Mendoza - The smoking gun theory

Mendoza (Argentina)
16th-18th OCT 2010

So let me run this by you, if there's a person holding a smoking gun, standing over the body of someone that has just at that moment, coincidentally, been shot and killed, then could you reasonably deduce that the person holding the gun, with a vortex of smoke rising from their outstretched hand and now invading the inner sanctum of their nasal cavity, is in fact the guilty party? Circumstantial evidence would in fact allow you to make a strong case in that situation. It may not be correct but deductive reasoning would make for a pretty damn good guess I'd say. In much the same manner, the hostel that D and I were staying at in Mendoza was in the middle of Argentinian wine country. An area that in fact produces 75% of all wine in this country, and one that has a climate that's just perfect for producing an elegant, complex and wonderous malbec. Now just to provide a little more detail. The kitchen of the hostel was occupied with the carcasses of many empty wine bottles and thus my reasonable conclusion was that it was 101% certain that there was a bottle opener hiding somewhere within a 3.5 metre radius of where we were standing. It was only about an hour later that we realised that the smoking gun was in fact just a damn fancy lighter, so no bottle opener to be found in the heartland of Argentinian wine country my friends! It would be like going to Amsterdam and not finding a single backpacker in your hostel that had a bit of the 'ole domestic Don Juan stashed in their pockets.

Ciudad de Mendoza - Argentina

I think it translates to something close to, 'and still they continue to suck' - Mendoza - Argentina

Mendoza - Argentina

Two bottles of malbec in our hands, hours to kill and a collective stubbornness borne out of alcoholic unity, we ripped into the plastic cork with any utensil we could find. Forks, spoons and knives at the ready as we poked, prodded and carved our way further into the brick wall that was preventing us from having a chilled evening in Mendoza.

Now I'm sure there are successful  methods that you can readily utilise in order to remove the cork from a bottle without having a bottle opener at your disposal. Ways that have been shown on YouTube for centuries no doubt, but  methodologies we were completely oblivious to. With our worldly sensibilities we decided that cutting into the cork and then pushing it back into the bottle would eventually serve us well. Dina also suggested that we hold a plastic bag over the bottle, just in case the pressure of the event manifested into some type of UB40 red wine explosion. So as I forced the cork down with the back end of a fork something miraculous happened, the room was instantaneously painted red. The explosion had caught the both of us off guard and placed us directly in the middle of a red wine shower that would have done any splatter house production proud. With the hostel kitchen now playing host to the final scenes of the movie by the same name (please see Hostel (2005) written and directed by Eli Roth), we were forced to clean up rather quickly or be put in the position where Aldo, the hostel owner, would more than likely have suffered a heart attack if he were to walk in at that instant.

Tango on the streets - Mendoza - Argentina

This guy had the moves

Rolling back a day, we had met Aldo, the owner of the Oasis hostel, approximately 15 mins after we arrived in Mendoza on an overnight bus from Buenos Aires. I use the word overnight extremely loosely as the whole ride was in the 18hr range and being on a bus for that amount of time is never pleasant. So walking into the hostel, eyelids drooping, faculties lost and the comfortable oasis of an Oasis hostel bed only steps away, the last thing that we needed to listen to was Aldo tell us in minute detail of all the tours, restaurants, extra-activities that he could hook us up with at that very moment. Aldo couldn't resist the temptation to provide us with a blow by blow account or process methodology of how we should walk from his establishment to the city centre of his fabulous city, going into such insignificant detail that he even recommended the best side of the street that we should walk on.

Aldo didn't know it at the time but he was lucky to have survived a lynching right there and then. A little part of me actually wishes that he had walked into the hostel kitchen once we had destroyed it, just for the sake of a little pay back. Aldo, I hated you with all of my being at that moment!

As for Mendoza itself? It's nice enough but not a place that you would stay in just for the sake of visiting the city itself. It's distinctly used as a launching point for attacking the bodegas (wineries) that make their residence a few kilometres out of town. Something that we intended to do whilst in Mendoza and had in actual fact lined up for our last day. I was also kind of hoping that this would turn out to be half decent as our escapade to Montevideo had been made on a whim, my own unfortunately, and Mendoza had been shaping up us a little bittle of a fail also. I was sincerely hoping that the wine could pull us out of the mire.

Somehow the advice that we'd received regarding wine tours in Mendoza, received through the friends of friends directory, had placed Mr Hugo's Wineries and Bikes (Mr Hugo's W&B) at the top of the list of things to do whilst in the town of Maipu, the gateway to the wine region just outside of Mendoza. Now, for the few of you that may have done the maths already, whilst the concept of visiting wineries and riding push bikes might sound ever so quaint, even if it's undertaken within the shadows of those mountainous marvels called the Andes, you don't have to be a genious to at least figure out the potential consequences when you get the point where you're biking under the influence. So hold that thought for a few paragraphs.

Mr Hugo - Wineries and Bikes is a family run business located in the center of Los Caminos del Vino (The roads of the wine), and the crux of happens is that you walk in, get yourself a map, have a bike thrust into your hands and then you get sent away with waves and Argentinian smiles bidding you a buenos dias, or a buenas tardes, as the case may be when we actually started our Los Caminos del Vino adventure.

Somehow Dina and I missed the traditional cellars when we commenced our ride and took a dusty side trip down calle Montecaseros to a place that was termed on our guide map as a high quality olive oil and chocolate manufacturer. In actual fact it looked like someone had just set up olive oil production facilities in their back yard and you could see the confusion on peoples faces as they departed the place, just like they had paid someone the pleasure of having their wallet stolen. I know, doesn't make sense right? Thus the sense of confusion. It was at this point that I had it my head that the very next stop for us was going to be a winery and that we were going to be drinking, no matter what eventuated.

View of the Andes - over Bodega Trapiche - Maipu - Argentina

Malbec in hand, bike parked out front - Trapiche vineyard - Maipu - Argentina

Our first stop was Bodega Trapiche , apparently one of the largest vineyards in the world, something that I'd heard on the grapevine (oooh, crowd groans). We rolled into the car park of Trapiche on our pimped out Mr.Hugo rides, a little hot and bothered from the heat and in desperate need of a drink. We stole ourselves a bottle of malbec and enjoyed the environment of the back deck of the bodega with it's outlook onto the vineyard and its wonderful views of the  Andes. It took a little while to get our groove on but three quarters of the way through the bottle we were feeling a lot better for our biking cause and beginning to think that our afternoon in Maipu might not suck that hard after all.

JJ, guest book bombed once again - this time in Argentina!

Trapiche vineyard - Maipu - Argentina

Trapiche vineyard - Maipu - Argentina

As we headed out back into the afternoon sun we rode for about 30 mins before finally settling onto a wonderful tree lined road that took us to the Bodega Familia de Tomaso. Now that was a cool place. D and I took up residence at one of several tables that fronted the vineyards and settled into a late afternoon antipasto lunch with a couple of additional bottles of wine to accompany the food. By the third bottle of the day even the irritating Australians sitting at the table next to us couldn't dampen our spirits. In fact the afternoon turned out to be a real highlight, probably not too surprising with a few bottles of red under the belt but sometimes that's all it takes. Now however came the dose of reality, the ride back to base camp!

Bodega Familia de Tomaso - bikes parked out front - Maipu - Argentina

Bodega Familia de Tomaso - Maipu - Argentina

We were anything from 6-8kms from Mr Hugo's and as the bodega's started closing down on sunset, around 6pm, we had it in our minds that Mr Hugo would be shutting up shop somewhere close to 6:30pm. Now I don't know if you've ever biked under the influence, but riding at a rate of knots on a particularly average bike and trying to cover that distance in what felt like 20 mins was just a little bit of a challenge. Thankfully we did make it back to Hugo's in time only to find  Mr.Hugo was in the process of cheerfully filling up the glasses of the riding masses with wonderful red wine, free of charge. Something that apparently Mr Hugo did everyday for the riders as part of his service and something which of course made him extremely popular with all visitors, thus the recommendation that we had initially received. So what to do? In situations such as these you can't very well be rude can you? D and I just had to accept several glasses of wine for the sake of being well mannered and also thanking Mr Hugo for his quality bikes before leaving Maipu territory.

An hour or so later, feeling particularly cheery and in high spirits after what had turned out to be a fantastic day, I ran into a strange sort of feeling, I couldn't quite pinpoint it but it was like I somehow was on the brink of forgetting to do something quite important...oh yeah, then I kind of remembered, something about a bus to Bariloche...something about it being booked for later that evening? I walked over to D and asked, 'You know that bus that we're meant to be catching tonight, what time is it leaving?', '8:45pm' came the response. 'Aha, so is it a problem that it's now 7:30!?'. You don't even have to know the answer to that other than IT WAS a problem. So we scrambled!

Somehow we managed to jump a taxi that Mr.Hugo had called in for our immediate assistance, quite fortunate actually because every backpacker in the joint (20-30 of them) realised at the same moment (or so it seemed) that they needed to be somewhere else at that very instant also. With some skillful driving we made it back to the Oasis hostel at 8:15pm, dodged Aldo successfully, picked up our bags and hailed another cab down all within a 10min turn around time! Now that really was very skillful. I really don't know how we even managed it so successfully, especially on the back of several litres of wine, but we virtually walked straight onto a waiting bus once we made it to the bus station. I'd say we wouldn't have waited any more than 7-8 minutes and the bus was on its way, bound south on a 16hr journey to Bariloche.

Montevideo - a city on standyby

Montevideo (Uruguay)
08 OCT - 10 OCT 2010

The Prelude

Imagine now for a moment that 8.4 million Australians lived in our wondrous capital city of Canberra, and imagine now for a moment that most of those inhabitants weren't bored out of their skulls, didn't have excessive porn collections and were as close to normal as a Canberran could possibly be...you see, you can't imagine it, because it's an impossibility. It's like trying to find the answer to one divided by zero, your calculator just goes 'beserker'.

Montevideo is Uruguays' capital. Close to 40% of the population of this little country live in this ramshackled town. This mate/chimarrão/cimarrón swilling society of 1.3 million walk the streets with thermoses at the ready, mate cups in their hands, bomba's in their mouths, caffeinated to the hilt, until the point of their eyeballs exploding, in a town that's equally as boring as Canberra. Why the hell would you deliberately strive for finding the extremes of mental alertness in this town? So, with that said, and therefore not wanting to be 'desperately biased' but of course you know that I will be , I'm going to do Montevideo a favour and take it down with a Tarantino style delivery- 'ok, so first things f*ckin' last' then.

Mr Pink

Ms Blue and Mr Pink making 'contact' in Colonia del Sacramento

There on the cobble stoned streets of Colonia sat Mr Pink, ever so casually, ever so innocently, staring off into the abyss perhaps, in a world that only he could comprehend. Ms Blue and I didn't quite comprehend the impact that Mr Pink would have on our lives but his physical presence, his obvious charm and charisma were unmistakable traits of a man in his prime. Ms Blue was taken by his rugged manliness in a New York minute.

Ever since the Uruguayan immigration episode where Lucy, the portly customs official, batted her blackened eyelashes and grunted for me to move swiftly to the ferry, Ms Blue had not been shy in letting me know that she thought that Lucy could very well be 'the one' for me. Such ferocity and passion, such a smoldering femininity, such a lust for anything with two legs that could possibly be seen to be male in those vacant, 'I've seen things' eyes - could Lucy, the Uruguayan customs  official actually be the one for me? I was  trying to reason with all those things in my small mind and questioned the destiny that actually brought us together when I saw Ms Blue flick her eyes up to a distinguished man sitting ever so casually in the same cafe that we had chosen for an afternoon layover.

I suggested to Ms Blue that this very man could very well be 'the one' for her and hinted that she should display her wares in a timeless, sophisticated manner that would undoubtedly undo this gentleman from his stoic pose. As Ms Blue strutted away and took up a position within striking range I analysed Mr Pink from my own covert position. Who was he really? Was he an old school Marxist terrorist? A member perhaps of the Tupamaros that was sent to make contact with like minded ideologists such as us, OR, was he a love-seeker? A man whose Uruguayan fantasy had taken him to Colonia in search of a little bit of fluff? It wasn't a question that I could answer at that moment but damn, it was a question to which I definitely needed a result on. In any case, Ms Blue with her wily charms did everything but sit on the lap of Mr Pink to absolutely no avail, not even with a hint of any sort of movement from the love below.

Ms Blue

Ms Blue in a reflective repose - on the way to Montevideo

Ms Blue missed her chance in Colonia. As Mr Pink fluttered off into the stillness of a coloured Colonia afternoon Ms Blue was left to lament an opportunity lost, and perhaps also the fact that she was now travelling nearly 3hours south for the sake of a sandwich (Oh yes, the chase for the chivito was still on). Somehow Mr White (aka, me) had convinced Ms Blue that a trip to the Uruguayan capital would be more than worthwhile and that the 'chase for the chivito' was just the icing on what was going to be a cake of unprecedented flavour and colour.

As the hours passed however Ms Blue started pressing me for more answers. What's there to do in Montevideo?, Is there really anything good there? What's the deal with Columbus day?  Oh no, I was starting to wilt under the pressure of my own ignorance. How could I tactfully make the chivito the focal point of our exploration without actually saying so? The questions were mounting and time was running our for me.

The last known whereabouts

Now if you've read up until this point then please be careful with the information that I have provided directly below. These two photos are the ONLY images that I have from Montevideo, the other images that I've disturbingly carried around in my mind for months on end have all but been erased. The images that I now provide for you are the last known whereabouts of Montevideo in the streets of my mind.

 Montevideo - the city that excitement forgot

Montevideo - can it get any better than this? No...no it can't

Mr White

Mr White in the hands of his 'standard' back-up plan

There were obvious problems with Montevideo. The ubiquitous drink of the town, mate, was an ever present reminder that 'we', as outsiders, were not cool enough for the place. Aside from the town being even more boring than bat shit there was this damn kitsch cultural oddity that was flagrantly being waved in our faces every step that we took. I decided at that point that we should get off the streets for a while and that I should chase down a hometown chivito in order to make my Uruguayan culinary dream a reality. Ms Blue and I pulled up a seat in a small cafe on the eastern side of the Cuidad Vieja, an old school barrio of Montevideo and settled in for what we hoped would be a satisfactory lunch.

Ms Blue had ordered a pasta with a three cheese sauce, at least that's what we thought she ordered. What turned up at our table was a globulous, goo like substance that oozed through gelatinous morsels of what looked to be rooster combs. This three cheese liquid ecstasy was obviously 'just the tonic' for Ms Blue who at that point professed her undying and ever enduring love for this town. I on the other hand finally achieved the realisation of my chivito dream, a poxy, paltry two bit meat sandwich that would have disappointed a three year old at their local parish fete had they requested the same meal. Ahh Montevideo, you'd trumped us again.

Our walk through and around Cuidad Vieja had been uninspiring, our quest for food had been a more than forgetful experience, and now the town seemed like it just wanted to mess with our sanity by offering us nothing, literally nothing. Our afternoon and evening in Montevideo had died an 'inglorious bastards' death and now on the morrow, to make matters even that much more appealing, we had to change hostels due to the fact that nearly every place in this town (...yes, read that again, nearly every place in this town) had been booked out due to the Columbus day holiday.

The Columbus day heist

The next day Ms Blue and I made our way to the other side of town in order to take up the only accommodation that we had been able to locate for these given days. Montevideo, up until this point, had not made any sort of positive impression on us up until this point ....and unfortunately it wasn't going to get any better.

We arrived at out new hostel just on noon, with confirmations in hand and with optimism in our hearts, we had actually decided at that moment in time that 'perhaps' Montevideo should be given the benefit of the doubt. As we walked in through to reception and handed in our booking confirmations the conversation went something like this;

'Ms Blue and Mr White, yes, we have your confirmation as listed, but I don't know, we have no room now' - Receptionist dude

Ms Blue - 'Oh, you have no room now, as in, you have no room for the next couple of hours?'

Receptionist Dude - 'No, it's a busy weekend and we have no room tonight!'

Mr White - 'You do know that we have a booking, how is it possible that you don't have room?'

Receptionist Dude (Insert slightly nervous and apologetic laugh)

So the way things 'rolled' after this point was this. We made it clear that 'we' as guests of Montevideo had in fact nowhere to spend the night if this establishment had 'stuffed' our booking. We recommended at this point that he make 'many' calls and hook us up with accommodation (we remained at reception whilst he made the calls).

Judging by the expressions on the man and his exasperated tone, when he came back to us with the result that 'he couldn't find anything',  Ms Blue blatantly said, 'Ok, well it's your responsibility to find something, even if it means that we end up sleeping at your place'. I think for a split second the Receptionist Dude thought this was Ms Blue bluffing but realised in an instant later that her don't f**k with me face meant that he could very well be putting us up for the night. As he got on with the battle of sorting out our digs, Ms Blue and I waited around in the common room.

Sitting in the common room and looking out into the back garden I thought it was kind of surreal that a Chilean karate team was practising their moves not 10 metres from where I was, how the hell did they manage to get accommodation here? Must have been their fists of fury. As I turned around I noticed Ms Blue had jumped onto a computer and was 'netting' something or other whilst chatting with some old dude next to her. I must have sat there for something like 10-15 mins, wondering what the hell our next move was going to be and wondering where Ms Blue was going with this conversation with the elderly gentleman next to here...then it happened, I called Ms Blue over for a little chat.

Mr White: 'So Ms Blue, what's your memory like?'

Ms Blue (slightly exasperated and thinking I was just being a tool): 'What do you mean, what's my memory like? What do you want to tell me?'

Mr White: 'Well, just have a look at these photos, tell me if there's anyone you recognise from the line-up?'

Scrolling back through the Colonia photos we stopped at a cafe scene shot that I'd taken a couple of days earlier, Ms Blue started to beam.

Ms Blue: "Oh, no way'

Mr White: 'Oh yes, that man that you've been chatting to for the last 15 mins is Mr Pink, the man that you couldn't resist and one that destiny could not keep you away from'

Somehow Mr Pink had beaten us to this outpost of Montevideo and it was more than likely he and his cohorts that were going to force Ms Blue and I out onto the dog riddled streets for that evening. That devious bugger had both chased down his prey and had trumped us at the turn, obviously Mr Pink had it in his mind that he was going to 'sharing' a bed that evening! What a smooth criminal!

A few moments later Receptionist Dude walks on over and advises that he's been able to hook us up with accommodation with friends of his that resided relatively close to the hostel, but by that time Montevideo had already had our measure. Ms Blue and I decided that we were splitting back for the otherside of the river that night and the big BA was just going to have to put up with us arriving back home sooner!

The post that follows this is - Buenos Aires - The Quickening

Colonia del Sacramento - riding the red wine and empanada revolution

Colonia del Sacramento (Uruguay)
06 OCT - 08 OCT 2010

This post follows on from - Buenos Aires - The Quickening

 

I can't recall another time in my life when I've specifically wanted to go to a country just because I wanted experience a particular food item of that nation, usually the potential culinary delights of a country are cloaked within its mystique and ethereal beauty. Not so the case for Uruguay however. My sole aim was the pursuit of the fabled chivito, the mother of all sandwiches that I've heard has been able to give the novice a heart attack just on plain viewing. If you don't believe in the  truth  of that statement then just check out the details of the basic chivito al plato recipe as outlined below;

Chivito al plato would usually have the following ingredients: a 1/4 inch steak (such as a fillet mignon), 2 or 3 slices of bacon, an egg, ham, mozzarella cheese, tomato, onion, lettuce, fried potatoes and/or potatoes with carrots and green beans salad, mayonnaise, and salt. 

Add to that as much 'additional' bacon, steak, egg, ham or cheese as you please and then close your eyes and enjoy the ride. Let me just say right now and for the record that I did not acquire the mighty chivito in any of Colonia de Sacramentos' wonderous establishments, so for those waiting to see me downing one in some gluttonous induced fervor, I apologise, this post is chivitoless.

 On the way to Uruguay

 'Ummm H - Colonia is on this map, isn't it?'

Needless to say, the sojourn to Colonia commenced innocently enough. Somehow D and I agreed that a few days to Colonia and then Montevideo would fit nicely into our 'lets experience South America journey', oh and yeah, not that I made it well known  to D but the driving force behind my desire was to acquire that damn sandwich in its homeland. So one early evening down by the docks near La Boca we boarded a ferry and set off for the one hour journey east to Colonia. It has to be said, the brutes at the immigration counter left us both with quite an impression as our passports were possessed for a few moments while the appropriate Argentinian exit and Uruguayan arrivals stamps were provided in one foul swoop. These Chinese weightlifter sized behemoth's with their coarse stubble, tree trunk legs and sweaty shirts just gave us a guttural grunt as we passed on by and made out way to the gangway - and these were the attractive female Uruguayan specimens that we had encountered (I kid...sort of).

 Love the colours in this photo - Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 The plates give you away every time

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

One hour into our watching the Best of Phil Collins via the 'in flight entertainment' and singing one too many versus of 'su-su-sussudio' we arrived on the shores of a new land. Making our way through the dark and desolate streets of Colonia I wondered whether this old colonial town, and more importantly the barrio historico, was going to live up to its UNESCO heritage listing. Cutting through the quite streets of the town all you could hear were the lone and errant barks of Colonia dogs and crickets, lots and lots of crickets. Somehow we didn't get the sense that this place was a tourist mecca for anyone other than beaten Argentines from Buenos Aires that had somehow in their foolhardy or bold reckoning decided that peace could somehow be found on 'the other side of the river'. I convinced myself that daylight was going to bring about a serene and tranquil little town and until that point I was going to have to wait ...and I was going to have to also deal with the fact that my guerrilla Spanish was not of a sufficient standard to bring about even the slightest smile to this Uruguayan posada owner who most have been wondering what the hell a random Australian and New Zealander was doing in his humble little abode.

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

That evening D and I cruised the main street of Colonia and dropped in at a little place named El Porton on Avenida Gral Flores. It looked to be a meat haven! Great for me, not so great for a vegetarian like Dina. Sometimes you need to take one for the team, the team on this  particular evening was nominated as being the 'Elisher meatlover's appreciation union of Colonia'. If that's the team that you end up being on then what the hell else are you suppose to do? Now, I'm not sure how Dina found it in herself to make a 'meat suggestion' on my behalf but she swore that the veal sweetbread had to be the go in a place such as this. Throwing caution to the wind and accepting the reasoning that this would of in fact been her fathers' recommendation (who incidentally is a meat lover), I took on the Uruguayan mystery meat challenge with reckless abandon...and I have to say that it was freakin' sensational! Nearly the best meal that I had on tour, just being pipped by the glorious rib fillet of Chezcharry taste of the meat pulled from the coals, with a healthy serving of chimichurri and several glasses of Argentinian malbec had moulded a sweet symphony of satisfaction in my heart and mind. Colonia through the haze of a blissful food coma was already looking on the up and up.

 El Porton - Avenida Gral Flores -Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 El Porton - Avenida Gral Flores -Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

Not El Porton - but this serves as proof that you can get an awesome blue margarita in Uruguay!

The sunrise of the following day brought about a morning of cloud, light drizzle and cool air. Dina was crashed our from her morning of skyping and I decided to head on out in order to see what Colonia could offer the tourist who had turned up on a whim...and yeah, I've got to say, it was alright.  As many a guidebook has put it, Colonia was initially founded by, and existed under Portuguese control for some time since it was settled in 1680 on a small little peninsula jutting out into the Rio de la Plata. In that sense therefore the town is known to be reminiscent of old Lisbon, with its winding cobblestone streets, colourful houses and unique layout that is significantly different to that of typical Spanish colonial towns. As I wondered around in the drizzle of the morning which thankfully cleared up quite quickly, I found the place to be remarkably pretty. In fact I've got to say that for me it was one of the easiest places to take photos. None of them really needed to be thought out at all, it was simply a 'point and shoot' job for the most part and it just seemed that time after time something magnificent manifested. Obviously on my journeys there had been more dramatic places to take photos but Colonia was quaint and charming in that 'old world' sense.

Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

Later on that day D managed to join me from her slumber and we cruised around the three main streets of the town, taking photos, (drinking of course) and generally enjoying our first day of being in Uruguay. It was an auspicious introduction to Uruguay, or so I thought, but it's big cousin Montevideo had a few tricks waiting for us when we decided to make our way south to the capital the next day.

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Looking out onto the Rio de la plata - Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

 Colonia del Sacramento - Uruguay

PS - My quest for the chivito made me push onto Montevideo in unbridled anticipation and what I thought was going to transpire...by some strange design of fate the chivito eluded me in Colonia.

 

Madrid - the Other

Madrid (Spain)

27 SEP - 01 OCT

When the short stories of Jorge Luis Borges clash with the songs of  Shihad , yes seriously, you get 'the Other'

I was sitting in the Puerta del Sol (Gate of the Sun), which is considered to be the centre of Madrid, rather late one evening, actually I think it was the night before that I was meant to fly out to Buenos Aires when somehow  I tracked down a quote in the recesses of my mind regarding the city that had now become somewhat of a favourite, it went something like this, '...[I]f you could distill the city to its essence, it would be this: Madrid is a rebellious ex-convent schoolgirl who grew up, got sophisticated but never forgot how to have a good time'. There was certainly nothing that I'd experienced in either the last few days or my week here three months earlier that would be able to refute the accuracy of that sentiment.

 The Puerta del Sol - Madrid - Spain

 On the Gran Via - Madrid - Spain

Sitting on one of the benches at a rather later hour but perhaps not so late for Spaniards as they commonly head out for dinner at a time approaching 11pm, I noticed someone sidle up to the bench, his back turned to me, living in his own head space. It was fleetingly irritating. Sometimes even in such a public space that has an enormous amount of human traffic  and enough space for everyone to be satisfied you want to be able to occupy an area on your own, to be in your own thoughts and ideas without being distracted by the oddities and quirks of a complete stranger. It's curious as to how trivial things can all of a sudden both demand and be given 100% of your concentration for no apparent reason. This man sitting now not 10 metres away from me at this very point in time had my complete attention. Looking at the way he was hunched over on the edge of the bench, elbows dug into his thighs, arms meeting at an apex where is fingers were interlaced supporting his head, brought out in me a type of visceral, deep-rooted reaction. It was only at that point that I had the rather unsettling feeling of déjà vu. Now there are several explanations for déjà vu ranging from the eyes recording information slightly faster than that which the brain can process it, to the subconscious mind processing information faster than the conscious mind does to that of the simple onset of fatigue. But how was it therefore that this  random guy was wearing a shirt that had 'Kyoto' emblazoned across his back with the number 11, an item of clothing that I swore was identical to one that I had in my bag back at the hostel!?

 

 Madrid - Spain

The Gran Via - Madrid - Spain

Sitting there for an inordinate period of time I rode on that familiar acute wave of anxiety that you generally get just prior to doing something that's uncharacteristic for yourself. I turned to face the guy, in complete anticipation of him turning around, and then said the following, 'Hey, Marrakech is an odd place, you'll learn to love it the farther removed you are'. This guy spun around in an instant and immediately tried to analyse my face in the muted light of the square. It was only at that very moment, when our eyes met that it came to me that this was not an occurrence of déjà vu, this was the exact conversation that I'd had just over two years ago, in the very same spot, only that  on that occasion I had been on the receiving end...and  strangely enough, I'd also been the despatcher. How was two years on I'd forgotten this very moment?


Both dumbfounded and bewildered he never the less decided to answer my statement by saying simply, 'I actually do like the place!'. Somehow his response came out a little defensive, almost like he was offended.

I laughed and responded in kind, 'No, you don't but you will, just give it time, oh and by the way when you get the Paris remember to buy yourself a torch, you'll need it almost immediately'. Then just after I said that I laughed internally as I knew very well that I wouldn't, and in fact that I didn't.

'You know I've only got just over 24hrs in Madrid, it feels like I'm going to be missing out on such an amazing place. How long have you been here? Actually, what are you doing here?' he quizzed.

 Plaza Mayor - Madrid

 Plaza Mayor - Madrid

'This is my second time in Madrid within the last three months. In total I've spent close to 10 days here in that amount of time. Just travelling around I guess, seeing the sights'. At that moment my internal dialogue went gangbusters and I questioned myself as to why the hell it was that I was being so coy, with myself of all people? Other than the fact that I had two years of in depth knowledge on myself in this conversation and already knew how the hell it was that I got to this position what was the exact purpose of not being forthright in this conversation?

'Seriously? I've got under a day here and you're not going to tell me about the place or how it is that you or rather (I) got  to being here?' he responded.

I thought about his questions for a moment as my mind drifted off. I remembered the taxi ride in from the bus station through the city to the top of Calle la Montera just a few nights ago. I recalled that the architecture of the city immediately made an impression on me, as it had done on previous occasions. Distinctly Spanish, classical, intricate and aesthetically appealing. It didn't take me long at all to get absorbed into its cool air of sophistication that somehow was totally unpretentious. Nor did it take me too long to figure out that bar scene in Madrid is  kind of synonymous with its food scene and the more you allow yourself to search through the treasure trove of establishments, the more you'll come to be fascinated by the myriad of food options and opportunities that you'll have presented.
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In the days that Dina and I spent here prior to making our way down to South America we both commented on just how much of an appealing place Madrid was. Not only due to its food and culture but also because of the great nature of the people, who themselves were quite aesthetically pleasing if I may say, by quite a fair margin actually. Out of any place that I'd travelled to prior to that point in time the lovely ladies of Madrid had it in spades, class, elegance and beauty that put all other pretenders to the throne to shame.

I also had the good fortune of having an art buff accompany me around Madrid which made visits to such places as the Prado, Thyssen-Bornemisza and Reina Sofia museums just that much more informative and inspiring. I spent some time in the Prado museum admiring the black paintings of Goya, marvelling at the intricacies and imagination that must of existed behind a Bosch painting entitled the 'Garden of Earthly Delights' and figuring out that Peter Paul Rubens was not actually the name of some crappy sixties band. In the Reina Sofia museum I even resolved my differences with Picasso when Dina gave me a little bit of a build up and brief history lesson regarding his epic painting entitled Guernica. I had no position to argue after the unveiling, the piece is epic, as masterpieces are usually prone to being. I was also lucky enough to encounter the works of a Valencian painter, Joaquin Sorolla as I was dragged off to an offbeat gallery a little way out of the city centre. No complaints however, the quite often bright, sun-drench beach scenes and landscapes struck a chord with me and I was sold on his brilliance in an instant.

 Picassos' Guernica - Museo de arte Reina Sofia - Madrid

 Maro con Naranjas - J.Sorolla - Sorolla museo - Madrid

 Ninas en al mar - J.Sorolla - Sorolla museo - Madrid

 Sorolla museo - Madrid

Nor was I too displeased when the visit to the Sorolla museo turned into a search for picnic food which in turn ended up being a baguette, combination of soft cheeses, some fine chocolates and a bottle of red wine that we managed to hijack from a restaurant in Parque del Buen Retiro on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. In fact, as the afternoon just sailed on by I was kind of amused as to how such randomness turned into something so amazingly cool. Sometimes planning things can be the death of enjoyment because what you end up deducting is the very aspect of surprise and chance that you searched for to begin with.

 

Alfonso XII monument - Retiro Park - Madrid

Alfonso XII monument - Retiro Park - Madrid

I thought of all those things as I sat there in front of myself. I even contemplated telling myself that I actually considered Madrid as being close to one of the best cities that I had ever been to but then of course, I thought, I'd also be losing out on that irreplaceable feeling of surprise. In that moment I stood up and said to the misfit sitting down, 'No, I think I'm going to let you find out about this place all on your own'.

Without questioning me he just called out when I was a few steps away, 'So, where are you heading off to now?'.
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'Off to get a drink and then back to the hostel, I have a flight to catch to Buenos Aires tomorrow'

By which he responded, 'Oh, you're kidding me!? I finally get to go to South America!!?'

I just smiled back at him as I turned around and walked away, calling back over my shoulder one final time I yelled out, 'Yeah, you do!'. I know for certain that my final response also put a smile on his face....funny how I knew that.

  The post that follows on from this is - Buenos Aires - The Quickening