Don't Cry for Us

Update: 18

"Pele es el rey del futbol y Maradona es Dios".

This is what a local told me as we were talking about football in Argentina. (Pele is king and Maradona is God).

That makes sense. If I was God, this would be my country.

Its beautiful people, quaint towns and world class food may be exaggerated as we've spent four months in relatively poor countries, but I'm sure coming straight from Europe, we'd still be impressed. In a way, I'm going to miss the Andean countries and their excruciating-sounding "Jam and Chesse Sand Douches" (Ham and Cheese sandwiches) and their proudly labelled "Full Inyection" 4x4s. (I'm guessing they mean Fuel Injection...) but damn I'm loving the wine and steak.

***

We caught an early morning train from Tupiza in Bolivia to Villazon on the Argentine border. Our first daytime train journey since we left home, we were looking forward to enjoying the dramatic scenery that characterises this part of the world. Four hours of dry landscapes and towns that look like they're out of a Western were complemented with a delightful Mexican movie about haemorrhaging and wife-beating with some graphic surgery scenes. Some particularly gruesome intestinal cinematography came as the steward handed out sandwiches. The Bolivians never ceased to surprise us.

***

Since we've been in Argentina, we've been welcomed into people's circles, questioned with interest about where we're from, grilled on what we think of the country and helped by strangers finding us lost. The natural beauty of Argentina is world renowned - what we've seen is spectacular and  we haven't even ventured near the Lake District or, the mother-lode: Patagonia, but what separates this from other countries we've been to, and between us it's a fair number, is the people. Friendly, educated, civilised, kind... everyone seems to want to talk to or help us.

***

Our first Argie meal was heaven sent. Milanesa Napolitana is like a meat pizza. Not a pizza with meat, but an actual pizza topping on meat. If you fancy meat and cheese, this is a winner. A decent size piece of schnitzel with a slice of ham and then covered in melted cheese and herbs. So good, I had one a day for three days.  

Over the last four months our Espanol has been coming along enough so that we can get by. Admittedly, everything is still in the present tense - it is much easier to say "yesterday, I am going to Bolivia" than trying to conjugate verbs with past participles. (That said, I'd also say "Tomorrow, I am eating steak") but we do fancy our chances at understanding a little - so long as the speaker speaks slowly. Not in Argentina. Language is rapid fire. When we asked people to speak slower, they laugh and carry on. The truth is, they can't, and we walk around in ignorance. Neither of us understands anything anyone says.

***

Salta! Woah, the first city since Bogotá with normal shops. I've been keeping a strict budget on this trip and to be honest, until now, we've been looking ok.

Tam's brain interprets the equation:

Shops + Cash = Buy.

I go more for: 

(Shops + Cash) ^budget - earlier extravagances = Good reason to browse

Apparently there is a flaw that I can't see in my logic.

***

We knew that we needed to move our watches forward by an hour when we crossed the border. What we didn't realise was the time has a different meaning here. It goes like this:

Morning - places are open until you wake up and go outside.

Lunch - places start closing while you're trying to find somewhere to eat.

Afternoon - dead. Everything is closed and your stomach starts to eat itself because you haven't eaten yet.

Nine o'clock - all hell breaks loose until morning so you go to bed at a ridiculous hour and sleep through breakfast.

Misunderstanding this schedule meant that we - like real losers - went out looking for supper at seven. After walking the streets alone for two hours, the place started livening up and we found some food. (Steak).

Determined not to repeat this social faux pas, the next night we tried to correct ourselves. This is when the wheels fell off. It was our intention to leave on Saturday, but due to a misinterpretation of Argentine drinking protocol where it is obligatory to stay out beyond reason, two bottles of Syrah, a cocktail bar, four eighteen year olds and a favourable exchange rate, we fell into bed as the sun was coming up.  Saturday didn't really happen.

We're now in the swing of things and force a siesta to delay hunger until we can get supper.

***

Cafayate, is worth a visit. A beautiful little village with about six vineyards all within walking distance - and no entry charges! So on Monday we took off for vineyard number one: Etchard. After a couple of welcome sips of reds, whites and a desert wine, we were instructed by a hostess of sorts (still not sure who she was) to follow, which we did. An Argie family had just rocked up, the granny of which kept standing next to us and smiling. I smiled back, and she said in remedial Spanish, so we could understand, something along the lines of: "Don't mind me, I don't understand, I just like the sound." Apparently she thought we were Danes which left me fancying myself as a Dolf Lundgren look-alike.

Soon the hostess began, in incomprehensible Argentine-shoot-the-words-out-and-leave-off-the-ends (dos mas become doma) Spanish, to explain the process. This is what we understood:

Red grapes and white grapes fifty percent. The machine drinks water and the leaves go out. Another machine is very good technology and changes the temperature when the electricity is closed. The man climbs into the hole where he stays in French wood for eighteen months. Something else happens in a few years. The family of the farm lives in the village, but this is their house here. Mind your head.

So that's pretty much it, then. Confused and thirsty, we returned for more tasting. On being handed the last glass of some white that I didn't really like, I offered it to a newcomer behind me. When he declined, thinking he was taking my share, I explained that "Yo conosco este mas antes" (I am knowing this much before).

"Oh, you've already tried it, excellent. What did you think?"

How humiliating. Even here, with the nearest English speaking country a continent away, people speak better English than some of my friends.

***

Because our guide book is for the whole of South America, and because we feel the need for more localised info, we decided to buy an Argentina-only book. Finding one in English proved impossible, but French ones are very common. (Don't ask. I did - they don't know why either.) So, with Tam's reasonable French, we are travelling a la francaise. What a way to travel. Instead of eating in restaurants that are:

Comfortable places with great desserts and good service. Recommended.

We are being:

Served with panache by waiters with savoir-faire in chic intimate ambiences. Produits d'epicerie son bon marche....

Food tastes so much better in French.

Wait, it gets better. Page 273 on Cordoba has boxed text entitled L'amour a l'heure. A good half page about some bon marche hotels on the way to the airport and rented by the hour avec lumieres tamisees, miroirs, chaine de TV erotique, jacuzzi et tout les jouets sexuels possibles et imaginables. 

(That'll be: dimmed lights, mirrors, porn TV, a jacuzzi and all sexual games possible and imaginable.)

Apparently, on arrival, guests are provided with a room saluting the depravity of Louis XIV, alcohol, toys, games and beds that "power themselves" - all this in total anonymity - for two hours until a concierge knocks on the door to inform Sir and Madam that Sir and Madam's taxi is arriving in 15 minutes.

So, next time you're wandering around a museum, sending off a postcard or eating a greasy burger in a cheap take-away, spare a thought for our friends from The Continent who are enjoying haute-cuisine and fornicating on vibrating beds.

***

The beautiful village of La Cumbre, just outside Cordoba, saw us invited to our first real asado. To you Brits, that's a barbeque but without the rain and soggy hamburger patties. Attending one of these is a near-religious experience. Never in my life have I seen such a generous meat-to-guest ratio and cooked with precision that would humble the staunchest Boer.

Fernando's home-made wine made an appearance at about midnight which, coincidently preceded table dancing at by half an hour.

***

As I'm sure many travellers do, we often ask ourselves whether we could live in the country we're visiting. Argentina is different. Now we ask ourselves what visa requirements we need to meet because we want to live here. It's like paradise. Unless, of course, you're a vegetarian....

We're hoping to catch the end of the ski-season in Mendoza next week which should be fun. I could do with some bruises!

Hasta luego.