Chopsticks and Chance Encounters

Christmas now behind me, a new sense of anxiety starts to nag me. I have not started to look for a place to stay and already I have but one night left at the hostel before they kick me out. Promising myself that I would start the research that evening, I set out to another neighbourhood I find endearing: faraway Belgrano. Not as hip as Palermo Viejo, Belgrano is nevertheless leafy and lovely to walk through. The main attraction, however, lies not in Belgrano itself, but in a sub-neighbourhood that blooms in a corner of it–the eclectic Barrio Chino. There is nothing extraordinary in the size or composition of Buenos Aires' Chinatown, but I find the combination of Asian kitch and rarities, Spanish language, and Argentinian culture quite fascinating.

A plaza in Belgrano

The entrance to the Barrio Chino

I spend a bit of time in the little stores that sell all kinds of useless and tacky toys and gadget, then move on the the supermarkets, to check out the strange condiments, the selection of teas and the dried mushrooms and vegetables. There is also a great kitchen store, where I linger looking at the teapots with longing.

Weird juice with bits of stuff floating inside

A cool yerba mate packaging

Dried mushrooms and aubergines

Ginger!

Gangly green vegetables

More juice

My browsing satisfied (I do not buy anything - with my change of accommodation pending), I return to Palermo Soho to window-shop. Later, I sit down outside a café with the intention to write, but I am interrupted by a man on a cellphone asking me if I have a pen I could lend him. His phone conversation finished, he starts talking to me. It turns out Roberto is a Spanish teacher, working independently, with his own unique method of teaching. He explains his teaching philosophy to me with great enthusisam. His classes to not require any textbooks or follow any manuals, and no matter the level of the student, the use of English or other languages but Spanish, whether written or oral, is prohibited. All classes are private, and are held in the location chosen by the student, whether it be in his house, walking through a particular barrio, cooking a meal or going to the theater. That way, everything we learn is useful to contexts of daily life and Argentinian culture. By this time, I was quite convinced (id you noticed by the use of 'we') that these classes might be worth a try. What more, Roberto's daughter had recently moved away, and he had a room to rent in his apartment. I mulled this information over as we talked. Throughout the conversation, Roberto was subtly testing my level of Spanish and teaching me new words and expressions. Before I knew it, the afternoon had slipped away and it was dark. Roberto told me I could take a look at the room anytime I wanted and since it convened to the both of us, we settled for straight away. We walked over to the apartment, which was only a short walk away, and he showed me around, from the bathrooms to his book collections. He said I could move in whenever I wanted, even if it was just while I looked for something for permanent. I told him I would think about the offer, but on by way back to the hostel (in a taxi–the subte was closed!) the proposal seemed more and more appealing. Hostel-living is not suited for the long term, and I was already getting tired of the crowd. When there is always something going on around you, there is a certain pressure to always be part of that activity. Alone time and intellectual pursuits are both impossible and ill-fitted to such an ambiance.

For my last night in a hostel, I joined a group of Brits and Australians for dinner, and afterwards, we played spoons (the card game) until late.

A Quiet Christmas

San Telmo is the oldest barrio (neighbourhood) in Buenos Aires. You can tell by looking at the streets and the facades, faded and falling apart. San Telmo used to be an affluent neighbourhood until two yellow fever epidemics (1870 and 1871) wiped out 10% of the population, and sent the rest running north to what is today the Barrio Norte. Today it is a place of immigrants and tourists, and romantic antiquated streets.

I have mixed feelings about San Telmo. On one hand, it is a fascinating place to explore, with its eye-catching street art, its old cafés, and its many antique stores. There are also a few interesting second-hand bookstores, and more and more emerging designers are setting up store.

On the other hand, San Telmo is one of the most touristy areas of Buenos Aires. It has the greatest concentration of hostels. Sundays, it gets clogged up with tourists coming to see the famous antique market in Plaza Dorrego and the long street market that runs all the way to the Plaza de Mayo.

Chritmas morning, I took advantage of the deserted streets to snap a few pictures of the barrio.

After my walk in San Telmo, I went down to Puerto Madero to walk long the waterside passageways. The sun was warm and there were a lot of porteños enjoying an afternoon walk. In contrast to San Telmo, Puerto Madero is Buenos Aires' newest barrio. What used to be an industrial has now been converted into a chic neighbourhood, filled with gleaming new hotels and condos. The two pathways that run along both sides of the waterway are populated by trendy restaurants and bars (as well as international chains like TGI Fridays and Starbucks).

Reaching the end of the port, I deviated towards the centre, hoping to find a least one open shop to buy a bottle of water and some batteries (my camera has unexpectedly shut down). It was strange to see the usually hectic Microcentro devoid of traffic and pedestrians. I walked all the way to the Obelisco, and then decided to take the long way home, back down through the port. Once was not enough. Looking for a place to sit down for a cup of tea, I stumbled upon a group from the hostel who had just sat down for beers and snacks at an outside café. I spent the rest of the afternoon with them, jumping from café to ice cream stand, and back to the hostel for dinner. Then we all set a record by going to bed before the clock struck 12 (although I did stay up reading for a few hours).

 Palm trees and Christmas decorations

The railroad tracks

The obelisco

A pretty flower

Beer

Friends

And ice cream!

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve was very pleasant. No stress, no crowds, no last minute shopping. I spend the day mostly in Palermo, walking and lazing around in cafés. I bought myself a dress for a night out on the town, and some special cheeses to eat with my Christmas dinner (a sheep manchego and a soft blue cheese). Before returning to the hostel in the evening, I made sure I was all stocked up on food and drinks, because we had been told that everything would be closed on Christmas day (that turned out not to be true). I bought lots of water, and a bottle of wine (just in case).

Street art in Palermo

Cheese!

More cheese

No way! I wonder if it's as good as it was in Italy?

Tea here comes with biscuits and a small glass of sparkling water to refresh your palate afterwards. So civilized.

The café (actually an ice cream joint)

The night began with conversations with various groups of travelers on the outside terrace at the hostel. At midnight, the sky exploded with the crackle of fireworks. At 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning, a small group of us headed to Palermo to dance the night away. It wasn't an extraordinary night, but it sure felt good to shake it out for a few hours in the busy club. And my strawberry daiquiri was very good. Merry Christmas!

The Night is Young

The morning of the 23rd was not so memorable (at least in the sense that I'd prefer not remember it). Due to excessive wine consumption the night before (I did not drink that much, but my body is still unaccustomed to alcohol), I was throwing up bile for a large part of the morning (sorry for the gory details). Lesson learned. At 3:00 in the afternoon, I forced myself to eat a banana, despite still feeling nauseous. Then, I went back to bed, and slept until 6:30. Feeling more or less normal, I went out to do some groceries.

Back at the hostel, sipping tea and writing, I watched the common area fill up with travelers coming together for the weekly parillada. I soon joined a group of Dutch girls, a French guy and a French woman. The conversation flowed nicely between the food and the beer (I stuck to tea... and my vegetarian fare). After dinner, we moved to the outside terrace so the girls could smoke. It felt so good to be surrounded by interesting people who had more in mind than getting drunk (there was a large group at America del Sur that spent most of their time at the hostel, drinking and being obnoxiously loud). The night slowly settled in, and we were soon joined by another group:

The French guy was quiet and laid back-a real pretty boy with his nice jeans and grey cardigan. The South African girl was lively and incredibly nice. The Canadian guy was a little odd, but he made us all laugh with the nonsense that came out of his mouth. Finally, there was a guy from Slovenia. He was genuinely nice (simpatico as they say here)–the kind of guy who can befriend anyone in a minute. He was also, admittedly, quite cute. It was his last night in Buenos Aires. On Christmas eve, he was going to be flying back to Slovenia.

It was with this second group that I set off to have a drink. We ambled around San Telmo but all the bars were full. Finally, following a group of Argentinians, we ended up in a little bar not too far away. By all means not a classy establishment, we still had an immense amount of fun. The sun had come up by the time we walked out, each carrying a piece of paper scribbled with emails–ours and those of the Argentinians we had met on the way. It is always a great feeling to be returning home from a night out in daylight. By this time, I was walking hand in hand with my Slovenian. Suddenly, he stopped me on the street and kissed me. It was all rather romantic.

I was in bed for four hours, but I hardly slept. Nevertheless, when I got up, I was feeling quite ready to set off and walk, walk, walk the streets of Buenos Aires in the blinding sun.

Primer Paseo

After a shower, and a failed attempt at reorganizing my stuff (why did I bring so much?), I decide to head out to reacquaint myself with the city, despite the ominous looking sky, and the occasional flash of lightning. I exchange a few words with one of my roommates, Paolo from Córdoba. "Parece que va a llover." Yup, anytime now. But I'm itching to take a walk, tormenta or not.

Fileteado is a type of street art (especially used for signs) unique to Buenos Aires

 

An obviously modern sign done in fileteado

Despite the cloud cover, the weather is deliciously warm. I savour the taste of the summer air on my arms and legs. I feel lighter, freed from all my winter layers. There is a light spatter of rain. The sky is threatening to break open any moment. Apart from finding a bank, and buying an adapter for my computer, I have no pressing needs, so I wander aimlessly through the familiar streets of San Telmo, stopping now and again to browse through shops or to take a photograph. At the San Telmo market, I start shopping for dinner ingredients. After all the gross airplane food, I am craving simplicity and freshness. Tomatoes, onions, limes, and most importantly, a luscious avocado (South American avocados-how I have missed you!*) At the fiambreria, my plans to buy a piece of sardo, the national cheese, are thwarted by my discovery of pepato, a hard pecorino-like cheese with whole black peppercorns. Yum.

I liked the watermelon couch

A cool design and nicknack shop 

A Pacman light!

 I found this really great line of Argentinian soaps. Here we have the wine series...

...yerba mate...

 ...and best of all, dulce de leche!

 A rainbow of technicolor mate implements

A nice door

At the market in San Telmo

Street life outside a bar

Sign for an art workshop

There it is! One of my favourite wines I like to drink back at home... for a grand total of $4.64!

By the time I return to my hostel, charged with groceries, it is already 8:30 (where did all the time go by?) and my umbrella is still dry, though the thunder never relented. I make mate, chop my vegetables and chat with a few travelers. After dinner, the rain starts beating down.

I go to bed early (well, 1 in the morning... that's early isn't it?) exhausted, but a combination of excitement, anxiety and jet-lag keeps me awake for most of the night, listening to the torrential rain.

*In South America, avocados (paltas) taste 10 times better than in Canada. There is also more than one variety to choose from (some are huge!) Eating a whole avocado, preferably with a spork, and with a sprinkle of salt, is my kind of heaven.