The Northwest

Northwest Argentina is blessed with stunning rock formations, wine areas where you encounter the bizarre spectacle of cacti growing on the hillsides above the grapes and delicious empanadas.  In some ways, going there is a little like visiting Bolivia with things like salt flats, roads with ridiculous descents and people everywhere trying to get you to buy alpaca crap.  The difference is that the roads tend to be paved and the people selling all the knitted alpaca goods are usually wearing jeans and baseball caps.  Even so, towns like Purmamarca and Cafayate are peaceful places after the tourist colectivos have loaded up and begun the long drive back to Salta.  The few stragglers and locals that remain behind get to soak up areas of stunning natural beauty in comfortable hotels charging reasonable rates.

The highlight of a trip to the area is an overnight stay in Iruya.  Iruya was described to me as a magical place and that description is not far off the mark.  In order to get there Double S and I arranged to be dropped off in Humahuaca, the last town before Iruya, where we would get picked up for a ride to Iruya.

We ultimately got dropped off in front of a restaurant where we were told the driver was inside.  He was the cook dealing with the lunch hour rush.  When he finished cooking he loaded us and two other passengers into the car for the drive out.  We got talking with our fellow passengers and found out that it was the manager of the hotel we would be staying at and his young son.

Most of the way down the descent from a 4000 meter mountain pass, all of a sudden as if carved out of the mountainside, a colorful little church appears, signifying that Iruya is near.  It is a spectacularly beautiful sight .

The town itself is inaccessible if it has rained a lot and the river is running too deep.  Our driver told me a story of how a bunch of the kids from Iruya went to HUAA for a party and then found out due to the rains they would have to stay for three extra nights.  Party time in Humahuaca!

When we arrived in Iruya we met our hotel manager’s wife and daughter, who live at the hotel.  When dinner time came around Double S and I were enjoying our llama dishes (mine with white wine sauce, hers with Roquefort), and the son, Bernardo, came to our table to show us his new pet, a two week old lamb, Bianca.  His Mom then proceeded to demonstrate to him how to feed the lamb with a bottle.  Afterwards, Bianca pranced around the house, following the Mom and gnawing on whatever curtain happened to come across her path.  Apparently a neighbor’s sheep had a bunch of lambs and gave one to the family so that Bernardo could have a pet.  Iruya is that kind of place.

Recommendations:
An overnight stay in Purmamarca, home of the magnificent Cerrro de los Siete Colores
The best empanadas in Salta at Doña Salta or El Corredor de las Empanadas
Carpe Diem Bed and Breakfast in Salta.  A lovely building, a welcoming couple who owns the place and a tasty breakfast.
Wine tasting in Cafayate, with Bodega Nanni particularly recommended as a nice place to taste.  It is tough to beat a good Torrontes for 18 pesos.
A visit to see Bianca in Iruya.

Iruya from the distance

Crazy wine mural in Cafayate






Los Castillos rock formation in the Quebrada de las Conchas


(Photos courtesy of Double S)

Casa da Feijoada

They have a local specialty in Brazil called feijoada.  Feijoada, legend has it, is a dish that the Brazilian slaves created out of the left over parts of the pig that the Portuguese nobles didn’t want, combined with the other ingredients available to them (beans, salt, chili, etc.).  The slaves made these things into a stew which, in today‘s form, results in a bubbling cauldron of an almost purplish liquid that is served at your table, usually accompanies by traditional sides like rice, collard greens, farofa (toasted and seasoned manioc flour), aipim (fried yucca) and torresminho (pork rinds).

In order to sample this famous Brazilian dish, Double S and I high tailed it to the Casa da Feijoada in Rio.  This is a famous place for eating feijoada in Rio.  Besides being the specialty of the restaurant, there are feijoada pot symbols everywhere, on the plates, on the glasses, on the coasters, on everything.  There are even feijoada pot shaped light fixtures.  It was a little odd.

When the feijoada came out, it was enormous.  A portion for one was definitely big enough for two.  The waiter kindly set the feijoada up for the two of us (who knows what to do with aipim?) and we dug in.  As we began picking our way through the assorted pork parts in the stew, Double S almost threw up when she spied me slurping up a pig’s ear.

The feijoada, in my mind, sums up Brazilian food.  It mostly sucks.  It sounds good on paper (fish, ok, coconut, sure, rice and beans, fine) but, somehow, it never seems to work out the way one would hope.  The only thing that seems to work out are all things fruit related: juices, acai and caiprinhas.  Those should be consumed en masse.  Most other things should be avoided.

Here are a few recommendations of places in Brazil that served tolerably good food.  The list is longer than one might think on pizza because there are wood burning ovens everywhere and, blissfully, that cheese of cheeses, mozzarella di bufala is plentiful.

Carlota, Rua Dias Ferreira 64, Rio: Fine dining in a romantic spot in Leblon, one of Rio‘s more upscale neighborhoods.  Double S’s sole dish was perhaps the best sole that I have ever eaten.  Double S couldn’t stop raving about her fettuccine side dish.

A Brasileira, Rua Pedro Longo 175, Itacare: An unexpectedly nice restaurant in the middle of a Brazilian surfer town.  The bolinhos (deep fried rice balls stuffed with deliciousness) were the best I had in Brazil.  The caiprinhas were also excellent.

Pizzaria Boca de Forno, Rua Lodônio Almeida 108, Itacare: An excellent thin crust pizza place.  The vegetarian special was fantastic.  I could have eaten a whole one myself.

O Passo, Rua São José 56, Ouro Preto: As you walk down the cobblestone streets of Ouro Preto in the evening you encounter jazz music coming from the upstairs patio of one of the lovely colonial buildings that fill the town.  The second floor deck at O Passo is the source of that music.  The views, atmosphere and fantastic pizza make this a great spot to unwind after walking up and down the streets in town.  I loved the pizza.  Seriously, I loved the pizza there.

When it comes to Brazilian food, stick to the fruit.

A bubbling cauldron of feijoada

A plate of feijoada, all ready to eat.  Watch out for the ears.

Lapa

In Sao Paulo they have bars where you sit down and, after ordering your round, your table is given a bingo like card with X’s marked to indicate how many beers you have ordered.  Fair enough.  What is different is that there are a bunch of men walking around with draft beers on trays.  Once they spy a customer who has finished his beer, they rush over to replace his or her beer without any prompting.  Sometimes, if they feel you are being just a tad bit of a , um, lollygagger, they will place another beer in front of you when you are only about half finished.  Drink up before we have to embarrass you in front of your friends again, wuss.

In Salvador they love their Tuesday nights.  Tuesday nights are the nights where bands play free music throughout the old city and, to finish it all off, a drum band marches through the streets and picks up a rag tag assortment of locals and tourists who drink beer and march along with them.

In the Bahian beach towns there are some places where vendors stand all along the sand ready to serve you a mixture of the fruit of your choice and a lot of cachaca.  In other towns it is forro dancing several nights a week and stores that don’t open until 4pm or 5pm, likely due to late nights out followed by long days on the beach surfing.

Then there is Rio.  Almost everyone knows about Carnival and the crazy party that occurs during that festival.  While walking along the beaches of Ipanema one is struck by the thought that it would be a marvelous place to spend New Year’s.  Apparently Cariocas (people from Rio) have that covered, too.  December 30th is meant to be the night where people dress in white, gather on the beach, build bonfires and make offerings to the orixa (kind of goddess) of the sea.  December 31st is then total mayhem on the beaches with concerts, partying and fireworks.  Surely all of that is just for special occasions and the town is normally fun, but not crazy.  Wrong.

I now consider Lapa in Rio to be the top party neighborhood in the world.  Not eating or fine dining.  It is a party neighborhood.  I was completely unprepared for what I encountered there on an, as far as I know, random Friday night.  As you enter the neighborhood in the evening you are immediately struck by the number of people that are out on the streets.  It isn’t just on one main block.  People are out on many blocks.  One of the benefits of people being spread out over such a wide area is that you do not experience a Bourbon Street style crush of people.  There is room to move.  There are clubs with electronica, samba, forro and seemingly every other kind of music you can think of.  There is music in the streets and even in a tent looking thing that has been set up for concerts.

For those that dislike the dance floor, there are some great bars.  At the entrance to the busier bars a hostess will find out how many are in your party and direct you to a table, which ensures that the place does not get too crowded.  Someone will immediately come to take your drink order and, if it is a beer, walk over to one of the conveniently located beer fridges (which have LED displays with the temperature inside the fridges, lest a fridge get too warm) and return quickly with your drink.  Only cocktails are referred to the bartender rather than wasting their time fetching beers.  A team of bar backs replace beers in the refrigerators when they get close to empty.  There is no possessiveness amongst the staff in terms of waiting on your table.  Tons of staff are patrolling the place and any can help you with a drink order.  Making sure customers drink as much as possible is their top priority.

If it is a nice night and you want to be outside there is an area in Lapa filled with street stands selling food and drinks.  Other areas have guys with portable kegerators pouring beers.  Or, while you are waiting in line to a club, someone might come up to you with a bottle of tequila and offer to sell you a shot out of a plastic shot glass.  Every eventuality is covered.

There are people of all ages out having a good time.  There are even families out drinking together.  Amazingly, all of this is happening in a neighborhood that is, more or less, adjacent to the financial district.  How Brazil has become one of the top performing economies in the world with all of this temptation, I have no idea.  God bless them.                    

¡Ten Cuidado!

Once upon a time, the group I worked with bought an office complex in Salt Lake City out of foreclosure.  As one can imagine, the building was in rough shape and the extreme weather in Salt Lake did it no favors.  The building had a lot of problems, but, seemingly most important to me, was that the building was mostly vacant and losing money.  My boss had a different idea.  He was freaked out about the problems with the walkways.  He demanded that the, “trip hazards,” be fixed immediately.  Whenever I saw him, almost inevitably the conversation turned to the trip hazards and whether or not they had been fixed.  Reprimands would follow if acceptable progress had not been made.

It seemed that my boss was overreacting at the time, but, ultimately, I think his paranoia was justified.  My boss understood that, “the pursuit of happiness,” defined by our founders is partially code for an ability for the common man to pursue wild land speculations, questionable gold mining ventures, to provoke wars with unsuspecting foreigners, or whatever else might strike his fancy, all in the name of getting rich as quickly as possible.  This dream was to be accomplished minimal government interference or, preferably for the well connected, with explicit government support.  This tradition continues in our own times with a breed of lawyers, envious of what Jay Gould helped pioneer on Wall Street, getting in on the game by encouraging lawsuits for the slightest infractions.  One slip on a snowy day and our project might have been sunk.

In Buenos Aires there is no such tradition.  There is instead a more cavalier attitude towards public safety.  One day one will wake up and walk down a street towards a major intersection, say the corner of Armenia and Costa Rica in Plaza Armenia, and one will observe the unusual sight of cars backed up for several blocks when normally they would be free flowing.  Following their sad path leads to a large pile of rocks in the middle of the street at the intersection to indicate that work has begun on the street.  The sidewalk and road are completely torn up, there are gaping holes everywhere, with no indication of when the work might finish and, oftentimes, no barriers of any kind with the exception of a pile of rocks to prevent traffic from driving through.  A friend has observed that it would not be easy to be blind in Buenos Aires.  There is nothing to prevent you from tripping and breaking your neck when crossing a street you had safely crossed a thousand times before.

Another, more alarming, problem is that the Porteños have thought long and hard about it and decided that fire safety is less important than securing their buildings.  Not only do fire exits not exist, but the front doors require a key to exit from the inside.  If you are visiting a friend and a fire breaks out, you had better hope that you are able to get to the apartment and building entrances with someone who has a key.  Otherwise, good luck with the jump.

Plutarch tells the story that Caesar, upon seeing rich foreigners visiting Rome and lavishing attention on their pet dogs and monkeys, asked them whether or not they bore children in their country.  Plutarch goes on to teach that humankind’s gifts should be directed towards affection to one’s fellow man and the pursuit of virtue instead of lavishly applied on other objects.  In Buenos Aires they have different ideas.  That leads to the biggest public safety hazard in the city.

They love their dogs in Buenos Aires.  I have never seen a city with so many different dogs.  A favorite travel photo for many is of the dog walkers of Buenos Aires, people who might take three, five or ten different dogs out for a walk on a given day.  These walkers manage the dogs under their care with the kind of control that leads one to believe that Cesar Milan must have secretly spent time in Buenos Aires to learn his craft.  What these dog walkers and the dog owners don’t love, however, is cleaning up after their dogs.

There is dog crap everywhere.  It is unbelievable.  You try to lie in the grass in the park, you are surrounded by crap.  You walk around in any neighborhood, even the fanciest ones, and the sidewalk is covered in dog crap.  All a tourist wants to do is walk around BA’s neighborhoods and enjoy the architecture, but you cannot.  Other people and cars be damned,  your eyes are glued to the ground.  The worst is after a rainy day.  What would otherwise be mostly harmless after drying out is reborn to once again give challenge to your shoes.  What is that smell?  If the Kirchners would do something to combat this evil I think the Monumento de los Españoles should be torn down and in its place a new bronze monument should be built of Cristina and Nestor vigilantly guarding their fair city from this disgusting menace, each with a scooper in hand.

This entry ends The Other Way’s first chapter: Life in Buenos Aires.  After seemingly an eternity, my dearest Double S has arrived and we have left for the wilds of Brazil and to explore deepest, darkest Argentina.  I will try and update as frequently as possible.  Stay tuned.

The Other Way's Official Guide to BA or An Expat's Guide to Life in Palermo Soho

Lest you think that the engineers chained deep inside the The Other Way's skunk works have been neglecting their duties, let me present the new Buenos Aires guide.


View The Other Way's Buenos Aires Guide in a larger map

There is No Stopping in Tango!

I enjoy tango nuevo music, like Gotan Project, and I regret that when I spent time in Guatemala I didn’t dedicate any time to learning salsa.  Given those things, and the challenge of learning something new, I thought about studying tango while in Buenos Aires.  On the other hand, my knowledge of all things dance was zero.  I was a nerd in high school and college who spent minimal time on the dance floor and, generally, I do not consider myself a graceful person.  A chance conversation one day with my eating partner Tanguera about how much she loved studying tango at DNI Studios inspired me to give it a go.

The beginning was brutal.  In an attempt to practice my Spanish, I gave the ok for the instructors to give my entire first group class in Spanish vs. switching back and forth with English.  That was a mistake.  I was completely lost right from the start.  I had little idea as to what was being taught and even if it were in English I probably wouldn’t have understood the concepts.  I began to learn what was meant by having two left feet (Who knew that you are meant to continually shift your weight?).  After my second class I was drained.  Tanguera encouraged me to continue.  I did.

After a few weeks of taking the occasional group class I asked to incorporate some private lessons into my schedule.  That is when I met Pedro.  Pedro is one of the senior dancers at DNI.  He has the intense eyes that are commonly found amongst artists, almost as if there is a raging fire inside them and the pressure is only released through artistic expression.  Pedro let me know that he was now in charge of my training, “From now on you speak only to me about your schedule.”  

Private lessons can be hard.  You can’t blame your partner and there is nowhere to hide.  The instructors at DNI, and this may be true of all dancers, also seem to have an almost supernatural ability to read your body language.  They can see how I am standing or how I am moving and know almost exactly what is going on in my head.  During my first class with Pedro he tore me apart.  He let me know in detail everything I was doing wrong.  Well, not everything.  That would have taken all day.  But many things.  Pedro then decided to teach me a dance structure.

“Tell me something you like?”

“What?”

“Something you like.  What is the name of your favorite book or movie?”

“Um, The Hustler?”

“What?”

“The Hustler.  It is an old movie with Paul Newman.”

“Ok, The Hustler.  From now on when I say, ‘The Hustler,’ you do an outside forward step with your right and then side, back, back, side, forward, collect and continue.  Got it?”

“I don’t know…”

“The Hustler!”

This continued for the remainder of our hour.  Near the end of class I was nearly broken mentally.  Then Dana walked in.

Dana and her partner Pablo run DNI and are a well known couple in tango circles.  I had been fortunate enough to see them perform the night before at a milonga (a tango dance hall).  Both yoga and dance are taught at DNI and they are incorporated into a tango nuevo style which is revealed in the way Pablo and Dana dance.  I would describe Dana’s style of tango as graceful, yet unapologetically athletic.  It is not for those unwilling to put in the time.  Dana’s core is so strong and she is so flexible that she can contort her body and kick her legs at seemingly any angle and speed.  It is impressive to watch.

“Who is this?”

“This is Roberto.  He has been training with the chicos, Jonny and Johanna.”

“How long have you been dancing?”

“I’ve been taking the beginners class for about a month.”

“How wonderful.  Dance a tango with me.”

This was completely unexpected.  One of the things that you quickly learn in tango is that, like with many things, when you are a beginner more advanced people have no interest in you because it is almost painful for them.  Your balance and posture are usually a mess.  You lead poorly.  You don’t know any fun things to do and you can’t follow the music.  Other than that, it is a great time for them.  

I was probably trembling when I put my hands on Dana.  She is so light and responsive that I felt as if the tiniest of movements would lead her into an intricate set of responses.  I clumsily led her through a tango at which point she thanked me and told me how great I was doing.  It was a fib, but it was appreciated.  As good teachers typically understand, at DNI they know when to tear you down and when you need to be built back up.

Tango is an intense dance and, maybe for that reason, it seems to attract the heavily self critical.  You beat yourself up for not understanding some technique.  You often feel like you don’t know enough.  There is always something else to learn.  You practice hard and finally feel like you know something and then go to a milonga and realize you know almost nothing.  You sometimes forget that you are supposed to be having fun.  It can be devastating.

The flip side is the euphoria that comes when you have those “Eureka!” moments.  You are on top of the world.  To paraphrase Jonny, when you first start tango the emotional ups and downs come with extreme speed.  Jonny goes on to say the waves never goes away, they just become bigger and longer.  I'm not sure if that is good or bad.

I am told that there is a surprisingly large tango community in San Francisco.  Even so, there is a good chance that life will interfere and my time with it will come to an end in conjunction with my time in Buenos Aires.  Still, there is something emotionally powerful about tango that has burrowed its way into my head and which has instilled in me a desire to continue exploring its beauty.  Time will tell which way things go.




Pablo and Dana doing what they do.




Pedro and Julieta showing the people in San Telmo how it is done.  

Julieta is the source of some of my favorite quotes, including, "Your giro to the left is perfect.  If you don't like the person you are dancing with, do the giro to your right," and, "Roberto, what is with that posture?  If Dana sees you she will kill you.  Then she will kill me and I am too young to die."

The Cafes of Palermo Soho

One of the true joys of living in Buenos Aires, and Palermo Soho in particular, has been the access to great cafes. I love the cafes of Palermo Soho. There is no shortage of places, many with free WiFi, where one can pull out one’s laptop, Spanish homework or iLibro (my Kindle - a source of amazement in many locations) and settle in for hours working or reading away. Even on busy days you can spend hours without disturbance, in honor of that great Buenos Aires tradition of taking as long as you want with your meal or coffee seemingly without a care in the world.

Here are a few of my favorites (in no particular order):

Mark’s Deli, El Salvador 4701: Mark’s is the see and be seen coffee shop. It is packed on weekends and during weekday evenings with locals, expats and weary shoppers. Its weakness is that I don’t think the food is that great.

Mama Racha, Costa Rica 4602: Sometimes it seems like Mama Racha is the unloved Soho café. For some reason, it doesn’t get shout outs in Time Out and the other major publications. I don’t understand why. I think the food there is good and the location is perfect, with the option of sidewalk seating or a small roof deck with a great view of Plaza Armenia on warm days.

La Salamandra, El Salvador 4761: They bill themselves as a Dulce de Leche and Mozzarella Bar. As you would imagine, the dulce de leche is great. Salads, just in case you thought you were ordering something healthy, come with a spoonful of dulce de leche on the side to ensure you get your sugar quota for the day. The other desserts, including the best alfajores I have had in BA, come in mini-portions (reminding me of my old favorite, Michele Coulon). They also serve mozzarella di buffalo which, to me, is the only kind of mozzarella that should be served.

La Pasteleria, Gurruchaga 1744: This is a little hole in the wall that I hesitate to call a café. It is in a nondescript location next door to Freud & Fahler. It is mostly a takeout place for their tasty breads and baked goods, but they also have a table where you can sit and order some absolutely delicious sandwiches and salads. It is not really a place to settle in and work for hours, but it is a great place to grab lunch, sip on some coffee and people watch.

Baraka, Gurruchaga 1450: It is like a little slice of San Francisco in BA. They serve organic coffee and the staff all seems to have dreadlocks. The food here is good and, for warm days, the have the double option of sidewalk and roof deck seating. I also give them the prize for the best coffee of the bunch. The coffee in this town is surprisingly erratic given that every place has a fancy coffee machine, but Baraka usually delivers.

Helena , Nicaragua 4816: I love the food here. It is usually not that crowded and there is a little area with a sofa for those that are looking for something more comfortable. You can order an “Americano” breakfast here that includes scrambled eggs and the only thing I would classify as bacon in BA. Lunch here is also very good.

Nigel Says

I spent last night wine tasting at 0800 Vino, a wine sales, storage and consulting company run by Nigel Tollerman, a British sommelier. Nigel is both serious and knowledgeable about his wine. Before tasting some good local wines (I recommend that people see if they can find a nice Torrontés from the Salta area or a Bonarda from the Mendoza area if they would like to mix up their varietal life), I picked Nigel's brain about places to visit in Mendoza. Below are his recommendations. I will provide first hand information after I make it out to Mendoza. In the meantime, anyone making their way to Mendoza should follow the Nigel Trail and report back.

Valle de Uco

O. Fournier

Monteviejo

Salentein

Luján de Cuyo

Carmelo Patti

Achaval Ferrer

Club Tapiz (for food)

La Bourgogne (for food - inside Bodega Carlo Pulenta)

Maipú

La Rural

Viña El Cerno

Familia Zuccardi

Mendoza

Vines of Mendoza Tasting Room

Escorihuela (for food)

Lodging

Cavas Wine Lodge (best place to stay $$$$)

The Suckling Pig of the Sea

Some of my readers have expressed concern that all of this Argentine meat eating might result in a case of the gout. To prevent any foot swelling that could potentially interfer with tango, I reconvened the eating consortium to introduce some fish to my diet.

As you some of you may remember, I was originally unable to get the eating consortium to go for the suckling pig at El Trapiche. Trying a different tact, I decided to wear the consortium down with tales of pacu, the legendary suckling pig of the sea. It worked.

The pacu is a local river fish that I have read is a cousin of the piranha. Unlike their vicious distant relative, the pacu is a vegetarian who peacefully cruises the local rivers fattening up to as large as 60 lbs.

One place to give pacu a try in BA is at Jangada, Bonpland 1670. The entrée is considered a two person dish, which means that you should probably bring a crew of three to four people.

The pacu is delicious. It is sweet, meaty and juicy and one of the best items that I have eaten in Buenos Aires. Highly recommended.

A delicious serving of pacu

The author, unable to contain himself

(Photos courtesy of Tanguera)

El Monumental

The Other Way strives to be an equal opportunity site. The pleas of all you River Plate supporters have been heard. There will be no slavish devotion to Boca Juniors without giving River a chance. In order to make a fair and balanced determination as to which club The Other Way will officially support during the superclasico, I went to the River home opener to compare the atmosphere and vibe.

One of the first major points of contrast as you walk to River’s stadium, El Monumental, is that instead of walking by run down buildings and burned out cars you are walking through the border of Belgrano and Nuñez, higher end residential areas with some stately single family homes, not a common site in a city with the density of BA, and, with a slight detour, through the city’s Chinatown.

The Chinese have a little bit of work to do if they want their colony here to spread Han domination to South America. There are no dragon gates or masses of people crowding the streets in search of that perfect set of ingredients for this week’s dinner menu. There are a few buildings, some with red lanterns hanging out front, and a couple of people serving food in the street. They do have something that I dearly wish Palermo possessed: a large Asian grocery store. Ah, there is nothing quite like what I refer to as, “The Wall of Smell” when you enter a proper Asian grocery store. Once you hit the wall full on, you know that somewhere nearby is a section with the most delectable selection of fish. This store did not disappoint. Fish of all sizes and shapes are available including that perfect 3ft conger eel.

Back to the action. El Monumental itself is a 70,000 person stadium built in the 1930’s that hosted the 1978 World Cup final, which was won by Argentina. The stadium is set at the entrance to a large park. As you enter the stadium grounds you are struck immediately by the constant pounding of drums and noise, which continues all match long.

The general admission area is filled with people proudly displaying their River tattoos, smoking spliffs, waving flags and, oddest of all, some of them were sitting on the second level railing in order to cheer the crowd on, sometimes with young children in their laps. It is a good thing that earthquakes are not a problem here.

The game itself was exciting. River squandered 1-0 and 2-1 leads before falling behind and ultimately pulling it out 4-3 on a late goal by local hero, Ariel “El Burrito” Ortega, who is coming back after a long struggle with alcohol. The crowd was ecstatic.

Overall, as a 49ers man instead of a Raiders man, I think River is my team. I can eat chow fun before the game, their head coach, Nestor Gorosito, has a Peter Frampton style 70's perm and the stadium is filled with political propaganda for the election of their next President. All that and a great crowd?

A couple of concluding notes. For those of you who decide to attend matches, be warned that, for some reason, you are forced to wait 30 minutes after the match before being allowed to leave. This is at least true of the general admission sections at La Bombonera and El Monumental. I can’t say if it is true for assigned seats. The best speculative reason that I have heard for this is that it gives the visiting fans time to flee the area. It is incredibly annoying.

Lastly, this was meant to be the second in the three part football trilogy, with the final report being a live account of the Brazil-Argentina World Cup qualifier in Rosario. After much time and effort tickets were purchased through a local tour company. The night before the match my buddy, Gerrard, received a phone call saying that, due to the vagaries of Argentine contracts and politics, the company’s ticket source fell through and we would have to get a refund the next morning. Gerrard was, “gutted.” I think that is British for extremely disappointed. The atmosphere in Rosario looked incredible on television. La Seleccion were whipped by Brazil 3-1.

A street vendor in Chinatown

Support D'Onofrio for President, "Sin Proyecto, No Hay Futuro"

Inside El Monumental

Rolling a spliff pre-game. After the game started he put a 4 year old on his lap.

Go River!!!

Commuting, BA Style

The public transit system in Buenos Aires is a marvel. There is an extensive bus system that covers every part of the city and several Subte (metro, subway, whatever) lines that cover the bulk of the core neighborhoods. The Subte runs until around 10:30pm while the buses run all day and night. The cost for this is AR$1.10 for the Subte and around AR$1.25 for the bus (between US$0.25 and US$0.35 depending on the exchange rate).

The crown jewel of the public transit system is undoubtedly the Guia “T“. I go almost nowhere without it. How is it possible that one little booklet, which fits nicely into your back pocket, can contain so much information? It combines a comprehensive map of the city, think a Thomas Guide, with a complete public transit schedule. All this for around AR$6 (the price varies based on what the kiosk owner thinks you can afford). But that isn’t all. Upset about some governmental ruling and want to storm one of the cities major TV stations? The Guia “T” will show you were to go. Running out of gas? Help, Guia “T“! Having a heart attack? The Guia “T” is on it. What can’t it do? It is the Swiss Army knife of transit guides. Every major city in the world should have one. I believe that with only my trusty Guia “T” and AR$4 (in moneda form) I could be air dropped anywhere inside the city limits, day or night, and be back home in under two and a half hours. Try me. I dare you.

A chink in the transit armor is the great moneda shortage. The New Yorker has reported on this. The quick version is that the buses only take coins. In order to have money for the bus, people hoard their coins. This leads to a shortage of coins. Some small business owners won’t serve you if you need moneda change. This occasionally leads to things like trips to the supermarket where you buy a diet coke, two oranges and a pack of gum to make sure that your bill is just over AR$6 so that when you pay with a AR$10 you are guaranteed change for the bus. Not ideal. Along these lines, a similarly annoying problem is that the ATMs only dispense AR$100 notes. Businesses hate giving change for AR$100 notes and sometimes either won’t or can’t do it. If businesses don’t have change, and most things don’t cost anywhere near AR$100, then why dispense such large notes out of the ATMs? I have no idea.

Back to the transit system. Where things begin to break down is during rush hour on the Subte. Normally, the Subte is a breeze. You slide in your ride ticket and you go. The trains come regularly and, since they aren’t burdened with stops every two blocks, you can cover ground quickly. Then comes rush hour.

When rush hour arrives, one has to mentally prepare oneself before taking on the Subte. Sometimes I let a train pass by because I haven’t adequately psyched myself up. You see, the trains get so full that just when it seems impossible for another human being to fit in a car someone like a large old lady will build up a head of steam and smash her way in. The resulting momentum from people entering the train results in something approaching crowd surfing. You end up wherever the crowd decides.

Entering the train during rush hour also presents some risk of bodily harm. When trying to squeeze on, there is no gentle warning followed by a leisurely shutting of the gates. No, there is a short beep and then the doors slam shut with tremendous velocity. I have seen a grown man desperately struggle to hold the doors open after not quite making it all the way on. There he battled, man vs. machine, his messenger bag strap wrapped over his shoulder and his face a look of iron concentration. Finally the conductor, I suppose feeling that the poor chap had suffered enough, granted him a reprieve and allowed him another chance to squeeze on.

Exiting the train is your final challenge. When one has been unfortunate enough to have been wedged into the middle of a car, reaching the exit seems like swimming across the ocean. What one must do is begin a process whose roots, I believe, lie in the tango. You must start by shifting your weight, just a little, against the person next to you. Make sure you use enough force so that they understand your intention. Premature attempts to reach the door will result in angry shouts of, “Che!” and disgusted hand gesturing. When done at the appropriate time, the person next to you will shift their weight and a process of subtle moves and pirouettes unfolds that, almost as if by magic, results in a path to the exit. Fresh air at last.

The author's beloved Guia "T".

Just another morning on the Subte.

Opening Day at La Bombonera

After a two week delay, the Argentine football (soccer) season has gotten underway. Apparently the global economic crisis and profligate spending has resulted in total club debts of around US$160 million. To solve the problem the teams, I believe, unilaterally tore up their TV contract (which was a pay per view deal with a private company) and received a US$100 million bail out from the government, which put the games on free TV. President Kirchner called it, "a historic day for football, for Argentines and for the possibility of living in a more just and democratic society."

To celebrate this momentous victory for democracy, I went to opening day at La Bombonera, the home of Boca Juniors. Boca Juniors is one of the most popular teams in Argentina. Their big rival is another team from Buenos Aires, River Plate. I understand that the matches between the two teams ("superclasicos") gets a little testy.

After having some pizza and beer in the sunshine near the stadium (Boca is much nicer during the day!), a British friend and I scalped general admission tickets and sat with some of the fanaticos.

In order to get into the stadium we had to pass through several security gates. When the game started the fans threw confetti in the air and then the steady beating of drums and singing began. Boca fell behind 0-2 in the first half, but rallied back for a 2-2 tie. The fans were pleased. The riot police could save their batons for another day.

La Boca attempted to secede from Argentina in 1882

A typical neighborhood house

This is what happens to River fans in La Boca

Working the grill outside the stadium

Enjoying some sunshine, pizza and beer

Our pre-match pizza

Yet another security checkpoint

If you are thinking about rushing the pitch you are going to have to get by the barbed wire and this man

The bowels of La Bombonera

Jugador #12

Pork Neck and Vodka

I went to Olsen, Gorriti 5870, for the first time and, weary of steak and pasta, opted for a dish called “Bondiola Ahumado Olsen.” It was translated as, “Smoked Pork Neck Olsen.” Done and done.

What came out was two decent sized pieces of pork, set on a bed of mashed potatoes and covered in a fruit salsa. It was delicious. The outside was nicely crispy, while the inside was still moist and came apart easily. One of the guys I was with, who once worked in the kitchen at one of my old Seattle favorites, Flying Fish, and I declared it the best meat dish we had eaten to date in Buenos Aires. My opinion on this matter has not changed. This may be a town of carne, but I love their pork.

For Walt’s last night in BA, we decided to check out El Bistro. El Bistro is the restaurant at the Faena Hotel + Universe in Puerto Madero. Essentially, some guy, Alan Faena, took a 1902 brick grainery and hired Phillipe Starck to create a “lifestyle” hotel for the rich and famous. It is the kind of place where you enter through a 32 foot tall red glass door and listen to soft, trancey music over the loudspeaker while checking out photos of Alan with Madonna or Lenny Kravitz. El Bistro is the signature restaurant in the hotel and is decorated in all white with, I would not joke about this, ceramic unicorn heads on the wall.

I believe the whole project was meant to be the crown jewel in Alan’s massive Puerto Madero redevelopment play, called the Faena Art District, where he would develop the hotel and then follow it with apartments and residential condo towers, whose units would be sold and rented to people attracted to the lifestyle brand he had created. The shocking number of cranes in the sky in Puerto Madero and the Miamiesque site of high rise condo towers that appear to have only two or three occupants leads me to believe that this vision needs some tweaking.

When we arrived at the Faena we discovered that my English must be as bad as my Spanish. Despite specifically requesting a reservation at El Bistro, we found out that El Bistro is closed on Tuesdays and that our reservation was for El Mercado. No thanks. We are here for unicorn heads.

So, back to Olsen. We started our dinner, as seemed appropriate, with the 5+5. That is a starter dish, for two people, that consists of five different pairs of canapés, each accompanied by a different beaker full of vodka. For the record, the beakers consisted of straight, bloody mary, pepper, cassis and, uh, a fruit of some kind. My memory started to get a little fuzzy after the fourth one.

My pork neck was once again excellent. Walt’s grilled chicken was also good, but, given that the seared tuna I tried previously was also only decent, I think that diners should stick to the pork neck, canapés and vodka until further research is done.

Delicious pork neck

View of the dining room at Olsen

View of the Puerto Madero skyline from Costana Sur

View of the PM skyline from across the river

Cesar Pelli's contribution to the PM skyline

The bar at Hotel Faena. There is a 100 peso minimum Wed-Sat.

¿Es Machismo?

I have been studying Spanish the last few weeks at a school in Buenos Aires. The first three weeks I was in a class with an early twenty something teacher and a late twenty something student, Alemania. Being the only guy in the class was not a big deal, even if the conversation occasionally ran to how awful men are, the many problems men have and the like. Typical role playing exercises to practice our Spanish consisted of situations where I was a creepy guy on the subway trying to get Alemania to go out with me or where Alemania was the boss and I was a lazy worker who needed to be reprimanded.

I would sit patiently in class and listen when the conversation would turn to communism and how wonderful Che was. That degenerated to near farce one day when Alemania expressed amazement that Maradona had tattoos of both Fidel and Che. Those two are so different! How could he possibly have both? Despite his many skills as a soccer player, perhaps Maradona isn’t versed in the finer points of communist revolutionary thought. Now, if he had both Stalin and Trotsky, that would be a different story!

I, however, could not sit still and listen to discussions like how all Italians are fascists. Um, what? Apparently it is true. How could I be so ignorant of the truth? That debate got a little heated. What finally caused me to reach for my heaviest Ingles-Español Diccionario was when we started talking about what a utopia France (?!?) is and the wonders of the French government. That, my friends, is a bridge too far. I don’t need a million workers in the streets protesting the economic conditions or riots in Paris in both 2005 and 2007 to let me know that perhaps not everyone loves the current French regime. I think I can safely say that while Argentina has many problems, no society is perfect. Enough on this topic.

Today, after spending yesterday celebrating San Martin Day, I started private classes. August is an extremely slow month in Buenos Aires and, given the dearth of students and fact that Alemania has left our school, I was put in private classes for the week. Great. No problem.

After exchanging pleasantries with my new teacher, we began class. The first question, "¿Que es machismo?" For those that don’t understand, she is asking me to describe machismo. Machismo is this stereotype that Argentine men think they must constantly prove their courage, are superior to women and should, generally, treat women like objects.

After discussing this idea for a little while, she shuffled through her papers and pulled one out. It was a quiz entitled, “¿Es Machismo?” The quiz included things like, “If a man sees a women that he doesn’t know on the street and makes passes at her, is it machismo?” Um, I guess so. Or perhaps something like, “There exists many more forms of contraception for women than men, is this machismo?” Uh, I’m going to say no to that one for now, but I will have to think about it. After completing the exam, I hope successfully, we moved on.

Her: Does San Francisco have a problem with machismo?

Me: We have many problems in San Francisco, but I don’t think a preponderance of machismo is one of them.

And so on.

Finally, we came to the grammar portion of our class. Uses of the present subjunctive tense. For this another paper appeared from the stack and we began.

¿Que quieren las mujeres de los hombres? Or, what do women want from men? We then went through and reviewed a list of, I kid you not, 41 items related to what women want from men, making sure that I understood both the vocabulary and conjugation of the subjunctive in each one. If I didn’t have someone who currently holds my heart, I might have left there in despair about what a worthless wretch I am. Oh, why do I occasionally reek of booze? How could I have been so insensitive as to have gone out with the boys? Of course your mother is a perfect pearl and I love spending time with her!

I won't speak perfect Spanish by the time I leave BA, but I should be a perfect gentleman.

El Trapiche

I went to dinner recently with some of my classmates at El Trapiche, Paraguay 5099. In an attempt to try as many things as possible from this famous parilla (a type of Argentine restaurant where all kinds of animals are taken apart and thrown onto a grill), I formed a four person eating consortium. I was unable to convince them to go for the half suckling pig, but I did convince them to give mollejas a try (picture dedicated to Diamond Chuck). Initially I had no idea what they were, but had simply been told they were grilled delicousness. Sadly, an English translation revealed them to be sweetbreads. The mystery was gone, but the mollejas were still good. About that portion size...

Disfrutar De Un Burrito Es Muy Simple!

Desperation for anything approaching Mexican food resulted in me joining some classmates to the California Burrito Company. The salsa wasn't spicy and the rice had an odd texture but, overall, the burritos were good enough. Still, El Farolito need not quake in their boots.

While in line, I encountered this sign. For some reason, I loved the idea of step by step instructions on how to eat a burrito. I didn't understand why they also had the instructions in English until one of the Brits I was with revealed that she had never eaten a burrito before. Perhaps she would have mistaken the foil for food if not for this helpful sign.

Angelin

[Editor's Note: Regular visitors to this site will notice a heavy emphasis on food and food related activities. That will not change.]

A friend is in town visiting from Los Angeles. In an attempt to eat every Argentine specialty while he is here, we went out for some pizza (this after eating the best empanadas I have had to date at the Feria Mataderos for lunch - yup, I need to exercise more). Good reports led us to try Angelin at Avenida Cordoba 5290.

We were initially intimidated by the crowd jammed into the place, but decided to go in regardless (an ultimately fruitless 90 minute wait at Sarkis on Thursday night has made us a little gun shy of big crowds). After standing in line we were warmly welcomed by a round and friendly pizza man at the counter. Since many of the pizzas were non-descriptive names and this place doesn't believe in menus with detailed descriptions, we put our trust in the man's hands with a one half veggie and one half meat pizza. We rounded that off with two cups of beer.

As we waited, the man emerged from behind the counter with a huge bowl filled with freshly fried empanadas. Um, yes we will take one while we wait. Then things got even better. The man came back around while we were eating with a pitcher of beer and topped us off! Free beer? Did I accidentally enter heaven? Oh sweet Angelin, you had me at free empanadas.

The pizza was delicious. The veggie side was oozing with cheese and covered in onions while the meat side, a "completo," came with ham, a mixture of black and green olives and roasted red peppers. Definitely recommended.

Introduction

I beg you all to be patient while I play with this medium. I am as ignorant of the rules of the blogosphere as I am of the rules of curling. Mistakes will certainly be made. I apologize for them in advance.

As far as The Other Way, my only hope for this site is that, taking inspiration from Montaigne's Essays, it provides my friends and family, whenever I am away and they are bored to tears, a place where they can remind themselves of my character and, "more fully and vividly cherish me in their memories." I promise that any educational material posted on this will be purely by accident.

Now for some quick housecleaning. Nothing on this site is ever meant to represent anything approaching investment advice and all characters that appear in these entries are 100% fictional. Any resemblance to real people is entirely a coincidence. Hopefully that is enough to make my lawyers happy!

One Night in La Boca

One of the things that you are told upon entering Buenos Aires by the locals, which is reiterated in probably every guide book, is that you should not wander around in much of the city at night and, under no circumstance, should you walk around in the non-tourist areas of places like La Boca (a poor barrio which is famous for the Boca Juniors soccer team).

The tourist part of La Boca is, more or less, a three block stretch of trinket shops and houses which have been painted to re-create the feel of old La Boca. In the old days the Genovese immigrants used whatever leftover paint they had from painting their boats to paint their homes, giving the place an eclectic look.

From my perspective, La Boca was a little underwhelming (think of it as a place where the tourists get off the bus and are immediately attacked), though the PROA, a contemporary art foundation in a converted mansion in the area, is definitely worth a visit. As an aside, another thing La Boca is noted for is the police standing guard at the edge of the tourist area to discourage the curious from wandering off the beaten path. You can’t beat that kind of welcoming feel.

A classmate from my Spanish school had read about a restaurant in La Boca, El Obrero, and suggested we return for dinner that night after walking around during the day. We all agreed and at 9pm (dinner here is served late) I caught a taxi outside my apartment. That is when the fun began.

The trip began inauspiciously when my cabbie didn’t know either the restaurant or the streets it is on. I forgot my treasured Guia T (maybe the world’s greatest city transit map) so the cabbie had to call the dispatcher for directions.

As we entered La Boca the cabbie stopped and told me that the restaurant was midway down an unnamed street that was one way in the opposite direction. I was a little skeptical, but he said he was sure. I paid him and he left me with a final piece of advice to guard my wallet.

Upon leaving the cab I began walking and immediately discovered that I was in the wrong place. Great. There was a local pharmacy open (they needed to buzz me in) where I asked for directions. The man behind the counter had no idea where I was going, though one of the patrons claimed to know. She gave me the directions (two blocks straight, two blocks to the left and one block to the right) and off I went.

The streets did not exactly give one a feeling of confidence. There wasn’t much in the way of light and there were more than a few people loitering about. After wandering by a bus parking lot I told myself that if this woman sent me on a wild goose chase I was in serious trouble. All of a sudden I would be lost in La Boca with no map. The idea of being able to hail a cab was laughable (they know better). As it happened, the woman knew what she was talking about and I arrived safely, though with my heart beating a little faster than normal, at my destination.

The restaurant was great. There was an old man playing a guitar and walking around serenading the various tables and the restaurant treated us to a free round of Argentine port at the end of the night. There were a bunch of pictures of who I took to be famous Argentines on the walls. The only people I recognized were Tim Robbins, who was a foot taller than everyone else and looked goofy, and Susan Sarandon, who looked severe. I understand that Bono has eaten there, though I didn’t see his photo. They did not ask to take our photo. I assume it was an oversight.

For those that are interested, I had an excellent milanesa which was topped with tomato sauce, a pile of mozzarella and some thinly sliced ham. Yum.

So, I survived a rookie error and took home a couple of valuable lessons. One, no more going to La Boca at night. Two, if you do find yourself in such a situation, make the cabbie drop you off where you have visual confirmation of the place. Not my finest hour.