24 hour bus journey from Barlioche and a numb bum. A taxi ride to our new apartment for a month and we`re 2 hours early so set up camp in cafe on the opposite corner. An old retired RAF colnel starts talking to us and a quick glance at his watch reveals that BA is an hour ahead of the rest of Argentina. A mad dash across the road and the owner is still there to meet us. We´re in and the flat is great. An open plan kitchen living room with bedroom at the top of side stairs. Its only when we start taking a closer look that the cracks appear. Broken blinds, torn bedding and a number opf coooking utensils which require Crystal Maze style ingenuity to cook a good feed. I end up boiling Spaghetti in the kettle.
We´re staying in Palermo, Buenos Aire´s version of Shoreditch, which has a lively square for late night drinking and tonnes of boutique style clothes shops where Becky searches for ´floaty dresses´. San Telmo is our second favourite haunt and should be twinned with London´s Notting Hill, antique shops and sunday market.
The main objective for the month spent in BA is for us, especially me to learn some Spanish. Which I take to like a duck to molten lava. Two days into lessons, I lay awake at night, hundreds of new words spin uselessly around my head colliding with scattered verb tenses whichi am similarly unable to control. What the hell was ´Cat´in Spanish again??? A question I struggle to answer for at least 4hours which Becky resolves the instant she wakes up.This pretty much sums up our different Spanish capabilities as Becks whisses through every verb tense known to man and gobbles up vocabulary as if there is no tomorrow. I check out of my Instant Spanish/ ¨Did I not mention I was a COMPLETE BEGINNER??¨ group sessions in favour of the spoon fed one on one tutor sessions.
Our perfect month in BA is further hindered by another Yan problem. Primarily massive shooting pains in my right leg, which I can only explain to the casual observer when doubled up in pain as ´A heart attack, but in my leg´. It seems I have syatica,did Spanish do this to me? Nope,probably the huge back pack that I lugged around a mountain over 9 days. Not the first time this 4 year football related injury has hindered me, but as I and indeed WE struggle to sleep or sit still for one meal/ drink, it is easily the most painful it has ever been. I am constantly distracted by it and miserable as a consequence, feeling like a geriatric trapped in a nearly 30 year old´s body. However regular house visits (yes in this country they come to you) from a physio (he speaks bad English, I speak bad Spanish), enough pain killers to tranquilise a horse and twice daily stretches (you may have seen the photos on Becky`s facebook) and i`m slowly on the mend. But I spend 6 weeks avoiding a computer, the reason for lack of blog entries, and now I judge restaurants and bars not by the menu or the ambiance but by how comfortable their chairs look!
But through these ups and downs we manage to thorougly explore Buenos Aires. Making friends from Spanish school, crazy dancing Germans and mad American cat-scaring chefs(yes thats you Batya). We even attempt a Tango lesson which very suprisingly I enjoy more than Becky though I fail to remember even a simple 8 step sequence or control my `Woman´in any way, shape or form. Nothing new there.
One thing I feel I should mention to would be travellers is the need for secure pockets. So far we have felt safe and sound whilst we´ve been away. But a bustling subway rides finds me a near-victim of a pick pocket. Get zip pockets! And also be wary of men carrying winter coats underarm on a blistering summer´s day. Especially when he sidles up to the two blonde tourists who are not quite sure how they stick out like a sore thumb! My second warning is, carry your rucksack on your front when walking through thief laden bus stations. They only want your shiny blue water bottle!
We´re staying in Palermo, Buenos Aire´s version of Shoreditch, which has a lively square for late night drinking and tonnes of boutique style clothes shops where Becky searches for ´floaty dresses´. San Telmo is our second favourite haunt and should be twinned with London´s Notting Hill, antique shops and sunday market.
The main objective for the month spent in BA is for us, especially me to learn some Spanish. Which I take to like a duck to molten lava. Two days into lessons, I lay awake at night, hundreds of new words spin uselessly around my head colliding with scattered verb tenses whichi am similarly unable to control. What the hell was ´Cat´in Spanish again??? A question I struggle to answer for at least 4hours which Becky resolves the instant she wakes up.This pretty much sums up our different Spanish capabilities as Becks whisses through every verb tense known to man and gobbles up vocabulary as if there is no tomorrow. I check out of my Instant Spanish/ ¨Did I not mention I was a COMPLETE BEGINNER??¨ group sessions in favour of the spoon fed one on one tutor sessions.
Our perfect month in BA is further hindered by another Yan problem. Primarily massive shooting pains in my right leg, which I can only explain to the casual observer when doubled up in pain as ´A heart attack, but in my leg´. It seems I have syatica,did Spanish do this to me? Nope,probably the huge back pack that I lugged around a mountain over 9 days. Not the first time this 4 year football related injury has hindered me, but as I and indeed WE struggle to sleep or sit still for one meal/ drink, it is easily the most painful it has ever been. I am constantly distracted by it and miserable as a consequence, feeling like a geriatric trapped in a nearly 30 year old´s body. However regular house visits (yes in this country they come to you) from a physio (he speaks bad English, I speak bad Spanish), enough pain killers to tranquilise a horse and twice daily stretches (you may have seen the photos on Becky`s facebook) and i`m slowly on the mend. But I spend 6 weeks avoiding a computer, the reason for lack of blog entries, and now I judge restaurants and bars not by the menu or the ambiance but by how comfortable their chairs look!
But through these ups and downs we manage to thorougly explore Buenos Aires. Making friends from Spanish school, crazy dancing Germans and mad American cat-scaring chefs(yes thats you Batya). We even attempt a Tango lesson which very suprisingly I enjoy more than Becky though I fail to remember even a simple 8 step sequence or control my `Woman´in any way, shape or form. Nothing new there.
One thing I feel I should mention to would be travellers is the need for secure pockets. So far we have felt safe and sound whilst we´ve been away. But a bustling subway rides finds me a near-victim of a pick pocket. Get zip pockets! And also be wary of men carrying winter coats underarm on a blistering summer´s day. Especially when he sidles up to the two blonde tourists who are not quite sure how they stick out like a sore thumb! My second warning is, carry your rucksack on your front when walking through thief laden bus stations. They only want your shiny blue water bottle!
However, Buenos Aires is great and we are lucky enough to receive some inside tips from a couple of Local´s, Kate a friend of Paul´s and Jorge, my cousin´s husband´s cousin´s husband. Confused? Don´t blame you. Top tìps include a very exclusive restaurant catering only for 12 people a night and set in the owner´s trendy house, serving a pescaterian cuisine. An amazing and not unboozy Valentine´s night is spent talking to coupled up guests from across the globe. The hosts make us feel as comfortable as if their home was our own. Desnivel was another recommendation which Jorge was kind enough to take us to himself, exactly the type of authentic place frequented by locals we were looking for. Serving steak three would struggle to finish. Thanks also to Jorge for taking me out around town showing me local haunts and kebab shop bust ups, where we finished the night munching the most delicious chorro pan in a futile attempt to sober up.
Buenos Aires ended on a high, a two day trip to Uruguay. Colonia is a beautiful, quaint town with cobbled streets and unreasonably expensive lunches if you happen to find the wrong place. With a quiet atmosphere which we tried to ruin with a brilliant dune buggy ride around the area.
Two months in and after a month in the city we are ready to head north...
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