Argentina '06 - Livin' The Dream, Bro!

Apologies for my longest blog inactivity since this thing began, but my week ended on a high note following a relatively uneventful start. The good times commenced Thursday, which I proclaimed my “Day To Be An Unapologetic American”. That morning I donned my socks embroidered with the Stars & Stripes and the word “SPORTS” that Devoe found for me in Hong Kong. For lunch I consumed a footlong turkey sandwich at Subway (accompanied by a LARGE soda with ICE), and later took advantage of the free golf lesson offered by IBL at the pro shop atop our building. That evening I made my way to the only bar in town that would be screening this season’s inaugural NFL game between the Steelers and Dolphins, perplexingly named Shoeless Joe’s Alamo. I guess those were the most uniquely American terms the owner could think of. It seemed every Yank in BA was there to hoot and hollar at the small TV’s (which get their signal from the States via Slingbox…pretty crafty), but all I cared about was watching my beloved Ronnie Brown who graciously scored a pair of touchdowns for Da Bumbles. I enjoyed comparing fantasy football rosters with fellow ex-pats, but had to leave before the game was over since the cigarette smoke was so thick that I found myself coughing incessantly.

After class Friday, I reluctantly traveled back into the Microcentro for a second straight week of tango lessons, but it proved to be one of the best decisions of my vacation. There were about 16 IBL students in attendance – an equal ratio of guys to gals – and switching dance partners every few minutes proved to be a great ice-breaker. Afterwards a group of five of us ate dinner at a pasta restaurant, and when we spent a good five minutes debating how to best translate ¨rub one out¨ into Spanish, I knew it was a good group.

We then met up with a couple more IBLers at Club Azucar, a salsa venue which “bordered on tacky” as my Timeout guidebook accurately described it but provided for a fun evening. Lucas from Brazil and I spent a bulk of the night chatting and dancing as best we could with two local gals named Cynthia and Natalie, but after they told us they both had novios (boyfriends) I realized the only thing I would get out of the evening was an opportunity to hone my Spanish skills. They were both very sweet and very patient with my limited vocabulary. The evening’s grand total for a meal in a sit-down restaurant, club cover charge, an endless flow of cerveza and cab ride home? A whopping $16 US dollars!

Despite getting home a few minutes before 4:00 a.m., I was able to rally Saturday for a trip to Tigre, about 45 minutes north via train. What a difference a week makes; last Saturday’s bone-chilling cold and gale-force winds were replaced by cloudless skies and t-shirt weather. I bought a ticket for a one-hour tour of the Delta, a series of over 6,000 kilometers of canals accessible only by boat, where many people make there home and vacation. The tour was given only in Spanish so I can’t share many more details of what life is like there, but I’m going to try and return to Tigre another time and rent a kayak.

Last night, I met up with most of the people I spent Friday with for another fun-filled – albeit more sedate – evening. Mike from Colorado – who has been traveling the world with his girlfriend Jenny for the past 14 months (yes, you read that correct) – suggested we visit BA’s biggest bingo parlor, which provided by far the most ridiculous experience of my nearly three-week old trip. The numbers are announced in rapid-fire delivery, and between games there is a bizarre light show accompanied by early-90’s house music. It took a while to get the hang of things, but I left with a vastly improved ability to count in Spanish. I think Francinie from Brazil came the closest to winning a game – she was two numbers away from yelling BINGO! It would have earned her approximately $60 US dollars.

We then walked down bustling Calle Lavalle looking for a place to eat, and would up at La Estancia around 11:00 p.m. just in time for their dinner show. It was an ultra-hokey song-and-dance performance spanning the breadth of Argentine culture, from the ubiquitous tango to some sort of Andean music. We ordered the parilla (mixed grill) intended for three people, but the five of us could not polish it off. Among the sizzking carnage brought to our table was suckling pig, short ribs, goat and the more traditional chorizo and pollo.

Then, at the suggestion of James from London, we searched for a jazz club, and wound up at a hip place in Palermo called Thelonious, but with a set list that included Outkast and Nelly, I don’t think it was the type of joint he was hoping for. I enjoyed talking to Mike about his adventures in some of the least-touristed countries on the planet. After starting in Southeast Asia, they ventured to India (including disputed Kashmir), Pakistan (including the border area with Afghanistan) and then overland down through East Africa with stops in Rwanda, Burundi and even SUDAN. He claims they have been welcomed with open arms at every stop, including nations where “Death to America” is a daily mantra. Despite his reassurances, there is no way in hell I would travel to 90% of the places they’ve been to over the last 14 months. I hope Mike doesn’t mind me sharing the link to his blog, but it’s mikelane.blogspot.com.

Well, at this point I was going to list the highs and lows of my two-plus weeks in Buenos Aires, but have rambled on long enough and need to call mom, eat lunch, book my flight to Salta on Sept. 24 and take advantage of yet another glorious day with a stroll in the park. I may head back to Shoeless Joe’s to watch more NFL football this evening, but I sincerely worry about the health of my lungs if I spend too much time there.