The day following our meeting with the inspiring Argentine was good for recovery as we napped the day away while it rained and got up to go get some awesome pizza, then another nap and then ventured to the bus station to nail Ella's exit strategy. On the way back we hit up a well recommended restaurant known for its grilled red meat. We drank beer and coffee while we waited for our massive orders of steak to arrive. Ella had tenderloins drowning in bleu cheese gravy and I downed an amazing top sirloin with grilled veggies. This restaurant truly paid homage to the gaucho culture, complete with a taxidermists’ collection that would have rivaled Teddy Roosevelt.
Overly stuffed we hailed a cab for “La Catedral,” a tango club across town. We got some very cheap Stellas or as Ella calls them, “wife beaters” and scored a table near the dance floor. Apparently ordering Stella Artois in the UK is like ordering Icehouse in the US, then again the only public place I have seen Icehouse drank was on a bus in Seattle. The décor was something I would expect in a hipster northwest place, but for some reason it felt authentic in that club with very high ceilings, a collage of furniture and one very bright light shining on the dance floor reflecting just enough so the band can see their instruments. The dancers were in varying wardrobes from a birthday boy dressed like Mike The Situation to the older gentlemen in suits throwing women around in fluttering dresses. I felt like a total gringo tourist, but forgot about it as we scanned the room to see everyone was fixated on their romantic dates or on the other dancers.
After we felt that we gleaned enough entertainment to justify our cab and cover charge we cabbed it back to the Flores neighborhood near Ella’s hostel and found a café that was open around three o’clock. After introducing her to a screwdriver the previous night she ordered some while I was in the bathroom. They were probably the most high class screwdrivers I have ever had because the juice was freshly squeezed while we waited. After a chicken sandwich I made it back to my dorm by four, with only one bunkmate amongst the eight beds.
I woke up to a full room a few hours later. One gentleman was dry heaving, another draped a blood covered hand over the edge of his bunk and a gal had a head of hair that hid her face making her look like Cousin It. Ella and I assumed a normal tourist day after the longest breakfast ever, Milka was not a fun place to be. We visited a Starbucks, were solicited for AIDS relief donations in the plaza and crossed a 10 lane street to see an urban loner bike program. Frappichinos in hand (dulce de leche and black cherry mocha) we strolled through some city parks admiring statues and Santa’s Village built entirely from recycled Tetra-Paks!
We stumbled into a nice neighborhood and noticed that all of the really old and beautifully designed buildings were all embassies. It inspired us to track down our embassies!..after a trip to the cemetery and lunch. The cemetery was beautiful, yet after visiting the one in Punta Arenas it was not as awe inspiring as everyone said it would be. The resident cats were an attraction all by themselves, I was more interested in them than Evita Peron’s grave. Good thing I didn’t feel compelled to track it down because we could tell the skies were going to open up and rain. Us beerhounds are planners and had found a brewpub next to the cemetery for lunch.
The sprinkle outside turned into a downpour by the time we got our menus and the streets were flooded by the time we got our taster. Mmmmmm, Ella reminded me that I cannot travel with people who do not partake in fine indulgences (yet Brenda and I got through her distaste for tequila while in Mexico much to her displeasure). We picked our pints from the sampler and ate lunch with a front row seat of people getting drenched in the Buenos Aires street.
As the city dried itself out we decided to track down our respective embassies. I made the precursor joke that mine would be the cement monolith with the big metal fence around it. She retorted that hers would be similar as Great Britain had fought a war with the Argentines. It turns out we both were spot on! Hers looked like a Hilton built in the ghetto and the US embassy looked like an above ground bunker.
After experiencing our own ethnocentric cultures abroad we nabbed some pizza, munchies a bottle of vodka for $3.00 USD, Cuban rum for $10.00 (splurge), and a bottle of fernet and headed back to her house/hostel for a multicultural house party. We listened to Sublime, some Americans *cough, cough* beat some lousy Brits at beer pong and got to eat some spicy pasta. Contrary to popular belief, there is little spicy food in South America, I am truly grateful for one of our hosts dousing some pasta in chili flakes.
The hospitality was extended to the spare bed I got to crash in for a few hours before Ella and I arose from the dead for breakfast and ice cream around 11:00 AM. We had just enough time to buy her some souvenir fernet (apparently she likes to punish her siblings with terrible tasting liquor as a Christmas present) and then rushed her and her gear off to the bus station. That night I went out and found myself eating a calzone and watching a concert on TV in a café. I walked out of the café still hearing the same music. I took a tip from Toucan Sam and followed my senses and the concert on TV was in the plaza one block away. It truly made me feel like an idiot, but I fought the urge to buy beer from the coolers on the sidewalk and hung out for a few songs.
The next morning, the last full day in BA, I ran errands mailing postcards and last minute purchases before heading to the BOCA JUNIORS MATCH!!!!! A soccer team that had a strong following in Seattle for their 2010 friendly appearance combined with the reputation for diehard local fans would surely be a great experience, right? The game was better, but maybe I am partial to Seattle fans, but I think the whole stadium at Qwest is more into the match than at La Bombanera. Granted that the opposing team's supporters were throwing M-80’s into the keeper’s box and the Boca supporters never stopped cheering during the match and I mean never. I did find it fun that to get our reserved seats we became honorary season ticket holders for the night, their ticketing system is a bit different than ours and so are the concrete bleacher seats.
Josh shared a similar sentiment of the game, yes he made it back into town just in time to get on the bus for that. That night we packed up for the umpteenth time and the next morning were on a flight back to Bogota, where we had a hostel booked for our last night on the continent. After a quick nap in the hostel warding off any more possible evil stomach spirits we went out to stock up on Juan Valdez and Aguardiente for home. For our final meal in Colombia we had some Mexican food, which rivaled what we could find up here, I was rather impressed.
The next morning we cruised through security in Bogota, but not after I had to ditch about 10 lbs of coffee and dirty clothes into a carry-on. Apparently my whole bean and alcoholic souvenirs put me over the weight limit. On the other end of the flight the trip through American customs made me feel almost welcome at home and being in Miami, I forgot to start using English again as everyone there spoke Spanish. It was a way different story in Dallas as the first thing we saw when we got off the plane was a large kiosk promoting W’s new book. Yay :( I did get to enjoy some fine “Yes, sir. No, sir.” hospitality while getting some barbecue in the airport.
A few hours later we were touched down in SeaTac with our luggage and about 45 minutes after that I was in a bar with a good friend drinking Black Butte, it felt good to be back.
It took me a while to settle in and get into the groove of not having a job or buying bus tickets every few days and I took a few weeks to unpack. The most interesting thing I found while unpacking were my anti-malaria pills. I should say the most interesting part really was the place I found them…the pouch where I kept my allergy meds. I cocked my head to the side, did some mental math and realized that the reason why my allergies were so bad in Argentina was that I was taking the wrong damn pill!
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