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| They think it's all over...it is now! Thanks for reading. Next instalment will follow some time this summer. |
Wednesday, 21 March 2012
Newcastle Airport, England
Monday, 19 March 2012
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Rio. All human life is here. And very lively it is too. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but this place never even sits down. In a way it’s quite like New York, or Las Vegas – it’s just like you imagine it, and it does exactly what it says on the tin, from the moment you arrive. See photos.
The bus from Buenos Aires to Rio takes fully 48 hours. So you’ll be pleased to know that I went by plane instead. (It was my first time flying with Emirates and they have immediately attained Favourite Airline status. Recommended to one and all.)
I’m now staying in a district called Laranjeiras. I got my hair cut shortly after arriving: the barber didn’t speak English or Spanish, and like most tourists here I haven’t bothered to learn a word of Portugese, but fortunately my particular hairdressing needs are very easy to communicate in sign language. In lieu of mid-haircut conversation, the barber plonked an issue of Playboy into my lap for me to read. I’m more of a Spectator man personally, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so while he shaved my head I duly leafed through some interesting examples of the same techniques applied elsewhere.
South America has been a blast, and I don’t just mean watching ‘South Park’ dubbed in Spanish, or the amusing snap-crackle-pop you get every time you plug anything into a socket. I know this blog has sometimes been a bit sour over the past two months, and certainly all along I’ve been missing home and looking forward to seeing everyone again, but there genuinely hasn’t been any time at which I’ve ever felt like I actually wanted to be at home instead. And even the low points – cold places with no heating, hot places with no aircon, dodgy buses, dodgier bus stations, several bedbugs, more than one cockroach, that bloody guinea pig – become amusing and character-forming memories with the benefit of hindsight. I don’t have any regrets, just a list of places I missed this time that I intend to come back and visit within a couple of years, and indeed a list of places I did visit that I'm definitely going to return to one day; and also a resolution that next time I’m bringing a proper camera with me.
In the meantime, tomorrow I'm going for one last stroll down the Copacabana, one last look up at the statue of Christ the Redeemer, and one last ice cream. For the road.
The bus from Buenos Aires to Rio takes fully 48 hours. So you’ll be pleased to know that I went by plane instead. (It was my first time flying with Emirates and they have immediately attained Favourite Airline status. Recommended to one and all.)
I’m now staying in a district called Laranjeiras. I got my hair cut shortly after arriving: the barber didn’t speak English or Spanish, and like most tourists here I haven’t bothered to learn a word of Portugese, but fortunately my particular hairdressing needs are very easy to communicate in sign language. In lieu of mid-haircut conversation, the barber plonked an issue of Playboy into my lap for me to read. I’m more of a Spectator man personally, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so while he shaved my head I duly leafed through some interesting examples of the same techniques applied elsewhere.
South America has been a blast, and I don’t just mean watching ‘South Park’ dubbed in Spanish, or the amusing snap-crackle-pop you get every time you plug anything into a socket. I know this blog has sometimes been a bit sour over the past two months, and certainly all along I’ve been missing home and looking forward to seeing everyone again, but there genuinely hasn’t been any time at which I’ve ever felt like I actually wanted to be at home instead. And even the low points – cold places with no heating, hot places with no aircon, dodgy buses, dodgier bus stations, several bedbugs, more than one cockroach, that bloody guinea pig – become amusing and character-forming memories with the benefit of hindsight. I don’t have any regrets, just a list of places I missed this time that I intend to come back and visit within a couple of years, and indeed a list of places I did visit that I'm definitely going to return to one day; and also a resolution that next time I’m bringing a proper camera with me.
In the meantime, tomorrow I'm going for one last stroll down the Copacabana, one last look up at the statue of Christ the Redeemer, and one last ice cream. For the road.
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A sandwich bought in the
departure lounge before flying out of Buenos Aires. £5.50!!!
Epic airport fail.
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The Maracana stadium, in the midst of
being rebuilt.
I actually paid about £7 for the privilege of taking this photo.
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This guy was always in a league of his own, ha ha ha ha. See what I did?
(Maracana football museum).
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Somewhere in this picture there may well
be a show girl, whose name is Lola…
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…whereas this picture definitely contains the girl
from Ipanema.
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Looks like this pigeon pulled in Ku club
last night! (Historical Sunderland joke.)
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| The Rio-Niteroi Bridge in the distance. It's 8 miles long. |
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| Rio at sunset, as seen from across the harbour in Niteroi. The statue of Christ is atop the high peak on the left. |
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| Jesus Christ! |
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| Rio at sunset, from Sugar Loaf Mountain |
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| Rio at night, from Sugar Loaf Mountain. Please just squint and imagine this was taken with a good camera. I did my best. |
Friday, 16 March 2012
Buenos Aires, Argentina (again)
After two nights in Montevideo I came back to Buenos Aires the same way I’d gone out. A late highlight of this journey was the sunset visible from the ferry: I don’t think I’ve ever before seen a sunset completely unobscured by clouds. As always, neither my camera nor my photography skills were equal to the event, but see photos anyway.
Having now spent more than a week in Buenos Aires, across two visits, I think the place is definitely growing on me. If I were to stick around here for another week then it might well ascend into my top ten favourite cities worldwide. There are a few difficulties: the heat and humidity are oppressive for a sweaty pale-skinned gringo like me, and also like all big cities it can be very rough and ready in places. I’ve been verbally abused in the street twice, once by a tramp for not giving him a hand to help him stand up, and once by a drunk for not giving him a drink from my bottle of water. My conscience is clear: the tramp stank of piss, and the drunk had just been vomiting copiously against a wall, so I think I was more than justified on both counts.
I’m now fully au fait with the subway system, which is dirty and hot and sweaty but ridiculously cheap (you pay about 40p to get into the system and that gets you anywhere, you can change lines as many times you like). At one point I found myself a few yards from the Once train station, where a train crash killed 51 people just a few weeks ago. I didn’t go in for a look. I did visit Ground Zero when I was in New York a few years ago, because the historical significance of the place was undeniable, and also because that site was being prepared for consecration and so I thought it was not inappropriate to pay my respects. But to have gone nosing round the crash site at Once would have just been macabre.
My daily diet continues to consist of steaks…and not a whole lot else, apart from jam on toast at the hostel for breakfast. And a lot of ice cream. Ice cream has become something of a passion, indeed an addiction, for me in recent weeks. However I’m confident that I’ll be able to kick the habit when I’m back in England, shivering and getting rained on.
One last thing: at the bottom of today’s photos is a short video compilation of the clips I’ve filmed out of bus windows during this trip. I found it really hard to get good photos when shooting out of a window, but a bit of motion blur and window glare doesn’t matter too much in a video. Apologies for the low-res format – this website insists on cutting me down to size - it's best viewed as it is, rather than going full-screen. However HD versions of this and my earlier Boca Juniors video are available to download here.
Having now spent more than a week in Buenos Aires, across two visits, I think the place is definitely growing on me. If I were to stick around here for another week then it might well ascend into my top ten favourite cities worldwide. There are a few difficulties: the heat and humidity are oppressive for a sweaty pale-skinned gringo like me, and also like all big cities it can be very rough and ready in places. I’ve been verbally abused in the street twice, once by a tramp for not giving him a hand to help him stand up, and once by a drunk for not giving him a drink from my bottle of water. My conscience is clear: the tramp stank of piss, and the drunk had just been vomiting copiously against a wall, so I think I was more than justified on both counts.
I’m now fully au fait with the subway system, which is dirty and hot and sweaty but ridiculously cheap (you pay about 40p to get into the system and that gets you anywhere, you can change lines as many times you like). At one point I found myself a few yards from the Once train station, where a train crash killed 51 people just a few weeks ago. I didn’t go in for a look. I did visit Ground Zero when I was in New York a few years ago, because the historical significance of the place was undeniable, and also because that site was being prepared for consecration and so I thought it was not inappropriate to pay my respects. But to have gone nosing round the crash site at Once would have just been macabre.
My daily diet continues to consist of steaks…and not a whole lot else, apart from jam on toast at the hostel for breakfast. And a lot of ice cream. Ice cream has become something of a passion, indeed an addiction, for me in recent weeks. However I’m confident that I’ll be able to kick the habit when I’m back in England, shivering and getting rained on.
One last thing: at the bottom of today’s photos is a short video compilation of the clips I’ve filmed out of bus windows during this trip. I found it really hard to get good photos when shooting out of a window, but a bit of motion blur and window glare doesn’t matter too much in a video. Apologies for the low-res format – this website insists on cutting me down to size - it's best viewed as it is, rather than going full-screen. However HD versions of this and my earlier Boca Juniors video are available to download here.
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| Amusingly, this is actually where you go to book a bus. |
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| Constitución train station |
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| Sunset over the River Plate. The six photos cover no more than about 2 minutes. |
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| Argentine National Congress |
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| A T-bone steak at La Brigada, one of the best parrillas in Buenos Aires. About £26 for the meat. Chips & stuff are extra. |
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| ...5 minutes later... |
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| As far as signed & personally dedicated posters go, that's definitely above average (La Brigada again) |
Tuesday, 13 March 2012
Montevideo, Uruguay
I took a trip across the placid and muddy River Plate, from Buenos Aires to Colonia in Uruguay. My wallet having been dented by a few rather expensive nights out in Argentina’s capital (one late-night rum & coke, sitting outdoors in a San Telmo plaza, cost me the equivalent of £6), I decided I’d take the cheaper and slower 3-hour boat rather than the speedier and pricier 1-hour boat.
The subsequent bus ride was about two and a half hours, which would normally be a drag, but compared to some of my other journeys in the past two months it was over in a flash. What was definitely a drag, however, was getting up for the ferry at 7am after going to bed drunk and sweaty at 6am. This rock’n’roll lifestyle has its drawbacks.
Uruguay is a small and perhaps rather nondescript country, but it’s a successful one, and not just at football (with a population of just 3.5 million or so, they’ve won two World Cups, and more Copa Americas than Brazil). The bus ride passed through many affluent-looking towns, with neatly-trimmed grass verges of a kind I’ve seen nowhere else in South America.
Having had just one hour’s sleep before the trip, I didn’t get much done on the day I arrived, which was Sunday. My one full day in Montevideo was Monday and it rained torrentially almost all day. Such is life. The highlight of my visit was a trip to the Estadio Centenario, which is the home ground of Penarol, Uruguay’s most successful club side, but more significantly it’s the ground on which Uruguay hosted and won the first ever World Cup, in 1930. There’s a Museo del Futbol there, as you might expect. See photos.
By the way, the promise in my last blog - to not talk about football - has been postponed until next time. Apologies!
The subsequent bus ride was about two and a half hours, which would normally be a drag, but compared to some of my other journeys in the past two months it was over in a flash. What was definitely a drag, however, was getting up for the ferry at 7am after going to bed drunk and sweaty at 6am. This rock’n’roll lifestyle has its drawbacks.
Uruguay is a small and perhaps rather nondescript country, but it’s a successful one, and not just at football (with a population of just 3.5 million or so, they’ve won two World Cups, and more Copa Americas than Brazil). The bus ride passed through many affluent-looking towns, with neatly-trimmed grass verges of a kind I’ve seen nowhere else in South America.
Having had just one hour’s sleep before the trip, I didn’t get much done on the day I arrived, which was Sunday. My one full day in Montevideo was Monday and it rained torrentially almost all day. Such is life. The highlight of my visit was a trip to the Estadio Centenario, which is the home ground of Penarol, Uruguay’s most successful club side, but more significantly it’s the ground on which Uruguay hosted and won the first ever World Cup, in 1930. There’s a Museo del Futbol there, as you might expect. See photos.
By the way, the promise in my last blog - to not talk about football - has been postponed until next time. Apologies!
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| Passing the Buenos Aires Yacht Club (some serious money there) on the ferry out into the River Plate |
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| Plaza Independencia, Montevideo |
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| Estadio Centenario, Montevideo |
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| It strikes me that the haircuts in these photos aren't quite as embarrassing as those in a typical English squad photo of the same vintage. Apart from the goalkeeper in the bottom photo, who looks like a bouncer at a Black Sabbath gig. |
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| The matchball from the Uruguay-Ghana World Cup quarter final in 2010. In other words, the ball Asamoah Gyan famously skied over the bar... With hindsight I wish it had bounced back off the crossbar and knocked his disloyal, spoilt, money-grabbing little head off. |
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| Apparently footballs looked like this in the 20s and 30s. |
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| Montevideo, from the top of the Palacio Salvo |
Sunday, 11 March 2012
Buenos Aires, Argentina (continued)
Things have certainly livened up a bit in the last few days. After spending most of this trip’s evenings just minding my own business, and reading books on my Kindle, Buenos Aires is proving to be a very different scene and I’ve now been out on the lash for five consecutive nights. Good practice for when I get home!
Last night five of us went to a fairly famous steakhouse called Siga La Vaca (‘follow the cow’), in one of the posh parts of town, by the docks. For about £20 each it was ‘all you can eat’, not just on the salad bar but also on the grill – and what a grill it was. All washed down with copious quantities of lovely Mendoza wine. Various bars and clubs afterwards, and I didn’t get in until 6am this morning.
Having seen Boca Juniors the other night, I would have loved to have seen River Plate too, even if it meant attending a second division match, but the fixture list didn’t smile on my schedule. I settled for a daytime visit to their stadium and a purchase of suitably stylish clothing from the club shop, to complement the equally stylish Boca Juniors T-shirt I’ve already got.
Another interesting little outing – and apologies for the persistent football theme – was to visit a place I noticed by chance on Google Maps, namely, the Sunderland Club in north-west Buenos Aires. This is a local sporting, social and tango-dancing club, which competes locally at football and basketball, among other things. It was founded in 1921 by a group of local youngsters: they approached a rich English expat called Mr Pitt, and he agreed to fund the club if he could be allowed to name it. The kids said yes and thus the Sunderland Club was born. I haven’t been able to find any details about this Mr Pitt but it seems plain where his loyalties lay! I wonder if he was an ancestor of Richie Pitt, an FA Cup winner with Sunderland in 1973?
Anyway I wandered over to this club and introduced myself without too much fanfare. I was wearing a Sunderland training top just to emphasise the point. My Spanish isn’t great, and they didn’t speak any English at all, but it was all very friendly. I got to take photos all around the building, and also I had a lovely plate of chicken and chips. The club is very well-known locally - I was shown photos of visiting dignitaries such as the late Raul Alfonsin, president of Argentina between 1983 and 1989, and also Willem Dafoe, off of films, who popped in for some tango dancing not too long ago.
One more happy football-related note is that I finally met a fellow Mackem on my travels! An Australian chap, but born in Sherburn and a lifelong fan of the red and whites. We watched SAFC 1 Dirty Scousers 0 on ESPN and very pleasing it was too.
I’ve still got plenty to do in Buenos Aires and more updates will follow. I promise they won’t involve Sunderland or football in any way.
Last night five of us went to a fairly famous steakhouse called Siga La Vaca (‘follow the cow’), in one of the posh parts of town, by the docks. For about £20 each it was ‘all you can eat’, not just on the salad bar but also on the grill – and what a grill it was. All washed down with copious quantities of lovely Mendoza wine. Various bars and clubs afterwards, and I didn’t get in until 6am this morning.
Having seen Boca Juniors the other night, I would have loved to have seen River Plate too, even if it meant attending a second division match, but the fixture list didn’t smile on my schedule. I settled for a daytime visit to their stadium and a purchase of suitably stylish clothing from the club shop, to complement the equally stylish Boca Juniors T-shirt I’ve already got.
Another interesting little outing – and apologies for the persistent football theme – was to visit a place I noticed by chance on Google Maps, namely, the Sunderland Club in north-west Buenos Aires. This is a local sporting, social and tango-dancing club, which competes locally at football and basketball, among other things. It was founded in 1921 by a group of local youngsters: they approached a rich English expat called Mr Pitt, and he agreed to fund the club if he could be allowed to name it. The kids said yes and thus the Sunderland Club was born. I haven’t been able to find any details about this Mr Pitt but it seems plain where his loyalties lay! I wonder if he was an ancestor of Richie Pitt, an FA Cup winner with Sunderland in 1973?
Anyway I wandered over to this club and introduced myself without too much fanfare. I was wearing a Sunderland training top just to emphasise the point. My Spanish isn’t great, and they didn’t speak any English at all, but it was all very friendly. I got to take photos all around the building, and also I had a lovely plate of chicken and chips. The club is very well-known locally - I was shown photos of visiting dignitaries such as the late Raul Alfonsin, president of Argentina between 1983 and 1989, and also Willem Dafoe, off of films, who popped in for some tango dancing not too long ago.
One more happy football-related note is that I finally met a fellow Mackem on my travels! An Australian chap, but born in Sherburn and a lifelong fan of the red and whites. We watched SAFC 1 Dirty Scousers 0 on ESPN and very pleasing it was too.
I’ve still got plenty to do in Buenos Aires and more updates will follow. I promise they won’t involve Sunderland or football in any way.
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| The defence ministry headquarters. |
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| I didn't wear my Boca top for this particular walk. |
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| An unfortunate name for a university. |
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| Home from home! |
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| A thousand hurrahs for the legend that is Hoolio, but I hadn't imagined that Nicolas Medina ever actually got a squad number. Claudio Marangoni would have been a better bet. |
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| Guys, the colours, the colours... |
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| Buenos Aires at sunset from the far edge of the Reserva Ecologica. This was a hundred times prettier in real life than the picture indicates. I need a better camera. |
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| As above |
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| Down by the docks |
Thursday, 8 March 2012
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Buenos Aires was always top of the list of all the big cities on my itinerary for this trip. It’s my fifth capital city so far, after Quito and Lima and La Paz and Santiago, and in population terms it’s nearly as big as the rest of them put together.
I arrived from Rosario at the enormous Retiro bus station, which resembles what 'Blade Runner' might have looked like if it had been filmed on the set of 'Mad Max', or indeed vice versa. Fortunately the subway, while intensely hot and a bit grimey, is cheap and quick and it got me into the civilised part of town pretty quickly.
At the time of writing I haven’t really explored Buenos Aires properly. I’m here for a while yet, and at least one future blog entry will contain a lot more detail on the architectural and cultural fronts. What can I write about in the meantime? Oh yes – silly me – I went to the football. The small matter of Boca Juniors v Fluminense, at the Estadio Albert J. Armando, aka La Bombonera. Fluminense are a Brazilian team: this match was in the group stages of the Copa Libertadores, the South American equivalent of the Champions League (the Copa America is played between national teams).
The big game that everyone wants to see is the superclasico, Boca Juniors vs River Plate, by far the biggest club match in South American football, and a grudge match to make Rangers v Celtic look like an Eton-Harrow bridge tournament. Sadly River Plate rather absent-mindedly got themselves relegated last season, and so there were no league superclasicos this year that I could plan ahead for.
I enjoyed my previous day out at the football, in Chile. This was an altogether different level of experience. The Bombonera stadium is in another fairly scary part of town, and tickets are eye-wateringly expensive for foreigners (like Barcelona, Boca Juniors is member-owned and only members can buy tickets direct from the club), but there was just no way I could say no to the opportunity.
There are many moments from this trip which are already etched on my memory, but I don’t think there has been or will be anything to compare with standing in the top tier at the Bombonera, the stadium already full to bursting and bouncing with noise an hour before kick-off – a 10pm kick-off – sweating in the heat and eating ice cream to stay cool, with the sound and smell of grilling chorizo wafting through the heat and humidity, and the noise, and so much excitement in the air that you could almost taste it.
Sadly Boca lost 2-1 in the end: it was a frustrating night for them, as my compilation of video highlights below will illustrate, but I also managed to video the equalising goal that made it 1-1. One of those moments that reminds you why you’re alive. Still buzzing as I write.
I arrived from Rosario at the enormous Retiro bus station, which resembles what 'Blade Runner' might have looked like if it had been filmed on the set of 'Mad Max', or indeed vice versa. Fortunately the subway, while intensely hot and a bit grimey, is cheap and quick and it got me into the civilised part of town pretty quickly.
At the time of writing I haven’t really explored Buenos Aires properly. I’m here for a while yet, and at least one future blog entry will contain a lot more detail on the architectural and cultural fronts. What can I write about in the meantime? Oh yes – silly me – I went to the football. The small matter of Boca Juniors v Fluminense, at the Estadio Albert J. Armando, aka La Bombonera. Fluminense are a Brazilian team: this match was in the group stages of the Copa Libertadores, the South American equivalent of the Champions League (the Copa America is played between national teams).
The big game that everyone wants to see is the superclasico, Boca Juniors vs River Plate, by far the biggest club match in South American football, and a grudge match to make Rangers v Celtic look like an Eton-Harrow bridge tournament. Sadly River Plate rather absent-mindedly got themselves relegated last season, and so there were no league superclasicos this year that I could plan ahead for.
I enjoyed my previous day out at the football, in Chile. This was an altogether different level of experience. The Bombonera stadium is in another fairly scary part of town, and tickets are eye-wateringly expensive for foreigners (like Barcelona, Boca Juniors is member-owned and only members can buy tickets direct from the club), but there was just no way I could say no to the opportunity.
There are many moments from this trip which are already etched on my memory, but I don’t think there has been or will be anything to compare with standing in the top tier at the Bombonera, the stadium already full to bursting and bouncing with noise an hour before kick-off – a 10pm kick-off – sweating in the heat and eating ice cream to stay cool, with the sound and smell of grilling chorizo wafting through the heat and humidity, and the noise, and so much excitement in the air that you could almost taste it.
Sadly Boca lost 2-1 in the end: it was a frustrating night for them, as my compilation of video highlights below will illustrate, but I also managed to video the equalising goal that made it 1-1. One of those moments that reminds you why you’re alive. Still buzzing as I write.
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| Out in the barrio, pre-match. That's my beer on the table. |
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| Room for a little 'un? |
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| La Bombonera |
Monday, 5 March 2012
Rosario, Argentina
Rosario is chiefly notable for being the birthplace of Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara. Che was a spoilt little rich kid, a cowardly and murderous sadist, whose chief contribution to world history was assisting in the establishment of a despotic regime in Cuba which continues to imprison and impoverish millions of people to this day. However he was quite good-looking, and rode motorbikes a lot; and that makes all the difference, right?
OK, that was another rant, but it was only a short one.
More significantly from my point of view, Rosario was a useful stopping-off point to get a nice hotel room with a big telly, on which I could watch N*wc*stle 1 SAFC 1, shortly after breakfast on Sunday. Stephane Sessegnon has dropped a few notches in my estimation, although that bleating nonentity Alan ‘Noo-castle’ Pardew remains pretty much where he was.
I’m really getting into the swing of Argentina. I’d say it’s definitely my favourite country so far on this trip. It doesn’t quite have the scenery that you get in Peru or Bolivia – my last two bus rides have been very straight and very flat cruises through seemingly endless expanses of farmland (Argentina occupies more than ten times the land area of the UK) – but it makes up for that with lovely towns, endless sunshine, fabulous wine and food, and indeed a pretty passable beer industry. Up until now in South America I’ve had to make do with various generic lagers, so I’m glad there’s more choice here. I’ve sampled quite a few different things: the biggest brand is Quilmes and they do a ‘red lager’, plus a fairly strong Bock and even a stout. Perhaps the cultivated Irishman might turn his nose up at the latter? I thought it was quite drinkable. Another brewery to watch out for is Patagonia, who do a very tolerable ‘Weissbier’, although it isn’t cheap, even in the supermarkets.
One problem I still have, and I fear it’s too late to do much about it now, is my comprehensive failure to get anywhere with learning Spanish. In my defence, there have been widely differing accents and dialects to cope with in all the five countries I’ve visited so far. I can certainly do all the essentials in bars, restaurants, hotels and taxis, but beyond that I can’t really communicate much above the level that might be gleaned from a Gloria Estefan greatest hits album. I did try though. Kind of.
That’s all for now. I think I might have a lot more to write about next time.
OK, that was another rant, but it was only a short one.
More significantly from my point of view, Rosario was a useful stopping-off point to get a nice hotel room with a big telly, on which I could watch N*wc*stle 1 SAFC 1, shortly after breakfast on Sunday. Stephane Sessegnon has dropped a few notches in my estimation, although that bleating nonentity Alan ‘Noo-castle’ Pardew remains pretty much where he was.
I’m really getting into the swing of Argentina. I’d say it’s definitely my favourite country so far on this trip. It doesn’t quite have the scenery that you get in Peru or Bolivia – my last two bus rides have been very straight and very flat cruises through seemingly endless expanses of farmland (Argentina occupies more than ten times the land area of the UK) – but it makes up for that with lovely towns, endless sunshine, fabulous wine and food, and indeed a pretty passable beer industry. Up until now in South America I’ve had to make do with various generic lagers, so I’m glad there’s more choice here. I’ve sampled quite a few different things: the biggest brand is Quilmes and they do a ‘red lager’, plus a fairly strong Bock and even a stout. Perhaps the cultivated Irishman might turn his nose up at the latter? I thought it was quite drinkable. Another brewery to watch out for is Patagonia, who do a very tolerable ‘Weissbier’, although it isn’t cheap, even in the supermarkets.
One problem I still have, and I fear it’s too late to do much about it now, is my comprehensive failure to get anywhere with learning Spanish. In my defence, there have been widely differing accents and dialects to cope with in all the five countries I’ve visited so far. I can certainly do all the essentials in bars, restaurants, hotels and taxis, but beyond that I can’t really communicate much above the level that might be gleaned from a Gloria Estefan greatest hits album. I did try though. Kind of.
That’s all for now. I think I might have a lot more to write about next time.
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| Parque de la Independencia, Rosario |
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| Che Guevara corner. Not sure if this is exactly the right building. Don't really care. See above. |
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| Funny name for a cafe. Another one for the Viz... |
Friday, 2 March 2012
Cordoba, Argentina
Cordoba is Argentina’s second city. It’s a bit too big and bustling to be as nice as Mendoza was, but still the city centre is much more peaceful and pleasant than the overall population (1.4 million) might lead you to expect. It’s also a university town, home to more than 200,000 students…just about all of them being scorchingly hot females of the 18-21 age group. ¡Ay caramba! I’m never coming home. Never.
I found an interesting museum dedicated to the victims of the fascist dictatorship of 1976-1983. The museum occupies a site once used by the junta as a clandestine location for the interrogation, torture and subsequent ‘disappearance’ of the regime’s opponents, as well as for the ‘reassignment’ of their children to less troublesome parents. It reminded me in some ways of the Tuol Sleng museum in Cambodia, although it’s not quite as overwhelmingly horrible as that (see my blog from Phnom Penh below, September 2008).
The dictatorship was already beginning to fall apart by the time of the Falklands War in 1982 – that invasion was the junta’s final, flailing attempt to regain credibility with the Argentine people, and the humiliation of defeat brought about democracy’s return in 1983. But today, just outside the aforementioned museum, there was a little paramilitary-style display stand, a sort of Argentinian cross between Help the Heroes and the EDL, calling for the return of compulsory national service and – predictably - the retaking of the Falklands. Some people never learn.
And yesterday the fragrant presidenta, Señora Kirchner, devoted much of her state-of-the-nation address to similar ranting about las islas Malvinas. Such ranting conveniently allows her to bypass matters rather closer to home, like rampant inflation and her government’s cynically blatant attempts to disguise it in the official figures. Last month the ‘Economist’ announced, in an article headlined ‘Don’t Lie To Me, Argentina’, that it would no longer republish those figures, describing them as ‘what appears to be a deliberate attempt to deceive voters and swindle investors’.
Apologies for ranting. I realise that people read my blog expecting pretty pictures, bad jokes, and amusing tales of my personal misfortunes – not amateur political oratory. However the Falklands issue has been somewhat rammed down my throat since I’ve been here in Cordoba, and I’m just exercising my right to reply.
(Morrissey, who is a popular English singer, and also a twat, performed at the Orfeo Arena in Cordoba last night and made a sycophantic speech about how the Falklands belong to Argentina. QED, as far as I’m concerned.)
I found an interesting museum dedicated to the victims of the fascist dictatorship of 1976-1983. The museum occupies a site once used by the junta as a clandestine location for the interrogation, torture and subsequent ‘disappearance’ of the regime’s opponents, as well as for the ‘reassignment’ of their children to less troublesome parents. It reminded me in some ways of the Tuol Sleng museum in Cambodia, although it’s not quite as overwhelmingly horrible as that (see my blog from Phnom Penh below, September 2008).
The dictatorship was already beginning to fall apart by the time of the Falklands War in 1982 – that invasion was the junta’s final, flailing attempt to regain credibility with the Argentine people, and the humiliation of defeat brought about democracy’s return in 1983. But today, just outside the aforementioned museum, there was a little paramilitary-style display stand, a sort of Argentinian cross between Help the Heroes and the EDL, calling for the return of compulsory national service and – predictably - the retaking of the Falklands. Some people never learn.
And yesterday the fragrant presidenta, Señora Kirchner, devoted much of her state-of-the-nation address to similar ranting about las islas Malvinas. Such ranting conveniently allows her to bypass matters rather closer to home, like rampant inflation and her government’s cynically blatant attempts to disguise it in the official figures. Last month the ‘Economist’ announced, in an article headlined ‘Don’t Lie To Me, Argentina’, that it would no longer republish those figures, describing them as ‘what appears to be a deliberate attempt to deceive voters and swindle investors’.
Apologies for ranting. I realise that people read my blog expecting pretty pictures, bad jokes, and amusing tales of my personal misfortunes – not amateur political oratory. However the Falklands issue has been somewhat rammed down my throat since I’ve been here in Cordoba, and I’m just exercising my right to reply.
(Morrissey, who is a popular English singer, and also a twat, performed at the Orfeo Arena in Cordoba last night and made a sycophantic speech about how the Falklands belong to Argentina. QED, as far as I’m concerned.)
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| Plaza Marqués de Sobremonte, with the Palacio de Justicia in the background. Note the annoying small dog en route to attack the photographer. I refrained from booting the annoying little rodent into the fountain, purely out of deference to the hot female dog-owner (also pictured) |
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| Wasted lives |
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| Faces of the 'disappeared' |
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| Cordoba Cathedral and the statue of General José San Martin |
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