San Telmo

San Telmo is the oldest suburb of BA. It was a Mariners hangout, and full of bars, brothels and houses of ill refute in years back. Certainly, it was Tango Country, and still is filled with Tango Schools, Tango Milongas (Schools),

Tango shows, etc. Today’s houses are no longer the brothels of years back but much quieter, refurbished places, even posh in some spots and the area is quaint and there are plenty of stuffy Antique stores.
Every Sunday, for more than 9 blocks off the Plaza de Mayo, along Defensa Street, BA has a flea market.

It all started as an Antique market but has developed into much more today. Officially the start of the market is the Plaza Dorrego, yet we saw it continue on and on down Defensa St.
This Sunday, rain is promised to break the temperatures of 34 C + (98F) and to cool things down. Rain also means I would have fewer people to bump into, fewer vendors too, but I felt some would still be there. So it was a good day to go and visit. I packed my little red, cheap back pack with water, some tissues that can double as toilet paper and off we go.

Walking to the seven blocks to the Subte is now routine and we know how it works. Our Subte takes us to Cathedral, the end Station. We step out and yes, we look up and watch for bird droppings. The gods are with us; we are not bombarded by birds but after crossing the Plaza de Mayo, at the beginning of Defensa Street, are mobbed by people. Somehow they must not have heard about the weather forecast, most of BA seems to be here.

It is crowded. And this is the summer vacation period for most Porteños. Many locals are not even here as they are on vacation. Police have roped off the street and amazingly it seems very organized.

The merchandize you ask? From A to Z, whatever you can think of is here. You will find from the nutty to the sublime, from kitsch to treasure. It is all in the eye of the beholder. Not a lot of haggling happens here. The price listed is what you pay or you keep on walking. Is it cheap? I don’t know, but it is fun!

I see colorful running shoes (sneakers), airy sandals for the ladies, I see jewelry, smoking Joes (incense burners),

paintings, hats, dresses, musical performers, Tango platforms with dancing, and on and on it goes. The street is long and packed. I find an electric outlet that allows me to plug in my US based plug and buy it for 15 Pesos. I keep on walking. Then I stand still to hear the wonderful performance of a classical guitarist who is fantastic. Even the locals rush to buy his CDs and I buy one for 30 Pesos. All of this stuff goes into my knapsack.

It is hot, no clouds in the sky, the sun beating down on me. The road is cobblestone, so walking is precarious, watch how you put your foot down. There are holes; there might be dog poop on the street. The sidewalks are occupied by the vendors, the visitors walk in the middle of the street, and no shade for the walkers, it is hot. I drink some water. About midway to the Plaza Dorrego a man seems rushing in a raincoat; necktie up in the air, glasses askew in a panicky hurry.

It is a performer, but he is good and makes it look ‘real’ even though he is standing still. He was joined in his performance by another shopper mimicing his actions.
We see a man selling wooden utensils and buy a salad fork and a spoon; both carved out of rare woods and add them to my collection in my knapsack. On the corner stands a man with a gizmo that can make sounds like a rooster in the morning. I pass on that. A bit further, a Tango performance is in progress, a passerby, a Japanese lady, dances with a Porteño and they are both good.

And on and on Carol and I walk. While we started off at about 10 AM it is now about 1.30 PM and time to sit down someplace and rest our bones. It is hot! No rain in sight, not even a cloud. We try to get into a good looking small restaurant, but the door is closed. We look through the glass and yes, a man asked us what we would like and naturally we said, a table for two and he slammed the door in our faces and walked away. Is it rude? Yes, Very rude! But that too can be part of BA. BA is a mix of extremely nice and very opinionated people. We walked on to find another place and did find a restaurant right on Plaza Dorrego. We just sat down, drank some mineral water and I ordered a sandwich. It was good to hang up my knapsack, take my sunhat off and stretch out.
The activities in the restaurant were typical BA, too.

An artist was charcoal sketching a group of 4 at the next table. Two ladies traded the latest neighborhood news one table over and even took this photo of us. Ah, it felt good to be out of the sun, to sit down. The activities around us are abuzz. It is a constant coming and going. A busy place!

Having sat such for some time, we got up and walked one more time around the Plaza, but…. the heat was too great. We walked away for some blocks and took a taxi back to the Subte station and took the train back to our stop at Plaza Italia. Coming out to street level I noticed I had left my knapsack at the restaurant, yes, along with all my new buys. I have no hope in getting any of it back. Naturally it was stupid of me and I blamed my aging brain but it was hot, too.
It never rained that day, I wish it had. I might not have been so worn out and felt so miserable about losing my cheap knapsack.

La Cabrera

Famous for its Beef, Argentina does not only export it but eats it as well. In Palermo Soho, our part of town while we are here, are many Restaurants. So we have been asking folks: “Do you know a good place to have dinner?” Fodor’s has a list of good places, but so do people that have visited BA before us. Fodor’s top choice is the Grillado & Bar named La Cabrera, a place only 5 blocks away from where we live now.
Friends too told us about this place, so Carol and I made it a point to forgo all the other good looking places around us and specifically seek out La Cabrera. www.parrillalacabrera.com.ar
We had already learned that people eat late in BA, it is not unusual to eat dinner at 10 PM and a dinner lasts usually for a couple of hours so that means ending the day with a full stomach and going to bed around midnight or later. Not good for older folks like us so we opted to be there at their 8:30 PM opening, especially since we did not have a reservation. This Restaurant is so good that reservations are recommended. Carol and I lucked out and a table was given to us on the outside, set up on the sidewalk as it is in Paris. The set up with a white table cloth, clean and sophisticated yet with a twist of rustic dining, added to the experience. The atmosphere was totally BA, Argentina. The weather was mild and the people around us were full of energy and excited spirits.

A young German guy and his partner took some pictures of us as we waited a few minutes before sitting down to dine. He told us he was working in Brazil and heard about La Cabrera so they flew in just to eat here. He was totally serious; the reputation of this Parrilla is worldwide.
So our expectations were high when the waiter gave us menus. A man of moderate means and one not to squander money on non essentials, I opted to just order the main course of ojo de bife and a salad. I was warned that the portions are large and that even a half a portion would be totally satisfying. I drank mineral water, yes with bubbles, with my meal and not the much offered wines. There is always room to order more if need be.
The service was good; our waiter spoke Spanish even though he knew we were from North America. He spoke English if we got stuck with words and answered in English if he felt we understood better but it was nice to be served in his language and not to be patronized as a tourist. I never felt rushed and once we ordered, after just sitting for a while drinking our waters, gawking at the passers bye, the meal came quickly and oh my, did it have eye appeal. The salad was served in a large bowl of pewter, brimming full of greens, tomatoes and onions, fresh and plentiful. Fine olive oil and balsamic vinegar accompanied the salad in appropriate bottles in a self-serve, make your own dressing kind of way.
The meat, sizzling, hot, simple but ever so tasty, on a wooden framed hot plate with a handle was grilled to perfection. Four small, mouthwatering side dishes in small containers were placed on a white napkin right on top of the wooden extension of the hot plate.

An assorted variety of unusual small delicacies served as vegetables, such as pumpkin puree with raisins, baked garlic cloves, egged eggplant, mixed couscous, marinated mushrooms, ground green olives, and even apple sauce. The servings were a display of creativity and simplicity yet sophistication. I have been in many places in my life that were impressive and La Cabrera, simple yet elegant can hold its own among them. I was duly impressed.
Yes, I recommend this place to anybody visiting BA. Please make reservations through the website I gave you above, it makes for a better table, for a better experience. The proprietors need to be commended on a job well done in the culinary arts.
And…… the best until last….. All of it tasted
Devine!

Evita

Evita (1919-1953) Requiescant in Pace

If it had not been for the Broadway Musical, would we know Evita today? She was 33 years old when she died of cervical cancer. She was 28 old when she became first lady of Argentina, her husband 26 years her senior. Called the mother of Argentina but also ‘esa mujer’ (that woman), she was (and is) loved and hated still today. Some even want to call her a Saint. She certainly was a powerful speaker, a committed reformer for the socially disadvantaged. The claim that Perónism ruined Argentina is debated politically worldwide still today.

The museum we visited was set up in a former villa that Evita converted to a home for single mothers. Seeing the many displays, videos, artifacts and personal belongings, I could not help but ask myself if I, at the age of 28, could have done what she did. The answer is a definite ‘NO’.
I was too self-centered at age 28, too immature, even too small minded and certainly did not have a ‘world’ vision. So how come Evita had this kind of vision? Did she? Or did she play house or ‘first lady’? From her speeches, that still ring in the ears of many people in Argentina, I must admit she outshone me like a light bulb outshines a lightning bug. But her life was different too.
Eva’s father died while she was quite young

leaving her mother and siblings to struggle to keep the family together and put food on the table. Eva’s determination to help the poor came from her early years and from her life in the poorly paid theatre world. Her mother’s strong will and determination provided a role model that Eva followed throughout her life.
I am impressed by her. I cannot tell if she ruined Argentina by installing all the social programs and giving away the farm or if she truly towed Argentina into the 21st Century through her many reforms.

Not one person alone can change the lives of nearly 40 million people, yet she certainly was a good catalyst. Controversial to be for sure, misguided even in her bleeding heart campaigns, but I do not believe selfish. It might have been her youth that gave way to the ideology of helping the masses. Even today, traces of her doings are in the minds of the people. Health care reform, old age pensions, youth programs and total social restructuring were her guiding principles. She pushed for the equalization of women and their voting rights, for changes that ultimately every modern society in the world today needs. Was it sound? Economically, in the short run, it turned into a financial disaster for Argentina. This undoing of the old thinking, of the male oriented thinking of Argentina, of the dismantling of the hierarchical establishments is what made her so reviled by the establishment. Even today!
Evita was a very controversial woman, a very bright woman and a very sad woman in a way too.
Her illness in the last months before her death was so severe, a frontal lobotomy was performed to ease her pain.

Early procedures of radiation treatments were tried on her. When her husband, after a coup in 1955, was exiled to Spain, her embalmed body was stolen by the military and hidden. She was buried secretly under a false name someplace in Milan, Italy, her body even mutilated in death (broken nose, missing toes, bashed in head). People were forbidden to even speak her name during the Junta regime. Sixteen years later, she was finally returned to the Recoleta Cemetery right here in BA for the rest she deserves.
Evita was a complicated person in a complicated period in Argentina. Yet, as she said herself: “mi vida, mi mission, me dstino!”
The song still sounds in my ears: ”Don’t cry for me, Argentina!”

She did what she did, lived the life she was destined to live.
In a way her life was too short, too painful, too disturbing, I am glad I am who I am, after all.

Cemeterio – Recoleta

Yesterday we had a fine lunch at a place in La Boca, recommended by an artist who had a stand at the Plaza. No, we did not eat at La Perla, the recommended place of the tour guide books. We found a nameless, small place frequented by the locals. The Asada (grilled ribs) we had was great. One portion was enough for the two of us. Food here is mainly beef, grass fed and different tasting than what we are used to in North America. I met lots of people that think it tastes better, more natural than the corn feed, antibiotic laced meat we are used to.
After lunch we jumped back on the yellow line to proceed on our interrupted tour. It was hot, 34 C and sitting on the top of the bus, moving from red stop light to red stop light it became a chore rather that a pleasure to be on a tour. We, again, jumped off the bus as soon as it was near our apartment and took a taxi home. Sweet, air-conditioned, home!
We did not even go out for dinner but ate some Chorizo Sausages we had in the refrigerator for dinner. A slice of bread and a glass of local wine rounded the day off, just fine.

We had passed the famous Recoleta Cemetery on our bus tour and had read much about this place. It is the ‘THE’ cemetery for the most important people of Argentina.

The history of the place is straightforward. At the end of the 18th Century, way out of downtown BA at the time, a rather large Cemetery was established next to a monastic church. With the establishment of the rich district of Recoleta and the moving in of the elite around this monastic place in or around 1820, the cemetery soon became the place for the rich to be buried. Someone, seeing an opportunity, bought the whole of it and even today it remains a private enterprise. Graves are sold to the highest bidders and there are plenty of bidders, the whole of the place is filled up.

Only if a grave is abandoned by the family or the family no longer exists, then it is taken over by the owners of the land and resold. Or if a body is moved by the family, the plot can be sold again. This Cemetery is for the truly top of the Argentine elite and society. Since plots cost Millions of US Dollars, this place, with a total of over 6,400 graves, is a goldmine. Some crypts even have a multi level arrangement, stairs lead down to a lower level, sometimes 2 levels down with coffins stacked on each level.

It is in the heart of the most expensive real estate in BA. Right down the street from this burial site are highest end jewelry stores or boutiques in the world,

The area is very competitive and only the best run stores or the smartest marketing will survive here. This also seems to translate to the cemetery.

Even in death, you have to outdo your neighbor, your competition, your enemy even. The need to be seen, to be recognized, to show you count for something is strong in Argentina.
And yet, they are dead. Dead as dead can be. No matter how much money was spent on the plot, on the mausoleum, on the upkeep, on the image directed towards the living, all are quite dead.
Evita (Maria Eva Duarte Perón) is buried here.

So are other ‘famous’ people, far too many to mention. To see the opulence with which the dead are revered is to understand some of the psyche of Argentina. Belonging to the upper crust bestows honor to the individual and is a deep seated need of the Argentinean people. The display of a recognizable image, an image of being noteworthy, generates pride even after death and seems so important to the deceased and their families. The need for those ‘images’ by the living is nevertheless, translated to the dead as well.
May all those ‘important’ buried people rest in peace!

La Boca Tango

A good way to see a new city is to use the tour bus, not to take the tours, per se, but to get an overview as to what the new city has to offer. We chose the yellow, hop on/off line, because we saw them a few days ago and knew their starting point downtown. Like Porteños, as the locals call themselves, we now know the subway system. Knowing the bus route is quite another matter and we are still learning. So we chose the yellow bus line, a double-decker arrangement and took a 2 day ticket for 90 pesos instead of the daily for 70 Pesos.
The first points of interest shown to us from the bus were the Cathedral and the Pink House. It became instantly clear that taking this bus would not give us an ‘in depth’ tour but just an indication of the highlights of the city. To show, in general terms, what the city has to offer for later, more detailed explorations. So we bounced along, on the upper most deck, plugged in to a recording, listening to all the details of the construction of a building, of an ‘important’ General, of dates, dates and more dates. Naturally, I just heard the drone of it all and did not retain one building, one date or one important person. All of that does not matter; I am more interested in seeing how the Porteños live, how they spend their daily lives, how they think of themselves. I look pictures of real people, not the monuments or statue of the few and the accolades bestowed. to the selected..
From downtown, the original B.A,. we rode through the town of San Telmo, and we were told we must visit this part on a Sunday to experience the market and street tangos, so we need to come back. Then we were taken to the district or area of La Boca, the Mouth, a formerly swampy area that has always been the working stiff section of B.A. Houses were built with material that was at hand as the owners deemed fit. Electricity was only introduced as needed, so was plumbing. Yes, it is a bit wild looking as far as styles are concerned, yet according to locals is has tremendously improved over the last decades.

This area is home to the famous Soccer club /Club Athletico Boca Juniors/ (CABJ), in its famous Blue and Yellow colors, the colors of the Swedish flag. (The color is based on a Swedish ship in the harbor when the colors needed to be picked). Soccer is a very serious Sport in Argentina; people have been killed if the wrong team was promoted in the wrong neighborhood. So watch which team you route for, make sure you are not in the wrong bar or neighborhood. We are in La Boca, so… Viva la CABJ!
La Boca, a wild neighborhood, formerly seedy, now just a bit dangerous at night. So please leave the area before sun down or leave in a taxi. All the Guide books advise it. But also, please come and visit, we have something to show you, so what to do?

We visited, along with bus loads of people and all of us ‘tourists’ were feeding the local economy, it was frenzy for them, we were their meal tickets. We stepped off the yellow bus at the stop called Caminito.

Let the feeding begin. Even early in the day, around 10 AM, all the stores were open, the vendors in make shift tents had their wares displayed and life was in full swing. Pictures or figurines of Tango dancers were everywhere - Tango! Tango! Tango!

This dance was invented right here, right in the bars around us, right off the pier, right along this waterfront along with the rhythmic music and the unmistakable way to dance it. Amazingly, Tango is still a huge part of this area. In Vienna it might be the Viennese Waltz, but in Argentina, in Buenos Aires for sure, it is the Tango! Born in this seedy neighborhood, constrained by religious values, driven by hormones, it is a dance still evolving. It is the national dance of Argentina, no doubt.
Hold your lady near you, but not too close. No, do not look her in the eyes; you are too suave to admit you like her. But do not let go of her, either. Your left foot steps to the left and you pull her with you, but only until you bring your right foot one step in front of you. While you walk one more step toward her you turn only your upper body towards her. At the pause of the music you pull her in front of you, close this time, and let your upper body take a more natural position again. Yet you look to the left and give her a little rest, or fan her to your right side, show her off to others, from the left, from the right, Until you step once again forward with your left leg and then quickly to the right and wait and sway, waiting for the music to catch up,

just holding her, not too close. Now use your feet to slide between her legs, see what she can do to avoid it or how fast she can move her feet, too. How cold and reserved she can look yet, how close she pushes her body against you. Like a dance of birds, of storks perhaps, gaining good footing during a mating dance. Sensuously pulling, tugging, sliding, circling each other, helping to set the mood yet never admitting it is what each wants. These are movements of back and forth, of danced emotions. Hidden as they might be; shown for all to see but never bluntly stated. The elegance, the basic desires intertwined in the fancy foot work yet controlled with the rigidity of the upper body, the reserved look of the false disinterest.
Tango is Argentina, is Argentina like the Tango?
La Boca, the birthplace of it all, We danced in the streets, danced in the store, to the amusement of the people, of the locals, of the customers, but I did not care. I felt the Tango, I danced it!

A Crappy Day

Saturday, and we are off to see part of downtown BA. Just make a left out the front door and walk seven blocks to get to the Subway, here it’s called the Subte. A long walk, made even longer by not turning left, but first scouting out more of the artsy neighborhood around us. The name Palermo Soho seems appropriate since the stores, galleries, trendy boutiques; eateries are a reminder of a Bohemian lifestyle, of the Nouveaux Riche way to shop. We are in an area that seems to be trendy with the young folks. Parties on the weekend are de rigueur for the young. We are tourists, even look like tourists with our clothes carefully selected to hold up to travel usage. And since we are older now, not the typical party attendee and sure not dressed to stop a bus full of fashionable teens, we do stand out. I think we look the part of retired, North American tourists, walking slowly to absorb life around us and just people watch.
Taking detours to expand our understanding of our new home base, we finally come to a subway station and buy a 10 trip ticket that gives us some leeway in just hopping on/off when we need to without too much worry whether we have a ticket or not. We looked at the Subte line logically and I was sure we were on the correct track side but something told Carol we were wrong. She checked and sure enough, we had to cross over to the other track side. Out of the turnstiles and again faced with paying a full fare I just opened a gate and we walked in without paying (again). A police man stood right there said nothing. I guess we do look too much like tourists. I believe he could not be bothered with checking our tickets; the fare is only 2.50 pesos (abt. 65 cents) each.
So, we rumbled along below ground counting off the stops from our map. Hawkers came by, giving us scissors to buy but since we didn’t want them, retrieving them again after some moments. We were offered a map for the busses, but again we were not buying. Then a trio walked in with speakers and amplifiers tied to a hand cart fuelled by a car battery and for one stop, some rock and roll music filled the car. A sock was passed around and some people paid for the entertainment provided, most just sat bored, waiting for their stop.
After about 20 minutes of such entertainments we arrive at the Cathedral station, as far down town as the green D line will take us. End of the line station for us. We take the elevator up, just because we want to try anything different and do things we normally do not do. We pop up in the middle of the sidewalk, in the middle of a block with daylight all around us. It felt strange to pop up in a glass cage at the side of a Boulevard.
So, now where is the Metropolitan Cathedral? Being used to spires and towers attached to a cathedral we looked skyward but no bell towers are in sight. Mmmm!

So I asked a cab driver and with a look of surprise on his face, he pointed to a columned building that looks a bit like a fancy old fashioned bank front. No towers above it. The inside sure looks like a typical Catholic Church with all the holy Saints, pictures of Christ on the Cross, naves and pews and creaky wooden benches. People walked about, talking, taking pictures, being fascinated by the display of gilded silver decorated altars, cherubs and auras represented by halos.
After Carol took some pictures, we stepped outside and now where do we go? Downtown BA is huge, and spread out. On the map we had we saw a sign for an information stand and headed for that spot. Not easy to find but after asking a passerby, we do get there only to find it is more of a ticket booth for a touristy bus tour. We looked around and even asked a young woman in English about the particulars of this bus tour. We might take it at a later date but for now the day would be too short to spend all this money on a few hours tour on a hop off, hop on kind of system. So this young lady asked, “Did you see the pink house yet?” Not knowing anything about a ‘pink’ house we looked puzzled and were told that this is the answer to the U.S. ‘White’ house, but Argentinean style. Naturally we were off to give this a visit.

Casa Rosada, as it is called, is actually the office of the President of Argentina. The balcony of the house was made famous by Eva Perón giving her speeches to the masses of protestors or the proletariat standing below it in awe.

The inside tour we took gave me a view of some of the furnishings and offices and relayed some of the history. Yes, I walked into the official office of the President of Argentina,

guarded by two guards and roped off, but it was very formal and a bit showy. I felt like I was walking about in a museum rather than into a modern, 21st Century political office. I felt rather like being caught in a time warp and being pushed back to circa 1910. What happened to Argentina for the last 100 years? The tour we attended was given in Spanish only, and our guide spoke more of the history or the men of the past than of today’s new world. While interesting as a historical place it is not a copy of the White House, nor is it intended to be. Casa Rosada is a museum, certainly a place in the hearts of every Argentinean, even a symbol of the past, or an Icon of her politics but to me it looked worn, old, and not up to date with the computer age.
Having spent at least 2 hours waiting and then touring the ‘pink’ house, we had had it for the day and walked back to find our subtle line D again. The first entrance we found was closed, so was the 2nd one. How do we get below ground? I remembered the elevator we took coming in and we headed for this glass case. We pushed the button for the elevator and the doors opened up when I felt something wet hit my shoulders and the back of my shirt. I looked at Carol and she too, seemed to have been ‘rained’ on. We looked at each other and thought, well, some water and started to walk into the elevator car when a middle aged couple waved us back out. She was holding her nose and pointed in to the sky. Yes, it stank but why is she calling me back out? Not knowing what to do we did, never the less, step back out into the street when he lady said;” Agua!” and handed me her small bottle of water and a little piece of paper. I am puzzled, yes it stinks but …. Oh NO! We were bombed by a pigeons. Brown, runny, long tracks of excrement, ok, shit, hung all over Carols back. Her pants got the most of it. Her pink blouse was christened with dots and streaks of crap. That is what I saw, but all of that stuff is also all over me. Luckily Carol and I wore a broad brimmed Tilley hats; it caught a lot of goo that would have been like shampoo otherwise. And this stuff really stank. The couple was very good to us. He cleaned my backside the best he could using napkins and some water and I and the lady did a fair job on Carol. While they were cleaning us I thought, are they pick pocketing us, is this a scam? I am so conditioned but no, they truly were Samaritans. We thanked them for their help and supplies of water and paper tissues and after some time had to face the fact that we have to go back ‘home’ stinking still. We sat alone on the bench in the Subte, nobody wanted to sit next to us. We walked back our seven blocks from Plaza Italia to our apartment conscious of our odor. Man we stank! People gave us a wide berth. Finally we entered our place and after checking carefully, we noticed this brown mess, now dried, still sticking to us in places we missed before. That pigeon really did a job on us.
Standing in the tub, running hot water and soap all over me, stripping do the skin and washing and scrubbing hard, I finally felt clean enough. All the soiled clothes, the knapsacks, the fanny packs, Tilley hats had to be washed, even the camera case. Good thing it is summer here, the weather is mild and we have sunny days. Our balcony here was filled with everything we’d been wearing – all spread out to dry..
What a shitty day this turned out to be! Well, the end of it, anyway, but we learned a lot, too. We for sure learned to dodge pigeons.

The Sock Thief

Getting to our rented apartment at 1832 Thames, Unit 5A in Palermo was easy enough.
While we mostly communicated with Jeffrey from www.RestinginBuenos Aires.com while in Toronto, our contact here in BA is Guillermina. We had arranged for pick up from the airport and sure enough, a lady with a sign was there to guide us to Aldo, our driver who drove us to our rented flat. On the way I received my first lessons about BA and also in language. Aldo preferred Spanish and I agreed that this would be easier. Naturally I missed a bunch of words, but I got the basics.
BA is an assortment of smaller towns, there is no single town called Buenos Aires.

The district is Buenos Aires and so is the county called Buenos Aires. Similar to NYC, where there is no NYC but five boroughs that make up what people call NYC. About 20% of the total population of Argentina lives in BA proper, so the area is huge but relatively clean and green; not at all what I have experienced in Central and South America. Aldo’s diction was clear, so I could understand him well; much better than I thought I would. The drive from the airport was about 35 KM and took about 45 minutes.
At the apartment, Guillermina‘s father, Miguel, gave us a hearty welcome and showed us the intricacies of the A/C ,

the use of the strange keys, the internet connections and passwords, etc. We have not yet met Guillermina but she called us on her cell phone to make us feel welcome. After initially feeling strange in our new surroundings, we quickly felt at home. We did not go out that day because of our sleepless overnight flight and just crashed to sleep like babies until the next morning.
Our first trip out was to find some provisions and that was an easy chore since the Supermarket is just one block away on the next street over. The prices are less than in Canada or the U.S. but not cheap. We could find everything we wanted just not in the quantity or variety we are used to. We bought bread, cheese, butter, milk, eggs, o juice, wine, beer, fruit and we are all set for a few days.
So, now where do we start?

Walking in ever increasing circles from where we live now is a good system. So we walked around the block in ever increasing spirals. Sure enough, not far from where we are, we find Plaza Serrano, a well known spot to find handmade jewelry and artsy knick knacks. In an open air setting local artists try to sell their wares. No yelling, no pressure, no haggling. You like it, you buy it. Very low key and very friendly. This is a nice spot in Palermo’s Soho, which they call our part of town. In fact we liked it so much that we sat and had our lunch right there. The establishment we chose was set like an open air café. We had a special coffee each and tried a cheese and ham Empanada. Our neighbor, a young man of about 25 years of age, preoccupied with his computer tablet and his cell phone paid us no mind. The weather was pleasant, sunny and mild and with a slight breeze the feeling that life is good came over me.
As is customary here, people come up to you and just put an item they want to sell on your table, leave it there for a few moments, then come back and retrieve the item or you just give them the money for the item, Yes, the try to sell you what they have but there is no pressure, you have the choice. Leave the item where it is for retrieval or buy it. Very simple, no arguments and perfectly understood by all participants. So I was a little surprised when my young neighbor was approached by two men in their 20s who peddled socks this way. Both of them fanned a stack of socks out so that all colors were visible and I believe you could make your choice. It seemed very harmless and they did walk away without an argument when the young fellow with the computer did not want to buy any socks. In fact they walked away rather quickly and separately. And seconds later our neighbor with the computer yelled;” Hey, where is my cell phone”
Then things happened extremely fast. Both sock men tried to run away but one was not fast enough. The proprietor of restaurant grabbed the sock man by the neck and held him until the police arrived. The first Policeman to arrive was on a bicycle. While the Officer was busy with the suspect, a bystander yelled at the Proprietor and they even came to blows and kicks and fists for calling the police. Then a police car showed up, then another police car and finally even a private car with men dressed in civvies, toting clipboards and official looking badges. The bike officer was sent to find the run-away sock man but it was fruitless. A lot of commotion and heated arguments were exchanged yet somehow I just sat and watched it all. It was like a live TV show, emotions ran high, tempers flared and even kicks and punches were exchanged yet somehow the attitude was to not take life too seriously. Yes, the young man with the lost cell phone had to tell the police his story but he was calm and smoked a cigarette and just stood there. Yes, the police arrived quickly and in force but they knew their limitations and did do the paper work and the bystanders, too had their opinions. Even the thief took his fate in stride, sitting on the ground waiting for something to happen next.

It was a bit surreal and not at all as hectic as it would have been in NYC for example.
My lesson from this incident is to not leave my camera lying on the table nor to have anything loose hanging off my belt. I now clip the camera to my belt and have the belt of my fanny pack clipped to a steel loop that was part of the set up of the fanny pack. Argentina, it seems has thieves.

Seat 23A

January 10, 1212, it still feels strange to write 2012, I still have to pay extra attention when writing the date for the New Year. Tomorrow we will fly to Buenos Aires, Argentina but I have to print the boarding cards and confirm the seats I chose awhile ago. Once the boarding cards are printed, I am guaranteed this seat. United Airlines and Continental Airlines have merged for 2012 and each website tells me to go to the other website. I hope there will not be any confusion since I really booked on Continental but now do all the answers and printing on the United website. While the official date for the joining of the two airlines is March 1, 2012, the beginning of the year brings the dreaded paperwork, the joining of websites, computers, etc, into play. Without me knowing it, I booked the flight during the transition period; let me see how it will work out. For the first leg from Toronto to Washington, DC I booked seats 5A and 5B. For the longer trip from Dulles to Buenos Aires, I printed the Seats 36A and B.

January 11, 1212. We are seasoned travelers, Carol and I have packed many times and still, every time we pack we pack either too much or forget something. In my mind now I pack just like always for a motorcycle trip, even though this will not be a trip made on a bike. I priced motorcycle rentals in BA and the daily rate is $140. – US each, way too much to spend. A rental car would be $40. – US. In order to make our trip easier and not be restricted with small cubes and balanced weights, we went and bought old fashioned suitcases, albeit the latest creation from Samsonite. No, this is not the suitcase you have someplace in your closet, this is the year 2012 and even suitcases have developed. I am amazed. The handles to not stick out, a hidden tag pocket for your address on the side, locks that the TSA can open, four rollers that swivel well and the suitcase does not tip when standing on end, no matter what. The pull handle retracts easily and is long enough to wheel the contraption along well, etc. This is the “cat’s meow” in the latest of the latest in luggage and is guaranteed for 2 years against any defects. I am well pleased with it.

The taxi is ordered for 3.30 PM even though the flight is not until 7.30 PM. I hate the rush at the airports, I like to take my time and not be chasing the clock. I take a Kindle along so I can always read a book and watch the other travelers who do chase the clock and seem to be in such a hurry at all times. Besides, I do not want to get stuck in traffic on the highway in the taxi at the start of rush hour at 4:00 PM, so planning for a leisurely trip is my way to go.

We dropped ourselves off at the Continental counter, since we booked through Continental but we needed to go to the United counter since we really fly with a United flight. Here is where I learned something new, never mind where you book, go to the counter of the actual airline that flies you. OK, so, since it is just around the corner that is an easy change for us, we have plenty of time. Amazingly, there is no line, a gentleman, friendly as pie, takes all of our paper work and chats with us. I have never met a friendlier person to book us in. He acknowledged our boarding passes but asked if I minded if he upgraded us. On the flight from Dulles to BA he could give us seat 23B and 23C, we would have better leg room and maybe we could switch with someone near us in order to sit next to each other for the long, almost 11 hour flight. I thought it was nice of him to do that and agreed. After this pleasant check in, we rolled our suitcases to the conveyor belt for loading and after waiting a few minutes in line for the TSA we were ready to fly. No hassle, no hurry, a very pleasant friendly experience. Planning is everything.

The first leg to Washington, DC’s Dulles Airport took off about 10 minutes early since all were on board and the captain managed to get a clearance by the tower for an early lift off. It did not help us much on the U.S side; we had to circle and were 15 minutes late on arrival which was not nice since we had to search out the new take off gate in another terminal. I have had bad experiences in London, Heathrow with changes of planes and changes of terminals. I do not like them at all. I really prefer direct flights, but there were none from Toronto to Buenos Aires. We had 75 minutes between flights in Dulles and now, due to the delay we are down to 50 minutes.

After landing and looking at the board we learned we have to walk, luckily without going thru customs, about 15 minutes to reach our new terminal. There are no shuttles, no carts that one could use to get to the new destination. Fortunately, we had a rucksack as hand luggage, so, while heavy with paper work and portable computer, etc, it was a good way to carry everything. We made it on time yet I wonder if that system could not be improved upon, not everybody is fit to haul their belongings in and out of planes. People carry more belongings on them today because to check in baggage for short flights there is a $25. - US charge for checked in luggage. A complicated system of rates has been established to haul freight while flying and some bags are allowed while others are not. The same system or a similar one, is now being tried with food services. It was not clear if we had food for the long trip to BA since our confirmation specifically read ‘NO” food services available. But I am jumping the gun. We did not have any food service from Toronto to Dulles but it was only a 1 ½ hour flight.. We are boarding now to fly to BA.

Boarding pass in hand we enter the plane and find seat 23B and C, our designated seats. Since nobody sits in Seat 23A, we smile and I move to seat A, We are now seated next to each other and the plane is filling up, when a woman, dressed in a grey top with khaki pants, big glasses, curly, frizzy unruly hair, overweight, stands next to us holding a suitcase and a huge bedroom pillow. I smile at her since it is obvious she wants her seat, seat 23A. I offer her my designated C seat as an exchange but no, she insists on having her window seat. Without putting up a fuss, we yield and I move to my originally allotted seat but Carol is unable to take her seat as the lady has her baggage all over both seats so Carol sits on my arm rest temporarily to allow passengers to get by. We will now have an aisle between us for the duration of the 11 hour flight. Or so we think!

Well, Carol makes a long face but such is life, I know she would have preferred to sit next to me, yet what can we do? My seat neighbor, a young man with long hair and dressed like a business man asked if Carol would want to change. He does not mind sitting next to someone, he likes to talk. Wonderful! So while I remain in seat 23C, Carol now moves to seat 23E. Between us is an empty seat, a middle seat and we both have lots of leg room.

So we have the frizzy haired lady, the young Business man, an aisle, my seat an empty seat and then Carol, then an aisle again. The business man is happy; he starts talking to Ms. Frizzy. Well, Ms Frizzy is not happy. I forgot to mention that young man was a bit heavy, I noticed his body odor and I am not sure I would have liked his talking but he volunteered and our new seating arrangements are rather nice now.

A few minutes go by and due to her complaining, a stewardess gives Ms Frizzy a new seat someplace toward the front of the plane. The young man now has 2 seats to himself. He moves to the window seat and makes himself at home; he spreads out his computer, his pillows, opens up all his business papers and is totally settled in.

Now Ms. Trouble arrives. She brings a “wheel along” suitcase that does not fit in the overhead bin. She has a blowup neck support and additional pillows. Literally she is 4 feet wide and 4 feet tall. Her hair teased up and she oozes out ‘trouble’. A Stewardess is with her, she is the last person to board the plane and she insists her assigned seat is, yes, 23A although she has no boarding pass.

Now what? The young man is puzzled, he packs all his stuff back and is ready to yield the seat but it becomes obvious that both do not fit in the seats. The stewardess offers the lady a seat up front in business class but no, she wants seat 23A. She insists. What to do, offer the same seat to the young business man? NO! He gets assigned a seat further back in the plane and amazingly, he is happy, he has a neighbor one seat removed he can talk to. All is well, right? Not yet!

Ms. Trouble settles in now, her suitcase needs to be stored under the seat in front of her. She just stood there, she was too fat to bend over to do it, and so a Stewardess came and had to help her. All her pillows are unpacked and she settles in seat 23A, next to the window. Her feet do not reach the floor, she is too short. Naturally, she needs a blanket right away and again a stewardess brings her one. She cannot figure out how to turn the lights on/off and I made the mistake of showing her, but I quickly realized she is trouble. I totally ignored her from then on but watched never the less. She confused the light switch with the call button for the stewardess every time. Instead of turning the light on, she called a stewardess. But finally, Ms Trouble is settled in when Ms. Frizzy came back with her suitcase and her pillow. Now what? A stewardess is called. It seems the seat assigned to Ms. Frizzy had been claimed up front and she needs to go back to her original seat. But Ms. Trouble refused to move. Now that she is all settled in, she wants to stay. And here we stand, at the gate, ready for takeoff but the seating has not been settled.

A second stewardess comes to help in the conflict, and then a third shows up. We have a stand-off. Ms. Trouble sitting in her seat, luggage all around her, pillows propped to help her sit, blanket pulled up to her huge, no neck double chin and Ms. Frizzy, indignant by now, demanding her window seat; this cursed window seat 23A. One more steward show up in order to settle the arrangement and to get the flight off the ground as we are by now 20 minutes late. Ms. Trouble refuses to budge. I do not understand the conversation by now, since Ms. Trouble switched to Spanish even though her English sounded native. It is mayhem, Ms Trouble feeling slighted, Ms. Frizzy indignant and 5 Stewards/ Stewardesses trying to reason with any of the two ladies. Since possession is 9/10ths of the law, Ms Trouble won the battle. Ms. Frizzy was given an aisle seat, exactly like the one I originally offered her. She did not get her window seat. The business man however, happy as a clam had a talking neighbor, Carol and I were happy and Ms. Trouble??? Well, she was still sitting on the plane at the end of the flight in Buenos Aires, nobody helped her with her luggage and since she could not bend over to retrieve it from under the seat, she might still be there, I don’t know, I left the plane, wondering why some people are so obstinate, so downright ignorant and even stupid.

After a sleepless all night flight, it was nice to be met at the airport and driven to our apartment.

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Mexico 2011

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On the way to the MOA 2010

Here we are stuck in Duluth, MN, with no way out.
We left early in the morning only to be in line on I-35 due to construction and a car disabling the traffic because it ran out of gas. What are we to do?
Sitting for about 40 minutes with no way out is very frustrating. Especially if you have about 1500 Miles to go to your destination and you are riding against the clock. We should be in Redmond, Oregon by Wednesday July 14, and here it is, Saturday Morning July 10 and we are only in Duluth.

I planned the trip, but not this delay and the high charges for Motel 6 in Duluth, MN. Arriving on a Friday night, we were under the impression that hotels in the business districts are empty. Moreover, yes, they were empty. Somehow, a policy passed that for weekends the charges for Motel 6 rooms increase quite a lot. I had to pay $ 97.49 for one night. That hurt! The Motel 6 in Duluth was not that great by the way, it could use a lot of elbow grease.


We had left Toronto and rode around Lake Superior, visiting Wawa and Thunder Bay. Now we are stuck in Duluth. I went to see the Aerostich Shop to pick up a ‘gift', which turned out to be a sticker of something green. I threw it out after receiving it. The whole stopover in Duluth was a waste of time. This was the third time I have visited Andy Goldfine’s place and each time I was disappointed.
I will say Good-bye Aerostich! Now, after paying a ransom for a hotel room, I am stuck on this one way Highway with no way out. All of Duluth was not a good experience.

Kirchheim

Good morning, we are finished with our 2010 Europe trip.
Nothing new fits into my brain. I need to sort all the newness out, need to find familiar things, need to clean up, repack up for the trip back to Canada.
I believe Carol feels the same way. Enough is enough.
It is strange how these feelings creep into me. There comes a point where, after almost 8 weeks on the road I look for the familiar. Our most familiar place in Europe is Stefan Knopf’s B&B and we are off this morning to rest there for a few days before we fly to Toronto.
Taking the Autobahn from Bayreuth to Heidelberg took us about 4 hours and we were lucky, Stefan had a room for us. We had made reservations but they only started tomorrow, we are a day early.
I build in some spare time, a day or so because one never knows if the bike will break down, how the roads will be or if the weather will cause delays. I do not like to ride under the gun to get anywhere. Having time to spare is fine with me.
The actual ride to Kirchheim was uneventful. It was typical Autobahn riding. I stay with the trucks in the right lane, going about 100 or 110 km per hour. I learned that this is a much safer way to travel than speeding along, even though I know that in certain sections the Autobahn has no speed limit. Germany’s Super Slab, the Autobahn is still a free road system. No tolls are charged. Compared with the rest of Europe this is a great and fast way to travel. There are no vignettes, no tollbooths, and no charges for travelling on the Autobahn. Just do not run out of gas, as there are few gas stations on these roads. Even getting off on an exit does not mean you will find gas immediately.
At Stefan’s we cleaned both bikes, wrote emails, sorted out pictures, slept in until 8 AM, took a shower in hot water, washed our clothes, updated the blog, had breakfast without planning where to go and we met interesting new people. Stefan’s place is a little like a pigeon coup, a constant in and out of people dropping off their bikes or picking up their bikes. The place, every time I have been there, is always busy.
The total miles we rode on this trip were a measly 4411 miles. This is nothing compared to riding in the U.S. but then we were not riding to break a record. We stopped often to smell the roses. We spent a good deal of time meeting people and talking to them. From a Serbian police officer to the new couples we met at Stefan’s, namely Richard and Sylvia Hutchinson, who live in Guatemala and Bruce and Petra from British Columbia. One never knows when, on the roads we travel, we will run into each other again. We found new people, new stories, and new trips and learned so much along the way.
Germany played England on the Sunday we were there. I lost $ 5.00 and a coke to Stefan. Germany won 4:1 and I bet on England. I paid up and still have a credit now with Stefan since he did not have change.
We left Tuesday morning; Stefan drove us to Heidelberg to catch the bus to the airport. We had a good trip, a great time and we are planning to see Romania and Bulgaria next year.