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.

The Mystery Destination Revealed

The last leg of trip went smoothly. Suddenly, there I was: Buenos Aires, the city I've been dreaming about constantly for the last two years.

Going through customs was equally smooth. They did not ask me a thing, even though I had ticked the box that said that I was bringing vegetable matter into the country (three gargantuan unsealed bags of my favourite loose leaf teas). I couldn't complain, of course. It was one of my minor worries (after getting deported) that they would throw all of it away. It would have been quite a waste of quality tea, not to mention money. Also, they did not even check to see if a had a return ticket of any sort. Bureaucracy is much more lax in Argentina.

A man was waiting for me in the arrivals area (I've always wanted come out of the gate to find someone holding a board with my name on it... it makes you feel somewhat special).

Exiting through the doors, we were submerged by a wave of warmth and humidity. I was about to discover the true meaning of muggy. A blanket of dark clouds loomed overhead, but the temperature remained at about 32 degrees. "Viene una tormenta" said my escort. I was expecting sun on my arrival in Buenos Aires, but a storm... that was even more exciting.

The suburbs of Buenos Aires are not very impressive. For the most part, if you translate the signs into English, it could almost be a highway in some part of Canada, except for all the highway tolls that stop us along the way (a big sign reads "thank you for choosing our highway"). As we neared the centre of the city, the traffic seemed to multiply itself. My driver was unusually silent. Nothing beyond a reciprocal "hola." Argentine taxi drivers are usually all chatter. The silence, however, did not bother me. I was still in a daze from the air travel. My arrival had not completely settled in. It came in gentle hits, as if the boxer inside me was still warming up.

The last time I was on this road, tears were rolling down my cheeks as I was watching my last sunset in Buenos Aires. Now I was doing doing the trip in reserve, invisible tears creeping back into my eyes.

Finally, we arrived at my hostel, America del Sur, in my beloved San Telmo.

"Yo quiero navegar tan lejos

pero aun no encuentro el mar

recuerdame como es el viento

que hoy tan lejos parece estar"

-La Reina Morsa, "Navegar"

My fate is sealed, there is no turning back, I thought as I trudged along with my heavy bags towards the bus stop the morning of my departure. Sitting tightly on my alloted seat, though, waiting for my first flight to take off, an eerie feeling settled into my stomach–that I was not following fate but defying it; that I was going against the natural order, the predestined course of my existence; that what I was doing is horribly wrong, in capital letters sprawled across a large chalkboard. I could not help thinking that I had just set myself on a corridor that leads straight to a colossal failure.

Toronto Airport. Approaching gate 177, I start hearing Spanish. I almost clasp my hands together in gleeful relief, but settle instead for a more nonchalant stance. Nevertheless, I cannot ignore the new feeling in my chest, as if a gold ore was weighing it down.

Bienvenidos a Santiago de Chile. It is good to hear chilenos again, and to see the dry hills that surround Santiago. I almost wish for a moment that this was my final destination. But the voyage is not over yet. Taking off one last time, I stare at out the window to get a glimpse of Mount Aconcagua. The Andes look magical in the glorious summer sun.

The Adventure that Almost Did not Happen

They told me I was going to get deported.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

I was at the counter, doing my check-in, and facing the flight attendant's categorical refusal, I felt a heavy emptiness sink into my stomach, and red lights flashed zealously in my mind. I was glumly reminded of my last check-in fiasco*. They told me I had two options: buy a return ticket (which I had no money for) or go home and rethink my travel plans (are you kidding me?).

Ok. Ok. Ok.

I had barely forty minutes to come up with another solution. I tried to think rationally, but it's hard to think rationally when your insides are breaking down. I started asking questions, trying to hide the anger and distress in my voice. More than once, I put my elbows on the counter and laid my my face into my hand. Un oeuf dans un cocotier. I probed desperately for a loophole (there had to be a loophole, there is always a loophole).

Finally, it came to me. I only needed proof that I was going to leave the country before my three months were over. If I could not afford a flight, perhaps I could afford another mode of transportation, say, a boat. Throwing myself at my computer, I hastily booked myself a provisional ferry ride. The flight attendant could not refute my idea. Tickets in hand, I ran to the departure gate, travel pillow bobbing against my duffel bag, and made it, just on time, for my first flight.

*My trip to Europe in 2008, I was told at check-in that my flight did not exist (I burst into tears). We were on the phone all day with the booking company to book a new one.

More exciting–and revealing–adventures soon to come. First, I must tend to my stomach. Can you guess where I am?