BsAs

It’s been five days since our arrival in Buenos Aires. The abbreviation in the title is used as a short form for the city’s name. I'm all for abbreviations, but when you consider that Argentineans don’t pronounce their esses, you wonder why use such an abbreviation. But I digress…

Our trip here, so far, has been eventful, and fun. Buenos Aires is a grand city. Massive boulevards with six lanes of fast moving traffic crammed into four. Five to eight story buildings on all of the major arteries, excellent food, and generally friendly Porteños (the city's folk). It’s true, BsAs does look and feel like Paris, but somehow, the French café that we went to on our first afternoon didn’t quite have the same feeling I remember while in the French capital. Having recently seen a few locals block traffic with a truck: leisurely loading some bags of unmixed cement while carrying on an impromptu conversation with a couple of passers-by -- all this taking place to the magnificent soundtrack of ear deafening horns of varying pitches. Then, I felt a bit more like I was in Latin America. And it feels good!

Shopping has been a little more successful for Mr. T, than I... I have been looking for a leather jacket, but I think that I might be too picky. When we came across this shop, I thought it best to stay away, and take heed to the warning in our guide about some stores selling lower quality goods. But I thought, at least they're honest...



Our hotel (or temporary apartment, as they call it) is very central, affordable, comfortable, and perhaps most importantly, air-conditioned. I’m not saying this to rub it into anybody’s face, but it’s been HOT since we got here. Also, being able to close the windows for a bit of respite from the traffic doesn’t hurt. We have a pool, and have fallen into the routine of spending most of the day outside touring different neighbourhoods and city sites, then heading back for a little relaxation by Piscine Miguel (what I have taken naming our pool). Followed by some sparkling wine (well, at least once so far), then we usually nap.


Since Porteños tend to have supper at about 11:00 PM (!!!) we have been struggling to hold out before heading out to the restaurant. On our first night here, we made a reservation for 10:00 pm, and found ourselves alone in the restaurant for the first 45 minutes. At that point, we understood that our trusty travel guide wasn’t lying when it explained that supper happens between 11:00 pm and 1:00 am. When do these people sleep?

The city is rich by day, and poor by night. After the pampered Recolettans tuck themselves into their hideaways in the city, the poor come to the city in droves via pick-up trucks to root through the day’s debris in hopes of finding carton and plastic to exchange for some pesos. Knowing that so many people depend on the debris, I can’t help but feeling guilty for recycling on my own.

The most touristy thing that we have done so far was today: we went to Recolleta Cemetary to visit our beloved Evita! We had to fight off many Japanese tourists to get our way in to take a picture. And surprise surprise, we weren’t the only gay men there!
Tonight, it’s tango lesson night. But we still haven’t decided who’s going to lead… I’ll keep you posted!

Definitely not the Postman’s Son

This weekend, my sister and I went to see my father. We had longstanding plans to go through some family memorabilia: documents, newspaper clippings, family trees, and pictures. The idea was to document and classify the contents of the various boxes: adding order to chaos, really. By the end of our marathon, we had only made a dent.

While flipping through the photos, my sister kept gasping, laughing and squealing: “Oh. My. God.” She was the first to look through a box of snapshots of my father when he was in his late-twenties/early-thirties. She saw a resemblance. Both my father and I were a bit surprised when we began examining the photos of him and comparing them to me. So, I thought that it would be interesting to put some photos side-by-side to see for myself.

In this set, my father is 27 and I am 26:


In this set, my father is 32 and I am 30:


When I brought some of pictures home, Mr. T. was a bit freaked out, noting, “If you cover your dad’s nose in the picture, it looks just like you.” I guess I got my mother’s nose…

¡15 días hasta que es caliente!

With the temperatures in Montreal falling into a deepfreeze pattern, I’ve become increasingly excited about our upcoming trip to Argentina. Bundled up in my hooded jacket, scarf, gloves and hat this morning, I marched to the metro in –30-degree wind-chill. The buds of my headphones froze the interior of my ears while the sound of the Spanish Earworm instructed me to reiterate “Y otro coñac para mí también.” I thought that it was a bit early for cognac, but I just went with it...

Other preparatory exercises have included booking hotels, a wine tour, as well as figuring out the best way to get from Buenos Aires to Mendoza. In the end we decided to fly, if only to avoid the 12-hour/955-kilometer trek on the bus.

The countdown has begun in earnest! I hope to blog a little bit while I’m there (but will not commit to daily updates). In the meantime, I leave you with an excerpt from our favourite diva/African baby thief adopter:

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

Hello, Buenos Aires
Get this, just look at me dressed up, somewhere to go
We'll put on a show

Oh, will we ever put on a show... Especially after our Tango lessons – although I fear that it will be more of a comedy than a cultural event.

Hey... You!

I found it! My favourite SNL commercial of all time:



The beat sounds like the soundtrack to a porn, the bar is smoky and brown, and Guilda's performance is top notch -- as usual.

The Perfect Belated Holiday Gift

Like most (normal) people, I don't subscribe to the idea of holiday shopping for next year now. Despite the bargains that can be found, the leftovers are usually an array of trash that you would only give to your enemies and/or family members you would rather see in their graves. However, I do have some ideas for next year's festivious time of year.

While in the lovely Ontario capital over the joyous time of year known as Christmas, Mr. T, Nicky, and I stumbled upon some excellent ideas to surprise those people who just have everything.

Including the uncle that has a criminal past in West Virginia. Consider this quick fix:
Or what about the couple that you can't bear spending one more evening entertaining because their always at each other's throats. Okay, maybe it's not all that selfless, but everybody wins with this present:



Keep this in mind for next year!

Ho ho ho!