Valparaiso, Chile, that is. It is just called Valpo by people here. You know, like me.
J and I spent about three days in Valparaiso, which is a UNESCO world heritage site. The entire city is built into a very steep hill, overlooking the ocean. When I say the hill is steep, I mean they have encorporated outdoor, public elevator-like devices (called 'ascensors' in Spanish), as part of their public transportation systems. These bad boys are OLD, but they seem to do the trick. All the houses are painted bright colours and there is graffiti everywhere. It was esthetically so interesting, and we loved it there.
I think our favourite part was the day we decided to go for a walk to this museum we weren't terribly interested in, and then decided that instead of actually going into the museum, we would take the public bus to the bus station so we could purchase our tickets to La Serena, Chile, which was our next destination. During our walk we had seen the bus we needed to get on pass numerous times, so we knew we were in the right place. As we were walking we had seen one go down off the main road, so we followed it and decided to wait at one of the bus stops, which happened to be right under an open window in the house. We waited for about five minutes, until the man from the house came out and in very patient Spanish explained to that we were not actually waiting at the bus stop and that we would have to return to the street we had been walking down. We joined the several other Chilean women also waiting for the bus and boarded when it arrived. We paid our fares (which is always a bit tricky. I never seem to actually know what the fare is), but there were no more seats left. This was a bus, but really more like a large van with lots of seats. It was really the first bus that felt to me like we were in Latin America. Chile, Argentina and Uruguay are all quite developed and definitely have nothing on Guatemala in terms of their bus systems. No chicken buses here!
The bus driver took great joy at barrelling down the hill, taking corners at full speed, shaking up his cargo (read: us). I expelled more energy trying to prevent my bottm from banging into those sitting all around me than I had doing anything else that week. J and I could not stop smiling at the experience, and once we reached the city center, which was where the bus station was located, a Chilean man (who had offered us his seat earlier in the ride) leaned over, and in perfect English suggested that we may want to get off at the next stop and turn left. As we started to walk to the front of the bus we realized that the driver was also looking up to tell us that this is where we wanted to go.
Chileans are so helpful. Valparaiso is lovely. You really should go.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
The 'Sassy Princess'....
We arrived in Santiago on Friday (February 25) in the afternoon, after a seven hour bus ride through the Andes! It was amazing. So incredibly beautiful, I almost couldn't believe it.
Well, the parts I saw were beautiful.
I have always had a wee problem with staying awake in moving buses (first year university I had an extra two hours of sleep every day, on account of the bus commute...), and unfortunately after not going bed until extremely late two nights in a row before we left Mendoza did not bode well for me. I am pretty sure that I saw the most important parts of it. It was definitely a slow, uncomfortable ride, mostly because we were squished in a small mini bus/van, instead of the big fancy buses, but the beautiful mountains more than made up for it.
When we crossed the border into Chile we had to go through both Argentine and Chilean customs, which is pretty standard. What is not standard, however, is the process we had to go through to get our luggage into the county. As in Canada, upon entering Chile you have to fill out a form for customs, declaring whether or not you have any fruits or vegetables, and a long list of other products. We did not have anything that was specifically on the list, though we had found peanut butter in Iguazu (which is a little bit like gold here), and I was really not interested in losing it. Anyways, after returning from the bathroom there were three bags that the customs officers were looking at, and of course two of them were ours. I am not really sure if they were trying to intimidate us, they selected our bags randomly, or if they were just thinking our giant backpacks were a bit ridiculous and they wanted to have some fun with us. They made J actually open her bag, and start pulling things out (better hers than mine! She has one big pocket with a zipper, and her bag isn't stuffed. Mine is two separate pockets and is always stuffed to the brim. One wrong movement and it is all over, and I would almost have to start from scratch all over again). After asking us seventeen times if we had dried fruit (I was concerned that one might have gotten in there, making a liar out of me, I was eating a lot of raisins the previous week). They eventually got bored of us, they sent our bags through the scanners a bunch of times, and I blurted out every food I could think of stuffed in my bag, including the beloved peanut butter, the olives from our lovely tour (I also did not want to part with them, but I wanted to go to a Chilean jail much less...because that is clearly what happens when you incorrectly declare things??), and packets of jam stolen from random hostel breakfasts. Apparently none of that was offensive to Chile, so we were in the clear, and we were allowed to enter their beautiful country.
Thank goodness.
We arrived in Santiago, and by the time we got all our stuff off the bus and figured out the exchange rate (only after I had paid the equivalent of about $7 Canadian in bank fees to withdraw $8000 Chilean pesos. Approximately $16 Canadian. I always have a period of extreme confusion when the currency changes...), and found a taxi, we were both so ready to get to the hostel. We had booked one online out of the guide book, so we gave the address and we arrrive at what is definitely NOT a hostel. We are told by the woman at the address, and various people on the street (who were extremely eager to help us) that the hostel that had been there is no longer in existence. The kind taxi driver took us to another hostel in the neighbourhood. They were booked but they were nice enough to contact another hostel in the neighourhood for us and gave us directions to walk there. We arrived at a large purple monstrosity, with no sign on the front and were feeling slightly apprehensive. The old man who was washing cars on the street assured us that this was the hostel.We were greeted at the door by a Chilean dude who was also extremely helpful, and gave us all kinds of tips. He informed us the hostel is called the 'Princesa Insolente', which in English means the 'Sassy Princess'. He also gave us his business card which identified his name, and title, which was 'Latin Lover Host'.
Oh dear.
The best thing was that we soon figured out that this is actually the hostel we had made the reservation with, it was just a new name and address because the old one had suffered extensive damage in the earthquake last year, it had relocated and opened with a new name. So, we didn't lose our deposit, and now we are staying in the world's most beautiful hostel. No jokes. Everything is pink and purple and animal print with some Asian inspired decorations. I pretty much want whoever is responsible for this to come and decorate the home I don't have....
The best thing about it is the kitchen. They have every appliance you could ever want, including a blender, sandwhich maker, toaster, and probably others I can't remember. Tonight for dinner I made a peanut butter banana wrap and then put it in the sandwhich maker. If you have never done this before, stop reading right now and go do it.
DO. IT.
It is so delicious, it was all I could do not to eat eight of them. The kitchen also has a stock of oil and all kinds of spices for us to use. This NEVER happens at hostels. What usually happens is that we buy oil, and then people steal it. Its awesome.
Oh, and I almost forgot about the beds. Which are like real, at home beds. With duvets! I have had a nap every day we are here. For two reasons, one, I think I am getting sick, and two, because it is a delight. The last hostel we stayed at I was scared to touch the beds, so this is a welcome change.
I know traveling isn't supposed to be about where you stay, but sometimes, that is what makes the difference (well, that and the people you meet, of course). It has provided us with a place that felt temporarily like home, which was welcome because the last two hostels we stayed at bombed (anyone headed to Iguazu Falls do not stay at Marco Polo Inn, and those headed for Mendoza, avoid Mendoza Inn). Two nights ago there was a 'tequila night' here, which was quite fun, and ended in debauchery (for some, but not for us). There was even a professional CFL football player here (which we were able to confirm...). It was all a bit crazy.
Anyways, that was terribly disjointed. I was feeling a bit like I needed to gush a litte. We are leaving Santiago tomorrow to go to Valparaiso, a beach town two hours north of Santiago, and I am feeling a little sad. Yeah, I liked Santiago (for real, its beautiful, and clean and the mountains are RIGHT THERE all the time, and today we went on another vineyard tour), but I am most sad to leave the nice kitchen and the comfy bed. But, if I was that concerned about comfy beds and well stocked kitchens, I could have stayed in Canada for a lot cheaper.
Over and out. Valparaiso, get ready. We hear the hostel we are staying at has delicious homemade brown bread and goat cheese for breakfast, so we are really excited about that.
Its the small things, really.
Well, the parts I saw were beautiful.
I have always had a wee problem with staying awake in moving buses (first year university I had an extra two hours of sleep every day, on account of the bus commute...), and unfortunately after not going bed until extremely late two nights in a row before we left Mendoza did not bode well for me. I am pretty sure that I saw the most important parts of it. It was definitely a slow, uncomfortable ride, mostly because we were squished in a small mini bus/van, instead of the big fancy buses, but the beautiful mountains more than made up for it.
When we crossed the border into Chile we had to go through both Argentine and Chilean customs, which is pretty standard. What is not standard, however, is the process we had to go through to get our luggage into the county. As in Canada, upon entering Chile you have to fill out a form for customs, declaring whether or not you have any fruits or vegetables, and a long list of other products. We did not have anything that was specifically on the list, though we had found peanut butter in Iguazu (which is a little bit like gold here), and I was really not interested in losing it. Anyways, after returning from the bathroom there were three bags that the customs officers were looking at, and of course two of them were ours. I am not really sure if they were trying to intimidate us, they selected our bags randomly, or if they were just thinking our giant backpacks were a bit ridiculous and they wanted to have some fun with us. They made J actually open her bag, and start pulling things out (better hers than mine! She has one big pocket with a zipper, and her bag isn't stuffed. Mine is two separate pockets and is always stuffed to the brim. One wrong movement and it is all over, and I would almost have to start from scratch all over again). After asking us seventeen times if we had dried fruit (I was concerned that one might have gotten in there, making a liar out of me, I was eating a lot of raisins the previous week). They eventually got bored of us, they sent our bags through the scanners a bunch of times, and I blurted out every food I could think of stuffed in my bag, including the beloved peanut butter, the olives from our lovely tour (I also did not want to part with them, but I wanted to go to a Chilean jail much less...because that is clearly what happens when you incorrectly declare things??), and packets of jam stolen from random hostel breakfasts. Apparently none of that was offensive to Chile, so we were in the clear, and we were allowed to enter their beautiful country.
Thank goodness.
We arrived in Santiago, and by the time we got all our stuff off the bus and figured out the exchange rate (only after I had paid the equivalent of about $7 Canadian in bank fees to withdraw $8000 Chilean pesos. Approximately $16 Canadian. I always have a period of extreme confusion when the currency changes...), and found a taxi, we were both so ready to get to the hostel. We had booked one online out of the guide book, so we gave the address and we arrrive at what is definitely NOT a hostel. We are told by the woman at the address, and various people on the street (who were extremely eager to help us) that the hostel that had been there is no longer in existence. The kind taxi driver took us to another hostel in the neighbourhood. They were booked but they were nice enough to contact another hostel in the neighourhood for us and gave us directions to walk there. We arrived at a large purple monstrosity, with no sign on the front and were feeling slightly apprehensive. The old man who was washing cars on the street assured us that this was the hostel.We were greeted at the door by a Chilean dude who was also extremely helpful, and gave us all kinds of tips. He informed us the hostel is called the 'Princesa Insolente', which in English means the 'Sassy Princess'. He also gave us his business card which identified his name, and title, which was 'Latin Lover Host'.
Oh dear.
The best thing was that we soon figured out that this is actually the hostel we had made the reservation with, it was just a new name and address because the old one had suffered extensive damage in the earthquake last year, it had relocated and opened with a new name. So, we didn't lose our deposit, and now we are staying in the world's most beautiful hostel. No jokes. Everything is pink and purple and animal print with some Asian inspired decorations. I pretty much want whoever is responsible for this to come and decorate the home I don't have....
The best thing about it is the kitchen. They have every appliance you could ever want, including a blender, sandwhich maker, toaster, and probably others I can't remember. Tonight for dinner I made a peanut butter banana wrap and then put it in the sandwhich maker. If you have never done this before, stop reading right now and go do it.
DO. IT.
It is so delicious, it was all I could do not to eat eight of them. The kitchen also has a stock of oil and all kinds of spices for us to use. This NEVER happens at hostels. What usually happens is that we buy oil, and then people steal it. Its awesome.
Oh, and I almost forgot about the beds. Which are like real, at home beds. With duvets! I have had a nap every day we are here. For two reasons, one, I think I am getting sick, and two, because it is a delight. The last hostel we stayed at I was scared to touch the beds, so this is a welcome change.
I know traveling isn't supposed to be about where you stay, but sometimes, that is what makes the difference (well, that and the people you meet, of course). It has provided us with a place that felt temporarily like home, which was welcome because the last two hostels we stayed at bombed (anyone headed to Iguazu Falls do not stay at Marco Polo Inn, and those headed for Mendoza, avoid Mendoza Inn). Two nights ago there was a 'tequila night' here, which was quite fun, and ended in debauchery (for some, but not for us). There was even a professional CFL football player here (which we were able to confirm...). It was all a bit crazy.
Anyways, that was terribly disjointed. I was feeling a bit like I needed to gush a litte. We are leaving Santiago tomorrow to go to Valparaiso, a beach town two hours north of Santiago, and I am feeling a little sad. Yeah, I liked Santiago (for real, its beautiful, and clean and the mountains are RIGHT THERE all the time, and today we went on another vineyard tour), but I am most sad to leave the nice kitchen and the comfy bed. But, if I was that concerned about comfy beds and well stocked kitchens, I could have stayed in Canada for a lot cheaper.
Over and out. Valparaiso, get ready. We hear the hostel we are staying at has delicious homemade brown bread and goat cheese for breakfast, so we are really excited about that.
Its the small things, really.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Olives, Bread, Wine and Chocolate? I'm going to have to think about that....
We spent a glorious few days in Mendoza which involved wandering around the city (which is adorable, and much more chill than Buenos Aires), operation bed bug extermination (cooking all of our belongings in black garbage bags in the very hot Mendoza sun), and washing all of our cloth belongings. Most importantly while we were in Mendoza, we took a public bus to outside the city where we rented bikes from 'Mr. Hugo', who sends you on your way with a bike and a map.
We first went to a wine museum and then to a place where they harvest olives (for oil and consumption), make chocolate, and various liquers. We did a tour/tasting there, which was all kinds of fabulous. Seriously. Shots of liquer at 11:00 am? Yes, please! Various forms of olives (oil, paste, whole, etc), chased by seventeen different kinds of homemade, flavoured chocolate, at 11:10 am? Pretty please! (There was a whole lot of apologizing to my dairy intolerant body...). We then got back on our bikes (which was much more difficult after said bread, olives, alcohol and chocolate), and took the trek to a small family vineyard. There was a lot of construction in the little town we were in so the riding was not always smooth. We did another tour at a beautiful vineyard, learned about wine and did a tasting. While we were eating lunch there, it downpoured. It stopped just in time for us to leave, but only after it had seriously soaked the dirt roads we had just biked. Thankfully the ride back seemed much shorter (perhaps on account of all the wine?), however, it was SO muddy. It was really just funny, mostly because our bikes had fenders on them, unlike the other travellers who were biking by us, who had rented from another company (seriously, you see your options, one of them is 'Mr. Hugo', how do you choose anyone else?), and they had no fenders. No fenders, and terribly muddy toushies. We did get really muddy legs and feet, but it was mostly just funny. When we brought our bikes back to Mr. Hugo, Mrs. Hugo was there to greet us with a glass of red wine in a tiny plastic cup.
We hopped back onto the bus to get back to the city, like regular Mendocinos (I think that is what they are called...). During the ride back a woman became enraged with the bus driver, and they engaged in a yelling match for about ten minutes. It was entertaining, though we weren't always sure what was being said. J is certain she heard her tell the driver that his head is 'full of shit'.
It was a pretty great day.
So, thank you, Mendoza, for confirming my love of bread, wine, olives and chocolate. And the Spanish language. Oh, and reggae music. So, so much loveliness.
I was in need of a little reminder.
Muchas gracias.
We first went to a wine museum and then to a place where they harvest olives (for oil and consumption), make chocolate, and various liquers. We did a tour/tasting there, which was all kinds of fabulous. Seriously. Shots of liquer at 11:00 am? Yes, please! Various forms of olives (oil, paste, whole, etc), chased by seventeen different kinds of homemade, flavoured chocolate, at 11:10 am? Pretty please! (There was a whole lot of apologizing to my dairy intolerant body...). We then got back on our bikes (which was much more difficult after said bread, olives, alcohol and chocolate), and took the trek to a small family vineyard. There was a lot of construction in the little town we were in so the riding was not always smooth. We did another tour at a beautiful vineyard, learned about wine and did a tasting. While we were eating lunch there, it downpoured. It stopped just in time for us to leave, but only after it had seriously soaked the dirt roads we had just biked. Thankfully the ride back seemed much shorter (perhaps on account of all the wine?), however, it was SO muddy. It was really just funny, mostly because our bikes had fenders on them, unlike the other travellers who were biking by us, who had rented from another company (seriously, you see your options, one of them is 'Mr. Hugo', how do you choose anyone else?), and they had no fenders. No fenders, and terribly muddy toushies. We did get really muddy legs and feet, but it was mostly just funny. When we brought our bikes back to Mr. Hugo, Mrs. Hugo was there to greet us with a glass of red wine in a tiny plastic cup.
We hopped back onto the bus to get back to the city, like regular Mendocinos (I think that is what they are called...). During the ride back a woman became enraged with the bus driver, and they engaged in a yelling match for about ten minutes. It was entertaining, though we weren't always sure what was being said. J is certain she heard her tell the driver that his head is 'full of shit'.
It was a pretty great day.
So, thank you, Mendoza, for confirming my love of bread, wine, olives and chocolate. And the Spanish language. Oh, and reggae music. So, so much loveliness.
I was in need of a little reminder.
Muchas gracias.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Let the 'real' traveling begin.
This past week has taken us to Uruguay (Colonia and Montevideo), back to Buenos Aires, up to Iguazu Falls via a 20 hour bus ride (the falls are as beautiful as you would hope), then on a 38 hour bus ride to Mendoza, Argentina (wine country!).
We had a (traumatizing!) run in with bed bugs (if you've never seen them, trust me, you don't want to) in Montevideo, spent a few days on the beach, experienced Argentine immigration services (and I don't mean at the border), went back to our favorite pizza place in BA for one last Napolitana pizza (and attempt for one last chance encounter with the World's most beautiful waiter), we said good bye to friends, experienced the jungle humidity, and again, experienced the joy of getting off a bus after 38 hours.
It was all an experience, but one of my most favourite things happened the day before we left our hostel in Buenos Aires for the last time. On my way back to the hostel after picking up my (clean! :) laundry, I ran into the woman who was our cleaning woman for the first four weeks of our stay. The same woman who taught me how to properly flush an Argentine toilet (which I will add, perhaps unnecessarily, is an important skill!). She had many kind words for me (most of which involved having a good time on the rest of our trip, being safe, but make sure that we think about her, and have a good time for her, because she will still be here, working. She stated that if we come back, to come and see her). All this was lovely, but the loveliest was
when she asked me to do her a favour, asking that if I ever get the chance to meet Alanis
Morissette that I tell her that she has a fan in Buenos Aires, Argentina. That would have been adorable enough, but she then began singing (in a beautiful voice), the lyrics to 'hand in my pocket'. It was all so unexpected, adorable, and at the same time, touching that I quickly assured her that of course I would do that for her, should I ever cross paths with Alanis.
This one's for you, Luisa.
I'm broke but I'm happy
I'm poor but I'm kind
I'm short but I'm healthy, yeah.
I'm high but I'm grounded
I'm sane but I'm overwhelmed
I'm lost but I'm hopeful baby
What it all comes down to
Is that everything's gonna be fine fine fine.
Consider her told.
We had a (traumatizing!) run in with bed bugs (if you've never seen them, trust me, you don't want to) in Montevideo, spent a few days on the beach, experienced Argentine immigration services (and I don't mean at the border), went back to our favorite pizza place in BA for one last Napolitana pizza (and attempt for one last chance encounter with the World's most beautiful waiter), we said good bye to friends, experienced the jungle humidity, and again, experienced the joy of getting off a bus after 38 hours.
It was all an experience, but one of my most favourite things happened the day before we left our hostel in Buenos Aires for the last time. On my way back to the hostel after picking up my (clean! :) laundry, I ran into the woman who was our cleaning woman for the first four weeks of our stay. The same woman who taught me how to properly flush an Argentine toilet (which I will add, perhaps unnecessarily, is an important skill!). She had many kind words for me (most of which involved having a good time on the rest of our trip, being safe, but make sure that we think about her, and have a good time for her, because she will still be here, working. She stated that if we come back, to come and see her). All this was lovely, but the loveliest was
when she asked me to do her a favour, asking that if I ever get the chance to meet Alanis
Morissette that I tell her that she has a fan in Buenos Aires, Argentina. That would have been adorable enough, but she then began singing (in a beautiful voice), the lyrics to 'hand in my pocket'. It was all so unexpected, adorable, and at the same time, touching that I quickly assured her that of course I would do that for her, should I ever cross paths with Alanis.
This one's for you, Luisa.
I'm broke but I'm happy
I'm poor but I'm kind
I'm short but I'm healthy, yeah.
I'm high but I'm grounded
I'm sane but I'm overwhelmed
I'm lost but I'm hopeful baby
What it all comes down to
Is that everything's gonna be fine fine fine.
Consider her told.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Just Call Me Butterfingers
Four. Yep, four. That is the number of things I have either completely destroyed, or at least partially destroyed, by dropping them (often repeatedly), since arriving on the continent.
First, there was the balsamic vinegar incident, which was definitely the most public, most embarassing, messy, and mattered least.
Second there was the double whammy converter/ipod charger drop, which has likely had the most negative impact. The bathroom floors here are extremely hard, and in order to charge things you have to plug in your adaptor (which we purchased from a street vendor, because the one we brought from Canada was incorrect), then your converter, and then whatever it is you are trying to charge/use. At the best of times this combo doesn't work very well. The hair dryer will either work not at all, or will decide to quit for apparently unknown reasons (it sometimes gets extremely hot). While charging my ipod the ipod itself gets quite 'prickly' and does a little vibrate. It is always a good idea not to touch the ipod while it is charging. I could handle all of this, until that fateful day, when I dropped the converter/charger combo right on the very hard bathroom ground. The converter is a bit cracked, but can be very easily pushed back together (we aren't sure how well it is doing its job anyways), the real problem is the ipod charger. I knew for sometime that it was on the downhill spiral, because I could see cracks in it. This week, the unthinkable happened. At first pieces of plastic were merely falling off it. Then one of the prongs fell off, but were easily put back together. I reconstructed it and Jo attempted to charge her ipod, which involved some sparking, and no charging.
As a result, I am off wandering around Buenos Aires, in search of an ipod charger. Not what I was hoping to do on this beautiful day. I would prefer to wander with no destination....just kidding.
Number four is my headlamp (which has proved to be so, so useful). Of course, I dropped it, several times. One of the plastic pieces holding it to the headband snapped right off. Never fear, it still works, it is just better as a necklace now.
Alright, return to my search. Anyone know the word for 'charger' in Spanish? Just kidding. Cargador.
Over and out.
First, there was the balsamic vinegar incident, which was definitely the most public, most embarassing, messy, and mattered least.
Second there was the double whammy converter/ipod charger drop, which has likely had the most negative impact. The bathroom floors here are extremely hard, and in order to charge things you have to plug in your adaptor (which we purchased from a street vendor, because the one we brought from Canada was incorrect), then your converter, and then whatever it is you are trying to charge/use. At the best of times this combo doesn't work very well. The hair dryer will either work not at all, or will decide to quit for apparently unknown reasons (it sometimes gets extremely hot). While charging my ipod the ipod itself gets quite 'prickly' and does a little vibrate. It is always a good idea not to touch the ipod while it is charging. I could handle all of this, until that fateful day, when I dropped the converter/charger combo right on the very hard bathroom ground. The converter is a bit cracked, but can be very easily pushed back together (we aren't sure how well it is doing its job anyways), the real problem is the ipod charger. I knew for sometime that it was on the downhill spiral, because I could see cracks in it. This week, the unthinkable happened. At first pieces of plastic were merely falling off it. Then one of the prongs fell off, but were easily put back together. I reconstructed it and Jo attempted to charge her ipod, which involved some sparking, and no charging.
As a result, I am off wandering around Buenos Aires, in search of an ipod charger. Not what I was hoping to do on this beautiful day. I would prefer to wander with no destination....just kidding.
Number four is my headlamp (which has proved to be so, so useful). Of course, I dropped it, several times. One of the plastic pieces holding it to the headband snapped right off. Never fear, it still works, it is just better as a necklace now.
Alright, return to my search. Anyone know the word for 'charger' in Spanish? Just kidding. Cargador.
Over and out.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Ciao (for now!) Buenos Aires!
We made it safely to Montevideo, Uruguay (by way of a ferry to Colonia, Uruguay, for a short visit to the adorable colonial town, and then a 2 hour bus ride to Montevideo).
Though there are definitely things I will not miss about the city (that is perhaps a post for another time), there are more things I will miss. First of all, if for no reason other than convenience and comfort, I will miss having essentially everything available to us (including goat cheese!). I will miss the chaos (but perhaps not trying to walk through the crowds constantly), it's beautiful old buildings,it's (very recent, extremely sad and fascinating) history, the fact that the dogs there all seemed to have owners, as opposed to many other large(and small) Latin American cities. I would like to thank Buenos Aires for being HOT in January, for having a subte system that is cheap, efficient and simple (and very hot), but most of all,I would like to thank Buenos Aires for allowing me to feel, for just a little while, like I was a little part of that big, beautiful city.
Muchas Gracias, Buenos Aires.
Though there are definitely things I will not miss about the city (that is perhaps a post for another time), there are more things I will miss. First of all, if for no reason other than convenience and comfort, I will miss having essentially everything available to us (including goat cheese!). I will miss the chaos (but perhaps not trying to walk through the crowds constantly), it's beautiful old buildings,it's (very recent, extremely sad and fascinating) history, the fact that the dogs there all seemed to have owners, as opposed to many other large(and small) Latin American cities. I would like to thank Buenos Aires for being HOT in January, for having a subte system that is cheap, efficient and simple (and very hot), but most of all,I would like to thank Buenos Aires for allowing me to feel, for just a little while, like I was a little part of that big, beautiful city.
Muchas Gracias, Buenos Aires.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Walking Contradiction
In Buenos Aires it is not uncommon for people to begin eating supper (even on a week night) until 10 pm. People do not go out to the clubs (or boliches) until at least 2 am (but the music doesn't get good until after 4 am - or so we are told) and things are notoriously late, schedules are merely a suggestion. Service here is a different game than elsewhere in North America, and in order to maintain your sanity it is necessary to adjust your standards accordingly. It is not uncommon to go to the ticket counter (or any counter, for that matter...), ask for something, the vendor looks at you, hears your order and then continues (or begins) a conversation with their coworker. About related things. Like their relationship, television, how hot it is. I sometimes would wonder if they heard me in the first place, but I have since realized that is just how it is. People do things when they are ready, and not a minute earlier. People get to things when they get to them. It's cool, man. No rush.
And here is the only exception.
Crossing the street.
Yes. Let me explain a little something here. Traffic in this city is no joking matter. The streets are often one way and it is not uncommon for there to be six lanes of traffic (in the downtown core!). However, this does not seem to phase porteños (the people of Buenos Aires), who will dart across the street halfway, waiting for the busses barrelling down the street full speed, to pass, before continuing quickly across the road to - what? I'm not sure. From what I can tell they just continue walking at a regular (read: slow) pace. It is all a bit confusing.
So, what I have decided is this: they are a people eager to hurry up, in order to continue to move slow.
I don't get it.
And here is the only exception.
Crossing the street.
Yes. Let me explain a little something here. Traffic in this city is no joking matter. The streets are often one way and it is not uncommon for there to be six lanes of traffic (in the downtown core!). However, this does not seem to phase porteños (the people of Buenos Aires), who will dart across the street halfway, waiting for the busses barrelling down the street full speed, to pass, before continuing quickly across the road to - what? I'm not sure. From what I can tell they just continue walking at a regular (read: slow) pace. It is all a bit confusing.
So, what I have decided is this: they are a people eager to hurry up, in order to continue to move slow.
I don't get it.
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