Archive for November, 2008
La Recoleta
November 29th, 2008 | 
Author: Yesterday I moved into a flat where I'll stay for the next 6 weeks or so before heading off on my travels. There's 9 of us, although I've only met 2 so far. I'll stick some photos up soon.
Today I went back to La Recoleta cemetery, where I'd been on my first day when I was here last year. Recoleta is one of the major tourist attractions of Buenos Aires, largely because Evita is buried there. Her tomb is a fairly understated one and always mobbed with visitors and I didn't go to see it this time, well more like couldn't find it. The cemetery is large and unlike European cemeteries has mausoleums and memorials rather than graves. Many of the great and good of Argentine history are here, I spotted 4 Presidents and countless Generals, most of whom I only recognised as they have streets or avenues named after them.
The tombs themselves are basically little chapels that contain the coffins of the dead. They are not buried but are simply lying in full view behind a glass door.
The majority are ornate affairs, but some look like electricity substations. Don't know who Uriburu was but he has a street named after him.
Doesn't get cleaned very often this one.
Guessing this guy was a boxer (not just any old boxer it turns out). Or just didn't get dressed very often.
Posted in 
Tags: 
Aarggh
Those of you who have travelled with me before know that on occasion I leave the safety of home and after about a week my arms, face and hands decide that they don't like the new environment and they explode with rashes, open skin and general redness and pain. Well, this trip was no exception. it started over the weekend and by this morning I could barely open my eyes in the morning as they were so swollen, or move my hands as all the joints had opened up. So I decided that enough was enough and found the address of a Dermatologist in the swanky Recoleta area. With a little help from a Spanish speaking friend I got an appointment this afternoon, and dutifully turned up almost on time, which is pretty impressive for round here.
The doctor was a very elegant gentleman who, when I told him my Spanish was very bad said, yes but you are here to learn are you not? So, we stumbled along in a bastard mix of Italian, Spanish and French. He basically said that as I have atopic eczema (from birth) I would often get these allergic reactions when I went to a new environment, and that it is impossible to actually tell what it was that triggers it. New pollen, heat, dust, really could be anything. He told me to take anti-histamine pills the entire time I'm here, as there are no side-effects but would reduce the violence of any reaction each time I move place. He then gave me a prescription to get a cortisone injection which could be done at a pharmacy, and congratulated me on my Spanish.
So, off I toddled to to the pharmacy where they asked me if I wanted to do the injection myself, to which I bravely replied no bloody way. Maybe I've seen Trainspotting too many times, but the image of me wrapping a bloody great elastic band round my arm and tapping to find a vein really didn't appeal. So I was shuffled off into a little treatment room, where another nice man asked me about my travels, congratulating me on my Spanish whilst telling me to drop my pants so he could stick the needle in my arse (my arse! I coiuld have stuck it in there. No elastic band needed). Yet another new experience. Didn't feel a thing. And I'm already starting to feel better. So, yay for posh Argentinian Dermatologists and Pharmacists!
And on the way home, I came across a house playing the guitar, which was a nice end to a successful afternoon.
Street Art
They're a decorative lot the Argentines. Palermo, the area where my hostel is, has lots of buildings covered with some pretty funky street art. There's graffiti as we know it, but also some more creative stuff.
This one is on the corner of Fitz Roy and Honduras – keep walking two blocks and that's where my hostel is.
How I came to love the Argentinian cow
Argentina is known for many things, Polo, Football, that unfortunate incident in the early 80s (started by a drunk General according to a taxi driver I had the other night) and of course Steak. Before coming here, you think, yeah yeah steak. We have great steak in Europe, how good can it be? Well, think again my little European amigos, it is incredible. Seriously words cannot do justice to how wonderful it is. For a more detailed description (and much better written than anything I could do) of Steak and Argentinian food in general see the marvellous Argentina on 2 Steaks a Day. Frankly 2 a day is a little ambitious, and I tend to go for the Steak and Starve technique. On day one go for the Bife de Lomo option (usually served on it's own with nothing to distract from the cowly goodness) and the next day stick to salad and empanadas and then on day 3 back to a Bife de Chorizo or Asado (ribs).
Most places cook it on a parilla, which is basically a bloody great barbecue, and it arrives at the table nicely blackened and oozing blood and juice. So, it already looks great, and then you cut into it and the first thing you notice is the ease with which your knife slides through the meat. Not the slightest resistance, you barely have to move your wrist. A little bit of chimmichurri sauce on it and then in it goes into your mouth which is when the fun starts. This is not the chewy stringy experience you might find in your local Harvester, it has the consistency of a boiled potato, which might not sound very appetizing but imagine a nice soft boiled potato that tastes of steak, well that is steak. So the first mouthful goes down very smoothly and you are left with a wonderful meaty, grilled, charcoal taste in your mouth. A long slow gulp of Malbec and you put your glass down very happy. Then you look at your plate and you realise that this is just the beginning.
Right, off to lunch now. Buen provecho.
Slowly does it
Well, after the excitement of not getting pissed on at the Boca game things have calmed down a bit which I’m not complaining about. Every day I’ve managed to get some jobs done, made a appointment to see a doctor about getting my jabs done, unlocked my Swiss phone so I can have an Argentinian number, been to see an agency about renting a flat for a month or so. I like it in the hostel but as I’m planning on spending a bit of time here, some privacy would be nice, plus it would give me the chance to put some things in a bag (rather than lugging Kevin the Dead Teenager around on my back) and head off for a couple of days to some of places within easy enough reach of BsAs, Rosario, Cordoba, Montevideo, Corrientes etc.
Hopefully should be seeing a couple tomorrow, if the very nice man called Max calls me back on my new Argentinian number. Anyway, here’s a picture of the hostel’s garden by night. There’s also a very nice dog called Mora who is very friendly, I take her for walks.
D10S
One major disappointment about the Boca game on Sunday was that God wasn't there. Maradona came to prominence playing for them in the early 80s and then man is treated like a divine being. When he's there he has a reserved seat on the halfway line and the entire crowd sings a welcome to him. But he's off in Scotland being international manager so couldn't make it, which was a shame. He apparently turns up with about 40 of his family, nice and understated. Paula the lady who was leading the group we were in has this tatooed on her back:
The Dios obviously refers to the famous cheating incident for which he is somehow celebrated around the world (except for one country). I did however by and large keep my opinions on the subject to myself. I remember seeing the goal being scored, followed by the second goal, the greatest goal in the history of the World Cup apparently. I then stood on glass in my bare feet and sliced the back of ankle off. Now, that's memorable. Anyway, for those of you who need reminding, here's a picture of his finest moment..
La Noche de los Museos
On Saturday went out for La Noche de los Museos, where every museum in town (all 120 of them) was open until 2am, either with special tours or some sort of musical event. I ended up with James and Alvaro at an outdoor club night at the General Cultural Headquarters of Buenos Aires which went a little something like this…
Vamo Boca
I’m not a big football fan as most of you will know, but yesterday I went to see Boca Juniors play at La Bombonera in southern Buenos Aires. It was an organised trip, we got picked up, taken to a bar for beer and pizza and then onto the match. I was perfectly calm about it until the morning when I was talking to an Australian couple who had been to the big derby there against arch-rivals River Plate last year (admittedly the match I was going to see was a lot less important) and frankly I started to get a little worried. Firstly the terraces are near vertical, the away fans are put in the terraces above where the tour puts you. And they like to piss on the terrace below (containing us). Not just a little tinkle, but bottles of the stuff. But it’s OK they said, just stand at the back. Yeah, you and 30000 others sheltering from torrents of warm Argentinian urine. Then they set fire to toilet rolls and throw them down, and at the end they throw the seats over the top.
So it was with not a little trepidation that we approached the place, which is a stadium in the old tradition, smack bang in the middle of the working class area of town, surrounded by residential streets. We were told to keep out tickets in our pockets and anyone who had a lighter was to put it in their shoe, otherwise security would confiscate it. The stands were already packed when we got there an hour before kick-off and we managed to squeeze ourselves into a spot on the terrace as the start approached.
The hardcore fans were in the stand opposite us and about 10 minutes before kickoff they unfurled a banner that covered the entire stand from top to bottom, must have been 200m wide. Don’t have any pictures as I didn’t want my camera nicked. But you can get an idea of the thing here. The match itself was full of action, but a bad day for Boca as they lost 3-2. The little stocky Argentinian next to me kept slapping me on the shoulder every time Velez got close to scoring, and then sitting down in despair, rubbing his head for a couple of seconds, then standing back up and screaming at the ref. After it was all over we had to wait a while to be let out, but we all got out safe and sound, and more importantly dry. People nearer the front weren’t so lucky.
Nada
Done nothing today, so not much to report. Had a look round a flea market just up the road which had loads of wonderful old crap in it, and realised that kids of today not only have never used a tape playing walkman, but also think phones have always had buttons. There was an old bright orange dial phone which looked ace, the sort of thing that JFK would have used to give the command to launch a nuclear missile. I want it. They were also boxes and boxes of old vinyl. The titles of a lot of the old UK and US stuff are translated into Spanish. I had to be physically restrained from buying Socorro! by Los Beatles and Puente Sobra Aguas Troblabas by Simon y Garfunkel.
Apology
I would like to apologise to Sonya the German girl for snoring in the dormitory last night. Even Germans don’t deserve that.
