Canada to Patagonia at a Worrying Age

It’s Friday and the start of the weekend, so I thought I’d take it easy. Spent the morning writing and reading before out to try the oysters previously mentioned (although, like wool, bacon and sodomy, they are banned in the Old Testament). You were right Mike – they were divine. Did you have any to accompany your champagne at Aintree today? What made them better was the fact that the fisherman were bringing the pots in as I ate. Three quid for a dozen and a beer. Why am I leaving?

For leaving, I am. It is ridiculously lovely here, but I’ve got itchy feet and fancy a trip up the coast and the chance to argue properly with the idiots at British Airways in Sao Paulo before being crammed into a space that would be deemed illegal for a veal calf. Also, I fancy a bit of time in a city before leaving.

Reading material has again been provided by Graham Greene, Brighton Rock and Travels With My Aunt.  Bookends of his career in some senses, with the latter being autobiographical, perhaps more so than his autobiography.  A great author to read while in South America as he travelled extensively here.  Little quote worth having for the purpose of this diary, entirely out of context, but still,

“He travelled…all through his life.  New landscapes, new customs.  The accumulation of memories.  A long life is not a question of years.  A man without memories might reach the age of a hundred and feel that his life had been a brief one.”

So, it’s off to find some more.

[I did also read Gridlock.  What an embarrasment.  This must have been the time when Ben Elton started to go wrong.  Or maybe he was never funny.  Suspect we’ll never say the same of Peter Kaye (although we will about Ricky Gervais).]

Happy birthday to Alexander, by the way. Can it really be four years since the St Charlotte’s dash? I fear it is.

Song of the day – Oh! You Pretty Things, Seu Jorge.

Well, here I am tapping away on the balcony of my lovely pousada as the sun sets, drinking a can of beer and listening to 5 live go on about some French team beating Juventus when the real news is that Celtic have won the SPL.  All a bit bizarre.

Just got back from a couple of days on the other side of the island at a surfing beach known as Praia Mole.  All extremely nice and the surf was up, although not sufficiently to produce decent tubes, so I didn’t bother waxing my board and showing the locals how it is done.

Had planned to do a review of restaurants here, but it’s probably a bit boring if you’re not me.  Still, suffice to say that at the first one I ordered a half-carafe of wine and got a pint.  I didn’t complain.  At the second one I got crab at the suggestion of the waiter, who drew one for me to help explain the menu.  I tipped well.  The next day, as I was getting on the wrong bus, he was getting off it.  He put me right.  Kismet?  Karma?  Good luck?  Who knows, but the power of positive tipping remains a theme of this holiday…

Night three was a hotel meal with me as the only customer.  I understood when I got the meal and the bill.  Last night I ended up in a sort of Mongolian Barbecue themed Italian.  You chose your pasta and then had to make the sauce of your choice from a  list of ingredients.  Not sure it’ll take off.  Back to seafood tonight and plan to take it easy tomorrow, with perhaps half a dozen oysters (£2.50) at lunch tomorrow.

Slight problem is that I’m currently in a state of sunburn to my thighs and back.  Will this hell never end?  Answer: yes, in only 11 days time.  I see the temperature nearly reached double figures in London today.  Woe is me.

PS  My stay in a hotel in Praia Mole enabled me to catch up with my favourite satirical tv station.  It’s dead funny.  They have these really inept presenters who pretend that the war in Iraq (sorry – ‘The War On Terror’) is going to plan and that Tom Delay’s resignation is a blow to the Democrats.  You should see their coverage of the French demonstrations.  It’s hilarious and you should watch it some time.  It’s called Fox News – I do think they go a bit far though with their racist skits, though.  Some people might switch on and think they mean it!

TTFN (If you know your history…)

Something’s Got a Hold of My Heart(s) SOTD BTW

PPS – on that van with my name on heading for Wrexham. You didn’t see nuffin’, right?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQjeJ2oe30k&search=boca%20river

Just thought you should know…

PS Fame at last! Go to the following link for something you’ve already read (JK Old Firm?  Mike Wrexham?  JB er Leeds/Barnsley? Ha Ha Ha)…

http://www.footballderbies.com/reports/report.php?id=592

It strikes me that I’ve said goodbye to 4 people in 4 days, although I hope to see all again in the not too distant future.  Graham Greene, in Ways of Escape, offers loads of parallels and quotes.

Bye bye to Buenos Aires and everything it offers.  Food, drink, football, demos, tango and taxis.

Came across all last night as I said goodbye to Paul (who I met on New Year’s Eve in Cusco).  Had a meal and a drink, witnessed some tango singing, trip over two demonstrations and the telly was showing bits of Sunday’s game when I got in.  OK, I avoided the black and yellow lottery (otherwise known as hailing a cab), but a fairly typical night for all that. 

From tomorrow my Spanglish will be fairly useless.  From there on in, it will be Portuglish, although plans to practice it on the Varig plane home have been cancelled as I’ve been switched to British Airways.  Expect bad service and rubbish queues at check-in.  Of course, I should never have expected to finish the trip on an uncomplicated, well-timed flight (and I’ve still got to get to Sao Paulo from Florianopolis).

In the meantime it’s farewell to BA after a month here.  Despite the obvious downer at the beginning everything has been great about my favourite world city.

Off to pack my bag and sort out my final bits and pieces.  Danger of limited availability of the right kinds of technology in Floripa, so be aware there may be less activity from my end.

Fnarr, fnarr from KC below. 

Last night deliberately low key with a martini at the Claridge and, avoiding the prostitute touts, a wander back to the Ailen via the Obelisco.  Thought I’d have a quiet can of Quilmes, but of course there was a demo going on.  There are three current top notch demo reasons in BA.  Pension theft, the Disappeared and the victims of the Cromagnon disaster in 2004.  Tonight was a twist on the latter with fans of the band that were playing on the night demonstrating their solidarity with the victims, but also their affinity to the group, which has been prevented from gigging ever since, most recently because a father of one of the victims threatened the band with death on stage.  Such is life here in Argentina.  Sad to leave.

Have fun.

Apropos Mike’s plea, I found this in the desert.  Turns out that it is a shrine built specifically for this season’s relegation struggle (or was it an old one celebrating previous doomed campaigns?).  Anyway, if you touch the screen and chant the magic words “Bob Delgado” only good things can happen.

On other matters, that Vicky will be home by now so I’ll have to struggle on alone – off to see some local bands tonight, then wind down in BA before a well deserved holiday in Brazil.  Then, before you know it, I’ll be back in the land of warm beer and cold rain.  Can’t wait.

This is fresh – wanted to put it on tonight as I’m still buzzing and can’t sleep. Forgive any mistakes.  (Yes, this is Diego Maradona taunting the opposition fans.  Picture courtesy of Andrew’s fantastic zoom lens.)

Well, the day started in quintessential South American fashion when we managed to be both late and early at the same time. Late because the tour company turned up an hour after they were meant to. As there were still three hours before kick off we thought that lunch would be useful. No chance. Hot-footed it to the ground and took our seats two and three-quarter hours before the match. Two and three-quarter hours before the match. Still, they laid on pre-match entertainment in the form of Boca v River Under-21s. A good game, as it happens, with the result being 4-2 to Boca. It was also the time when the build up was allowed to get going (and it gave Vicky a chance to put on her make-up). Our seats were really high up within abuse-shouting distance of the away fans. And boy did they shout abuse. Just in case we couldn’t understand, they made helpful gesticulations generally involving slashing movements and the gripping of genitals. I don’t see how they could make such comments about my mother without ever having known the lady (especially with today being Mother’s Day).  Maradona appeared in his box and caused the usual kerfuffle.

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Is Boca Juniors vs River Plate at Boca.  We have tickets.  That is all.

One and five are the best…

As usual here is the place to go

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28108075@N00/117479901/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28108075@N00/117479903/

On account of seeing McDonald’s window being staved in (again), have to go for I Predict a Riot.

All in all a great demonstration asking the nation as a whole not to forget the time of the junta and the disappearences.  One particularly great trick was to get women in custody pregnant, have them deliver their babies and then steal them for their own families before disposing of the women in the River Plate.  Bad enough as it is, but now the grandparents want their grandchildren back.  Not fun for the kids.  Sobering and all, but deserves to be mentioned…

…so all I’ll say is that it was something of a lavish production and they could sing loud and in tune. And, as is the norm in opera, the woman died at the end. Oh, and our £100 seats had a restricted view, unless you are Vicky and you shift the previous occupants of the front box seats at the interval. (The interval, by the way, was one of those ‘tip the bloke’ moments. All tables were already reserved when I ordered our half time champagne – yes, Cath, I am a flashpacker. However, the waiter organised an extra one from out of thin air by the time we got out.)

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Well, it’s been a few days, so quick update and hopefully pictures.

Tigre was gorgeous, but wet. Buenos Aires (again) has been just right, even if the presence of Victoria means a Tango overdose, although like a concerned father, I’m able to drop her off and pick her up at the end (and cross my fingers she hasn’t been talking to any of those sultry dancing men).

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