The Gaucho

The Gaucho featured several times in our recent travels but I waited until we were home and I had access to some other photographs to write about it here.

When we were last in Argentina, in 2004, we spent some time at the beautiful Estancia La Portena,  home of the writer Ricardo Guiraldes whose classic work Don Segundo Sombra tells the story of a young gaucho out on the pampas.

We met the gauchos working on the estancia there and one took our boy out riding for a bit of an adventure.

We ate lunch, cooked in traditional gaucho style on the asado, under the Ombu tree and learned a little about these men and their culture.

In San Antonio de Areco we visited the gaucho museum and a workshop where the tools of their trade – possibly more decorative than functional! – were made.

As a result of all of this, I thought I knew what to expect when a gaucho turned up on board to perform some of his skills to the ship’s company one evening and rather looked forward to the show.  But there was a hitch – somewhere between Buenos Aires and Ushuaia, his luggage had gone astray.  Oh no – lost luggage is a nightmare when travelling on a ship, because coordinating delivery with the limited time in a port is tricky to say the least.  We were told that he expected to receive it in Punta del Este, Uruguay, after which he would be able to perform his show.

In the meantime, people asked if we’d seen the gaucho about the ship?  Well, no we hadn’t.  How might we recognise him?  Well, it seemed he was dressed from head to toe in black and had a distinctive look. 

Nevertheless, we still didn’t catch sight of him.

Or his wife. Who, apparently had a similarly distinctive look.  But taller.

OK.  We kept an eye out for them but still didn’t see them.

Imagine our surprise when the show began, then.

Sadly, his half hour show proved to be mostly a badly edited video resume of his career, interspersed with some moves from his contortionist wife (yes, really).  They did do some drumming and he did a couple of tricks with the boleadores but really, we felt short changed.

Fortunately, the gaucho at the tango show (dressed in black when we were there) showed what could be done.  (the bola show begins around 6.20 minutes in by the way)  The performance we saw was even more edgy and involved him spinning the bola so close to his head that his mullet haircut wafted in the draught!!

Never let it be said that we don’t see the best in life

Good to be home

On Saturday night, as we sat in the balmy, Buenos Aires evening air overlooking the new docklands area, we reflected on our recent travels.  Sure, there were a few shortcomings but you know what?  We had a great time!  But sitting here, my Hero observed that really, there were no clues to our location – well, apart from the socking great hunk of beef that was being grilled a stone’s throw away, that is .  But he was right – looking out over the new office blocks, the classic modern water landscape with a few yachts, restaurants and smart shops could have been anywhere in the world: Vancouver, Sydney, London…in a mad moment, he even suggested Gloucester!

Well, the wine was excellent and we were in good spirits.  We were here, in Buenos Aires, enjoying dinner in Cabana Las Lilas on the last night of our holiday.

I ordered the smallest, choicest cut, just 875g.  Good grief.  No, I didn’t manage to finish it sadly, because it was easily the tastiest, juiciest most delicious piece of meat I’ve eaten in ages.  Oh, Argentina!

Yesterday morning, then, it was time to leave.  I snagged a decent shot of the British tower as we left.

Waiting for our flight, we feared the worst as a small child appeared to be playing a drum in front of us in the queue.  What sane person would give a child such a thing to take on a 13 hour flight?!  But our fears were unfounded – phew – the child was merely beating the base of a signpost to death!  Thankfully, our flight was comfortable once we’d got four or five hours of turbulence out of the way – it was a windy night, we were advised.

As we took off, we flew over the city towards the Rio de la Plata before banking and turning north.

Somewhere down there on the riverside, my hero spotted our home for the last three weeks.  Funny to think they’ll be in Montevideo again today whilst we are back here in our comfy, cosy home.

We’re glad to be here, too.

In Buenos Aires

Well, we’ve disembarked.  Our cruise has come to an end here in Buenos Aires and tomorrow, the ship will sail without us on the next leg of the journey to Rio.  We’d originally booked that section as well but thought better of it and cancelled.  This morning, as we packed our bags, we felt we’d done the right thing.  It’s time to go home.

Except, not quite yet!  We have a day to ourselves in BA and don’t fly home till tomorrow.  There is something about this city that I really like and I was looking forward to a bit of fun.

So, we checked into our hotel and after a bit of a breather, headed out to see what was going on.  We knew of a flea market in San Telmo, where we’d been yesterday, and thought that might make a focus to aim for.

We’ve actually been here twice before; the last time was about ten years ago when we spent a week in Argentina on our way home from New Zealand.  We walked our feet off around the city that time and sure enough, it all came back to us as soon as we turned into the Plaza San Martin.  We walked down Calle Florida, then, just like in those days.

The cashmere sweater shops were still here, with amazing prices.  There are 20 Argentinian Pesos ($) to the pound, by the way.

Above street level there are some truly gorgeous buildings with fine architectural details.

But beware of looking up at them too long, because underfoot are quite a few hazards.  Yes, Buenos Aires has been going through some tough times and it shows.

We were heading into the Plaza de Mayo, the main square with the Casa Rosada at one end.

There it is, beyond the monument, the balcony where Eva Peron stood and sang “Don’t cry for me Argentina” – well, at least, in someone’s imagination, but definitely not in real life

Here is the centre for all protests, including the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo whose white headscarves are painted on the ground alongside outlines of the disappeared.

Just beyond that spot was the street which we understood led to the flea market.  Actually, there was a market going on right inside the street here, so we crossed the road and headed in that direction.

I‘m not sure the goods on sale would really constitute a flea market in my opinion, but never mind, we carried on to see what’s what.

There were fine buildings with interesting old signs.  Nothing we wanted to buy though.

Oho, I could put on my own bola show when we get home, maybe, and pretend to be a gaucho? (I still haven’t told you about that, have I?)

We decided instead to sit by the side with a beer and watch the world go by a while.  Watch the children picking bottle caps from the cobbles, too.

Across the way, something was cooking.   You are never far from a piece of grilled meat in Buenos Aires, believe me!

Tempting though it was, we kept walking.  We have plans for later.

But there really was plenty of temptation!

As always, we were drawn to some live music.  This group were playing tango music down a small side street and so we stood happily in the shade and listened a while.

I’m pleased we did – otherwise, I’d not have seen this great piece of graffiti.

Or this pretty house, falling to pieces right now, but just imagine how beautiful it could be with a bit of investment.

For now, these houses are locked and bolted and are in need of love.

Soon, we were in the square where the real flea market was being held but once again, I could hear tango music.  Actually, wherever you walk in BA, there’s tango music playing somewhere, but when it’s live, it immediately captures my attention.

We stood on the shady corner of a “Calle de Tango” named after Mariano Mores, watching a group play and thinking there was going to be some dancing soon.  They had laid out a sheet of board in front of them on top of the cobbles and there was no other reason we could think of to have it there.

Then he appeared.  A gentleman of a certain age, wearing a hat tipped forward and with a definite glint in his eye.  In not time, he’d got one of the women dancing – not really a tango, but something of the kind!  What a rascal he looks, don’t you agree?

We took a different route back, not wishing to mooch through all those market stalls again at a snails pace.

Even in the back streets, there’s always something to see and photograph.

And plenty of small corner restaurants offering tasty dishes.  Hmmm…

All through the city, we came across small groups of policemen.  One group appeared to be trying on each other’s hats, another was undoing new high-vis uniform pieces and trying them on.  Were they cadets?  Special constables?  Or just normal police officers going about their jobs on a quiet Sunday afternoon?  We had no idea.

We walked as far as the Avenida 9 Julio and walked a block or so before turning right towards our hotel.  We were getting tired and it was very hot.

Remember, I said you’re never far from a piece of grilled meat in BA?

As we turned into Florida to walk the last stretch back, we spotted an ice cream shop.  Having made our purchases we perched on the edge of the windowsill of a bank opposite and sat eating it, musing about the day.  Suddenly, two women ran down the street and seemed to be running away from something.  Other people began to look – what was happening?

Next thing we knew, a young man was running shouting towards us from the street where we’d just walked.  He was being chased by a couple of police officers (wearing new high vis vests!) and was clearly running from someone else too.  The police officers grabbed him and sure enough, another man who’d been chasing him was rugby-tackled to the ground right in front of our eyes!

Whilst they tried to calm the chaser down – his head on the pavement above,

They brought the other – shirtless – man alongside us and began to ask a few questions.  How amazing that there were so many police officers instantly on the scene!  Two police cars too.  We watched a while until we’d finished our ice creams and then continued on our way.

Too much entertainment!

I took a few last photographs of grand buildings and a reminder of what Buenos Aires was like in its heyday and we were almost back.

I had intended to go over and take a photo of the Falklands – sorry, Malvinas – memorial in the park there, but my feet wouldn’t let me!  I have a photograph at home which I may post in a few days time instead.

It’s opposite the tower built by the British from materials imported from the UK to commemorate the May revolution.  Sorry the tree got in the way!

Footsore and feeling a little overheated, we retreated to our cool, air conditioned room having bumped into a couple of our on board neighbours in the street outside, waiting for the bus back to the ship.  Did we wish we were waiting for that bus to return to our comfortable suite on board?  Well, not really.  We said goodbye to our friends this morning and look forward to being back in our own little Cotswold village soon. 

Not before we’ve had dinner, though.  Argentine style.  You know what that means?

It takes two

We chose and booked our places for each of the activities and tours some months ago and occasionally have a change of heart.  Sometimes, what seemed like a good idea at the time turns out to be too much in a busy schedule, or perhaps doesn’t seem to give us a chance to discover a place to the extent to which we’d like.

Sometimes, we look at our ticket and wonder what on earth we were thinking!

A couple of days ago I returned to the Destinations desk to say I felt we’d made a mistake.  “Tango Masterclass” in Buenos Aires?  M a s t e r c l a s s ?  I explained we were rank beginners and as such, didn’t really feel such a class would be appropriate.  We’d better switch to “The highlights of Buenos Aires” or something instead.

The young Argentinian staff member wouldn’t let me.  “Mrs Thomas, you will have such fun, believe me!  Please, stick with it and see”.  (Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she?)

This morning, a dozen or so of us headed to La Ventana Tangueria, where this delightful couple was waiting to teach us to tango.  We needn’t have worried about being out of our depth, for not everyone had danced before and even those who had were no tango experts.

We started at the beginning then.

Eight steps…one two and three were a piece of cake, but four five and six were a bit tricky for me, involving crossing my feet and transferring my weight from one foot to the other.  Seven and eight just involved going back to the beginning, which was fine if I’d managed five and six but otherwise, were a muddle.

Slowly, though, I got the hang of it and having a hero to lean on made it a bit easier…unless we both lost the plot somewhere along the line and got the giggles.  For fifteen minutes or so, we practised, practised, practised under the expert eye of the professionals, who occasionally took our hands and gave us 1:1 guidance – oh my!

Having got to grips with that basic eight-step process, we were shown how to add in a few twirls – four swivel turns, to add a little flourish.  Oooo.  My excuse was that I needed a pair of heels to dance in, really, to make that swivel easier.  It might have been easier too, had we both had the same flat stomachs as our teachers, but looking around the room, most of us shared that particular challenge

Our lesson ended with a glass of wine, the music turned up and an invitation to put everything we’d learned together.  Can you believe we really did dance the tango in Buenos Aires!?

Great fun!  (and thank you to Gabriela for persuading me to stick with it!)

Montevideo

The clouds were building over the city as we seemed to circle around it.  When we woke this morning, we looked out (as we do) and felt sure that the view was that of Punta del Este.  Sure enough, that’s exactly what it was, evidenced by the white edifice on the landscape that was CasaPuelblo.  By this afternoon, though, we simply had to be approaching Montevideo – not that far from Punta del Este but as we were to discover later, a world away in some terms.

We approached our berth by sailing past containers and, above, stacks of the components for wind turbines.

Oh, and the Uruguayan Navy.

And the Zaandam, an Holland America cruise ship already in port.

With a helpful shove from a tug right beneath our verandah, we made it to our berth.

Although we had tickets for a tour, we decided to throw them in and go it alone, so as soon as we were docked, my Hero and I hot footed it along the quayside and away.

We stopped at the dock entrance though, to take photographs and pay homage to an event we last commemorated on the Oriana, as we sailed out of Buenos Aires that time.  The Graf Spee was scuttled in the Rio de la Plata and this memorial marked that event.

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We crossed the road out of the dock estate and were soon in the pedestrianised old town.

We walked though a small square with a monument with this lovely sculpture on the side facing us.  This appeared to be a “real” gaucho, unlike one we saw last evening…maybe I’ll tell you more about him later.

This part of Montevideo is pretty gritty.  The old town is undergoing some renovation but in the meantime the shabby is overriding the chic.  We knew of this from one of the lectures we’d heard on board the ship, from Terry Breen, who’d bought  property in this part of the city and who’d been able to give us a valuable insight.

As we wandered up the main street, we came across a bunch of people.  What was going on?  My hero soon got it – a wedding!  Quick, said he, she’s about to throw her bouquet!

Well, I didn’t quite catch the moment, but it’s enough to give you an idea.  It was a simple, unfussy but heartfelt celebration and the small girl who caught the bunch of roses was thrilled, believe me!

I’ll post some more specific impressions of Montevideo later, but for now, walk with us through this pedestrianised street and enjoy the calm and relaxed atmosphere here.

The remnants of a formerly grander community are still here and, in some places, are being restored.

But it’s going to take time and in the meantime, the force are out on their Segways, keeping order.

We soon approached this landmark which we recognised – the gateway to the old town there at the top of the street.

On the other side lies the newer, commercial capital city, with government offices around this grand square.

Though we were heading right across it, we spotted the theatre there on our right hand side so snapped a picture to remind us to revisit it on the way back!

We admired the various government and offical buildings as we went,

taking especial note of the man on the horse in the centre – Artigas, the founder of Uruguay and generally regarded as the “father of the nation”.

Actually, we were on a mission.  The crossroads between San Jose and Paraguay was a short distance from here, but that was where our destination lay.

I know that several of my friends will be familiar with the name Manos del Uruguay.  Well, it seemed silly not to make a small visit to the source of some of the most gorgeous knitting yarns around, wouldn’t you say?

It wasn’t a difficult choice.  In fact, I’ve seen a better selection elsewhere.  But oh my, the prices! 

Four skeins of silk blend and four more of the hand dyed chunky were soon picked out and paid for – at a quarter of the price elsewhere in the world.  What a great souvenir!

We made our way back the way we’d come, behind this family.  I noted mother’s shoes which demonstrate the trend here right now for extraordinary platform soles.  Had I not worn similarly crazy shoes in the past I might have tutted…

On our way back, we spent longer taking a closer look.  Here, in the corner of Independence Square was a small cloister typical of the slightly faded glory that seems to be characteristic of the city.

Terry had told us that this is a city of atmosphere rather than monuments and catching sight of these two soldiers – one in ceremonial dress – cross the road seemed to confirm that.

Some of the buildings are very grand when seen from a distance, but look a little more closely and all is not quite as it might seem.

Anyway, sitting with a tub of dulce de leche ice cream (is there any other sort?!), we watched the world go by a while and simply savoured the atmosphere, just to see if it’s true.

Those policemen segwayed past us again.

On our way back, we decided to pop inside the cathedral to take a look rather than walk straight past.  What lovely floors awaited us.

Though since there was a service on in a side chapel, we simply took a quick look and left.

We quite like Montevideo but after the glamour and wealthy tone of Punta del Este yesterday, today came as a little surprise.  Shabby chic doesn’t quite cut it – the shabby is there more than the chic right now, but perhaps in ten, twenty year’s time?

But one thing’s for sure, Montevideo is real.  There’s no veneer or any false front: what you see is what you get.  It’s a genuine place and that’s fine with me.

It was good to be home though.