La Vie Boheme de Buenos Aires and The Death of the Fairytale

There we have it. My first week in Argentina has come and gone. It feels slightly surreal to think that I've completed my first week as an adopted Porteno. Things that I have achieved so far:
Have first Argentine steak. Tick.
Have two more after that. Tick.
Think that I am a steak-eating machine. Tick.
Meet amazing people in the hostel. Tick.
Get drunk with amazing people in the hostel. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Do tours of local neighbourhoods. Tick
Take photos of coffins. Tick.
Worry about my sanity after taking photos of coffins. Tick.
Feel very attracted to the French-ness of San Telmo. Tick.
Self-loathe after loving something so reminiscent of France. Tick.
And so on....

I left you last when I went to meet Paul, a lovely Argentine guy who offered me a shared room in his flat but after some careful thinking, I've decided not to live with him as he told me he was out of the house a lot and this wouldn't be the best way to practice my Spanish. Also, Hannah has had some luck in way of the guy at her hostel, who is Argentine and has told her that Barracas isn't a very safe area so this pretty much put me off.
I returned to the hostel and had a nice relaxing day in front of my laptop, scouring the web for anyone that will have me for a permanent place to live. This is proving a lot harder than I thought in England and I'm getting to the point now where I really just want to find a place and LIVE. The hostel is like a holiday. I'm eating out alot, drinking at the bar and going out. I'm far too relaxed here and my Spanish is suffering because of it.

On Friday night, there was another infamous Milhouse party. Commence the lethal cocktails, dangerous dancing and night of ill-repute and debauchery. Throughout the night, people were suddenly appearing with these blue wrist bands and in a go,go, go power rangers style brought their wrists together. I asked what they were for and within seconds I was buying my own wristband that would get me entry to a really exclusive club in Buenos Aires called Crobar. We partied at the hostel until 2am before getting a minibus, where I promptly had a power nap, to Crobar in the swish neighbourhood of Palermo.

Crobar, needless to say, was EPIC. For those of you have done a night in Notts, think Rock City in terms of size, kitted out to the extreme with modern fittings and features (including these insane screens at the bar in the shape of squiggles that projected light into the crowd and all of these snowflakes and camels that hung from the ceiling) with Dance/Trance music with these awesome latin remixes of all time favourites. At one point, they did this crazy remix of Sweet Child of Mine and Usher's Do You Remember. If I were to say that I had a boogie, this is a massive understatement. I had a BOOGIE. Crobar was an awesome night and it was a great way to say goodbye to Jernej, who left Buenos Aires on Saturday morning.

Jernej (left) and Gunner (right) and well, you know the handsome devil in the centre.

We didn't leave Crobar until 5.15am and after having the most frightening taxi drive back to the hostel (for reasons that I shall not disclose as it puts a dirty smudge on the fairytale picture of Buenos Aires that I am currently painting), we promptly fell asleep.

I woke the next morning with an eager Jernej, shaking me in my sleep to give him the photos from the previous night before he left. After mumbling that I would send them in an email, I bade him farewell (for the first time). I later saw him in the lobby and he asked me to translate a letter to Emelio, which made me feel so sad, what a story!

I met Hannah and we went to San Telmo for a pizza, which kind of wasn't a pizza, just bread and cheese with some onion and olives. San Telmo is where I am working for the internship and hopefully it's where I'll end up living. It is such an amazing neighbourhood with quirky cobbled streets, antique stores, art galleries and a street market on Sundays, which I went to yesterday. For Londoners, think Portobello Road but without the excess - San Telmo has really retained its Bohemian routes.

Cafe in San Telmo

I went to the street market with Carla and her friend Diego, who was very keen to practice his Spanish as they are both Brazilian learning Spanish in Buenos Aires. The Street Market was amazing with loads of leather goods, little antique trinkets, silver jewellery and souveneirs. They had these amazing bracelets/keyrings made out of old argentine coins and these bottles that had been covered in plaster and cement and painted to make a 3D scene of Buenos Aires and a greatplace to store drink. We had such a laugh. One of the street vendors scared the life out of us with this cat-in-a-box contraption with a noise maker that sounded like a loud screeching cat that caused Carla and I to scream out in the middle of the street. Everyone stared. Everyone laughed. All at our expense. Brilliant.

Carla and I in San Telmo, practising our moves that we learnt at our Tango lesson

We walked all the way to the top of the market, where I saw my first ever piece of Street Tango. An elderly couple just got up and started to dance on this plank of wood and it was stunning to watch. I got a bit of a video for you all to see, but my camera died. Que Lastima!

We came back to the hostel to hear that someone had been robbed by a gang of armed thieves, which wasn't very nice. But apparently they only took some of their money and so the boy who was robbed actually said they were quite nice thieves. It was scary to hear, but its important to have your wits about you and it has definitely made me think more about my surroundings. But I am keeping safe. I don't carry more than about £20 with me at any one time, I conceal everything and I was even told that I look Brazilian so people won't mess with me, apparently. Crime is definitely a reality here, but I'm trying to take it in my stride, stay safe and remember the essential lesson I learnt from Blood Diamond. T.I.A. This. Is. Argentina. Please don't worry.

Last night, we met the guy who replaced Jernej in our room. He is German and his name is Sven. Even I couldn't help but think Goran Eriksson and you all know how I hate football. He introduced me to two lovely girls; one from Chicago, who is called Leslie and the other from High Wycombe called Claudia and we had a few drinks and decided to organise a trip to the tango show on Broadway here. I think we are going tonight, but after the events of the past week, the twists and turns, the ups and the more recent downs and the relaxed lifestyle I'm starting to develop, I'm going to see where the fair winds of Buenos Aires take me...

Hasta prontito y besitos xxx

Pasion, making le sandwich, rumba siii and The search for Emelio

The night before last I experienced my first party at Milhouse hostel. Over the past few days, I've met some amazing people in the hostel from all corners of the globe. In my room, there are six people and every few days people come and go and I feel that room 308 is a real and true microcosm of Buenos Aires at its heart and soul - a very cosmopolitan, multicultural and eclectic city. That and it knows how to bloody get down and party! 

On Wednesday, Eva (from Germany), Carla (from Brazil), Dave and Siobhan (from Ireland), Ben (from New Zealand) and Mary-Clare (from Malta) and Hannah (Brixton - let's be fair, that's a country all its  own with how they act, the aliens from South London) and I all met for a great party at my hostel. Buenos Aires doesn't come alive until atleast midnight and people rarely go clubbing until about 2am. Insomniacs much. New York can kiss Buenos Aires' ass, the city that never sleeps is definitely south side. 

The cocktails in the hostel are lethal. Imagine paint-stripper with a twist of lemon and you're nearly there. Needless to say, 30 pesos later (£5.50) I was pretty wasted. Hannah literally couldn't move. We then commenced the dance time.  For those of you that have seen me dance, you know how it goes. Bit of the bollywood, bit of the hips, bit of the side-step. Torture for my companeros as you can imagine. But I was having a nice time. My logic was this : when in Buenos Aires, with people you are probably never going to see again, who cares if you look like a demented chicken on the dancefloor, be proud of your dance moves, glorious dance moves. And now I sound like that butter advert, which is apt seeing as I was proper greasy after all the dancing. Especially after Hannah crashed into me causing me to pour my drink all down my jeans. Nice. 

Clockwise from Top - Eva, Jernej, Sam and Carla at Milhouse party

Yesterday, I met a new guy in my room. His name is Jernej and he is from Slovenia. Prepare yourself for an amazing story that if I'm honest warrants either a six week storyline in Eastenders or a trashy true movie on Sky.  Jernej is a lovely guy from Slovenia, who endured a Kiwi woman in our room telling him that his country make amazing fridges. She then proceeded to confuse Solvenia and Slovakia. Racism much. Anyway, Jernej has been travelling around South America, like alot of the people at Milhouse. He came to Buenos Aires from Santiago, Chile, where he fell in love with Emelio, a Chilean guy that he met at a disco. He only knew Emelio for four days but tells me there is a long lasting connection. Emelio spoke no English or Slovene and Jernej speaks no Spanish apart from the one set phrase 'Mi corazon late por ti' or 'my heart beats for you' in English. Apparently a mutual friend of theirs translated their initial courtship. I like to think of this situation as a better alternative to the film Dear John. Maybe it can be the sequel. Dear Jernej. It has a slight ring to it, I feel. 

Yesterday evening, I was on Skype in the hostel common room to a very special person and then I was abruptly interrupted by this beautiful Tango temptress. She dragged me downstairs to the main lobby and told me that they were short of men to do the tango class. Yes, I did my first tango lesson. Carla and I, after many insane attempts finally managed to get it and then we all had to perform the steps to each other. It was a great experience, if a little dangerous for Carla who had to trust me to lead her around the room, like some sort of clumsy drunk at a wedding. Our tango teacher called the steps 'making le sandwich' for whenever there was a particularly sexy step. Sexy? Me? Just call me Mustafa, Sam Mustafa. You can see it now, can't you? Me with a rose between my teeth, in a black traje under the spotlight of the moon...you can't? Oh, you can? But you just don't want to. Fair enough. Poor Carla though, she didn't have a choice. 

Anyway, I went to another party last night at the other Milhouse hostel - there are two in Buenos Aires as it was Eva's last night in Argentina. We wern't going to go, but Eva is persuasive. Jernej, Carla and I were in our pyjamas and it took her all of two minutes to convince us that lethal cocktails, more crazy dancing and screaming our lungs off to a remix of Love Shack and Calle Ocho was the way to go. She managed to persuade Jernej by convincing him that Emelio would be there. So off we went to find Jernej's soulmate. Sadly, he was no where to be seen. He was there in spirit though. 

Milhouse Party

Today, I went to Barracas to view a flat. I met Paul who walked me through San Telmo, which is the neighbourhood where Jorge Luis Borges wrote. Its full of amazing antique shops, galleries, bohemian cafes and I can't be sure if I'm correct in saying this in terms of the area's history, but it felt distinctly French. After feeling this French je ne sais quoi, I immediately realised why I loved it so much. It's like Paris, but without the Parisians. The flat was nice, if a little small and I'd have to share a room, but that wouldn't bother me so much with such a nice guy. He invited me out to meet his friends, even if I don't come to live with him, which was nice. I tell you, I can't get over how friendly the people are here. 

Anyway, there is another essay for you. For all of you that have kept reading and are keeping up with my blog, mi corazon late por ti. 

Besitos xxx

We're English, this is how we do

So, off I trotted, filled with a deep sense of optimism and drive as I had imagined that on my gap yah nothing could possibly get in my way. I had been in contact with a lovely woman called Lorena who advised me to jump on the subte (tube to you and I) and meet her at Entre Rios station so that she could show me her charming home, where I would hopefully slot in perfectly and begin the stable, permanent part of my year abroad.

The Subte was quite an experience - it works exactly the same as the London tube, however the carriages are like wooden boxes that rocket along at the speed of light, the doors can be operated manually and people launch themselves onto the platform while the train is still moving. I didn't quite fancy suicide and so waited for motion to cease. All of the carriages are really odd as well, decorated with these lanterns and wooden walls - sort of how I imagine the Orient Express to be if it were a tube.

So I got off and met Lorena and she took me to the house and the first thing she mentioned was not to believe all the bad things I was going to hear about the neighbourhood and that actually it was 'muy lindo'. I have to say, I disagreed. A woman walked passed me muttering to herself wide-eyed  wearing a bin liner and that was when I knew that no matter how nice the house was, I wouldn't live there. The house incidentally, was lovely and housed a tango school as well, but there was a cat and that kinda was the last nail in the coffin. Plus, it was about 250 pesos over budget, so I just couldn't really justify it.

La Casa Rosada on the Plaza de Mayo

After the viewing, I went to the Playa de Mayo which is where the Pink House is of the president and where a lot of political demonstrations go on. Never before have I seen such political people, firing shots into the air, waving the Argentine flag and screaming over a PA system. There were people protesting about Education and the veterans of the Falklands islands war. I steered clear of those ones, being English and all - I didn't really fancy being lynched on day two.

Falklands War demonstration

But then it happened. Everyone ran. Screaming. The skies went black. And small creatures darted for their burrows as Buenos Aires got a taste of Brixton. Hannah Masters arrived. Just kidding.

Hannah and I met up for dinner in this pizzeria after we arduously searched for a shower cap for her. It seems that no pharmacy or super market in Buenos Aires sells them. The lack of shower caps I feel will make a very good article for my internship - oh the consequences of the lack of this basic necessity that one must have, wet hair everywhere in Argentina...it's pullitzer winning material, I'm sure you'll agree.

We ordered this great pizza, empanadas (kind of like a cornish pasty) and some chips but decided to cancel our order on the chips because they brang us soooo much food. All of this for under a tenner. Cheap as chips. But in the end, we didn't each chips. The waiter, told Hannah and I that we spoke good Spanish, so that was a nice confidence boost!

Recoleta Cemetery

Today, I went on a tour of Recoleta, which is one of the most affluent neighbourhoods in all of Buenos Aires. People moved there in the 1870s after a series of Yellow Fever epidemics and now it is the home to loads of embassies, chic cafes, bars and restaurants etc. We toured the cemetery, which is where Eva Peron is buried and the whole place is swarming with cats that guard the dead. The Argentine governement have let them stay as apparently the cemetery has a real rat problem. A Brazilian friend of mine proceeded to dance Michael Jackson's thriller outside the tomb of some nobles and I am sure that we are now cursed. As morbid and macabre as it sounds, the cemetery was amazing with loads of different tombs and mausoleums of different styles and designs. Pictures to follow. Yes, they take photos of graves here. Yes, it is normal. Yes, shut up. Yes, stop making me feel bad before I hit you so hard that you end up in Recoleta cemetery.

Eva Peron's Grave. The first line reads 'No me Llores...' which is apparently where 'Don't cry for me, Argentina' comes from

I've just got back to the hostel and tonight there is a party. It'll be the first alcoholic drink I've had here in Argentina. Let's hope its a good one!

Bueno, tengo que irme pero un gran besote!
Hasta prontito muchachos xxx

Mis Primeras dias en Argentina :)

I am alive. For those of you who doubted, screw you all. I am alive. And safe. And have had the most amazing first day in Argentina. The journey was arduous, I ain't gonna lie.

I started travelling at around 11am British time, got delayed in Madrid for two hours with a demon child in a green dress, who liked to run luggage trolleys over people's feet and then finally boarded the flight to Argentina at around 1.30am Spanish time (the next day)! The Air Europa flight to Argentina was pretty good as far as 12-hour flights go on a budget airline. I was served some chicken arrabiata at about 4am in the morning, which I devoured eagerly despite the fact that it tasted like lego. This thought then caused me to think of the Izzie Izzard sketch where lego Darth Vader tries to get chicken arrabiata on the death star. As I am sure you are aware, the tiredness turned my mind to mush and I began to chuckle slightly to myself at this point, which prompted some stares from the darling Spanish couple in front of me who persisted in forcing their chair into my lap. Fuck you very much.
This episode was promptly followed by a lovely woman named Teresa from Misiones, Argentina who proceeded to tell me about Buenos Aires and her life who was sat next to me. It seemed that every time I told her something about my own life, she had a comparatively similar story to tell.

-Oh, I'm in Buenos Aires working as a journalist
-Oh really? My daughter is a journalist in Buenos Aires
-I have a friend that is picking me up at the airport that studies in Rosario.
-Oh really? My son studies in Rosario.
-My name is Sam.
-Oh real-
-Let me guess, you're called Sam too?
-No.

That actually happened. Embarassing much. In fact, Teresa was lovely. She told me a lot about Argentina and places to visit and helped me with my forms that I had to fill in to enter the country, the first of which I had decimated in my sleep. I mean why give a sleeping guy an important document? At least wake him and tell him that without this piece of paper, he is going to be on the next flight back to Inglaterra. Air Europa. Providing you with the quickest return flights to Buenos Aires since 1994.

 I finally arrived at Buenos Aires after 26 hours of travelling and proceeded to go through security, where the guy who stamped my passport wasn't particularly happy that I intended to cheat the visa system here by travelling to Uruguay after my 3 month tourist visa runs out. But I had to tell him? He asked me. And he had a gun. Okay, this last bit was a lie. But I'm sure if he wanted to, he could kill me with a single thought, for he was Darth Vader.....

I then met Erika. The most amazing person ever. Erika, for those of you who don't know, is my Argentine pen-pal who helps me with my Spanish. In return, I help her with her English, which is far superior to my Spanish. She introduced me to her father, Luis and we got in a taxi and went to my hostel.

Milhouse is amazing. It's this huge colonial style building, that has been converted into a hostel, with amazing modern fittings. The bar is great. So the rest is pretty irrelevant. I met a lovely German girl called Eva who has been travelling in South America for a month who ended up being in my room. I dumped my luggage and Erika kindly invited me to her father's house for mi primer asado argentino! (My first Argentine BBQ)

Milhouse Hostel

We left the hostel and proceeded to walk up La Avenida de Mayo to 9 de Julio, which I think I saw from the air. Its the widest street in the world. Think Picadilly Circus with all the lights and screens and stuff but at the width of the Thames. Its insanely massive. Buenos Aires makes London look like shoe box and Nottingham a matchbox. I like boxes. Not dissing London obviously, but it is crazily big.

We boarded the bus...well sort of....one foot was still on terra firma as the bus started to accelerate into 9 de julio. Erika assured me that we were safe as another bus was literally inches from slamming into ours. Erika laughed at my fear. Tourist status, successfully acquired.

Me drinking Mate'

We reached her father's house and he had already started preparing asado - we ate the most beautiful meat in the world. Veal and Chorizo, with a wonderful potato salad that Erika knocked together in her father's kitchen. I also met Erika's little sister Julieta, possibly the cutest child I have ever met - the girl is gonna break some hearts when she gets older. We also drank mate' which is a national institution here; its a sort of herbal tea that the host mixes and passes around. We all drank from the same cup out of a silver straw like instrument - it was an absolute honour for them to introduce me to this as it is very big over here. Luis, then told me a bit more about the city and places to avoid and places to see and also about some discounted flights to Chile and boats to Uruaguay, which I would love to go to. He was also kind enough to give me his number in case I run into any trouble out here, which is amazing of him. I wish the English were so kind!
The community in Luis' barrio is lovely too - in Argentina they hang banners for people's birthdays across the street for all the neighbours to see. Erika explained that this is particularly true of girls for their 15th birthday, which I imagine is the Argentine equivalent of the sweet 16.

El Obelisco on 9 de Julio at Night

I jumped back onto the bus after bidding farewell to Luis and Julieta and Erika and I went back to 9 de Julio for a night trip to the Obelisco, a huge tower that looms over the city, sort of similar to Nelson's column in trafalgar sq. I said goodbye to Erika with a big hug as she was travelling back to Rosario to go to university and I crossed 9 de Julio (by myself! WIN!) back to my hostel, where I fell into a deep sleep.

El Obelisco on 9 de Julio by day

This morning, I've sat in the hostel searching for a place to live and I am going to take the subte (tube) to meet a girl and her friends to see if I can live with them. It looks like a beautiful house.

That is all for now. I realise as always that I have written an essay. My heartfelt apologies for those of you still reading.

Hasta prontito muchachos xxx