A Day in Tigre

After meeting back up with my friend Carolina from Buenos Aires, whom I met at the tango house party, we were talking over some flan ice cream with dulce de leche and decided to take a day trip up to Tigre. Of course it did not stop there...we continued with pistachio, plum, raspberry, chocolate rum raisin and sambayon.
Tigre is in the Province of Buenos Aires, about one hour north of the Capital by train. The actual train ride is more of a commuter, filled with business men and women on the weekdays, connecting the suburbs to the city. However, on Saturday, we joined the crowd of families with picnic coolers to the sunny waters of Tigre.
There is a matrix of connecting rivers that cover the northern territory of the province. All of the rivers connect to one another at some point before emptying out into the Rio de la Plata, separating Argentina from Uruguay. Along the river that flows through Tigre, a plethora of shops create busy crowds shopping for home furnishings, fresh fruit and souvenirs. I was very lucky and found a present for my mother after searching for two weeks.


After finding my mother's present, we sat down by the docks and enjoyed some lovely sandwich-itos of which Carolina so nicely prepared. Washing down the sandwiches with some mate, we decided to spend the afternoon exploring the rivers on one of the the commuter boats. Along these rivers, there is an abundance of cabins. The cabins are typically used as weekend resorts for city dwellers, however, there are many people that actually live in these cabins permanently. A series of boats move up and down the busy river system, dropping people off at docks that stick out like arms of a comb.


Carolina and I took a commuter boat to the municipal park about 30 minutes upstream from Tigre. There was a walking path that takes you through a number of cabins, winding through tall trees and crossing more rivers, which looked more like alleyways or side streets, filled with canoes and small boats. We enjoyed some more mate (I am really starting to fit in down here) before catching the last commuter boat to Tigre and watched the sun set into the western Argentine sky.

Tranquilo es Uruguay

There are multiple ferry boats, with duty free shops, live music and concessions, that carry vehicles as well as passengers from Buenos Aires to Uruguay. The two docking stations in Uruguay are located in Colonia del Sacramento and the Capital Montevideo. I took the shorter, less expensive trip, to Colonia on Friday (Feb 8, 08).


Colonia is a classic Spanish town rich in history, with original cobble stones forming driving hazards, poetic lamp posts lighting walkways, as well as the city wall and light house surviving hundreds of years. The streets are lined in Sequoia trees, much like Mendoza, Argentina, and the buildings remain stucco with the old Spanish style; large windows and high ceilings. There is a beach that runs along the harbor where boats use to bring in thousands of African slaves more than two hundred years ago.


The African culture is still very alive today in Uruguay, as it is in Brasil. During the Carnival, while the Brasilians parade the streets to Samba, the streets of Colonia and Montevideo are filled with Candombe. This traditional African drumming is made from wooden bodied shells with leather tops that create a powerful noise. As the drummers surround the fire at night in the streets of Colonia, and the dancers in costume parade through the blocks, the vibrations can be felt through the cobble stones under your feet for hundreds of yards.


In total, I spent two nights in Colonia and one in Montevideo. Although, Montevideo is the Capital of Uruguay, the size of the city is rather minuscule and the communities are very quiet. It seems as though the entire country is at peace after gaining their independence. This is why I would described Uruguay in a single word. Tranquilo.


You see almost every Uruguayan in the streets during the middle of the day with Mate (an herbal tea drank from a special cup made of a type of squash plant) and a hot water thermos. Even the tough guys in sunglasses, ¨wife beater¨ tank tops, and baggy pants, are sipping on mate around 3 in the afternoon. This country is relaxing and a much needed detour from the noise of Buenos Aires; hence, the large amount of Argentinians here on vacation. Filled with complete peace, like a mud bath and cucumbers on the eyes, I am impressed with the tranquility of Uruguay.

You cannot beat Chuck Taylor´s.

Today was a walking day. I was determined to go to the Rose Garden, the cemetery, the ferry ticket office for Uruguay, and by Freddo´s for icecream. I must have walked almost 70 blocks in total. I must say, that my Mistral (Argentine brand) Chuck Taylor knock-offs don´t cut it. Nothing beats a set of Chuck Taylor´s.


The rose garden was nice. I stopped multiple times to smell the flowers. There is a beautiful bridge that crosses a small pond along the outskirts of the park, where I sat down for a little bit trying to cross fertilize flowers that I had picked up along the pathway. The park was scattered with joggers and marble heads of profound people lost in history...making them profound to historians and the dead.


I walked down Liberation Ave. towards the Cemeterio de la Recoleta where all of the dead have mausoleums where they contemplate the true importance of the profound people, who have marble heads in the Rose Garden, while sleeping permanently. Some, mostly historians, would consider the majority of the dead in this cemetery to also be profound. I on the other hand, after seeing their coffins inside the spider webbed doors of the crypt, consider them to be profoundly dead.


Walking around, I saw a number of tourists standing beside a marble tomb. I walked around the back way, noticing a tomb that was falling apart and happened to have a skull and crossbones with only two halves of a femur. I paid my respects while taking a picture and walked further down to the tourists.


Standing beside them listing to a tour guide, I noticed that they were talking about the tomb being that of Evita Peron. The tour guide was talking about grave robbers who have tried to steal the hands of Evita and her husband. Rumor has it, Evita had stolen a great deal of gold from Argentina during the war and made a vault in the mountains that can only be opened with their fingerprints. Being that the corpses of Evita and her late husband are resting quietly in coffins, what is not known, is that their hands sit in jars of formaldehyde in order to preserve the delicate finger prints in case a robber happens to get passed the tri-level security system in order to chop them off and open the safe to the Argentine Federal Reserve.



Walking again, I kept looking down at my Mistral shoes. I am quite impressed with the lavish style that they bring to my wardrobe, however, the comfort level had quickly worn off on the cobble stone sidewalks of Buenos Aires. Nonetheless, they did their job and directed me to Freddo´s, where I comfortably ate a quarter kilogram of Banana Split, Dark Chocolate, and Samboyon ice cream.

After indulging in heaven, I thanked Evita and Mr. Martin for the liberation of Freddo in Argentina and continued along Puerto Madero to the Ferry station that takes you to Uruguay. I decided to purchase a ticket to Sacramento de Colonia, Uruguay for the weekend. It is suppose to be a wonderful place filled with history and classic architecture. It will be nice to get the old passport out again; the webs are starting to collect around the edges.



Glamor in the Rose Garden...

Super Bowl Sunday in BA

Pizza, Empanadas, Chimichuri hot sauce, beer and football...what is the only thing wrong with this picture? The fact that they are doing play-by-play in Spanish for the Super Bowl.
It was quite interesting, after Landon had pointed out, that the Spanish translations have different meanings when converted.
For example, a fair catch, is called a free catch in Spanish.
I was also a little disappointed in the lack of enthusiasm of the announcers. I have watched plenty of ¨football¨games in Central and South America, and the announcers at those matches had unbelievable passion.
I must say, I am happy that the underdogs pulled off the championship, however, American Football should be broadcast with American announcers.

La Boca...

Landon and Lou made it into Buenos Aires on the 31st of January, and met me at Dakar Motos working on my bike. We had a nice BBQ dinner with a few friends at the shop that night, camped out for one more night at Dakar, and then took off into the city the next morning to secure our apartment in San Telmo, only a few blocks west of Puerto Madero. The apartment complex is around 120 years old and has 15 foot ceilings, three rooms, a spiral iron staircase, marble floors and a nice patio in the middle. Settling in with such little gear was easy and comfortable.

In the old ports at the southeast side of Buenos Aires sits the classic location know as La Boca. Home to the Boca Junior football club, a major shipyard, and some of Argentina´s greatest artists, the activity of this colorful neighborhood is vibrant. Walking along the harbor with escalating bridge ways and mobile cargo ships, the sound of Tango came from a distance. Walking closer to the curl in the harbor where the center of La Boca is located, 100 year old cafes and restaurants with live tango lived beside old apartments of vibrant primary colours. The construction of this area took place at the beginning of the industrial revolution when Argentina made a great deal of wealth through it´s ports. The buildings were constructed of rock and wood foundations with corrugated steal walls and cast iron balconies with wooden floors. Obviously the living quarters for dock workers during the early 20th century. Each construction may have looked as if it were to collapse at any moment, however, it seems that the overwhelming amount of paint that has been added over the years has kept these structures erect.

Landon and I went to visit the Museo Quinquela Martín, a legendary Argentine painter who captured the amazing work of dock workers in La Boca in the middle of the 20th century. His artwork shows the struggle and hard work, the sweat and blood, the hot and cold experience of La Boca laborers. His stroke work is quick and clean and I was very impressed with his shadowry.

Walking back to the apartment, we passed the La Boca Junior Football Club stadium that stood out like the Obelisco, a staple of Buenos Aires that sits in the middle of Ave 9th of July in it´s phallic symbolization of the liberation of the Argentine Republic.

Visiting La Boca, Buenos Aires, February 2nd, 2008.