My parents and brother left for the US of A on the 29th of December, and I was very sad to see them go. Although I'm "independent" now, I still like having them around. We got on particularly well this trip, perhaps because we were all aware that we only had 19 days to spend together, and none of us wanted to spend that time arguing. Also because we weren't together long enough to really get on each other's nerves!
We got to the airport and waited for them to check in...and waited and waited and waited, drank a cup of coffee, figured out the equation for cold fusion, waited some more, and 45 minutes later they were done. The people behind them in the queue (which was half the length of the airport by that stage, and Ezeiza is no tin shed) actually applauded as they finished. I shed a tear or two as they went through the door to the departure gates but I got over it pretty quickly - within half an hour I was already planning all the sightseeing I was going to do now that they were gone.
The 30th my aunt, uncle, two cousins and I left for Ostende, another beach holiday (yaaaaaaaaay). I can't explain how good all the sun exposure felt after so many months in Ireland. You don't even realise how depressing it is until you see sunshine and remember what normality feels like. I love Dublin to bits, but the weather could certainly use some improvement.
The idea of this holiday (for me) was to finally relax from all the Christmas madness (lots of flopping on the beach involved) and get in some proper conversations. Plus to spend New Year's Eve by the beach, which is a totally cool idea. No matter how hard you try and how great your party is, you just can't beat Mother Nature, which (to me at least) is a simultaneously depressing and uplifting idea. We stayed at the "Viejo Hostel Ostende", a totally historic hotel which can claim that Antoine de Saint-Exupery, the author of "The Little Prince" once stayed there. It has its own restaurant by the beach, and the architecture of the hotel itself is lovely.
I immediately began working on my first trip objective (flopping lazily on the beach) with gusto. We did little over the next days other than sleep, eat, flop on the beach and talk, puncuated by small dips in the ocean (watch out for the jellyfish). The 31st we ate a delicious dinner at the hotel, then headed down to the beach for champagne at midnight, which was magical. The Argentines have a tradition of making hot-air-balloon type things out of paper, which are beautiful to see when they work, and funny to see when they hold on to them too long and they burn up close to the ground. We all danced together, put on silly hats, and generally had a good time, until about 02:00 when Maru and I (under strict instructions from my cousin Anita's husband Daniel) went clubbing in nearby Pinamar.
First port of call was the main corner in Pinamar, waiting for one of the guys with discount cards to take notice of us. This was more difficult than it sounds given that there were probably more people there at 02:00 than there were at 14:00 the previous day. We stood there like stunned mullets for some minutes before we realised we'd have a better success rate with less clothes on. Off with our jackets therefore, and as we suspected, with a little cleavage the process became significantly easier. Almost within seconds a hottie with brown curly hair gave us cards for a club called Ku. Off we trotted therefore to Ku, which was huge - five different dance floors all playing different music. We danced the night away and I did some international relations work with a Peruvian cutie - learning to get along with people from different countries is important for world peace and international harmony and all that stuff, right? Maru and I got back to the hotel about 06:00 and fell directly into bed.
The next day involved yet more flopping around on the beach, and for dinner we went to nearby Mar de las Pampas, where another aunt and uncle, cousin, his wife and her parents were staying. It was great seeing them again. First of all Maru, Caro (my cousin Gus's wife) and I went for a good long walk along the beach. This was a good idea taking into consideration the volume and fat content of food consumed over the Christmas/New Year period, and the mountain of food we were about to eat. We excercised our bodies, but mainly our mouths, for a good hour. After, Maru and I stayed on the beach for a bit more chatting before heading back to the food mountain (a parrillada, which is basically an oh-so-yummy meat fest). The night was balmy, the conversation was tranquil, we just basically took things easy until it was time to go home. Every time I have to say goodbye to someone for the last time it breaks my heart a little, but at least this time I know it won't be so long before I come back, now that I can get to Baires under my own steam. And it's basically on my way home from Europe! Ahem, well, kind of. But close enough.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Christmas in the Southern Hemisphere
As I've said before, spending Christmas with my family was one of the things I was looking forward to most about this South American sojourn. I'm not really a big Christmas person: I hate Christmas trees (pine needles everywhere and garish lights); the crass commercialism drives me insane; you can't go to the supermarket for a loaf of bread without being subjected to Bing Crosby's "White Christmas"; and anyway I'm not religious and don't believe in God so to me the whole Jesus aspect of it is simply a nice story. But love it or hate it, Christmas is a time for family - about remembering that these people are connected to you in a special way (though sometimes we wish they weren't), that family is important, that we should all try to take better care of each other and all sorts of other warm and fuzzy things. So I always miss my family most at Christmas, and wish we didn't have to be so far away. This time, we weren't.
In South America (and most Western European countries barring the UK and ROI), the big day for Christmas is the 24th, not 25th. Thus late afternoon on the 24th of December we headed over to my cousin Carla's house in Morón where the Mendes Viegas side of the family (mum's side) was uniting. As is usual for any Argentine gathering, especially at Christmas, there were mountains of food including a delicious matambre made by my abuela Patricia, who makes the best matambre in the universe (I swear). We all ate and talked and later danced, and generally had a good time. Sebastian (Carla's husband) had bought a ton of fireworks so we had our own private display, which I quite enjoyed once I had gotten over being scared by the loud bangs. Santa came to visit, and even brought me a bunch of stuff which I was so not expecting including a sheep shaped CD holder and a book of short stories in Spanish (which is just what I need to practise). Then more talking and dancing and fun 'till bedtime.
Next day was to be spent at my aunt and uncle's Quinta (weekend house). Luckily the weather was gorgeous and we had a relaxing day by the pool, with yet more food (of course, what do you think this is). What could be better than feeling the sun beat down on your back, toes dipped in the pool, sipping mate and chatting with the cousins you haven't seen in eight years? I tried to catch up with as many people as possible, but the madness of Christmas, the amount of people, and my still far from perfect Spanish made it difficult to have a proper conversation with anybody. We finally got Mariano to sing for us at dusk (he's a professional singer) which was totally awesome - particularly good was the snippet of "The Magic Flute" which he executed with style and perfect German (he speaks like 5 languages). Finally it was time to say goodbye, which is always sad, but at least I have the memories of a great day.
In South America (and most Western European countries barring the UK and ROI), the big day for Christmas is the 24th, not 25th. Thus late afternoon on the 24th of December we headed over to my cousin Carla's house in Morón where the Mendes Viegas side of the family (mum's side) was uniting. As is usual for any Argentine gathering, especially at Christmas, there were mountains of food including a delicious matambre made by my abuela Patricia, who makes the best matambre in the universe (I swear). We all ate and talked and later danced, and generally had a good time. Sebastian (Carla's husband) had bought a ton of fireworks so we had our own private display, which I quite enjoyed once I had gotten over being scared by the loud bangs. Santa came to visit, and even brought me a bunch of stuff which I was so not expecting including a sheep shaped CD holder and a book of short stories in Spanish (which is just what I need to practise). Then more talking and dancing and fun 'till bedtime.
Next day was to be spent at my aunt and uncle's Quinta (weekend house). Luckily the weather was gorgeous and we had a relaxing day by the pool, with yet more food (of course, what do you think this is). What could be better than feeling the sun beat down on your back, toes dipped in the pool, sipping mate and chatting with the cousins you haven't seen in eight years? I tried to catch up with as many people as possible, but the madness of Christmas, the amount of people, and my still far from perfect Spanish made it difficult to have a proper conversation with anybody. We finally got Mariano to sing for us at dusk (he's a professional singer) which was totally awesome - particularly good was the snippet of "The Magic Flute" which he executed with style and perfect German (he speaks like 5 languages). Finally it was time to say goodbye, which is always sad, but at least I have the memories of a great day.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Iguazu - rushing water, refreshing beverages, and Russian literature
After "Gesell" we had one day to gather our strength, then mum, dad, Miro and I were on the road again (well, in the air really), this time to Puerto Iguazu, in Misiones, right at the top of Argentina, on the Brasilian border. The reason people flock to Iguazu? The widest falls in the world. I'd already been last time I was in Argentina ('97), so I would have preferred to go to Cordoba or Mendoza or Bariloche, but Iguazu's not bad for a plan B eh? Dad had never seen the falls despite living in Argentina for about 40 years (weird, huh?).
We stayed in a very nice hotel, which totally made me appreciate travelling with my parents - when I go solo I'm always staying in the cheapest, crappiest places available. We spent our first afternoon lazing both in and by the pool, as we got to Iguazu too late to make it to the falls. Someone, who also happens ot be the writer of the blog you are now wasting time reading (get back to work, Maru!) had the absolutely brilliant idea of ordering caipirinhas to sip poolside at dusk. For those unfamiliar with this delicious beverage (native to Brasil), basically you take some lime, cut it into quarters, and bash it up with a pile of sugar. Stick the sugary lime into a glass with some crushed ice, and pour over a generous quantity (you can interpret "generous" however you please) of Cachaca, a sort of Brasilian version of rum. Stir, and then add more ice. Now enjoy the yumminess! It's sooo refreshing on a hot, tropical day.
Next morning we were falls-bound, and what a delicious surpise awaited me as our tour guide for the day, Adrian, was quite good-looking! What a pity I was wearing my "I'm on holidays with my parents and therefore couldn't care less how I look" clothes.
Pretty much the first thing we saw when we made it to the park was the Garganta del Diablo (Throat of the Devil) which for me has always been the best part of the falls. The sheer amount of water churning its way down into the humungous abyss is impossible to describe. Even pictures don't do it justice - the speed and volume of the water is just too massive. It was ridiculously hot, so we stood by the Garganta for a while enjoying the spray and being generally awestruck.
Next stop, a walk through the National Park (not quite the Amazon jungle, but close), then a boat ride underneath the falls (clearly not the Garganta del Diablo part, you'd be crushed, but another part). We got saturated from head to toe as if we had stood under the shower with our clothes on, which is exactly what we needed at 13:00 on a stinking hot tropical summer's day. Even more enjoyable was the group of rowdy Italians who were on the boat with us, making cool siren noises, screaming and generally getting into the spirit of things, with infectious results.
Lunch followed and then a bit more of the falls (a bit of a letdown after the morning, but any other day of course we would have been amazed) then back to the bus and the hotel, where we bid Adrian a fond farewell and went straight to the pool for some more lazing about and caipirinhas at dusk (when you've found a winning formula, stick with it).
The plan the next day was to visit the Brasilian side of the falls, but when we heard there'd be a two hour wait at the border, we said, "screw that" and looked for stuff to do in Argentina. We found a bird sanctuary (more interesting than it sounds I promise) and another place where they were supposed to tell you about the culture of the Guarani indigenous population but was really a five minute tour ending in the (various) handicraft stores. I have no problem with capitalism, but that's just rude, luring tourists with promises of cultural enlightenment when the only thing they ever intended to enlighten was your wallet.
Three guesses what we did that afternoon...If you guessed "sat by the pool with yet another round of caipirinhas", you'd be correct! That night we got talking to some other tourists, two Kiwis and a Chilean. I had some hopes that the Kiwi guy would turn out to be somewhat interesting, but as it turned out he had as much depth as a toddler's pool. Though I may be being a little harsh - it's difficult to get into a philosophical or political debate in an antiseptic hotel bar with a girl you met five minutes ago. At least he had an interesting job, restoring old and historic buildings.
Another cool but totally unrelated thing about that trip was that I finally (after over a year) managed to finish "Crime and Punishment". I started it ages ago, got halfway, then left the book on a train or something and never bought it again until I was about to leave Australia for Europe. Thanks to my busy and fascinating life (haha) I didn't manage to begin it again until the plane to Baires. Once again I got halfway through before getting swept up in the madness that is my extended family, and I couldn't get five minutes to read until we made it to Iguazu. But finish it I did, and although the ending was weak (I expected better Mr. Dostoevsky) it was a totally fascinating take on the criminal mind and the Russian society of the day. The edition I read (Vintage Classics, 1993, translated and annotated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky) had really interesting and detailed notes too, which always makes life more fun, if more frustrating, flipping backwards and forwards through the book.
Next day we bid farewell to the stinking heat and 95% humidity of Iguazu and returned again to the slightly smelly heat and 90% humidity of Baires.
We stayed in a very nice hotel, which totally made me appreciate travelling with my parents - when I go solo I'm always staying in the cheapest, crappiest places available. We spent our first afternoon lazing both in and by the pool, as we got to Iguazu too late to make it to the falls. Someone, who also happens ot be the writer of the blog you are now wasting time reading (get back to work, Maru!) had the absolutely brilliant idea of ordering caipirinhas to sip poolside at dusk. For those unfamiliar with this delicious beverage (native to Brasil), basically you take some lime, cut it into quarters, and bash it up with a pile of sugar. Stick the sugary lime into a glass with some crushed ice, and pour over a generous quantity (you can interpret "generous" however you please) of Cachaca, a sort of Brasilian version of rum. Stir, and then add more ice. Now enjoy the yumminess! It's sooo refreshing on a hot, tropical day.
Next morning we were falls-bound, and what a delicious surpise awaited me as our tour guide for the day, Adrian, was quite good-looking! What a pity I was wearing my "I'm on holidays with my parents and therefore couldn't care less how I look" clothes.
Pretty much the first thing we saw when we made it to the park was the Garganta del Diablo (Throat of the Devil) which for me has always been the best part of the falls. The sheer amount of water churning its way down into the humungous abyss is impossible to describe. Even pictures don't do it justice - the speed and volume of the water is just too massive. It was ridiculously hot, so we stood by the Garganta for a while enjoying the spray and being generally awestruck.
Next stop, a walk through the National Park (not quite the Amazon jungle, but close), then a boat ride underneath the falls (clearly not the Garganta del Diablo part, you'd be crushed, but another part). We got saturated from head to toe as if we had stood under the shower with our clothes on, which is exactly what we needed at 13:00 on a stinking hot tropical summer's day. Even more enjoyable was the group of rowdy Italians who were on the boat with us, making cool siren noises, screaming and generally getting into the spirit of things, with infectious results.
Lunch followed and then a bit more of the falls (a bit of a letdown after the morning, but any other day of course we would have been amazed) then back to the bus and the hotel, where we bid Adrian a fond farewell and went straight to the pool for some more lazing about and caipirinhas at dusk (when you've found a winning formula, stick with it).
The plan the next day was to visit the Brasilian side of the falls, but when we heard there'd be a two hour wait at the border, we said, "screw that" and looked for stuff to do in Argentina. We found a bird sanctuary (more interesting than it sounds I promise) and another place where they were supposed to tell you about the culture of the Guarani indigenous population but was really a five minute tour ending in the (various) handicraft stores. I have no problem with capitalism, but that's just rude, luring tourists with promises of cultural enlightenment when the only thing they ever intended to enlighten was your wallet.
Three guesses what we did that afternoon...If you guessed "sat by the pool with yet another round of caipirinhas", you'd be correct! That night we got talking to some other tourists, two Kiwis and a Chilean. I had some hopes that the Kiwi guy would turn out to be somewhat interesting, but as it turned out he had as much depth as a toddler's pool. Though I may be being a little harsh - it's difficult to get into a philosophical or political debate in an antiseptic hotel bar with a girl you met five minutes ago. At least he had an interesting job, restoring old and historic buildings.
Another cool but totally unrelated thing about that trip was that I finally (after over a year) managed to finish "Crime and Punishment". I started it ages ago, got halfway, then left the book on a train or something and never bought it again until I was about to leave Australia for Europe. Thanks to my busy and fascinating life (haha) I didn't manage to begin it again until the plane to Baires. Once again I got halfway through before getting swept up in the madness that is my extended family, and I couldn't get five minutes to read until we made it to Iguazu. But finish it I did, and although the ending was weak (I expected better Mr. Dostoevsky) it was a totally fascinating take on the criminal mind and the Russian society of the day. The edition I read (Vintage Classics, 1993, translated and annotated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky) had really interesting and detailed notes too, which always makes life more fun, if more frustrating, flipping backwards and forwards through the book.
Next day we bid farewell to the stinking heat and 95% humidity of Iguazu and returned again to the slightly smelly heat and 90% humidity of Baires.
Villa Gesell - the final moments
The last night in Villa Gesell Miro, Clau, Juan and I went out in search of "Gesell"'s one and only Irish pub. We found it, right at the end of the main street - but it was the least Irish Irish pub I had ever seen. There were "Budweiser" signs everywhere, the music was Latin American (which was great, but not particularly in keeping with the theme) and the Guinness was twice as expensive as all the other beer. We therefore proceeded to ignore the lack of Irishness and have a great time anyway. Juan's brother, Santiago, showed up later with a few more friends and we drank, chatted and played pool.
However, the staff at Hook's "Irish" pub were about to throw a massive big rock into our lake of tranquillity, and written on that rock in big, red, capital letters was the word KARAOKE. Now, anyone that knows me knows I love to sing, but a lesser known fact is that I can't stand singing in front of an attentive audience, particularly with a microphone (likely due to two specific microphone-related singing disasters in my youth, which I decline to go into here, for reasons of brevity and embarrassment). Thus I was presented with the same dilemma as always: indulge my love of singing and face potential disaster and a lifetime of cringeing at the memory, or remain seated and gaze longingly at all the people on the stage that didn't give a damn? Thankfully, I chose the former, and even more thankfully, it wasn't a disaster. In fact, everyone in the audience was probably admiring how well I was singing in English (little did they know I'm a native speaker). So brownie points to me for feeling the fear and doing it anyway.
All of us had a go at singing, all of us were pretty awful, but so were the other people in the bar. People who can actually sing don't have to do karaoke, they have recording contracts. (Sometimes even people who should be relegated to karaoke have recording contracts). After the bar staff finally took pity on the population of Villa Gesell and turned off the karaoke machine, we stayed and played pool until they kicked us out (about 06:00). We walked home in the morning light, Juan and I searching fruitlessly for an open hamburger joint, then straight to bed in preparation for a lo-o-o-o-ong car trip home.
However, the staff at Hook's "Irish" pub were about to throw a massive big rock into our lake of tranquillity, and written on that rock in big, red, capital letters was the word KARAOKE. Now, anyone that knows me knows I love to sing, but a lesser known fact is that I can't stand singing in front of an attentive audience, particularly with a microphone (likely due to two specific microphone-related singing disasters in my youth, which I decline to go into here, for reasons of brevity and embarrassment). Thus I was presented with the same dilemma as always: indulge my love of singing and face potential disaster and a lifetime of cringeing at the memory, or remain seated and gaze longingly at all the people on the stage that didn't give a damn? Thankfully, I chose the former, and even more thankfully, it wasn't a disaster. In fact, everyone in the audience was probably admiring how well I was singing in English (little did they know I'm a native speaker). So brownie points to me for feeling the fear and doing it anyway.
All of us had a go at singing, all of us were pretty awful, but so were the other people in the bar. People who can actually sing don't have to do karaoke, they have recording contracts. (Sometimes even people who should be relegated to karaoke have recording contracts). After the bar staff finally took pity on the population of Villa Gesell and turned off the karaoke machine, we stayed and played pool until they kicked us out (about 06:00). We walked home in the morning light, Juan and I searching fruitlessly for an open hamburger joint, then straight to bed in preparation for a lo-o-o-o-ong car trip home.
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