings boxes, though boxes with nice wooden slat shutters. It is like no city I´ve ever seen and I cannot describe adequately the way the houses look: they defintiely don´t give the usual impression of walkway, door, windows on either side. Some are two-storied with balconies...
Yesterday, when I said I was invigorated by the city, W countered that it is tiring always having to watch your bag and worrying about pickpocketing and, of course, actually being pickpocketed or robbed. That pulled me up. I romanticise big cities but I do reckon constantly being anxious on the streets and suffering purse-snatchings would wear thin.
I shall give in and eat the roll - while I delve back into Sartre.
I am proud of my Spanish speaking. I obviously looked confused as I looked at the open shelves of bakery delights to the side of the shop and the boy behind the counter offered me a plastic basket and tongs. I said, ´¿Como aquí?´and the boy motioned to me to take a table!
It is a chilly morning but the sun is showing itself. Buenos Aires is not beautiful. There are dramatic old buildings in this area, but they are offset by the greyness of the narrow streets. Haedo may be beloved but its houses are hodgepodge and odd, its apartment buildings boxes, though boxes with nice wooden slat shutters. It is like no city I´ve ever seen and I cannot describe adequately the way the houses look: they defintiely don´t give the usual impression of walkway, door, windows on either side. Some are two-storied with balconies...
Yesterday, when I said I was invigorated by the city, W countered that it is tiring always having to watch your bag and worrying about pickpocketing and, of course, actually being pickpocketed or robbed. That pulled me up. I romanticise big cities but I do reckon constantly being anxious on the streets and suffering purse-snatchings would wear thin.
I shall give in and eat the roll - while I delve back into Sartre.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
I will skip more flight writing so you can get to the good stuff
Monday, May 11, 9.55pm ....dead-to-the-bone tired
I jot down notes only, as I am tired beyond words. The bus ride from Buenos Aires airport was amazing. BA is an enormous grubby city strewn with trash and full of ugly architecture. It has been a grey day and the city´s people dress without flair. I love it. There is a distinct absence of blondes and rake-thin girls. People here aren´t that thin. I love it. Already on the bus I was thinking of moving to a big city again. I love it, the grand scale of it, the evidence of people in their masses, in their everyday squalor that I find so....invigorating.
I spent the late afternoon talking to W and her sister in their funky office (turquoise blue walls, fairy lights, a leg in a neon green stocking stuck to the wall) on Ave. Ayacucho. W made a lovely dinner of rice and fried eggplant patties topped with a chunky tomato sauce. Very lovely.
To bed!
I jot down notes only, as I am tired beyond words. The bus ride from Buenos Aires airport was amazing. BA is an enormous grubby city strewn with trash and full of ugly architecture. It has been a grey day and the city´s people dress without flair. I love it. There is a distinct absence of blondes and rake-thin girls. People here aren´t that thin. I love it. Already on the bus I was thinking of moving to a big city again. I love it, the grand scale of it, the evidence of people in their masses, in their everyday squalor that I find so....invigorating.
I spent the late afternoon talking to W and her sister in their funky office (turquoise blue walls, fairy lights, a leg in a neon green stocking stuck to the wall) on Ave. Ayacucho. W made a lovely dinner of rice and fried eggplant patties topped with a chunky tomato sauce. Very lovely.
To bed!
from now this blog becomes The South America Diaries!
Monday, 11 May, 3.43am ...it begins
Ahhh, so I begin what promises to be many scatteed hours of waiting over the course of these travels. I have taken a taxi to the Skybus for my Melbourne to Sydney flight. There are now fourteen minutes to wait. Four men in dark clothes ramble the cement hall, dragging their suitcases.
I am calming down now, my anxiety turning towards excitement. In the taxi, my travel worry turned towards home, concern about A, M, Y and the flat. There is nothing to worry about, but still I turn things around in my mind.
The bus has come!
6.59am
Oh, the clouds - I´ve written of them before. I fly over a sea of roiling cloud and the wrinkled-bedsheet mountains of trees emerge. Before, farm spreading to the horizon where the sun layed down a thin pink line that is now a bleeding hazy glow. Perhaps one day it will cease to amaze me when I fly how uninhabited this earth of our is. There were brown plains of houseless farms and now green swathes of fertility. From Melbourne to Canberra it is also checkerboards of farm and rolling hills of trees.
I began May Sarton´s Journal of a Solitude. She writes ´I hardly ever sit still without being haunted by the ¨undone¨ and the unsent´. Yes! Exactly. Oh and out the window the most amazing poofs of cotton-candy clouds, dense balls of feather blowing forwards. Amazing. As far as the eye can see again, but the pink line is gone. Instead a lone puff of mountain a little higher than the rest, a cotton ball hill on the horizon.
We are disappearing into the clouds and the shiny ocean emerges, lit monotone by a bright ball sun. To read, to look out the window, to read, to look out the window, to read, to look out the window... The window is best in a plane.
The piercing screams of the ubiquitous unhappy baby tormented by painful ears is the soundtrack to the stretch and curl of Sydney´s coastline, so, so green and lush with scrub, until the city emerges, islandy and archipelagoish, all protruding boxes of various heights. I can see the seaweed under the water - to the ocean floor from the plane in the sky. As we land we pass boats - big ones and little ones - and we touch down and roll so fast.
The end, flight 1.
Ahhh, so I begin what promises to be many scatteed hours of waiting over the course of these travels. I have taken a taxi to the Skybus for my Melbourne to Sydney flight. There are now fourteen minutes to wait. Four men in dark clothes ramble the cement hall, dragging their suitcases.
I am calming down now, my anxiety turning towards excitement. In the taxi, my travel worry turned towards home, concern about A, M, Y and the flat. There is nothing to worry about, but still I turn things around in my mind.
The bus has come!
6.59am
Oh, the clouds - I´ve written of them before. I fly over a sea of roiling cloud and the wrinkled-bedsheet mountains of trees emerge. Before, farm spreading to the horizon where the sun layed down a thin pink line that is now a bleeding hazy glow. Perhaps one day it will cease to amaze me when I fly how uninhabited this earth of our is. There were brown plains of houseless farms and now green swathes of fertility. From Melbourne to Canberra it is also checkerboards of farm and rolling hills of trees.
I began May Sarton´s Journal of a Solitude. She writes ´I hardly ever sit still without being haunted by the ¨undone¨ and the unsent´. Yes! Exactly. Oh and out the window the most amazing poofs of cotton-candy clouds, dense balls of feather blowing forwards. Amazing. As far as the eye can see again, but the pink line is gone. Instead a lone puff of mountain a little higher than the rest, a cotton ball hill on the horizon.
We are disappearing into the clouds and the shiny ocean emerges, lit monotone by a bright ball sun. To read, to look out the window, to read, to look out the window, to read, to look out the window... The window is best in a plane.
The piercing screams of the ubiquitous unhappy baby tormented by painful ears is the soundtrack to the stretch and curl of Sydney´s coastline, so, so green and lush with scrub, until the city emerges, islandy and archipelagoish, all protruding boxes of various heights. I can see the seaweed under the water - to the ocean floor from the plane in the sky. As we land we pass boats - big ones and little ones - and we touch down and roll so fast.
The end, flight 1.
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