17 - Tango and Not Enough Cash (Puerto Iguazu, Buenos Aires)

Puerto Iguazú to Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 29 october 2002

I had to really wash ‘OBRIGADA’ out of my hair. I am now in Argentina, speak Spanish, por favor! Yet, over and over, from Iguazú Falls to this morning, I blurted out “Obrigada… [Thank you -- in Portuguese]” repeatedly.

I had written an email to Pablo whom I had met in Beijing way back in June and travelled together for one month, crossing three countries to Moscow. I told him I was coming to Argentina and he had replied that he was in Buenos Aires and was looking forward to meeting me. He could even put me up at his apartment. Excelente!!

I informed him I would arrive in Buenos Aires on 31 October, as I wanted to spend a day at San Ignacio first.

However, when I arrived at San Ignacio at 3pm or so, it was raining cats and dogs. Suddenly, I did not feel like staying in this miserable-looking drenched town. I made inquiries in a hotel if there was a night-bus to Buenos Aires leaving that night. The lady told me to phone an affiliated company selling bus-tickets.

OK, major test here. Speaking face-to-face in my so-called Spanish was moderately OK for one could still use sign languages, the magic of a smile, a knowing look, pointing and hand gestures. But to speak in Spanish on the phone to someone and to understand him was a little trickier. Well, I did a not-bad job. I managed to figure out there was one bus leaving at 6pm. I thanked the guy and said I would walk to his office now to make the purchase. Unfortunately, the office was ten blocks away and it was pouring! But he kept saying something about a ‘coche’ [car]. I declined the offer but he insisted, “Gratis. [Free]” “¿Gratis? Oh, obrigada… er, muchas gracias… Por favor, gracias.”

I set the phone down, wondering if I had misunderstood him. Did such excellent service exist? Was he driving over to the hotel in the rain just to pick me up to go to his office?

Indeed he arrived and later, after I purchased the ticket, I took out the wet map and wondered if I could still squeeze in some time to visit the San Ignacio Ruinas in the meantime. Again, the guy offered to drive me to the ruins! I was speechless for a moment. He hurried out to the car just when the heaven opened up some more and POURED all its sorrows out. The rain was torrential. It was certainly not a good idea to visit the ruins at all but my declines now appeared to him to be just trying not to trouble him. And he was very willing to be troubled and would not take ‘no’ for an answer. It rained so hard we could not see out of the car windows. But he was so kind, I had to at least pretend I would visit the ruins.

I stood at the ticket counter of the ruins for a long time before telling myself, “Hey, whatever… Stop being such a wimp. Enjoy the rain as one enjoys the sun.” and bought a ticket.

I sloshed through the gates of the ruins with ankle-deep water to the museum. A curator working there asked “¿De dónde sos? [Where are you from?]”. I peered down at his notebook and found him recording which country crazy tourists who visited ruins in torrential rain came from. I replied, “Singapur”. He neatly wrote down, “Japon”. I threw him a look, took his pen from him and corrected it solemnly. If anything, for the record, I had to make sure that it be noted that this crazy tourist came from the right country.

He then asked if I needed a guide. Oh no, obrigada… er, gracias… How could I bear to make someone else come out in this awful rain with me?

My feet were totally submerged in the flooded field. I waded through the grass and rivulets. I was surprised to see two other crazy tourists visiting the ruins as well. Visibility was so low, I could not see far. When I lifted my head to look at the walls, my eyes were closed because of the pelting rain.

I returned to the museum, wonderfully wet, and beamed at the bemused curator, “¡Qué lindo! ¡Qué bueno! [How pretty! How nice!]”

I dried myself in the restaurant opposite and ordered a bife [beef steak]. This would start my streak of bife-eating in this country. While I complained about the over-done, tough, tasteless beef in Brazil, here… just right across the imaginary line called the border, the Argentinians made the most gorgeous, juicy, mouth-watering piece of steak in the entire world. I praised the chef and muttered many thanks to the waitress.

Later, as I prepared to brave the rain once again to walk eight blocks back to the bus office, the owner of the restaurant stopped me. She refused to let me go out in the rain. The husband of the waitress had coincidentally just arrived to pick her up. The owner thus asked the waitress to get her husband to drop me off at the office. Oh my goodness!!! The Brazilians had been wonderfully friendly… and the Argentinians appeared to be even more hospitable and kind! I had just gotten three free lifts in a day!

Then, at 6pm, the most perfectly-evolved double-decker bus arrived to pick me up. There were three seats per row. The seat was as spacious as a business-class seat on airplanes. It could recline until almost horizontal. A set of pillow and blanket were provided. A pretty little stewardess came up and served cookies, drinks, dinner… I could not believe it! After all those horrendous bus-rides in China and Mongolia, this specimen of bus was utopia itself.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 30 october 2002

By the way, we were even served breakfast too this morning! Incredible.

Throughout the ride, however, police constantly got on the bus to check our documents and possessions. I noted I was singled out to be checked all the time. It felt a little weird for in Brazil, nothing like this ever happened.

So I arrived in Buenos Aires, one day earlier than the date I had informed Pablo. Upon arrival, I could not get him on the phone so I tried to contact him via email.

He later told me that when he realised I was already in Buenos Aires, his first reaction was sheer panic: “Oh my God!! Trisha is ALONE in my city!!!!” Through a comedy of errors of when, where and how to meet, communicated entirely by emails as he and I strove to log-in multiple times that day to check each other’s replies, we finally met at 6pm at the correct McDonald’s.

It was pure joy. We were thrilled to see each other again!! We jumped up and down in delight and gushed about what we had been doing the past months after we separated in Moscow, Russia. We talked excitedly about our trip together in China, Mongolia and the Trans-Mongolian Railway. “Remember this… Remember that…” It was fantastic to be reunited with Pablo again. And thoroughly unexpectedly soon too, for I had not intended to come to Buenos Aires until perhaps next March. Ah, yes, that guitar-pick we snapped into two in Mongolia… they would soon be united too.

We paced up and down Calle Florida, the main pedestrian mall in the centre of Buenos Aires, many many times. We were totally oblivious to the surroundings and thoroughly distracted as we yakked non-stop for five hours or so.

Like Jane when I was in Ireland, he felt extremely responsible for my safety and comfort. I felt as if I was a baby. He feared that the Buenos Aires traffic would crash into me; he feared that I would crash into the Buenos Aires lamp-posts and telephone booths, and loaded me with warnings and be-carefuls here and there. “Gee, Pablo, thank you for being so sweet and nice but I crossed the horrid China-Mongolian border by myself and didn’t die, remember??”



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 31 october 2002

Pablo and I met up in Café Tortoni after his work and I was introduced to the most famous and charmingly traditional café in Buenos Aires.

The bar/café culture is a quintessential aspect of Buenos Aires. All over Buenos Aires were these traditional bars-cum-cafés which are usually located at the corners of streets. While many had closed, the few which remained were, to me, thoroughly charming. They had high ceilings, ancient iron-fans, antique lamp-shades shaped like flowers, black-and-white checkered floors, wooden tables and chairs and little old men for waiters.

For individuals, they are great places to sit and while away the time as one reads or ponders over various questions in life. For friends, they are excellent places to talk, discuss, reminisce, laugh, share, grow.

They are nostalgic and inspirational. And for many decades, poets, writers, political revolutionists, tango composers, the intellects of Buenos Aires, had pined for love, debated over ideas, grieved over disillusions, hoped for a new way of life, drowned their sorrows, praised their good fortune, recollected their pasts… and in turn, churned out the tremendously excellent culture of Buenos Aires - the poetry, the literature, the music, the tango dance of Argentina.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 01 november 2002

As I learn about the Argentinian way of life, allow me to introduce to the readers: Mate and dulce de leche.

Mate (pronounced Ma-tey) is the typical drink of the Argentinians. It is served in special cups made from round gourds or a vase-shaped silver vessel.

The mate leaves are not just a couple of wimpy leaves swimming at the bottom of the cups. The leaves and sometimes stems are crushed up really small and filled to the brim of the cups. To drink it, one needed a bamboo or usually a metal straw with tiny holes at the bottom to filter out the tiny leaves.

One could only pour enough water into the cup for one suck. The water, and this is very important as imparted gravely by Pablo, must be about 80°C or so. Never to 100°C. It is all alchemy. Mate is strong stuff.

So, all over Buenos Aires, one could see the locals holding their mate in one hand and a flask of hot-water in the other, refilling, sipping, refilling, sipping… It is a social drink too, meant for sharing among friends.

Dulce de leche (Dool-say dey ley-chey) is heaven. Yes, it is. I cannot explain what goes inside it for Pablo was unable or perhaps unwilling to part with this secret knowledge. It seemed to be a cross between chocolate cream and caramel. It is brown, sticky and gorgeously sweet. Every other pastries and desserts, magnificently and lovingly prepared by the wondrous chefs of Argentina, had fillings of dulce de leche. Cartons of dulce de leche are sold everywhere and people have been known, for example Pablo, to finish up a carton of dulce de leche in one day. I had grown to love it too. There was always a carton ever-ready in our refrigerator.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 02 november 2002

I had passed by many banks which were either shuttered up entirely or had a small door furtively left open for their employees to enter. Harsh graffiti messages like ‘CHORROS!!’ (Argentinians’ slang for ‘Thieves!’) were spray-painted on the walls and shutters.

Today, we spotted some people cleaning the wall of yet another disfigured bank.

When Pablo left his country in December last year (2001), Argentina was going through a major economic crisis. When he returned eight months later, he returned to a country totally unrecognisable to him. The Argentinian Peso had been devalued from US$1 = 1 Argentinian Peso to US$1 = 3.5 Argentinian Pesos now, ‘mas o menos’ [more or less]. So, imagine the mentality of the people… what they earn now appeared to be 3.5 times LESS than before. 100 Argentinian Pesos is now US$28.50, no longer US$100.

And I am sure the readers know that Argentinians who had savings in banks had had all their money robbed. Their money gone just like that. Disappeared. The middle-class basically went bankrupt, in a sense.

I tried to imagine how it would be like if the bank where my rapidly-depleting life-savings are stored now, suddenly announced that they have my money now and sorry, you have nothing anymore. I tried to imagine how it would be like to be in my 50s, to have worked my entire life, saving up my money for a nice retirement and then, to receive this piece of news. I could not imagine it. People would go mad, some could kill themselves and I am sure, a few had.

I do not claim to understand ‘Economics’ very well. I mean, amongst my er… ahem, considerably wide knowledge, my weaker subjects were ‘Neuro Brain Surgery’, ‘Myths and Practices of Ancient Mesopotamia and Sumerian cuneiform decipherment’ and I’m afraid, ‘Economics’.

But I looked at Buenos Aires now with a tinge of sadness. I spotted beggars on the streets, people going through every coin-drop of the telephones to see if there were any change, families pushing shopping carts and collecting and sorting out cardboard boxes, poor children busking, old men or women sleeping on the streets.

Along Calle Florida, a new phenomenon, even for Pablo, was people lining up wares, crafts, clothes, mates, souvenirs, kitsch Spiderman costumes, etc… in the middle of the pedestrian mall. All to earn just that little more cash.

On the other hand, the posh shops, trendy boutiques and chic cafés remained in the background. After all, (I believe) Buenos Aires had been the most expensive city to live in here in South America. The mighty rich who have savings in US dollars are 3.5 times richer now, if you think about it. They are still shopping in Emporio Armani and attending performances at Teatro Colón.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 03 november 2002

Being a Sunday today and being Italians, Pablo took me to his parents’ apartment for a wonderful pasta lunch (and some nagging on his side). I did not always understand what was being said among them. But through Pablo’s dad, I really found myself admiring the resilience of the Argentinians in such a sore period of the economic crisis. He had said he had lost everything but poof, what was he to do, he had to stay happy and ‘life goes on’.

Indeed, I had been thoroughly impressed with the general good nature of the locals here (not those getting ready for another protest on the street, of course). They are civil, polite, friendly, and very sweet. They bounce “Hola” off one another everywhere. The men almost always let ladies get on buses first. If they bump into one another, a profusion of apologies emerge. A picture of cultured behaviour.

I had come across a few street performances of tango by now. The couple whom I thoroughly loved watching could usually be found at the intersection of Calle Florida and Calle Lavalle in the centre of Buenos Aires.

Tango is sensual, beautiful, fluid. The music always nostalgic, always romantic. The dancers are the key-stones to my enjoyment of the art. The couple I love was perfect together. The lady appeared to be feather-light as she was lifted, pulled (as she leaned towards the man until her body was at an angle of 40 degrees) and twirled around seemingly effortlessly by her partner. The kicks between each other’s legs were swift and exact, in other words, no… they never tripped over each other. Their precise movements were perfectly synchronised. The mood was sometimes serious, sometimes playful, always enchanting.

I always stayed for a while whenever I passed by to admire them. I always had a huge smile on my face as I watched, with great excitement, as they expressed their craft so beautifully and passionately. I always willingly forked out money for them. Bravo.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 04 november 2002

I had decided to stay on in Buenos Aires to study Spanish.

I had wanted to do this in Bolivia before I embarked on the rest of my trip around South America. But since I could not go to Bolivia, I had headed south to Argentina. To be very frank, after the ‘high’ of the Iguaçu Falls, I felt a little drained now. I know the rest of Patagonia would be even more spectacular, so I decided I needed a breather for a moment before I pop a vessel with too many overwhelming experiences.

After travelling for six months, I also felt a need to stay longer at a place to get to know it better, instead of packing up every three days or so. And these few days had been great. I had grown to love Buenos Aires. Hence, I signed up for a Spanish course and would be here until Christmas.

I had contacted my other Argentinian friend - Francisca, whom I met in my Pantanal trip. She could not believe her ears when she learnt that I was already here in Buenos Aires and would be staying for two months. She squealed in delight over the phone. We arranged to meet at the McDonald’s at the Obelisk at 5:30pm this evening.

I waited for her at a McDonald’s, facing the Obelisk, for half an hour. I got suspicious and decided to pop my head out and see if there was another McDonald’s near the Obelisk. In the city with the most number of McDonald’s per square area… sure, why not? Not more than 100 metres away, I spotted a strangely familiar yellow curve of an arch! Argh!!! I quickly hurried over there and waited.

An old man came over and asked if I was Trisha. He took me over to the side of the road and there was Francisca, waiting in the car. She had been driving round and round for half an hour as she could not stop her car here. She drove so many times, the old man standing at the road recognised her and so she enlisted his help to look for me, la china.

We exchanged the typical Argentinian kissie-on-the-right-cheek. As she pulled away into the busy traffic, cars blared their horns at her and drivers shook their fists. An excitable Francisaca screamed and wailed, “Too many cars!!! I hate coming to the centre!! Oh, where do I go? I don’t know the centre!! AHHH!!! Sorry… sorry… Where to go?” Great to be united with la chica loca.

As I feared for our lives, I suggested that we should keep quiet while she concentrated on her driving but she would have none of it and chatted away, bombarding me with questions and enriching my knowledge with her life story. More cars whizzed by narrowly. More taxi-drivers cursed us.

Our conversation was peppered with, “Oh!!! Oh!! What street was that?? What street?? Did you see???? Oh… I want to go there… I want to turn there… Now, I cannot turn…” She was looking for Shamrocks, an Irish pub. She said she had been craving for their bruschettas. But she had no idea where it was.

We spun around in circles, she made left turn when she was on the right side of the street, she stopped suddenly to ask for directions, her engine stalled at traffic lights… When we found the pub, we spun around some more to look for FREE parking. In total, we had been driving around for more than 2 hours. And I was amazed we were still alive. I offered to pay for parking so as to get out of the car some time this century.

The biggest joke must be that Shamrocks did not serve bruschettas anymore. Ha. It was so fun to catch up with her.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 05 - 08 november 2002

I spent the days either going for my Spanish classes, doing my homework and wandering the streets of Buenos Aires.

I had really grown to love the hustle and bustle of Buenos Aires. The city seems to have everything.

The fine architecture of most older buildings in the beautiful city centre reminded me a little of the splendour of St. Petersburg’s architecture in Russia. Very pretty are the cupolas found at the top of some corner blocks.

The busy avenues, the wares sold on the streets, the high energy level reminded me a little of Mexico City in Mexico.

The charming cafés, posh bookshops, theatres reminded me a little of classy London in United Kingdom, lending a very intellectual feel to the city. I love book-stores and Buenos Aires is full of them. I frequently popped into them. Oh, I wished I knew Spanish well enough to devour the huge range of books. Sadly, I could only head towards the English section, if any, and browsed through what they had to offer.

I really love it here. All sort of shops are found iin every other block. There are kioscos selling snacks and drinks, locutorios which offered telephone cabins and computers for internet use, stationery shops, laundries, clothing stores, garages, butcheries, pastry shops, grocery stores, hair-dressers, video-rentals, supermarkets, photo studios… everything was available. You never needed to go far to get something you want.

And what is best about the city is that it is a city that never sleeps. Late at night, many restaurants and cafés stay open. People show up for dinner at 11pm. And to us tourists, things now are cheaper. For example, a bife, and not just any bife: a thick, juicy slap of delicious beef steak, costs a little more than US$1 to US$3.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 09 - 10 november 2002

I hung out with Francisca over the weekend, meeting her friend, her friend’s mom and then, her family. I had never been hugged so hard in my life, thanks to Francisca’s grandmother. Gosh, Argentinians are simply so passionate and wonderful. I felt great to have made the decision to stay longer here in Buenos Aires.