Crap Indeed

I could fill pages with witty comments about this, but seriously - who is the marketing genius who came up with "A Crepe Affair" as a name for a fast food chain? and did nobody notice?? nobody???

Off to London

I'm going to cut short my Paris stories (most of them revolve in one way or another around what I had for lunch/dinner, and nobody really cares...) and get on with my blog updates...
On the day of my departure from Paris I couldn't help but remember the good old days when travelling from Paris to London meant getting up at the crack of dawn, taking the train to Calais, then taking the ferry to Dover, queuing with the masses and taking the slow train into London, hoping you can make it in time for a late supper.
That's why I am still amazed, after all these years, that you can now board a train in Paris, and two-and-a-bit hours later get off in London. Eurostar rocks, man, Eurostar rocks!
So I did board the train at 5:45 in Paris, disembarked at 6:59 in Lonodn and had Will waiting for me at the station. With a brand new baking tray mind you! (Random, I know, but he is the baker's son after all).
We both agreed there is no better way to celebrate the reunion then a quick drinks at the brand new Champagne Bar at the station. Super fabulous!



So we had a glass of Champagne-of-the-Moment each, and a little bowl of top shelf olives, and another glass to wash down the olives... A couple of hours and some 50 Pounds poorer and we were on our way happy as a couple of Larries! we did get semi-lost in the tube and my trusty suitcase decided that London is to be its final resting place and broke, but who cares! I was in London! It was cold and grey and everything London is all about!

Paris

By the time I actually checked into my room and had a shower and all that jazz, the craving for fabulous French food gave place to the basic instinct to have a quick bite and go to bed. Couldn't really face the hassle of finding a table, going through elaborate menus, waiting for food...
So, completely ignoring how pathetic it looks, I walked into the nearest McDonalds, ordered a quarter pounder meal and was out the door within ten minutes. And yes- I do realise that it's one of those things better kept to yourself, but we're all friends here, and friends don't judge!
I decided to pass it off as my homage to Pulp Fiction and J Travolta. Royal with cheese, you know...

Adios Argentina and Salut France

British Airways flight was delayed because of bad weather in London (no surprises there!)
That meant that I had to also change my onward flight to Paris and spend some four hours at Heathrow (in addition to the four hours I spent waiting for the original flight in Bs As airport).

Kept my cool, and didn't let it annoy me. Explored all the different options to pass the time (from food and drink to massage and free facials) at the new Terminal 5 and was pretty cheerful by the time I got on the flight to Paris.

Flight was delayed even further because some stupid woman didn't board and they had to get rid of her luggage (my theory is that she passed out at the BA Champagne bar), and that got me into Paris right in time for rush hour traffic.

I dare say the million people on the train were less than impressed with the space I consumed together with my luggage, and I think they also made a couple of fairly vocal comments about me, my mother and bloody toursits in general. I kept a big apologetic smile on my face mumbling stupid excuses in an American accent and then rushed straight to my hotel.

Leaving Buenos Aires. With a *BANG*

Last day in Buenos Aires started pretty good.
For over two weeks I was ignoring the growing pile of washing, dreading the inevitable half-day ceremony of washing/drying/folding.
You can therefore imagine my relief when I discovered a cute little lavaderia down the road with a friendly woman only too happy to do it all for me for 10 pesos. That is $3 that bought me half a day of doing-nothing. As a special gift from myself to myself for having the initiative I also treated myself to a great 2-hour massage.

And then came the oven incident.
I decided it's time I do something in the kitchen, after having steak virtually every night. So I got one of those half baked pumpkin/spinach pies at the supermarket and placed it in the pre-heated oven.
Two minutes later, there's a mighty BOOM and the oven's door shatters into a billion tiny bits of glass.
Obviously I was not meant to cook for myself in Buenos Aires.

Seems pretty funny right now, but at the time it was a bit of a scary experience. Not to mention the fact that I had to go to bed hungry...

... And While on the Subject of Evita

So Americans have the White House, which is where the president lives. Everybody knows that.
The Argentinian head of state also has a house. Just that it's pink. And I am not talking pinkish hue, or some pastely shade. It is full-on, psychedelic pink. And guess what it's called? Yep. It is called the Pink House. That's the offical name - Casa Rosada.
And don't even try to hint at the fact that pink is, how can I say it, well, not the most macho of colours. They will look at you as if you just landed from Mars and explain that the paint was mixed with the blood of a hundred oxes. Or something along those lines....

I do have to admit that after a while the Pink House sorta grew on me.

Don't Cry for Her, Argentina

I walked past the Recoleta cemetery, and thought that I should tick at least one tourist box by visiting the Evita tomb.
The place is actually very pretty in a graveyard kinda way and quite grandiose and ornate, probably an indication that there once was an awful lot of money in Argentina.


Finding the Evita tomb was not really that difficult. You just need to identify the likely people to go there (your best bets are Madonna fans, a bunch of emos oor a group of Japanese tourists) and just follow them. I followed the local emo chick and sure enough - she was going straight there!

So here it is - the eternal resting place of Eva Peron, and probably the only tomb to actually have the person's nickname with two exclamation points! Good on you !Evita!

The on the way out, I couldn't help but noticing that
(a) there are an awful lot of cats walking around the place
(b) all of them look pretty fat, very well fed, and suspiciously content


Which makes you think... One day you are married to the president, adored by the people, have West End musicals written about you. Then, the next day - you're cat food.
Maybe Argentina should cry for her after all.

Fav Place #4 - The Bar with No name

I'm actually lying. It does have a name, it's apparently even a famous bar, i just keep forgetting what it's called.

It's this little bar in San Telmo, the older part of Buenos Aires (a bit like a run down larger version of The Rocks), and the main reason I walked in to begin with was because I really (really) had to go to the bathroom. While some people in Buenos Aires have a tendency to do their business on a quiet street corner sometimes, I decided to follow my own personal etiquette: go to a bar, order something cheap and go to the loo.
So I ordered glass of red, and the guy gave me a big glass of red, and a bowl of peanuts, and I sat there reading my book and drinking my wine and eating my peanuts... Then ordered another glass of wine. Then a sandwich, and a coffee (I think, could have been in a different order).
The place was very cool in a rustic kinda way. There was low tango music playing, and people who looked like they spent their entire lives there were having their coffees while reading the paper, arguing amongst themselves (probably about where they should go for dinner), going through bank statements... The usual stuff.


Before I left LA, Janet gave me a book (thanks again J!) that, as always was the perfect read for this trip. And as I was sitting in the bar reading it, the girl in the book was explaining how hard it was for her to adopt to the Italian way of life where you can literally sit somewhere for hours, doing nothing meaningful. Or nothing at all. What they call the beauty of doing nothing. And as I was sitting there sipping my wine and munching on those peanuts and reading my book, I couldn't help but think, that the beauty of doing nothing came pretty naturally to me.


As you probably imagine I did end up coming to that place more than once (or twice or thrice). And that's how I found out it was famous... It was usually very quiet and semi deserted, but on the weekend it was happening! And every few minutes, some American tourist, or American couple would walk in, take a picture of the place and walk out... I did try to get the camarero to explain to me the significance of the place, but his response was way to advanced for my Spanish, and included names and dates and details, so I decided I will leave that bit of investigation till next time and went back to my wine and peanuts.

Fav Places #3 - Pajaro Que Comio

Pajaro que Comio (or Paja, as I used to refer to it before someone explained to me, giggling, what paja actually means in Argentinian) was the other cool restaurant just dowstairs from where I was staying. If La Dorita was all about steaks and roughly a 20 second walk from the front door, this one was more Italian and about a 7 second walk. Here's a picture of it from my bedroom windown - that's how close it was! You could actually go there in the rain without getting wet! Big brownie point!

So proximity definitely worked for it. Then there was the food that was always good, always plentiful and always cheap-ish.
And then there was the management of the establishment, aka Juan, who was always nice to me. And I don't mean "welcome, sir" kind of nice, I mean the kind that comes over to chat and sends you things on the house (especially my new favorite dessert - dulce con queso, which is just that - sweet potato sweets with a bit of tangy cheese. Tastes much nicer than it sounds!)
Now there are two explanations as to why Juan was so nice to me. One is that Juan is a nice and friendly person, like most people in Buenos Aires really.
The other explanation may have something to do with my broken Spanish. The first time I came in, it was pretty late, I was one of the only people there, I ordered some food (ok, I ordered a lot of food) and waited for it reading my TimeOut guide for Buenos Aires. At some point Juan stops by to say hi, and asks me where I'm from, and I answer that I am from Sydney but now I live right here - and kind of point across the road. NOW, in hindsight, I think that he may have understood that I work as a critic for TimeOut guide I was holding, which would obviously result in him showering me with favours.
Either way- it was great- can't wait to get back!

Fav Places #2 - My Morning Coffee

The cafe down the street where I would go for my morning coffee was not a glamorous place. It was one of those places that looked like they have been there for the last fifty years or more. Probably has been.
But it was a little dark and a little charming, and was, after all just two minutes the street, and the gentleman behind the bar did get the coffee right, and the medialuna was always fresh and tasty, so I really didn't see a reason to change.
I was actually developing a relationship with the gentleman behind the bar.
At first I think he was a bit suspicious ans unsure about me (well, anyone would, with my broken Spanish. I think he never had anyone non Argentinian at the place!)
But after a couple of times he got to know who I am and what I want, and would get me my cortado and my medialuna as soon as he saw me walk in. Even add a glass of soda water on the house, coz he knew I liked it.
Then, after a week or so, we started chatting. Our first conversation didnt go too well, I'm afraid... He was trying to tell me that his wife was denied a visa to move to Australia, and for some reason what I thought he was saying was that his wife couldn't find the keys for the toilet. I can only guess what he thought of me when I suggested she looks under the bar for it. But it got better with time, and we ended up talking about Independence Day and about how much he liked Australian Rugby and other bits and pieces.
And on my last day, when I said goodbye, he actually came from behind the counter and gave me a big hug, which I thought was pretty unusual for the man behind the bar.
He also got the family to pose for me - so here we go - pics of the cafe down the street.

Fav Places #1 - La Dorita

La Dorita is the Parilla (grill or steakhouse) downstairs from where I lived, and where I had many a happy dinner.
I will start with the fact that the place (well, both its branches) was just outside my front door. So literally a 10 second walk. Which is always a good start - nobody likes walking for hours to get food, and at least in my books - being able to get home in under a minute after dinner, gives the place a big brownie point.
The place is pretty big. And when it gets full (and it normally does) - they open the second floor and balconies.
And when they get full, they open their sister parilla (also called La Dorita) just across the road.
So anytime, day or night, that you crave a piece of dead cow perfectly prepared, you know La Dorita will have a table for you.
I was never super adventurous with the food there. Once I found out what I liked I stuck to it pretty much. It was always the same steak (called lomo in Spanish - no idea what exactly it is in English, but it tastes like fillet, and looks like pork loin) with some sort of mash (and La Dorita would mash most veggies for you) and a penguin of red. They serve their wines in penguin-shaped carafes, you see. And a monster basket of grilled bread. They grill their breads on the same grill they grill their steak on, so it tastes like, well, steak.
When I was super hungry I'd also have half a chorizo with the salads it comes with.
I probably ate there about a dozen times and the food was never short of perfect. I can't think of anywhere in Sydney that can match this never-miss record.
The other thing, despite the fact that the place is popular with the rich and famous, and is really nice, it is again very cheap. I don't think I ever managed to spend there more than $15. I usually ended up very full and happy at around $10.

Can't wait to go back!

Buenos Aires- Why?

I ended up spending almost three weeks in Buenos Aires, and despite my best intentions never went to see the famous falls or any other major attraction.
I even failed to do the river crossing down to Uruguay (as I promised myself I would). I know - very lame of me.
I stayed within (I think) a three mile radius of my new home, and loved every minute of it.
Everyone I knew told me I was going to love the place, and everyone I know was absolutely right. It is well and truly a great city! It combines the friendliest people I have ever come across, the best steaks (and being a simple man- steak means a lot to me), the nicest red wine (same comment applies here) and the grandness of a city with 300 years of style. In addition it has this vibe that is really special and really cool. It's like people are living to the tango beat! Will says it has more life than any other city, and Will is probably right.
Add to that the fact that at the moment, with the Argentinian Peso at 30 cents or something, it is also ridiculously cheap and i think you're getting the picture.

In retrospect, I didn't really do much in Buenos Aires. I didn't go to the museums (apart from one, and only because it had a toilet exhibition) or do anything very touristy.
I'd normally get up in the morning (definition of morning varies, but normally between 9:00 and 11:00), have breakfast on my balcony, go down the road for a coffee (more about the cafe later), wander around, have lunch, go home for a nap and then do dinner or drinks or something before going to bed.
So I guess in following that pattern, I will take you to some of my favourite places in Buenos Aires, the places where I ended up spending most of my time.

Settling Down in Bs As and Getting Physical

Once I got my apartment in Buenos Aires, next step was to find a gym. I reckon that once you have a place, a supermarket and a gym, you can actually get yourself into the sort of pattern that will make wherever you are feel like home.
So I put on my jacket and walking shoes and went looking for a gym. Argentinians, it appears, love their exercise- there were gyms all over the place!
The first one I saw was a bit far from my place and was very (I mean VERY) posh. The equipment was brand new, the people were all beautiful and in great shape, it was in this five-star shopping mall, it even smelled like teen spirit, if there is such a thing. Think Fitness First Premium then triple it.
The next one was a little closer to home, and not quite as posh, but still bigger and brighter and well, grander than anything I can think of in Sydney.
So I was contemplating where should I go and what should I do and trying to work out the trade-offs of posh and proximity as i was passing this other gym, even closer to my place, called Always.
And that was it.
I felt uncomfortable taking photos, so you will just have to imagine it. It was big and well equipped but in a 1980's sort of way. And it had the loveliest staff any gym I've ever been to had. The people looked (well, most of them) like they were taken straight out of the set of Olivia Newton John's Physical. The whole place looked like a gym from a US college in the 70's. Like what I imagine to be the set for Debbie Does Dallas.
But it was close to home, really cool, had the nicest people and was so cheap it made me giggle.
Always became my Bs As gym.


PS. For those too young to know or those too old to remember... Here's good old Olivia asking to hear your body talk.



PPS. Talking of the devil. The Sydney Morning Herald's telling me that Olivia just got married last week. Congratulations Olives! I told you performing at Mardi Gras would pay off eventually! 27 years later and still the hottest girl in town!

An Apology and an Explanation

Apparently (despite the utter lack of comments. Where are you people??) my blog does get read. So this apology is to those trying to reconcile where my blog says I'm in and where I'm really in, and everything that happened in between.
Explanation is simple. I have been slack. Super slack even.
I owe y'all an update, so I got myself a big fat dinner, two carafes of red wine, put myself in front of the puter and am going to start filling the blanks as of.... NOW.

So How It Came to Be

I booked a pretty nice B&B in a pretty nice neighborhood's of Buenos Aires well ahead of time, and paid in advance (house policy and all...)
Those familiar with my original itinerary may have noticed that the Rio part was longer than planned. Much longer than planned. I originally was supposed to stay there for 4 days, but it sort of extended itself to 12 or so. Now, as the I kept changing my Rio dates, I also had to change my dates for Buenos Aires, so I kept advising that B&B on my new dates hoping they would still have available rooms.
I suspect this practice may have ticked them off a bit... One fine morning I get an email advising that the B&B will be closing down for renovations, refunding my deposit and saying Hasta Never.
Had it not been Rio and sunny and great, something like that would get me really stressed out. But it WAS Rio and it WAS sunny and I just thought I'd think about what to do a little later. Maybe after a nap.
And then I read in some book about how much more fun it is to rent apartments rather than stay at hotels and I'm thinking to myself: DUH. Twenty five minutes later, I have secured myself a brand new apartment on the 15th floor of this brand new building (named Hollywood II- try to beat that for camp!) for two weeks. It even ended up costing less!

Click here to check it out!

Arriving in Buenos Aires...

Yes, I know I got there by plane and all, but still...

Fill me up with your heat, with your noise
With your dirt, overdo me
Let me dance to your beat, make it loud
Let it hurt, run it through me.
Don't hold back, you are certain to impress
Tell the driver this is where I'm staying
(Madonna's lyrics! not mine!)

Buenos Aires!

It's funny how you sometimes have such a strong opinion on something that has absolutely nothing to do with reality.
My flight to Buenos Aires actually didn't leave from Rio, but from Sao Paulo (don't ask - long story) and I had to make my own way there.
I heard so many horror stories about Latin american airlines that I was pretty concerned about the whole idea, with visions of 1950's planes, luggage ending up in Berlin rather than Buenos Aires, that sort of thing. Apart from the chickens and the pigs, I really thought it would be the flying equivalent of an Indian bus.
Well it wasn't. The plane was either brand spanking new or was cleaned by someone with severe compulsive obsessive disorder. The crew was so nice (and good looking) I wanted noting more than to go out with them once we land. We took off 2 minutes ahead of time, landed 2 minutes ahead of time, and during those short 40 minutes they managed to provide a hot dinner, drink-yourself-silly drinks and make everybody feel at home. So two thumbs up to TAM.
Flight to Buenos Aires was departing at an insanlyhour of the morning the next day, so I booked my self a nice room at the airport hotel, had a gin & tonic (with compliments of the house), and went to bed. Not before setting my alarm to 4:00am the next morning.
And let me tell you - 4:00am the next morning came pretty quickly.
Shower. Taxi. Check-in. Then two and a half hours to pass before the quick flight across the Border to Buenos Aires. If that's not what the jetset is all about, I don't know what is.
Buenos Aires!

Leaving Brazil

I had to catch a cab to the airport at about 1:00 on Saturday, and Felipe said that I could have lunch with the family if I wanted to, just to save me some hassle. Having seen his mum (and dad's) cooking, it took me a nano-second to say sure.
I obviously did not realise that his mum (and dad) would get up at the crack of dawn and start chopping and slicing and soaking and frying and simmering all in preparation for this feast.
The food was pretty breathtaking.
Felipe's mum proves that rice and beans can actually be a a sexy dish (I have been pestering them for the recipe, so far no luck). And they come with farofa, which to this day I am not sure exactly what it contains, but think couscous, just a lot more flvoursome. With bits of (I think) pig and banana in it. Trust me - it's great. Everybody loves farofa!
His dad made a special dish called (I think) bobu, which is very typical of the region in Brazil he is from. It was the nicest curry-like stew, just milder and sweeter, with fish and prawns and other things in it.
Needless to say it came with a couple of Caipirinhas to wash it all down, and baked bananas for dessert. It's pretty amazing the sort of things Felipe's dad manages to make out of the humble banana.
While it was all super tasty, in a way it was not the wisest thing to do on my ast day, because all the way to the airport all I could think about is how much I like Rio and how much I wanna stay.
Yes, it's true what they say. No matter what you come to Rio for - you never want to leave.

Rio

It's kinda funny, but Rio really reminded me of Tel Aviv.
Not sure if it's the long stretches of beach, or the boxy architecture or the fact tht people are always going somewhere.
There are a lot of obvious differences. Rio is ridiculously good looking. Tel Aviv is a bit like the not-so-fortunate sister. You can see a resemblance, but still.
Then Rio has all those green peaks and mountains, and the statue of the Christ that Tel Aviv doesn't. (Last time the Jews tried to use Jesus for decoration ended in tears).
But the main thing is that while Rio is probably much poorer, people seem about a million times happier, with their beach & samba lifestyle. Makes you wish you were Brazilian...

Saying Hi to Son-of-God

Corcovado is not only the name of a song. It is also the name of the huge mountain pverlooking all of Rio, where the larger-than-life statue of Christ the Redeemer is. I'm sure you know all about it. (If not, get a guide or check out the wiki page).
So in the spirit of keeping the touristy stuff to a minimum. It is pretty amazing. Once again, it takes bit of time to get there, in a very old fashioned train going up insanely steep slopes. But you do get there, and you realise it was worth it. Very much so.

Sugar Loaf

I am not a huge fan of getting up early in the morning and doing touristy stuff. Never been.
And as unenthusiastic as I am about doing these things, I think I will never have the energies to write about them in any great detail. So let's keep this short and sweet.
Eraldo and Gabrielle invited me to join them to Sugar Loaf and I (obviously) did. (Never heard of Sugar Loaf? Check the wiki page, what do you take me for?)
Like anything in Brazil it involved a few forms of transportation, including two (!) cable cars that take you all the way to the top. At which point you are amazed by
(1) the view
(2) how they managed to build the thing in the first place
(3) the fun samba dancers that were there for no other reason than make think "life's pretty awesome I guess"

Meeting Eraldo and Gabrielle

Everybody - say hi to Eraldo.


So I was having dinner at a Brazilian bar/cafe (pretty ordinary food, but I had to learn it the hard way), and this dude was giving someone very passionate Portuguese instructions or directions over the phone. So we got chatting (I obviously looked the exact opposite of a local, which gives friendly strangers a reason to come say hi) and i can confirm to you all that Eraldo is actually really cool.
Eraldo goes to uni and is also an English teacher, which made communication very easy. It has been a while since I had the opportunity to chat with
someone in English for more than 30 seconds, so that was a very welcome development.
Then Gabrielle joined us. Gabrielle, being the invisible person on the other end of Eraldo's mobile. I can now say that I know an Amazonian woman! And mean it. Gabrielle actually lives in a small town by the Amazon. Where she teaches English too. Is that cool or what?

One Last Footy Post

So I was walking along the lake the other day and it was nice and sunny and glorious (but then again - it seems like it always is). They have those pedal boats there, shaped like swans, which is semi-camp but also kinda cute.
With the Swans playing Collingwood this weekend, and with their track record playing the magpies in recent years, I thought that would be my way to support the Swannies from afar.
Go The Swans! (cough)

Going to the Footy

Going to a football (well, soccer) match in Brazil was something pretty high on my TBD list, together with getting a tan and dancing the samba. It wasn't exactly footy season when I was there, but Flamengo was playing Sao Paulo at Maracana stadium on the Saturday and I thought that could very well be a sign from the gods.
As I soon found out, the game was all about size really. Flamengo is (so I am told) the most popular sports club in the world, with over 25 million supporters. That is TWO-FIVE-ZERO-ZERO-ZERO-ZERO-ZERO-ZERO. Maracana on the other hand was for many many years the biggest stadium in the world, and still holds the world record for most people in a single game (210,000. That is roughly three times Sydney Olympic Stadium). I hope that sorta puts things in perspective.
It took some arm twisting, but I managed to get Felipe to come with me. I had a gut feeling I would need a local. So about three hours before the siren, we started heading towards the stadium, after Felipe checked I don't wear anything of the "wrong" colour.
I can't lie. The game was pretty average. I mean soccer can be boody unexciting when it is unexciting, and this particular game was a bit slow even for soccer. Not to mention the fact that "we" lost.
What was worth the whole thing was the atmosphere. The only thing I can try to compare it to is the AFL Grand Final, during the very last minutes of a very close game. Now take that, multiply it by a hundred, add drums and firecrackers, start it about an hour before the game starts and don't stop until you get home.
How naive I was to even try to look for my seat. They don't really do seats at Maracana. They all go to where viewing is best and decide this is where their seats are.
I need to figure out a way to upload a short video I took, in the meantime enjoy the pics.
Oh, and here's something for the shock-and-horror list. They don't sell beer in Maracana. Or any sort of booze for that matter. Outrageous.