The time has come, and decision made, to leave Buenos Aires. A somewhat complicated decision, but a necessary on nonetheless. After over a month in Buenos Aires I have managed to get to grips with the fundamentals of spanish, visit countless clubs bars and restaurants, and get to know the city at a pace that even your average geriatric would find comfortable. In spite of now feeling ready leaving anywhere you have settled is always a little difficult, especially when Barclays bank have blocked your card yet again.
However, after stupidly buying a camera on ebay, I have left myself with the necessity of returning again from 'the frozen south' (and by frozen south I mean frozen south) to retrieve it from my helpful hostel owner. This will only be for a couple of days though, before I start my long and relentless journey north to Cuba.
The last month has flown by in a blur of reading, studying and sporadic fiestas, which has been rather unexciting but exactly what I needed to get my head around Spanish, which is not a necessirly complex language but one that has required a clear head and a decent night's sleep (which we will return to shortly). As luck had it I couldn't have asked for a better teacher than Majo, a young, cool and barking mad Argentine, who has not just taught me how to speak the language but taken me out to parties with her friends and lunch with her family. She has also boosted my confidence (ego) by telling everyone who will listen that I am her pride and the best student she has ever had (which anyone who knows me well will know is exactly what I intended to be from the starting blocks). As I write this I am sitting in my favourite cheap local restaurant that I visited with Matt about a month ago. Upon arrival we managed enough Spanish between us to get a table and menu before thumbing cluelessly through the indecipherable lists of foodstuffs. One month later I am welcomed like a long lost son by the staff, stopping to discuss how my spanish is coming along, my travel plans and the reason for having this ridiculously large phone (in Spanish of course). Hopefully with the foundations now laid I can practice and improve as I travel, and return fluent.
The only downside of late has been the fact that for some reason I have lost the ability to sleep. Unless inebriated I have been staring at my ceiling on a nightly basis for hour after hour. Admitedly my room has been very cold, my bed stupidly hard and next door being a gentlemen's liason establishment with, lets say, rather noisey staff. Still, the amount of sleep that I have been having has been little more than 4 hours and it's been leaving me pretty scatty. However, I've always been somewhat of a light sleeper and perhaps this is something I will either get used to or sort out in due course.
For now, however, my mind returns to the frozen lands of the south and the icy adventures to be had there.
Saturday, 31 May 2008
Sunday, 18 May 2008
The Many Faces Of Buenos Aires
Like a banshee from the mist, I have finally emerged from the haze of hangovers to begin to see the other sides of Buenos Aires. As previously mentioned the frequency of posts has decreased somewhat due to the fact that I'm not moving from place to place at the moment, however it was always inevitable considering the difference between my first and second months travelling. However, there is definitely a tale or two to put down from the last week or so...
Primarily, this last week has been consumed by my language classes, and resulting homework. I'm currently doing 1-2-1 with my spanish teacher and fell that I'm coming on brilliantly. In fact I've started talking to every spanish speaker that I can about anything and everything. Coming from virtually speaking no spanish to actually being able to have pigeon spanish conversations is such a rewarding and wonderful experience that it has made extending my trip by an extra month totally worth while.
However, staying in one place for a while also has its downsides. Everyone that I arrived with or met when I arrived has now moved on and there have been a few days in which I have been masively tempted to pack and go. Notably I struck up an excellent friendship with my little travel buddy Matt, and two other english guys called Bobby and Rob, who all left to travel north around four days ago. When you're in an unfamiliar environment friendships are struck very quickly, and people who you've been around for a few weeks become like family to you. Watching them leave the place that you are staying for a while, with the knowledge that you have to strike up new friendships all over again with people who are also going to leave almost seems futile. However futile though, it is necessary and always worthwhile. Leaving people when you are moving yourself is a blow much softened as you are moving yourself. To many this may seem like the same think, but I think the feeling of being left behind is much more difficult of leaving others behind. Still, all part of the experience. Now on to a much more important topic than my feelings: steak.
It was inevitable, from the moment I crossed the border into Argentina my mind was set on getting my teeth into the largest, juiciest, most tender and tasty steak that a man could. In Buenos Aires the word on the street was that my dream could be realised at a place called La Cabrera in Palermo (an area of BA) but could it live up to the hype. Suddenly my planning and dreaming was about to be satisfied or destroyed, the day had come, the hour had come and, more specifically, the waiter had come to take our order. I froze. Imagine someone had told you beforehand that you were about to experience the hardest laugh or best sex of your life beforehand, how would you feel in anticipation? This how I felt. My eyes locked with the waiter for a moment; an air of mutual understanding descended, and then I said those words that I needed to say: "I want your biggest; best steak". He smiled wryly. "biggest?" he said. He clearly thought he saw another traveler out of his depth. It was my turn to smile as I nodded and repeated my request. Time passed. Minutes felt like seconds and before I knew it the waiter apeared with a goliath steak. I heard people on other tables gasp and exclaim in spanish to their fellow diners. The words of Martine McHutchinson sprung into my mind: this; was my perfect moment. Cooked to absolute perfection the 1kg (36oz) steak did not disappoint in the slightest. Every single bit of meat was destroyed in no time, and upon returning to the table both a mutual respect and lifelong bond was struck between myself and the waiter. A night to remember forever.
In spite of my working hard at my spanish and my search for the perfect steak, I have had one more aforementioned responsibility to fulfill: the pink vest. For that reason she has been donned at numerous fiestas including the most recent 90s rave party. The black lighting lit her up like the beacon of light that she is, and much promotion of 'the cause' was done. At times the pressure of constantly searching for a successor can be a little irksome but the attention and overwhelming enthusiasm for its plight is always a pleasure. If you haven't joined the adventures of the pink vest facebook group (at www.mypinkvest.com) then you should because it's a fun and noble cause.
Coming up this week I have two more fancy dress parties and a continuation of the mission to nail spanish. So hopefully so stories will result. I have also posted a lot of new pictures on my facebook and been tagged in many so please have a browse as there are some great ones.
Primarily, this last week has been consumed by my language classes, and resulting homework. I'm currently doing 1-2-1 with my spanish teacher and fell that I'm coming on brilliantly. In fact I've started talking to every spanish speaker that I can about anything and everything. Coming from virtually speaking no spanish to actually being able to have pigeon spanish conversations is such a rewarding and wonderful experience that it has made extending my trip by an extra month totally worth while.
However, staying in one place for a while also has its downsides. Everyone that I arrived with or met when I arrived has now moved on and there have been a few days in which I have been masively tempted to pack and go. Notably I struck up an excellent friendship with my little travel buddy Matt, and two other english guys called Bobby and Rob, who all left to travel north around four days ago. When you're in an unfamiliar environment friendships are struck very quickly, and people who you've been around for a few weeks become like family to you. Watching them leave the place that you are staying for a while, with the knowledge that you have to strike up new friendships all over again with people who are also going to leave almost seems futile. However futile though, it is necessary and always worthwhile. Leaving people when you are moving yourself is a blow much softened as you are moving yourself. To many this may seem like the same think, but I think the feeling of being left behind is much more difficult of leaving others behind. Still, all part of the experience. Now on to a much more important topic than my feelings: steak.
It was inevitable, from the moment I crossed the border into Argentina my mind was set on getting my teeth into the largest, juiciest, most tender and tasty steak that a man could. In Buenos Aires the word on the street was that my dream could be realised at a place called La Cabrera in Palermo (an area of BA) but could it live up to the hype. Suddenly my planning and dreaming was about to be satisfied or destroyed, the day had come, the hour had come and, more specifically, the waiter had come to take our order. I froze. Imagine someone had told you beforehand that you were about to experience the hardest laugh or best sex of your life beforehand, how would you feel in anticipation? This how I felt. My eyes locked with the waiter for a moment; an air of mutual understanding descended, and then I said those words that I needed to say: "I want your biggest; best steak". He smiled wryly. "biggest?" he said. He clearly thought he saw another traveler out of his depth. It was my turn to smile as I nodded and repeated my request. Time passed. Minutes felt like seconds and before I knew it the waiter apeared with a goliath steak. I heard people on other tables gasp and exclaim in spanish to their fellow diners. The words of Martine McHutchinson sprung into my mind: this; was my perfect moment. Cooked to absolute perfection the 1kg (36oz) steak did not disappoint in the slightest. Every single bit of meat was destroyed in no time, and upon returning to the table both a mutual respect and lifelong bond was struck between myself and the waiter. A night to remember forever.
In spite of my working hard at my spanish and my search for the perfect steak, I have had one more aforementioned responsibility to fulfill: the pink vest. For that reason she has been donned at numerous fiestas including the most recent 90s rave party. The black lighting lit her up like the beacon of light that she is, and much promotion of 'the cause' was done. At times the pressure of constantly searching for a successor can be a little irksome but the attention and overwhelming enthusiasm for its plight is always a pleasure. If you haven't joined the adventures of the pink vest facebook group (at www.mypinkvest.com) then you should because it's a fun and noble cause.
Coming up this week I have two more fancy dress parties and a continuation of the mission to nail spanish. So hopefully so stories will result. I have also posted a lot of new pictures on my facebook and been tagged in many so please have a browse as there are some great ones.
Saturday, 10 May 2008
The Pink Vest
In Buenos Aires it seems that one day seems to seemlessly merge into another, in many senses of the word. After spending much of the last week sleeping, eating and partying, I have now managed to get into a slightly more conservative routine here, at least until tomorrow night, when I don't have to get up for language classes the next day. This has finally given me time, not just to sit down and put down my thoughts, but just to be able to construct them in the first place. In spite of the general haziness, life is currently pretty normal and domestic without the prevous humdrum of the previous month. However news is still plentiful and the last week has been anything but dull.
After a couple of days of convalescence it was time to get back on the party train, and to do so in style. Friday to Sunday had shot past at the speed of a well oiled motorboat, in the Milhouse but tamely so, and Monday was THE perfect day for a return to form. In the Millhouse, Monday is dressing up night and it's pretty well known that I love dressing up. After a weekend after brain racking my shaven headed wingman Matt and I took to the streets in search of the perfect outfits for the Pyjama Party. However after resigning myself to a pink nightie we came across a shop selling animal hats. It was love at first sight. That night I would be a teddy bear! The party breezed by with much dancing, banter and a trip to a gay bar en-mass, and a wonderful night was had by all.
Tuesday, however, was the night that pipped the rest to the proverbial post. This was the night I was to be given the honour of taking the pink vest on the next leg of its journey. But first I will try and elaborate on the concept of the pink vest. A few months ago a group of british travelers aquired a large, gaudy and noticable pink vest, which was subsequently donned around the shores of Australia and New Zealand. Upon meeting a group of four Irish gentlemen, the group of eight coined the idea of My Pink Vest. In short the plan is that the pink vest will be passed from traveler to traveler, when a worthy party person is found, in the hope of getting pictures of the pink vest all around the world. The pink vest should be passed over in a rather spectacular ceremony, which there was when I received the pink vest. So now the challenge of taking the pink vest on the next leg of its journey lies with me. Exciting times.
The plan is to hit the language courses here pretty hard before I resume my travels, so the posts may continue to be a little less frequent over the next few weeks.
After a couple of days of convalescence it was time to get back on the party train, and to do so in style. Friday to Sunday had shot past at the speed of a well oiled motorboat, in the Milhouse but tamely so, and Monday was THE perfect day for a return to form. In the Millhouse, Monday is dressing up night and it's pretty well known that I love dressing up. After a weekend after brain racking my shaven headed wingman Matt and I took to the streets in search of the perfect outfits for the Pyjama Party. However after resigning myself to a pink nightie we came across a shop selling animal hats. It was love at first sight. That night I would be a teddy bear! The party breezed by with much dancing, banter and a trip to a gay bar en-mass, and a wonderful night was had by all.
Tuesday, however, was the night that pipped the rest to the proverbial post. This was the night I was to be given the honour of taking the pink vest on the next leg of its journey. But first I will try and elaborate on the concept of the pink vest. A few months ago a group of british travelers aquired a large, gaudy and noticable pink vest, which was subsequently donned around the shores of Australia and New Zealand. Upon meeting a group of four Irish gentlemen, the group of eight coined the idea of My Pink Vest. In short the plan is that the pink vest will be passed from traveler to traveler, when a worthy party person is found, in the hope of getting pictures of the pink vest all around the world. The pink vest should be passed over in a rather spectacular ceremony, which there was when I received the pink vest. So now the challenge of taking the pink vest on the next leg of its journey lies with me. Exciting times.
The plan is to hit the language courses here pretty hard before I resume my travels, so the posts may continue to be a little less frequent over the next few weeks.
Saturday, 3 May 2008
Birthdays, Parties and Birthday Parties
Buenos Aires was always calling, as previously mentioned Rosario was amazing, but the plan was always to hit the quarter century mark in style in what is touted to be one of the best cities, if not the best, on the South American continent. We arrived tired and bedraggled at THE reputed party hostel in Buenos Aires and were not disappointed! Every night was hard party night and we could do nothing but oblige. The first night was a disco with 2-4-1 on cocktails: messy; bedtime: 7am. The second night was an excursion to a drum and bass night: messy; bedtime: unknown.
Then we came to Liam's big special birthday day. Not exactly the best way to start a birthday, however, I awoke at 2pm with the irhythmic beats of the previous night's drum and bass banging in my head. What was worse was the fact that my washbag was missing and I had no recollection of how, where or why it was missing. It was time for action. Almost instantaneously I transformed myself from hungover shell of a human being to investigative detective extraordinaire. The clues were all there, it was just a matter of piecing them together. For one my hair was puffy and smelled of lime, so it was time to pay a visit to the showers in search of clues. This, sadly, was to no avail and my only choice was to return to the scene of the crime. After much pondering, it came like an epiphany: the bin had been emptied; I must have staggered in drunk, had a shower and then dropped my wash bag in the bin. This theory was proven when, after a humble "did anyone find my toiletries in the bin?", the highly amused reception staff made quite a show of letting everyone know what I had done. A great start to my birthday.
During the day I actually felt pretty homesick for the first time. Not a feeling of wanting to go home, but just of wanting to be home on that day. I got shed loads of messages from home, including a few big ups for the blog (thanks!), but I think that just made me feel a bit further from home. This was somewhat alleviated by losts of beer, banter and renditions of happy birthday from my fellow travellers in the hostel. Still, to say that I have spent a birthday here is no less than pretty cool in my book. So, the partying continued until daylight and another very late awakening the next day was inevitable.
Since then I have moved into a new hostel for a month, so that I am able to get down and study spanish. I know that moving on is generally the basis for travelling, but since the rest of my travels will be in spanish speaking countries, I think that without a good grasp of the language i'd miss out on a lot of opportunities and experiences. Plus, Buenos Aires seems like such a large exciting city that it would be great to really get to know it well.
The hostel I'm in also has great computers so I can finally upload some pictures from my trip.
Then we came to Liam's big special birthday day. Not exactly the best way to start a birthday, however, I awoke at 2pm with the irhythmic beats of the previous night's drum and bass banging in my head. What was worse was the fact that my washbag was missing and I had no recollection of how, where or why it was missing. It was time for action. Almost instantaneously I transformed myself from hungover shell of a human being to investigative detective extraordinaire. The clues were all there, it was just a matter of piecing them together. For one my hair was puffy and smelled of lime, so it was time to pay a visit to the showers in search of clues. This, sadly, was to no avail and my only choice was to return to the scene of the crime. After much pondering, it came like an epiphany: the bin had been emptied; I must have staggered in drunk, had a shower and then dropped my wash bag in the bin. This theory was proven when, after a humble "did anyone find my toiletries in the bin?", the highly amused reception staff made quite a show of letting everyone know what I had done. A great start to my birthday.
During the day I actually felt pretty homesick for the first time. Not a feeling of wanting to go home, but just of wanting to be home on that day. I got shed loads of messages from home, including a few big ups for the blog (thanks!), but I think that just made me feel a bit further from home. This was somewhat alleviated by losts of beer, banter and renditions of happy birthday from my fellow travellers in the hostel. Still, to say that I have spent a birthday here is no less than pretty cool in my book. So, the partying continued until daylight and another very late awakening the next day was inevitable.
Since then I have moved into a new hostel for a month, so that I am able to get down and study spanish. I know that moving on is generally the basis for travelling, but since the rest of my travels will be in spanish speaking countries, I think that without a good grasp of the language i'd miss out on a lot of opportunities and experiences. Plus, Buenos Aires seems like such a large exciting city that it would be great to really get to know it well.
The hostel I'm in also has great computers so I can finally upload some pictures from my trip.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
