Canada to Patagonia at a Worrying Age

Well, here we are on St Patrick’s Day in the poshest hotel in Tigre, and in keeping with the Irish theme, it’s pouring down. As it has been for two solid days. Still, as they say in Cork – ‘Tis a soft day, thank god’.

When I say posh, I mean seriously posh. It’s a 1930s colonial style villa with an artist in residence. Every time we leave our room someone goes in and tidies up or pops a little cake or two in there. On the first night we had liqueurs named ‘He’ and ‘She’ by each of our beds. Last night we had a fabulous meal here, easily the most expensive I’ve had on the whole journey, although the ale was, as usual, dirt-cheap. Nothing is too much trouble and it’s a fine place to recharge my batteries after 5 months off. (With only 4 weeks left to go, I’m getting seriously concerned about the forces of Real Life currently ranged on the horizon ready to charge down the hill and overwhelm me in a flurry of spreadsheets and crap weather.)

Still, Vicky’s reading her book and getting some proper relaxation in and we have better weather, tango, Uruguay and (fingers crossed) the Boca/River game to look forward to… The planned trip to Salta has, along with The Train to the Clouds, been sidelined for the time-being.

Hope you all have a great day celebrating the fact that there are no snakes (but plenty of stout) in Ireland. Here’s to Jimmy Johnstone…

Altogether now “By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young girl calling…”

Monday

SA transport triumphs as usual with a three hour ‘re-scheduling’ from BA to Iguazu. This means the planned preparation for doing the full moon trip was delayed. The danger that this might not happen was too scary to contemplate, given that Vicky’s timing and my 5 months of planning had led to Full Moon at the Falls. However, arrival indicated that we could go, but that we should book transport to the park through the hotel, which we did at very great expense. Naturally, we had no cash now and Vic no shoes for tonight’s walk, so we had to rush in and out of town to stock up on essential goods, before rushing around like nutters to be ready for our transport. No swanning around in the pool for us. Good job we’d booked dinner at the Falls rather than trying to fit that in somewhere else.

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Thanks to all who were involved in getting this PC out to me, which allows me to annoy all my fellow passengers by uploading in airports – one of which I’m in now (with Vic) on the way to Iguazu in a no-doubt doomed attempt to get a full moon eyefull of the Falls.

In the meantime in the opposite direction the Perito Moreno glacier is performing fantastically and is live on the telly.

Cath has now reminded me that we were standing on that bit!

Usual SA transport issues again with our flight being ‘rescheduled’ by 3 hours. This after we’d got up early after a late night and rushed to get to the sodding plane. Got it’s hard being on holiday for 6 months.

Anyway point is I won’t be on for a few days as we’re heading for the rainforest, which as far as I know doesn’t yet have wi-fi integral to it’s trees. So all try to help Rob in his quest. I promise, Rob, that I won’t have There Goes Concorde Again by …And The Native Hipsters as a song of the day. That would absolutely drive you mad.

So instead it’s Blue Monday by Tanghetto for today. As you’re a young person, how exactly do we send you tunes?

PS – which Kenny C is that on the last post. A Netherlands tag gives a clue.

…as Rory’s mum put it.

An evening at the Polo Field was promised and delivered in the company of Matt, Richard and Wools/Walls.  And two brothers from Burnage and their mates.

Usual fun getting to the gig.  4 blokes sit in cab and explain their destination.  Cab driver invites us to leave his taxi and wishes us good luck in our endeavours in getting anywhere near the Polo Club.  Next cabbie fine and gets us there no problem. 

Fairly dodgy crush to get in the place, with the organisers funnelling everyone through a tight set of barriers under a railway bridge in a sort of mad effort to prevent a repeat of the Stones’ riot.  Oh well…

Once in usual lack-of-bar scenario was mitigated by the very prompt arrival on stage of ‘Whassis’.  This after three of the four of us had relayed our ‘we met Liam’ stories to the starstruck young girls close by.

Fairly quiet start was livened up with the introduction of, I think, Live Forever and from this point on the band didn’t look back.  A bloke had to calm the crowd after this song as the place was getting dangerously lively, including throwing trainers at the stage.  Noel “There’s some right fookin’ clogs up here.”  Holds up shoe.  “What’s this?  Fookin’ Nike!  You need adidas.”  (Notable that nobody attempted any crowd-pleasing Spanish until a single adios at the end.)

There was one local cultural reference, however, when Liam announced that this next one was for Diego Maradona before launching into a fine rendition of Cigarettes and Alcohol.  Predictable but fun.  Wonderwall was dedicted to ‘The Ladies’.  Screams and swoons all round.  The best live attempt I’ve heard from them.  Another track was dedicated to the people in ‘those flats’ i.e. the very exclusive apartments overlooking the polo pitch.  Liam was further bouyed by the crowd’s homage of ‘Ole. Ole, Ole, Lee-amm, Lee-amm’.

Overall the setting was marvellous with a high and bright waxing moon, brightly lit Metropolis buildings (and suburban trains) in the background and generally good sound, slightly affected by the wind.  Frankly, Liam was at his swaggering rock star best and clearly enjoying the evening.  A regal performance.  Noel was also on form with The Importance of Being Idle and Don’t Look Back in Anger being delivered fantastically.  Sorry this is sounding a bit fan-like, but they were that good.

As is the way these days, they finished with My Generation which was great for the first two and a half minutes but rather self indulgent for the next.  But that is being picky really.  As the concert (and it was a concert) came to an end Liam announced that the crowd had been ‘the bollocks’.  This was true.  He finished by tucking his hands into his jeans and staring at the crowd before taking off his sunglasses.  Twice.  Rare praise indeed.  Fashion watchers note: his jacket was white double-breasted suit with only a chain on beneath it.  I hate it that he can get away with that…

Quick pint afterwards finished with bed at 5am.  Cheers boys (both lots).  Good luck with the rest of your travels.

Song – How Soon is Now – Played in bar during our quiet pint afterwards.

There is no straightforward way to get from A to B in this continent.  Part of the reason that you can never get flights in this particular country is because the locals reserve about ninety each on the off chance they might want to go somewhere at some time.  For a laugh I decided to join in, so went to spend a happy hour reading my book and waiting for my number to come up in the Aerolineas Argentina office.  I reserved a few flights (no-one was actually buying any) and left with a smirk on my face.

However, today I thought I might go and confirm and pay for one of them (for when I leave for Brazil).  AA got their revenge by having a strike yesterday, the result of which is a load of frustrated people queueing to have a go at the bored/moody counter staff.  A result of that is the security guard at the office won’t let people in to queue.  Rather we have to stand outside.  Can’t be arsed so decided to check on any Rory news – everyone fine, Sue now at home, Isis playing with her cousins etc…

Been a bit of a tourist recently.  Tigre is fantastic.  I recommend anyone coming here for a while to take a breather from the city and get the cheapest train in the world (37p return) to this cosy little backwater.  Also visited La Plata (dear to get there – 58p return), a sort of Milton Keynes of Buenos Aires Region in that it was a new town (in 1880) built to house the regional government when BA became the federal capital.  I went for the architecture and was very impressed by the cathedral – the ‘biggest neo-gothic church built in the 20th century’.  Not sure what the competition was.  However, a lot of the turn of the century stuff has been demolished, a fact amply demonstrated by the models of how the town used to look in the museum.  Still, I absolutely made the day of the woman in the tourist office simply by being a foreign visitor.  Which was nice.

Anyway, off to see a couple of miserable Mancunians tonight (if I can track down the ticket – hello Matt) and then await the arrival of her highness on Sunday.  Hopefully, review tomorrow.  Bye.

Track of the day – Saturday Night Beneath The Plastic Palm Trees – The Leighton Buzzards

Welcome Rory (Ruaraidh?) Edward (what was wrong with Ivor Martin?) to the world.  Congratulations Sue and Karl.  I was in an Argentinian cathedral at the time.  I have a small bottle of champagne awaiting me at my hotel.  Pictures hopefully on the way.

In the meantime here are some Argentian ones.

Er, that didn’t quite work out the way intended…

Today I would be mainly listening to Stop The War by Raw Sex, Pure Energy as I saw the changing of the guard at the Malvinas War Memorial today.

Well, as far as I am concerned, I’m now a fully-fledged porteño. I go out late for my tea, try to get a nap in the afternoon, wait without getting upset for the bill, attend a demo most days, watch footy, sit by the obelisk and tango with beautiful women until dawn. (One of those things is not true.)

Apart from one little incident (when I managed to incapacitate 17 of my 20 attackers – Angela underplayed the attack so as not to alarm others) and the madness over trying to get an apartment, everything else has been sweet, at least for a week.

Life got better after my true low ebb about this time last week. I was still recovering from the ‘event’, and extremely unhappy at my failure to land a flat. It was clear I would have to make other arrangements, so I got a list of hotel numbers (BA was full) and sat down to ring them. It was a total failure and with nowhere to sleep that night (and knackered feet from an ill-considered shoe purchase scenario) I was ready to scream at someone. I collected my stuff from the phone cabin and noticed a piece of paper on the floor. It wasn’t mine, but it was a flyer, printed from the internet, of a hotel (The Pelicano) close to where I was, offering a 20% discount. Could this be the break I was looking for?

I rang the number and asked if there was a room tonight. “Yes, but…” I couldn’t understand what came after the ‘but’ (my Spanglish is even worse over the ‘phone) so said I’d be there shortly. Got to the address and was surprised to see there was no sign outside the hotel.  Thought it must be new.  Good.  I entered and noticed that the lobby was nightclub dark.  However, it’s not that unusual in energy-conscious Argentina to have less light than unsual.  The receptionist peered out from the gloom.  Do you have a room?  “Yes, but…”  And how much is it?  “We do have a room, but…”  Fed up of these buts – Can I look?  The poor exasperated women delved into her best learnt-on-cable English and almost shouted “Boyfriend! Girlfriend!”.  Oh – I see.  We both laughed as I digested the fact that I was trying to book into a Love Hotel that rents by the hour.  For 4 weeks.

Although it was another little slap, it was actually the moment when things started to go right again, and I hope she has luck for making me smile (even if a little ruefully).  Since soon after that moment everything got cool.

What is decidedly uncool is the death of Ivor Cutler, a genius and yet another one of my small band of hereos to die.  His quote below is a message to which we can all adhere, I’m sure (except for the bit about loud pop music, obviously).

“When I do die I shall be glad to get away from loud pop music and motor cars, but I shall miss – insofar as when one is dead one can miss anything – the beautiful kindnesses of those people to whom courtesy comes naturally. Unfortunately there are fewer of those people than of the other kind who deal with their problems in a very anti-social way.”

Today’s tune is Pellets by Ivor.

Cath taps an unpleasant aspect of the glorious country of Peru with her NCP car park comparison.

There are parts of Peru (particularly high in the Andes) that, in the way the queen is meant to smell of walnuts, Sven Goran Erikson of parma violets and Richard Branson of merde, smell undoubtedly of wee.

Cath is being charitable when she claims that the lack of public toilets is to blame. Cath, exactly how many public toilets have you seen in the whole of South America? Exactly. If this were the explanation, the whole continent would stink like the queen mother used to. And it doesn’t.

No the odour has another cause and I believe I was given an insight into it just over the border in Copacabana.

I was sitting by the dockside resting my piles when one of those colourful bowler-hatted ladies with voluminous skirts approached carrying a bag of lama wool the size of a wheelie bin.  She asked if I would keep an eye on her sizeable burden while she went off on some unexplained little errand.

She didn’t move far.  She went approximately 3 metres to position herself behind a temporarily unmanned ice-cream cart (where was the owner?). Once sure of the suitability of her spot she hitched up those brightly coloured layers of clothes, made a little adjustment and went for a number one directly in front of me, her copious micturate swirling around the wheels of the ice-cream cart.

This, I believe, is accepted behaviour high in the mountains and is the true reason why the entire region smells of the entry from Bouverie Street to Garden Lane.

Just felt the need to clear up that little mystery – in order not to unsettle delicate stomachs, I won’t describe the sights and smells in the aftermath of New Year’s Eve in one particular corner of Cusco (where Cath is now headed).

On other matters, I have given up on the idea of a flat in San Telmo and now live in digs in town.  Very nice they are.  Should contact be necessary (particularly new nephew news) I’m in room 108 of the Hotel Ailén.  This access number should get you through for 1p per min (0844 861 3232). Then you have to call the number you need. They take messages.

Today is Christopher’s 18th birthday.  I can only assume he is recovering from a late night out.  Happy birthday Chris, and emailed pictures from your new camera would be most welcome.

Happy Birthday to Pat, also, although I know she doesn’t read this.

Off to sort out more stuff. Love etc.

PS Thanks everyone for the emails with your phone numbers. In particular I would like to thank Nobody-at-All, as at least that person does not have a phone number.

Song of the day, Call Me Every Night, Jane Aire and the Belvederes

Er, it’s raining solid here in sunny BA, and all my plans have evaporated – that must be them returning to earth as I write.

Still, all is fine and I will make progress today.

In the meantime, can I ask everyone to email me with their phone numbers (home, work and mobile, where appropriate). Please put ‘Phone Numbers’ in the header. I did have them all in my pc before that went, and was going to log them into the new one when it arrived (Doh!). Will hopefully have a contact number of sorts soon. Then when I get a chance I’ll bore everyone senseless with the tale of how I didn’t get a flat in Buenos Aires.

In the meantime Bone O’Vox was shameless in his Argentine performance and I see that if you don’t sign the Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty then you get all the raw materials you need (silly Iran, clever India). Crazy World!

Not Buenos Aires – cheers John

Off to Luna Park where every Porteño indie kid and his chica (and a fair few uncles) gathered to witness a pop concert by drain-piped funsters Franz Ferdinand.

First point of note was that there was no bar.  An almost novel experience (for me) then of no ale at a gig.  I think the last time that happened was The Skids matinee performance at Eric’s c1979.  Second they played a Queen song prior to the start.  Why?

Still everyone was very excited as the boys slid onto the stage.  Initial impression is that they looked tired, particularly the bassist.  (It turned out later that he was grumpy for some reason and he was goaded by Alex into livening himself up a bit when Take Me Out was played.)

Anyway, after a song off the new album they started to get into it, the first stand out track being Dark of The Matinee.  After that (and the occasional muchos gracias), Alex had the crowd in the palm of his hand.  He really geed the others up and gave a charming solo performance, frankly.  Not to say the others weren’t necessary or excellent, he was just the head-and-shoulders entertainer of the mob.

They finished the first part off with Michael, probably my favourite track of theirs and very good it was as well.

Jacqueline was the first of the encores and I was able to ruminate on how much better on holiday things are.  Next some more second album stuff (never received as well as the first), but a fairly remarkable 3-men and a drum kit interlude got everyone going again in time for the finale of This Fire.  What one might call a barnstorming rendition.

All very good and just what the doctor ordered for me (on many levels).  There are a couple of things I might return to, but need to get off to sort out a couple of (other) things now…

Thanks for all your goodwill, again.