Monday, April 03, 2006
Sunday in Buenos Aires
San Telmo´s Fire
The first proper day of sunshine for some days on Saturday ensured that a good chunk of the tourists crouding into the streets of San Telmo district for the Sunday Antiques Fair were sporting varying shades of red under the little-bit-too-late coats of sun block. Amongst the antiques and bric-a-brac is some truly dreadful art and jewellry that would have Pat Butcher salivating, all with relatively hefty price tags vying to get a share of the tourist dolars - and why not? (See "the most ignorant comment of the day" below). Even the price of empanadas rises on Sundays!!
And this is not a market for locals, other than the stall holders and the swarms of tango dancers and musicians. In the restaurants meals are constantly interrupted by less than great singers regurgitating old ballads before passing a hat around. Several try to emulate Carlos Gardell - much loved tango crooner of the porteños - both in style and looks. Although I witnessed one very disgruntled artist wander off after one spectator commented, a little too loudly, "That looks nothing like Bing Crosby!"
Most ignorant comment of the day: "Why is it that it seems once they get to a certain age they sell everything they have?" from the fellow that is obviously completely unaware of the 2002 economic meltdown. I came across another reminder down town: a desserted "Harrods" department store with nothing but some very dead palms to be seen through the windows.
The prize for worst tourist hook: Goes to the guy that collects comments from tourists in a notebook, before pitching to sell them tarrot cards. Amongst the "I love BA" messages there was one he couldn't read so he asked me to translate it... I told him that showing a message that read "He's a thieving pikey git" wasn't going to encourage business.
The prize for the strangest thing on sale: Goes to a huge Warhol-esque screen print of Gary "what you talking 'bout Willis" Coleman...why?
The following weekend saw the commerative parades and marches for the 30th anniversary of the military coup. The city felt very different, (even though the authorities did their best for it not to inconvenience the tourists: you could still take a city tour around the Plaza de Mayo, amongst the bonfires of tires and corn husks). This is the last year that the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo will hold their weekly silent protests.
Chascomus - a town with an instantly forgetable name
..no honestly, I couldn't remember what it was called even when I got there.
After three weeks in the city, and a not very statisfying spanish course under my belt, I felt the need to get out to the countryside... a pin in the map later and I arrived at the lakeside resort of the Argentinian middle classes, Cahascomus. Pristine parks, clean children, happy dogs and slow moving traffic, it is a living breathing Pleasantville, unrushed in it's out of season traquility - and a great place to lie down and stare at the sky through trees and do absolutely nothing...
I stayed in a hillarious hotel run by batty old ladies, who would burp in the corridor, (I'm sure solely for the acoustic effect), and discuss whether they should wake me up for breakfast outside my door before retreating to the front desk to telephone through:
Me: Hello?
Old lady: Are you coming for breakfast?
Me: No, it's really not necessary, thank you.
Old lady: But you ought to have something.
Me: I'm fine, honestly.
Old lady: Not even a little..?
Me: Everything's fine, please, it's really not necessary
Old lady to other old lady: He says he doesn't want anything.
Other old lady: Oh...not even a little? He ought to have something.
Old lady to other old lady: No, he says he's fine.
...this went on for quite a bit.
The old ladies have a little old dog that yaps very excitedly whenever they unfurl a very noisey awning... for the life of me, when I first heard this, I was convinced they were putting the dog, live, through the gigantic bacon slicer they have on the restaurant counter.
I trundled back to BA on the train. The trains have been left behind and almost forgotted because of the numerous road alternatives. Many towns have a station but no service and most no tracks. We passed corals of cattle waiting to go to the slaughter houses, and once thriving towns that were now nothing more than abandoned sidings with dilapedated carriages now used as housing. There were prosperous towns too that benefited from proximity to a road or industry, or like Chascomus survived from increased local tourism since the devalution as many of the upper/middle classes stay at home rather than holidaying in the US and Europe.
Overheard in the street: "What do you mean, you accidentally strapped bricks to your arse and sat on my glasses?"
The first proper day of sunshine for some days on Saturday ensured that a good chunk of the tourists crouding into the streets of San Telmo district for the Sunday Antiques Fair were sporting varying shades of red under the little-bit-too-late coats of sun block. Amongst the antiques and bric-a-brac is some truly dreadful art and jewellry that would have Pat Butcher salivating, all with relatively hefty price tags vying to get a share of the tourist dolars - and why not? (See "the most ignorant comment of the day" below). Even the price of empanadas rises on Sundays!!
And this is not a market for locals, other than the stall holders and the swarms of tango dancers and musicians. In the restaurants meals are constantly interrupted by less than great singers regurgitating old ballads before passing a hat around. Several try to emulate Carlos Gardell - much loved tango crooner of the porteños - both in style and looks. Although I witnessed one very disgruntled artist wander off after one spectator commented, a little too loudly, "That looks nothing like Bing Crosby!"Most ignorant comment of the day: "Why is it that it seems once they get to a certain age they sell everything they have?" from the fellow that is obviously completely unaware of the 2002 economic meltdown. I came across another reminder down town: a desserted "Harrods" department store with nothing but some very dead palms to be seen through the windows.
The prize for worst tourist hook: Goes to the guy that collects comments from tourists in a notebook, before pitching to sell them tarrot cards. Amongst the "I love BA" messages there was one he couldn't read so he asked me to translate it... I told him that showing a message that read "He's a thieving pikey git" wasn't going to encourage business.
The prize for the strangest thing on sale: Goes to a huge Warhol-esque screen print of Gary "what you talking 'bout Willis" Coleman...why?
The following weekend saw the commerative parades and marches for the 30th anniversary of the military coup. The city felt very different, (even though the authorities did their best for it not to inconvenience the tourists: you could still take a city tour around the Plaza de Mayo, amongst the bonfires of tires and corn husks). This is the last year that the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo will hold their weekly silent protests.Chascomus - a town with an instantly forgetable name
..no honestly, I couldn't remember what it was called even when I got there.
After three weeks in the city, and a not very statisfying spanish course under my belt, I felt the need to get out to the countryside... a pin in the map later and I arrived at the lakeside resort of the Argentinian middle classes, Cahascomus. Pristine parks, clean children, happy dogs and slow moving traffic, it is a living breathing Pleasantville, unrushed in it's out of season traquility - and a great place to lie down and stare at the sky through trees and do absolutely nothing...I stayed in a hillarious hotel run by batty old ladies, who would burp in the corridor, (I'm sure solely for the acoustic effect), and discuss whether they should wake me up for breakfast outside my door before retreating to the front desk to telephone through:
Me: Hello?
Old lady: Are you coming for breakfast?
Me: No, it's really not necessary, thank you.
Old lady: But you ought to have something.
Me: I'm fine, honestly.
Old lady: Not even a little..?
Me: Everything's fine, please, it's really not necessary
Old lady to other old lady: He says he doesn't want anything.
Other old lady: Oh...not even a little? He ought to have something.
Old lady to other old lady: No, he says he's fine.
...this went on for quite a bit.
The old ladies have a little old dog that yaps very excitedly whenever they unfurl a very noisey awning... for the life of me, when I first heard this, I was convinced they were putting the dog, live, through the gigantic bacon slicer they have on the restaurant counter.
I trundled back to BA on the train. The trains have been left behind and almost forgotted because of the numerous road alternatives. Many towns have a station but no service and most no tracks. We passed corals of cattle waiting to go to the slaughter houses, and once thriving towns that were now nothing more than abandoned sidings with dilapedated carriages now used as housing. There were prosperous towns too that benefited from proximity to a road or industry, or like Chascomus survived from increased local tourism since the devalution as many of the upper/middle classes stay at home rather than holidaying in the US and Europe.
Overheard in the street: "What do you mean, you accidentally strapped bricks to your arse and sat on my glasses?"
# posted by Barney @ 6:35 pm 
