A big sky weekend

It seemed just fine when putting the date in my diary sometime last Autumn, but returning home from South America last Tuesday with the prospect of an immediate weekend away I wasn’t quite so sure.  Still, we’re always up for adventure and so we headed in a north easterly direction on Friday night, down memory lane in some respects.

I had two workshops in my diary and my hero and I decided to make a bit of a weekend of it, taking the opportunity to revisit old haunts and explore some new ones.

In what seems like another life now, we lived in Leicestershire.  In fact, it was our home for two years, in between East Yorkshire and Gloucestershire but as we realised on Saturday, we didn’t really remember that much about it!  Still, whilst I enjoyed a day working with the ladies of the WI, my hero paid his respects to King Richard III before reminding himself of the second house of our married life.

Then and now: a garage conversion and new windows, plus the addition of the porch.  Well, it is over 30 years ago since we lived there!

At the end of the afternoon, we drove out of Leicester and headed for our weekend destination: Stamford, our attention caught by the sparkling white temple at the Gipsy Lane road junction.

Our base for the weekend was the George Hotel in Stamford, comfortable but extraordinarily busy.  We pottered about in the late afternoon sunshine, enjoying discovering a new place for us.

Our plans to visit Burghley House on Sunday were thwarted by winter opening hours, so instead, we hopped into the car and headed further east, through the flat fenland landscape, so similar to that of Holderness where my Grandad’s family farmed.

In a place where the sky is so large, the minute by minute changes are rather noticeable, too.

As we approached Boston we could see the church tower – the Stump – on the horizon.

We spotted a few references to the original pilgrimages to the Netherlands and subsequently to the USA – it being Sunday there were a few people mooching about but not much more going on.

We carried on a bit further north, in search of…

the sea!

A walk along the pier, maybe?

Even if it does stop short of the water when the tide’s out.

On such a beautiful day, where better place can there be

to eat fish and chips

than Skegness?!

Well, in reality, the fish and chips weren’t up to much and were pretty tasteless, the seafront looked more like this

and all the amusement arcades made finding the wide, deserted beach pretty difficult.  But the sea air felt good and we enjoyed being here.  We thought we’d find a quiet bit of coastline and sit and read the Sunday papers, but it wasn’t to be…somehow we left the coast behind and seemed to be heading right back to Stamford.  Was that a bad thing?  Well, no…we could settle in for the afternoon with a pot of tea and our feet up.

Except that we came across somewhere interesting just around the next corner.  Tattershall Castle was there, with a National Trust sign and appeared to be open for business.  Out came the NT cards and in we went!

Lord Ralph Cromwell had built the castle and sure enough, just as the NT website claims, this is what wealth and power looked like in the middle ages.  Whilst my hero fitted in all the new information with the wealth of historical knowledge he has already, I pottered about enjoying the personal touches here and there:in particular Lord Cromwell’s personal symbol of a treasurer’s purse

I first spotted it here on a mantelpiece and needed the guidebook’s explanation of the motto: Nay je droit (Have I not the right).  A bit presumptuous, perhaps, but there we are…wealth and power, eh?

One floor higher and it was there again, this time in colour.

Looking more like a purse and less like an insect, too, I think?

Upstairs again and there it was…all over.  Well, anyone who feels the need to stamp his logo in quite so many places might be seen as a little insecure, perhaps?  But then wealth and power in Medieval times could well have been quite transient, maybe, and how else might one demonstrate one’s importance to others – I suppose this was the medieval equivalent of wearing a Rolex watch or carrying an Hermes bag?!

I smiled at this small sign in the corner, assuming it was part of the children’s activity and finding a clear picture of Sir Lancelot popping into my mind.

Sir William sounds like fun, too.

But then seeing Sir Tim described as dim…well, that was just too much of a cliche even if he is very strong.

Being up there on the battlements blew away any fish and chippy remnants and the views were spectacular

What a great day!

Whilst I enjoyed the company of WI members from the Isle of Ely on Monday, my hero went off exploring more of this big sky country.  His Nan grew up not so far from here, out there on the fens in much the same kind of landscape as my Grandad.    I smiled as the ladies introduced themselves yesterday morning, not by naming the village they’d come from but by which agricultural vehicle they’d been behind for much of their journey!  It’s that kind of place – wide open countryside with warm, friendly people.  I was so pleased we’d had cause to come here.

I was pleased to sleep in my own bed again, though!

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!)