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Having dealt thoroughly with the Steak, Wine and Monument components of our Buenos Aires cultural experience, we thought it might be nice to venture a bit off the beaten path and check out some less touristy attractions that don’t necessarily involve large structures built for important dead people. We decided to truck out to Mataderos, a literal cowtown way out at the far southwestern edge of the city – historically the site of livestock sale and beef preparation, and now home to regular celebrations of Argentinean gaucho culture at the Feria de Mataderos.
Now allow me to digress for a moment to wax rhapsodic about the BA bus system. I hate the fucking bus. I really, really hate it. I hated it in Boston, and I hate it even more in New York. When I visit other cities, I arrive with a cauldron of hate already seething over buses I haven’t even ridden yet. But I love the BA buses. They travel everywhere in the city, regularly and in vast squadrons. They cost just over a quarter to ride. They’re clean and safe, and appear to run 24h. Sure, figuring out where they actually go requires a textbook and an advanced degree. And maybe the stops are occasionally invisible to the naked eye. But those buses came through for us when we needed to get out to City Limits in time for the first batch of empanadas.
Fortunately, we made it.
So many choices...
And they were worth struggling for – I ate the best humita (a sweet corn and cream filling) I’ve had yet, as well as ultra-yummy salteñas empanada, a regional treat containing seasoned meat, potatoes and egg. The place was packed, so we shared a picnic table with a local family – the dad was pretty punk rock, with a nose ring and about seven earrings, and reminded me a little of Temuera Morrison. He and his wife made conversation with us and didn’t laugh at our shitty Spanish, although they couldn’t resist a little dig when they joked about how traveling in the Andes means a lot of going sharply up and down “just like Wall Street.” Ha ha. I guess they’re still a bit bitter about that whole IMF thing.
Entertainment consisted of a lot of traditional music and gaucho dances from both adults and kids (who were actually even better than the adults).
There was also a bizarre comedy sketch/beauty contest for Senora Primavera (since it was the first day of spring). It was a gorgeous day, and everybody was in a great mood, and it was perfect for wandering through the massive crafts fair that covered about five or six city blocks.
The best part for me, of course, was the “food court” – two blocks of food vendors selling local delicacies and offering free samples of wine, liquor, cheese, ham, dulce de leche, chocolate, and more. I quickly found my favorite stand.
And yet here we are cluttering up our malls with Sbarro and Panda Express...
But the main objective of the day was tracking down a sweet that had intrigued me since I got to BA – frutillas on brochette. I don’t know why Americans haven’t used their ingenuity and technology to master the art of jamming a bunch of strawberries on a stick, coating them in caramel and then rolling them in popcorn… but somehow it’s eluded us. So I wandered far and wide until I found my objective. It was worth the wait.
Welcome to insulin country.
And so, thoroughly full, sundrenched, and gaucho’d out, we headed back to the workaday urban world… I’ll probably elide most of that for now, so let’s just say it involved a long stroll through a massive and massively litter-strewn park, as well as a really cool dance performance at a beautifully dingy club with outrageously crappy vegetarian food (in Buenos Aires! I know!). And then we can move on to the next destination: Iguazu.
Lots of running around, and not nearly enough time to post about stuff. Have changed locations, and am currently staying in the Best Hostel Ever – I know that’s a low bar to set, but trust me on this. Anyway, here’s what I’ve been up to, along with the relative likelihood that I’ll expand in any detail before I get back, and a handful of pics.
1. Visited the utterly fantastic La Recoleta Cemetery, where Evita and virtually every other luminary from Argentina’s political or cultural history is buried (sadly, unlikely)
2. Was lucky enough to catch the overlap of the first day of spring (Feliz Primavera) y La Feria Mataderos, a celebration of gaucho culture, with the result that I ate myself utterly retarded on freshly-prepared empanadas. (more likely)
3. Flew to Puerto Iguazu in northeastern Argentina, where I rented a colossally shitty Volkswagen with crank windows and a sticky gearshift. On the other hand, this was counterbalanced by the fact that we subsequently watched the sun set simultaneously over Argentina, Paraguay and Brazil, and then went back to our hotel to eat steak and drink bottomless caipirinhas while watching a dazzling tango exhibition, all for $10. (certain)
I’ll get better about this whole ‘posting on time’ thing eventually. Honest.
Mate, my friend… it’s been far too long.
1. For those of you who follow football, please be advised that since both Jesus and Che Guevara are apparently supporters of the Boca Juniors, cheering for any other team would be both heretical and counter-revolutionary. You have been warned.
"Finally, comrade - something we can both agree on!"
2. We were almost interviewed by Argentinean journalists about our tourism experiences in the city, until they realized how pathetic our Spanish was and walked away with sad smiles.
3. Most dogs seem to have it pretty good.
4. There is a new best steak ever. This is not even a contest any longer. I’m sorry to keep posting pictures of beef, and I’m really not trying to gloat (much) or sicken my vegetarian friends – but it’s worth pointing out that this cut is the length of my hand.
The restaurant also plied us repeatedly with complimentary champagne, as well as a wide range of free tapas and sauces to accompany our meal – which we paired with a very rich and delicious Malbec. The total price tag? $35/person. I’m so moving here.
5. Pursuant to that: for anybody who wants to join me, reasonably nice-looking apartments can be bought not far from city center for less than $80,000. Just sayin’…
6. I don’t know what they sell, but this is a great name for a store.
Something for everybody.
Argentineans are obviously no strangers to organized political protest, and even relative political stability doesn’t seem to have quenched their flames. While strolling around the government buildings in the Centro district – the Casa Rosada, the Cabildo, etc. – we noticed vanloads of police setting up crowd control barricades, news trucks, and all the other signs of a Big To-Do… but all we saw in the park was a makeshift stage, and a set of posters (that were actually quite informative, even in Spanish) about the Falkland War and about Pinochet’s collusion with the British during said war.
“Huh,” we thought, then sat down for some mate. After our break, we decided to check out the sitch, and things had changed considerably. A phalanx of police was arranged down Rivadavia, facing the Cabildo.
But what were they waiting for? Immediately next to us, a group of young men and women were aggressively tagging the white walls of the Cabildo with political slogans.
The walls were already be-sloganed, but the cops didn’t seem to give a damn one way or the other. Then we figured out why:
1. This city is sprawling. When we were taking the cab ride in, we went from flat, sparse land to tenements and commercial buildings in the blink of an eye, and after that it was just city, city, city for a good twenty minutes until we hit San Telmo (where we’re staying).
2. Protest culture is very much alive and well. More on this later, hopefully. But I will say now that the police here were putting up stoically with the kind of shit that would very quickly bring down a tear-gas-and-baton party in NYC – probably because they know how much worse things could get if the people get really pissed off. And there are probably more socialists on any given block here than in the whole of Brooklyn.
3. Wine is very very good and very very cheap. We’ve seen several bottles of $2 wine, and I can’t say for certain but I’ll venture they are of slightly higher quality than your MD 20/20 (or Two-Buck Chuck, for that matter).
4. Dulce de leche is the food of the gods.
5. Everything you’ve heard about steak in Argentina is absolutely, wonderfully true. Sorry, Peter Lugar.
The first. Certainly nowhere near the last.
Settled into our new pad, after a lovely orientation from our local host Sebastian… and if you glanced at my Week 1 post from back in the day, you may be wondering if it was accurately presented on the website, or whether they use the same scumbag apartment-renting practices they use back home in New York Fuckin’ City?
I am pleased to report they were entirely honest:
Well, this beats Miami International Airport...
The balcony being tested by our lovely volunteer, Alex.
The apartment is also appointed with a good-sized living room, a proper kitchen with all the amenities, and a nice little office space – with, as you may have deduced, high-speed internet access – from which I will be composing my missives for the next few days.
Where we will receive visitors and foreign dignitaries
Where your narrator is currently stationed
There are also two bedrooms. I get the sweet master bedroom, as the organizer of this here venture. My two companions are consigned to the Kids’ Room – or the 1950s Sitcom Married Couple bedroom, if you prefer – with two skinny-ass twin beds. Haw! However, if the air starts to ring with cries of mutiny, we may implement some sort of rotation…
“That’s not bad,” you say. “But there probably isn’t a bidet, is there.” And that, friends, is where you would be wrong.
As seen in Europe
Comfort, style and sophistication, all at a reasonable price…
Guess which flight is mine. No, really - guess.
Ah, well… that’s ok. I’m sure there’s plenty to do in Miami airport at night…
Photo taken 15 minutes later at Food Court...
It’s going to be a long three and a half hours.
UPDATE: Yes, I did finally leave Miami. At two-fucking-forty-five in the AM. After finally coaxing the information from our LAN personnel that the plane was at the airport, just undergoing – apparently fairly serious – maintenance. Always reassuring before a 9 and a half hour flight.
But I made it. w0000t!
Less than 24h left. Ulcer subsiding. Still have one outstanding freelance assignment to finish editing, but that’s what airports are for. Have to take malaria pill. Need good sunglasses. But everything has been successfully crammed into the backpack and I’m more or less ready to roll. Flight leaves JFK for Miami tomorrow at 3p, meaning I’ll probably ditch here around 11:30a-12p, so this may be the last post before I leave.
It’s also probably the first post anybody’s actually going to read, since I haven’t actually referred anybody here yet. So: “Hi, everybody.” Welcome, and please don’t feel obligated to wade through the self-indulgent twaddle that I’ve been posting here for the last two weeks. I was just practicin’ and all. I can’t promise it’ll get better from here, but I can promise that at least the activities in which I’m engaged will be more absorbing. For me, anyway…
As my departure is imminent, I thought it might be nice to break with tradition and do a test-packing a few days in advance, just to make sure that I’m not getting overly ambitious about just how much shit one man can lug around for 38 days. So, for reference, here is my first pass at The Stuff I’m Gonna Need:
Not pictured: fedora and bullwhip
Purists may wish to take note that this isn’t exactly the sum total of all the stuff that’s coming with me, since I’m still doing some last minute shopping even now. But I think we all know what Imodium looks like, so let’s just move on, shall we? The real question is: will it blend?
Christo couldn't have done it better...
Yes. Yes, it looks like this all bundles up quite nicely. So that’s about a week’s worth of clothes, all the standard non-liquid toiletries, books, computer, cameras and equipment, mp3 player, maps and various other survival goodies (like my flask). I’m a little bummed to find that there’s just no fucking way my tripod’s gonna fit in there, but I guess them’s the breaks.
I hefted big mama rucksack just to test the weight and balance, and I think I should hold up ok – luckily, most of my time spent with this bag is gonna be with car access, so it mainly just needs to fit snugly in a trunk. Now, let’s just see how the reality turns out…
