The Casa Rosada (Pink House)-taking up the entire east end of Plaza de Mayo (see below)-is Argentina's presidential palace, from whose storied balcony Juan and Evita Perón wooed the masses. Resembling a colossal wedding cake covered in strawberry icing, the Casa Rosada originally got its rosy glow from the curious Argentinean practice of adding ox blood to whitewash.
Day 2 Wed. January 30, 2008 This day is the day that all the Argentinian banditos tried to
take my wife,
steal our cash,
go poof to a life, and
leave it for trash.
First the whole Argentinian army attacks me and then, and then... well, I'll let the story tell itself. The first half is blogged from the Recoleta Cemetery where I laid dead for a long time next to Evita Peron. The second half is less hyperbole, written only under deep anesthetic in major surgery after being helicoptered to the one hospital in South America that can treat bald, fat, aging, British/Canadian story tellers of the worst kind. It was also more walking, (before or after, being trampled and killed by soldiers - I can't recall which), visiting different parks (despite my demise), refreshing ourselves in a botanical garden, enjoying the famous BA zoological garden and taking a Calèche ride around little Italia and the other parks which we plan on visiting including the Planetarium. I will let my blog from my little black book take over:
We sleep in, call our concierge to ask a few questions about going to Uruguay during our stay and the Iguassu falls. Our day thus starts lazy and and short, walking around, getting oriented (yeah, yeah... how it started, then developed, almost finished then ended could have been five separate days!) We decide to walk via a different route to where we we ended yesterday: the parks and zoo. By the time we get outside of our apartment we change our minds and flag down a taxi to take us to the center of the city in order to see if we can find the 'Paris' that everyone had told us about. All we know is to tell him to take us Plaza Mayo.
Ingrid pronounces it like white goop on a hamburger bun. The driver seeming very offended (he wasn't) says: "do you mean Plaza de May-Ho?" Then when he got almost there, (it turns out that the plaza area is bigger than downtown Ottawa), he asks us where abouts at the plaza do we want to be dropped off? and we say: 'anywhere'. He looks at us like we are crazy and drops us off at a red building that turns out to be the Government house. Leaving the taxi, Ingrid immediately exclaims and pushes me, pointing at a changing of the guards routine that we are about to see.
I grab for my camera, pull it out of its case, press the diddle-button that opens the lens, point it at the on-marching column of storm troopers who walk right over me, crushing me to the ground with vicious force and brutality and I am left gasping on the sidewalk able only to - with my last gasping breath, and heroic reporter -photographer courage, take a snap of them leaving the scene of the crime, with their blood soaked soles of otherwise immaculately polished boots. The end... Ingrid will continue with all blogs from here on. OK so I tend to a wee bit of exaggeration and excess verbiage (sometimes); however, it does make for good grandkid stories when they learn how much of a hero their gramps was.
That is to say BEFORE he became weak, feeble and old and a fibber - which, I assume I will be doing in 40 - 50 years from now. We continue to walk around the Plaza, observe, take photos, feel the temperature climb from early twenties to mid thirties in real feel (humidity counted in). Later, we learn that the Government House ('Casa Rosada') is part of an historical process in the founding of cities by Spaniards in the 'new world'. Certain buildings have to be built first: Government house, Church/Cathedral, City Hall, and not edifices, but just as important, at least one graveyard and one sturdy set of gallows. Probably the latter two came in reverse order.
Once they were all constructed, the merchants would dutifully follow and set up their businesses usually built up firstly around the church business of Christianizing the natives while forgetting to apply it to themselves; then, to trade, provision and procurement. We explore the Plaza, its fountains, and we look up at the incredible architecture that at first overwhelms us. There is as much to see skyward as there are people to see in front of our noses. This city is not for the claustrophobic! The other issue we deal with is: 'How to look ahead and up to take everything in and ALSO look down to make sure that we aren't taken in by these sidewalks and roads of which I am trying to tell you about'
We/Ingrid, continue to map read and get our bearings - absolutely essential in BA or else one can start off in one direction, walk in circles or never get out of the amazing, mesmerizing, maze without making for a mandatory taxi! Now, a tip here, if anyone asks if tour books are essential, throw even an old one their way. AND, there is no reason to buy them new at $35.00 and up. An old one in a second hand store, will suffice for most of what a tourist needs for ten days or less. Longer stays may cause a need to consult something a bit more up to date, but that is what hotel concierge's are for...
Another tip here One thing that is seen often in the types of accommodations that have reading rooms is the book swap honor system (take one, leave one). It is amazing how many people leave their almost brand new guide books behind after a trip!
The crowds, noise and exhaust not only invites us into the parks but drives us there. We find botanical gardens, historical points, and statues, statues, statues, everywhere. Later we find out there are many of 'A General on a horse', but today we see 'Garibaldi' on a horse looking over his shoulder. We pass the Evita Museum and think: 'perhaps for a rainy day, want to take as much advantage of this warmth as possible'. We arrive after much walking at the zoo. We include the photos under a separate heading. It is huge, special and extremely varied; however, it is not exceptional in its treatment of its inhabitants.
The worst case was seeing a polar bear with nowhere to go but lie on a huge concrete outdoor theater under the 30 degree Celsius heat. A humorous point is our joint effort to inform a zoo employee that a type of goat (infant) has escaped its paddock and is running amok in the crowds bleating like the polar bear would like to do if he/she had its way! The goat is agitated and frightened. In response to our efforts we are told: where to find the toilets, how to locate an exit, where we can view the goats, and finally 'not to worry as goats are secure and locked in their paddocks'...
We stop trying and and go on our way wondering why we bothered when there are hundreds of locals who could readily communicate the same thing in their language! What did we think? - that they were all numb-skulls that didn't give a damn about goats? Exhausting all possible parts of the zoo and the gardens that we wanted to see in the rising temperatures and feeling throbbing feet, swelling ankles and craving a place to sit down, we headed for the outside and some quiet park area with a bench.
We see a line of Caleches, horse drawn tourist traps or call them 'carriages for lovers lost in euphoria' (we are the latter of course). I urge Ingrid to take a ride with me - little did I know that she:
a) imagined it would be expensive; and,
b) had never ridden in a Caleche before.
Ever...
And, talk about fate induced serendipity, this ride opens up a few sections of Palermo and south of Palermo which, otherwise we may have missed.
We are now fully into the BA of which tour and travel books describe. We are experiencing fully a slice of the quote that BA is the Paris of South America AND, we don't dispute it. Our driver gladly takes photos of us as he stops and explains everything we need to know about BA from the year of Christ to today: all in Spanish non-stop, so we understand nothing. The horse also understood nothing and with its eye blocks, also saw nothing, so between us we just relax, stay in the present and enjoy, soaking everything up as it nears the sponge of our souls and let the rest dribble away for another day.
We clasp the day in a firm grip of thankfulness and have a little combined giggle at the wave of culture splashing warmly against our faces whilst the history sneaking up behind us, well it does sorta (how did Julian Barnes say it in A History of the World , "History is just burps, where we taste again that raw-onion sandwich swallowed centuries ago." And then, leaving the Caleche and tipping the driver ten times more than we should have (or maybe a hundred times, there are so many zeros on these notes I can't tell if I bought a bottle of water or signed over my estate in a will when I buy something!); uh, and then...
Jumping over loose bricks and tiles much more abundant in Buenos Aires than those actually touching each other, or embracing any sort of solidity - we look at each other with that expectant question from the other of "Well, what now?" Ingrid having shaken off the fear of drinking water with floating barbarian botulism, grasps her aqua sin gaz (without the fizzle or the sizzle, meaning it could be according to doom sayers "tampered tap tourist trap water"). She takes a good, great, golly-gee gulp with gusto and says to me: "let's walk home (about 4Ks), we haven't taken a taxi, bus, or metro yet so why break such a healthy life style developed over days in a row...?"
(Yeah, yeah, I know - Did she REALLY say that?) and then... The idiot one again, - brimming with the confidence of being a living compass reincarnated (or burped up like onion), for now TWO whole days in a row, consecutively-like, plus having received a 'husband-gallant' award for insisting on the Caleche ride - does something truly expected of a normal Graeme W: Ignoring the now common upheaval in the road ahead and grabbing his spouses hand, he is urging her to jump a red light before the next swarm of pedestrian-killing auto-type bullets on 4 wheels reaches them, he goes down.
His 2nd step off the curb (he thinks, and it is so reported, verified, and sworn by eye witnesses) was definitely heading into the direction of the approaching evil. However, the foot in question (exhibit 'A' photograph as filed) lands into a place that has no solid material, no firmness; the carpet of "a road well traveled" has been pulled away leaving only after-earth. The tumble forward will ensure an instant decapitation as wheels always aim for the lowest point of a bump - in this case it is going to be neck!
The only thought going through Ingrid's mind is the fear that the local street kids might mistake my head for a football and god-knows how long it will take for her to get it back and convince customs people that I am attached to the face on my passport AND of course collect on the insurance policies. Awaiting that end, the left knee goes down and hits the road instead of the head, it scrapes the surface of the road as if in anger for the role it has played in this attack. The knee attempts to gouge the bricks of the road as much as possible in retribution. At the same time a concrete part of the road fissured into an ankle grabbing hold twisting the victim/warriors right ankle violently.
With no support and corkscrewed into total non-equilibrium down goes Goliath to the Liverpudlian efforts of so many against so few. Later it was reported by Reuters that the left elbow AND the right hand wore sympathy grimaces to the results of the battle; however, the war was not won by such feeble foes. "The entire international community came to this soldier's aid. Firstly a Dutch couple stopped to give first aid, ensuring that the tactic of poisoning the foe with the darts of gravel arrows would be negated. An Argentinian owner of the Cafe at the corner came out with a chair for sitting and elevating the leg and subsequently brought out an ice-pack. The dastardly road barons did not stand a chance with all these aid and care packages."
It reported accurately. In addition, of course - not unlike the Academy awards - I must revert back to the first person and thank my wife for her compassion, her tender touches, the reapplication of sterile goop and gauzes back home etc. How is it said: "She was truly a brick through the whole ordeal" (and not once attempted to flee away seeing her chance at escape from the dowry still owed me). Her exact words in truth were: "I saw our whole vacation going into the back seat of a taxi, or me touring and visiting you in hospital each day, or a terrific 1 1/2 day vacation to blog on TRAVEL POD.
For me I just modestly give myself credit for staying calm with a good British stiff upper lip and not losing my head over the whole matter.
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