Finally, the plane arrived, albeit an hour late. I paid my welcome tax (USD55.00). Officially it’s called reciprocity fee – the amount a citizen of Argentina pays for a Canadian visa. I understand the reason, maybe it’s even fair, but tourists shouldn’t be penalized for government policies. It feels like communism, when Western tourists were hit by a compulsory exchange.
Thereafter I went through passport control, retrieved my checked-in bag and was finally out at large. I reserved an airbnb room in central Buenos Aires, and the Manuel Tienda bus was willing to take me there all the way, although not in the same vehicle. First a bus took everybody to the city terminal, and then smaller cars went to the individual addresses. It took quite a while, my host was already very nervous. I was her first airbnb guest, and it showed. It might be a good idea to look for an experienced host, but then everybody was inexperienced once upon a time. If I try to become an airbnb host (plan to), I will be inexperienced as well.
The room was actually beautiful and quite comfortable with lots of storage place. It wasn’t in the most charming part of Buenos Aires, but it was close to the metro and many sights were within walking distance.
I asked my host where to buy groceries; she directed me to a “supermarket” (her words) – that was about the size of a Montreal depanneur (corner store). To my grief, it had neither brown bread nor natural, white, unsweetened yogurt. But larger stores, real supermarkets had the same deficiency.
For dinner I found only pizza (not my favorite food), and to add to the misery, only the American style. It was drowned in cheese. I scraped off what I could; a pizzeria in Rome would’ve used that amount for quite a while.
***
Day one in Buenos Aires
My room was downtown, on the corner of Pasteur and Corrientes. That day I only walked. Along Corrientes to 9 de Julio (Plaza de la Republica with the Obelisk). As I passed Teatro San Martin on Corrientes, I saw a contemporary ballet advertised. I went in and bought a ticket for the next day, for 40 pesos (about 10 USD), for a perfect seat in the 9th row. Then I continued all the way to N. Alem. From there to Plaza de Mayo, to look at the Casa de Gobierno. I visited the Jesuit churches in the area. Then I walked along the pedestrian Florida Street to Plaza San Martin. And it happened there that my Spanish failed me (not for the last time along the trip). On the Plaza there was a multilevel, tower-like structure covered with books. It was part of an exhibit. I saw people on top, and immediately wanted to go up as well. But a guard pointed to a desk and said that I had to get a free pass first. At the desk a girl explained that she needed my passport number, and that I couldn’t go until 5 pm. I had a copy of my passport and it would’ve done, but I interpreted the 5 pm as the opening hour of the thing. It wasn’t like that. Signing up at that moment (about 3 pm) would’ve granted me rights to go up at 5 pm…). But I missed the point and went into Museo Arte HispanoAmericano Isaac Fernandez Blanco until 5 pm – when visiting rights were granted for 7 pm… The museum was a delight (Cusco school paintings!), especially its quite garden with colorful fall leaves. After going through the exhibits on the ground floor, I found myself out in the garden again and noted that the building had a second floor. A girl was sitting on a bench, reading Lonely Planet’s Argentina in English. I asked whether she saw the second floor. She did, but didn’t remember what it was, and suggested that we go to eat ice cream instead. I would’ve liked the company, but I couldn’t bear the idea of eating. I had a big, fat-drowned Spanish tortilla (thick omelet) for lunch. Plus, it was time to go back to the tower, to the misinterpreted 5 pm show. As it didn’t work, I headed home to work. The disadvantage of a portable job.
On the way I walked along 9 Julio (the widest avenue in the world) and located Teatro Colon, to be visited the following day.
At home, I looked at the camera, and noticed that I barely photographed anything. In Cusco, I filled a memory card in a blink. True, Buenos Aires is not easy to photograph. Buildings are either too big or too confined, the traffic interferes etc. But most big cities are like that. I can’t explain why I wasn’t more impressed.
Second day
I was too tired to start out right in the morning. The first day I must’ve covered at least 12 km on foot. That’s a lot on pavement.
Instead, I continued working. The job in question should’ve been finished by the time I left, but of course it arrived late, and I was stuck with it for quite a while along the way. I couldn’t afford to turn it down. But this job was the reason that I started the blog halfway the trip. If I would once write a list about things that I hate about my job that would be one: the deadlines for me are written in stone, but for them, never.
Thereafter I started the sightseeing day at Teatro Colon. Now I took the subway (“Subte”) and as I emerged, walked in the opposite direction by mistake. Lost quite some time in the process.
But Teatro Colon was splendid. I took a guided tour (in Spanish, -- the guide was surprised to have a Canadian in the group) to see the inside; it’s an incredible achievement. I especially admired the glass ceiling. The dress rehearsal of Zauberflöte was in progress on the stage; we could watch it for about ten minutes. Beyond the music, and the perfect acoustics, it looked a lot more spectacular than I remembered from the Hungarian performance I saw.
But the guide was cruel and kicked us out. I considered buying a ticket, but the line was too long – I gave up.
Thereafter I had coffee from a coin machine and a cookie; I didn’t have more money left. The theatre tour was 60 pesos, and I had to buy a lens cover for the camera, I keep losing them. This Argentinean one has a strap that attaches the body of the lens; maybe this one won’t be lost so soon.
Thus I went home for money, then decided to see Museo de Arte Latinamericano de Buenos Aires. The best museum in Buenos Aires according to the guide-book. It is a new museum, opened in 2001, and it’s about modern art (starting with the XX. century), that the name doesn’t reveal. As my seat neighbors in Teatro San Martin explained, there was a significant resistance to its opening. It’s a residential area, and they didn’t want a public institution nearby. I can’t really understand why. It’s a museum, not a bar or a disco or an airport.
As a fact, it’s quite far from the subway; a lot farther than it looks on the schematic city map. And it’s relatively small for the 20 pesos. But the building itself is impressing with the very high ceiling on one side. The benches in the hallway are artwork as well; they resemble overgrowing trees.
There is one Frida Kahlo painting. One artist (Gyula Kósice) is definitely of Hungarian origin. He has constructions with water flowing or dripping. I noted on the museum’s flyer a few interesting works: Maria Martins: The impossible (seems like nails or beaks kissing) and Antonio Berni: Manifestación. In general, I found more likeable objects than in similar museums elsewhere.
There is no time for dinner after the exhibit. I decide for a cappuccino and a cake in the museum’s café. Some great museums have a good café. This one is not among them. First I have to move to a different table. Then it’s shamelessly expensive. In my memories, similar establishments in New York or London cost less. And the coffee is better. The service faster.
I’m really short on time when I finish. The receptionist gives hard-to-follow directions to the bus that would take me straight to the obelisk, near Teatro San Martin. I can’t find it, and a woman whom I ask for directions refuses to listen, like it happens in New York. Did she think I’m panhandling?
Thus I make the trek back to the Subte with record speed, then continue with a similar speed to the theater and I get there in time, albeit somewhat perspirated. Seeing my guidebook, my seat neighbors address me in German – or maybe my look was German? Then we switch to English. The performance is great. All three choreographers are women. The first piece, entitled Gershwin, is modern dance for Gershwin music. The second, Como el agua que fluye (As the water flows), is Chinese style dance. The third one, Beethoven B isn’t classical ballet as I had expected, but I liked it anyway. I can’t remember whether it was live orchestra or soundtrack. The program lists pianists for the first one, thus it must’ve been live.
I walked home after the performance. The advantage of a central accommodation.
Day three
I wanted to spend this day in Palermo’s parks. Palermo is an older, residential park of Buenos Aires. I like parks, and the guidebook really recommended them. That’s again the effect of relativity. It could’ve said: but don’t go there if you’ve already seen well-designed city parks. The first one, the Botanical Garden, closest to the Subway, was quite small, seemed neglected and overrun by stray cats. Anyway, it’s hard for any park to compete with the Montreal Botanical Garden.
In Parque Tres Febrero a preparation for a Marathon was on its way, thus it was too crowded with trucks to be enjoyable; the Japanese Garden seemed neglected and didn’t feel quite safe, I was asked for money by a gruff couple.
For a moment I’m tempted to visit the Zoo – maybe I could make a few interesting photos for my grandchildren – but then the dirty streets around it discouraged the idea.
Thus I got back on the subway and went to station Juramento, in search of the bus 29, that, according to the guidebook, would give a trip equivalent to sightseeing tour.
On the bright side, near the metro stop I found a store with organic coffee (unfortunately only grains, no drink), and good dulce de leche cookies. But I didn’t find bus 29. There were at least a dozen bus stops along the street; each listing several bus numbers, but 29 wasn’t among them. I asked a few people, nobody knew, or suggested that it was at the Subte stop where I just came from, Plaza Italia. True, I’ve seen a bus there passing by, but couldn’t figure out where the stop was. Thus I went home, somewhat disappointed.
That evening I went out with Cathleen for a steak dinner, and that was no disappointment. The steak in Argentina really tastes better than anywhere else I tried.
Day four (last)
It was Sunday, and I decided to see the antique and bric-a-brac market in San Telmo, another old part of Buenos Aires. The guidebook promised tango shows as well. Well, the latter was quite limited. There was an old guy, dressed sort of antique elegance (shirt and tie, hat) that offered to teach the audience to tango. The market was extremely crowded – beyond enjoyable. There was no space to photograph or even look at anything. The similar market in Otavalo is definitely bigger with more breathing space.
In the end I bought some leather bracelets for the grandsons. And got spray-painted in the process. I was wearing the photo vest and that got most of the paint, my baseball hat some. The weird thing is, they apply this trick to rob you. One sprays, another offers help, and while you are distracted, they either run away with the sprayed coat or with your other belongings or both. But nobody offered help to me. Probably they thought that I was a wrong target with nothing to steal… I had everything in the pockets of the photographic vest, and only an umbrella in a small bag. The bag might’ve looked too small and the vest too worn to be stolen. If they only knew that I had all my photographic equipment inside the pockets. But I would’ve refused the help anyway.
The paint itself wasn’t a major problem; the dry-cleaner in Montevideo managed to remove all the stains from the vest and most of it from the hat.
It was an indoor fruit market that I liked the most in San Telmo. I bought quite wonderful pears and oranges for dinner. And in front of that market I finally encountered bus 29. I boarded without a second thought. I had cards from the metro, valid for multiple trips. The girl at the tourist office said that they would work in the bus too. Well, they didn’t. In Buenos Aires, the metro and the bus aren’t run by the same company. And the bus only takes exact change. Multiple ticket cards exist, but Cathleen, who has lived there for four months, hasn’t seen them yet.
I had no change at all. Only a five pesos bill, as the smallest denomination. Nobody on the bus could change it. Finally the driver gave up, and pointed to a seat. He would take me for free. Later on, a young Brazilian couple, under the same predicament (no exact change, no ticket) joined in.
The bus was heading to La Boca, an interesting suburb. After a while I asked the driver where was El Caminito, the stop the guidebook recommended. He engaged in a long explanation; I only understood that he wouldn’t let me getting off there. Dangerous? I asked. Yes, he said. Thus I continued to the last stop. He said that me and the Brazilian couple should travel back with him downtown. I tried to buy a ticket at the counter there, but they had no change either. Again, nobody could change the 5 pesos bill. No choice, I waited for the miracle driver and the free ride.
The station was a very photogenic place, with a large number (about a dozen or more) of colorful buses standing around in a half circle. But something told me that it wouldn’t be a good idea to pull the camera out. After a few minutes our driver emerged from the building, and asked another bus to take us (me and the Brazilian couple) back to the city, for free. He was incredibly nice and responsible.
By then quite a few people collected, who were all advised not to leave the bus station. On the bus then an English-speaking local finally explained that there was a soccer game that day, where the local La Boca team was playing. As soccer games often ended in violence, they wanted to keep outsiders away.
After the sightseeing adventure, I got off the bus on Plaza de Mayo and took the Subte to Recoleta, a part of the city I didn’t see before. This one proved to be the most beautiful. It’s a wealthy area with palaces and elegant parks.
I visited the Fine Arts Museum, where I liked most the “Tablas de la Conquista de Mexico.”
I had dinner in the Buenos Aires Design Center that proved to be an expensive mall. I ordered cannelloni with spinach and it wasn’t pasta, but rolled-up crepes filled with spinach, and covered with pasta sauce (made with eggplant, I guess). It was good, but not very filling. But I will adapt the idea at home.
In the park above the shopping center I saw more tango demonstrations, then walked to the metro and went home to pack. I felt I already spent too much time in Buenos Aires.
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