Photos (some grisly): http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=245930&id=510568119&l=8ffe137a8b
One of the main aims of this trip was to seek out as many new experiences as possible, particularly any we'd be unlikely to stumble across in our lives back home and regardless of whether we were confident the experience in question would be a good one. In other words, if it was new and unusual we'd probably give it a go. It was for this reason that we found ourselves spending the best part of a month working for stay at Soggy Bottom Holding - a rare breeds farm with its own on-site butchery, looking after the animals and, well, butchering them.
Oddly, looking after the animals proved to be more of a challenge than turning them into foodstuffs. Every day we had to feed the pigs (Saddlebacks, Tamworths and Iron Age) who lived in various free range enclosures/amongst the trees/on impossibly steep hillsides around the farm. Their diet needed to be protein heavy so that they could grow quickly and healthily, and as we were slap bang in the middle of the Waikato, NZ's dairy producing heartland, the cheapest way to do this was to go to the dairy factory down the road, buy a shipping container full of out of date McDonalds cheese slices and feed them to the pigs in blocks of 160. (For those who might occasionally partake of the odd Big Mac, be grateful for the relative freshness of your cheese slices as when they go bad they develop a delightful mucusy coating that probably wouldn't do much for your appetite). Each pig would get 2-3 blocks of Ronald's slowly decomposing rejects each day, as well as the odd bucket of windfall apples, leftover ciabattas from the local farmers market and the occasional camembert (these were well fed pigs...). Getting all this food up and down the hills to the pigs required the assistance of a Polaris Ranger and, at least during our stay, the skills of a world class rally car driver. It was a rainy mid winter when we arrived, which had turned the entire farm into an extremely hilly quagmire. The Polaris was essentially a quad bike with a canopy and the tracks we had to drive on were slick, muddy ruts so deep that once the Polaris' wheels were in them the vehicle operated like a self-driven rollercoaster - the ruts dictated the direction of travel and the only control the driver had was over the speed at which we slid down the track or struggled up it. This would have been terrifying at the best of times but once you threw in the vertiginous drops that lined the tracks, inclines more suited to downhill skiing and my personal favourite "the corner of death" (a 90 degree corner at the bottom of a hill, the track only inches wider than the Polaris and a 3 foot deep pothole along one side), you had the makings of an particularly grisly episode of "999."
We probably wouldn't have been so worried about riding around under these conditions if our good hosts, Jono and Sarah, had shown any flicker of concern for our safety. Instead they reacted with thinly disguised disdain when, on our second day, we timidly suggested that perhaps we weren't quite experienced enough to be whizzing across their hillsides without killing ourselves or at least severely damaging their shiny new Polaris. In fact, the whole time we were there we got the distinct impression that anyone other than a fully fledged farmhand would be looked down upon whilst working on their farm, and as time went on I began to wonder if we were being filmed for some kind of hidden camera show. Examine, if you will, an extract from my journal:
14 July 2010.
Today I:
* Felt extremely redundant pruning puny larch trees with shears while Jono scooted up and down the hill pruning 5 big cypresses with his chainsaw for every half a dead twig-fest I managed. At one point I was actually snapping the branches off with my fingers. And I'm pretty sure he only left the larches for me to do out of sympathy. Also spent significant amount of time dodging falling branches being lopped by said chainsaw and trying not to fall down the hill. Not finest hour.
* Collected 30 litres of fresh milk from Mike's dairy farm - more difficult than you'd think, decanting a 10 litre bucket of milk into several glass jars. Ended up with lots of milk on the floor and several further buckets of water needed to wash it to the drain. Then driving home without spilling milk all over back of car slight concern... Only casualty = cracked jar but miraculously no milk spilt.
* Was so cold I took warmth from (1) the ham scented steam rising from an industrial bain marie, and (2) a hairdryer.
* Tried to look compentent as I struggled across a marsh, jumped over a small stream, climbed a fence and clambered up a steep muddy hill to see a sow and 7 baby piglets (v. cute). All attempts undermined when on way back I sank my foot into the swamp and lost welly in it, which Jono came back and pulled out as I removed my mud covered sock and regained composure.
* Narrowly avoided death (again) driving the Polaris (against my better judgment) up and down mud-logged narrow hillside tracks, at times sliding sideways in a rally-car stylee, at others inadvertently pressing the accelerator at key braking moments.Scooped the remnants of a cow carcass from a wheelie bin and burnt it in an old metal drum. This involved making a wood burning fire, trying to haul dead animal bits out of the bottom of the bin without falling in or smearing self in blood and guts from the side of said bin, avoiding leaping fat-fueled flames from the fire and hoping the acrid smoke plume floated obediently down the valley and not towards the unhappy neighbours' house...
* Scrubbed blood from the wall of the butchery.
* Felt like Cathy in Wuthering Heights climbing great big flipping hill in the wind and rain in order to feed cows.
* Spent some time living out my worst nightmares and re-enacting the downside of Glastonbury by sliding around and getting stuck in mud while attempting to build a pig enclosure. Regretted offering to leave relative safety of the track to help build said enclosure when result was being asked to put up an electric fence running along the edge of v. muddy, v. steep hill. Felt quite proud after avoiding thorn covered tree trunks, thorn bushes and ankle breakage to actually erect said electric fence.
* Discovered how loud and blood curdling the sound of pigs squealing is, whilst feeling traumatised by having to help put nose rings into a penfull of piglets.
In other news, our composting toilet has now reached crisis pyramid situation, and is starting to encroach up the toilet chute. Not good. Smell ripening. Apparently Jono needs to remedy with raking... It is still v. cold in our hut and the shower has now run out of hot water.
After this, the time we spent in the butchery hacking up pig carcasses and mincing their internal organs seemed like a holiday. In fact, it was also really interesting, and because Jono butchers his meat himself we were able to get stuck in and actually feel fairly useful. We learned how to butcher a whole pig (honing our cleaver skills on several spinal columns), made sausages from start (manhandling buckets full of cow and pig bits into a giant mincer) to finish (cutting the sausage links into singles, arranging on polystyrene trays and operating the vacuum packer), cured, sliced and packaged bacon and prosciutto. The highlights for me, however, were making black pudding and brawn. The black pudding is one of the top sellers at Jono's market stall, and making it was like stumbling into a slasher movie. Large buckets of congealed blood, livers, kidneys, hearts and other organs are tipped into the mincer which, when switched on, spurts blood across the room and continues to do so for much of the mincing process. The end result strongly resembles a murder scene. The brawn making was more of an experiment really - one which I won't be repeating in a hurry as it involved spending the first part of a morning pulling the boiled flesh from a pig's head, trotters and tongue before pressing it into a loaf tin and leaving it to set. I can tell you that there is a lot of fat on a pig's head...
After 3.5 weeks we had definitely had some new experiences, most of them good but some more suited to the "once but never again" pile. A definite high point was helping to man the Soggy Bottom stall at the nearby farmers' market. After feeding the animals, rounding them up and sending them off to the abbatoir, chopping up the carcasses and turning them into sausages, roasting joints and bacon, packaging and labelling them we were now able to sell the finished products direct to the public, and in doing so we realised how much we'd learnt about our food and where it comes from. All in all, then, an interesting and eye-opening few weeks.
Sunday, 21 November 2010
Friday, 15 October 2010
On The Road Again
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=244463&id=510568119&l=36cea28231
Next stop on our grand adventure was a trip to visit friends Chris and Charlie (and their adorable groodle puppy Georgie) in Melbourne. After an excellent but hectic couple of weeks at home, it was lucky we had the nice long 26 hour journey to Australia to use to catch up on lost sleep. It was less lucky that I have a hard time sleeping on planes and so arrived in Australia 26 hours after we set off, met Chris at the airport, managed to stay awake long enough to drink a cup of tea before passing out for the next several hours. Somewhere amongst the confusion of times and dates we were struggling to get our bodyclocks used to it was Rich's birthday when we woke up, so Chris and Charlie took us out to the Northcote Social Club to celebrate. I took the opportunity to sample the Parma - Melbourne's version of the ubiquitous Parmo. Needless to say the Parmo reigns supreme...
For the next few days we were treated to a trip down the Great Ocean Road courtesy of our hosts extraordinnaire. We saw the sights of Melbourne (including a trip up the extremely tall Eureka Tower), dragged ourselves out of bed in the middle of the night to watch the first England game of the World Cup (and to make sure our body clocks were completely bamboozled), visited the building site of Chris and Charlie's palatial new home, ate and drank like royalty and generally had an excellent time. After a few days of being looked after we were awake enough to be let out alone, so we bade farewell to Melbourne with a promise to return on our way home to help christen the new house.
Our destination was New Zealand, which was to be our home for the next 5 months. If all went to plan we hoped to buy a car, do some sightseeing, wwoof at a few of the more interesting farms we had found and earn some much needed cash working in Wellington. After just a couple of days we'd achieved the first item on the list, becoming the proud owners of a beautiful 1997 Mitsubishi Legnum with unnerving ease at one of the Auckland car markets where you can buy a car in much the same way as you'd buy a bag of carrots at a regular market. We named him Old Red (as he is a little old and very red), and after allaying our initial concerns about the functionality of the petrol gauge he was soon a trusty steed and part of the family.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=244463&id=510568119&l=36cea28231
Next stop on our grand adventure was a trip to visit friends Chris and Charlie (and their adorable groodle puppy Georgie) in Melbourne. After an excellent but hectic couple of weeks at home, it was lucky we had the nice long 26 hour journey to Australia to use to catch up on lost sleep. It was less lucky that I have a hard time sleeping on planes and so arrived in Australia 26 hours after we set off, met Chris at the airport, managed to stay awake long enough to drink a cup of tea before passing out for the next several hours. Somewhere amongst the confusion of times and dates we were struggling to get our bodyclocks used to it was Rich's birthday when we woke up, so Chris and Charlie took us out to the Northcote Social Club to celebrate. I took the opportunity to sample the Parma - Melbourne's version of the ubiquitous Parmo. Needless to say the Parmo reigns supreme...
For the next few days we were treated to a trip down the Great Ocean Road courtesy of our hosts extraordinnaire. We saw the sights of Melbourne (including a trip up the extremely tall Eureka Tower), dragged ourselves out of bed in the middle of the night to watch the first England game of the World Cup (and to make sure our body clocks were completely bamboozled), visited the building site of Chris and Charlie's palatial new home, ate and drank like royalty and generally had an excellent time. After a few days of being looked after we were awake enough to be let out alone, so we bade farewell to Melbourne with a promise to return on our way home to help christen the new house.
Our destination was New Zealand, which was to be our home for the next 5 months. If all went to plan we hoped to buy a car, do some sightseeing, wwoof at a few of the more interesting farms we had found and earn some much needed cash working in Wellington. After just a couple of days we'd achieved the first item on the list, becoming the proud owners of a beautiful 1997 Mitsubishi Legnum with unnerving ease at one of the Auckland car markets where you can buy a car in much the same way as you'd buy a bag of carrots at a regular market. We named him Old Red (as he is a little old and very red), and after allaying our initial concerns about the functionality of the petrol gauge he was soon a trusty steed and part of the family.
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
The Great Whirlwind Trip Home
Photos, photos, photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=244422&id=510568119&l=38e21c53c2
After more than 12 months on the road, a couple of weeks back home for our friends' wedding sounded like an eminently relaxing way to break up the journey to Australia. It probably would have been too, had we just spent a couple of weeks at home and gone to the wedding. But travelling must have become more of a habit than we realised, as before we knew what we were doing we were traversing the country from London to Teesside, to Manchester, to Birmingham, to West Sussex, back to Teesside, then to Birmingham and down to London again just in time for our 26 hour journey to Melbourne.
Relaxing it may not always have been, but as the photos will attest it was a lot of fun. Whilst we didn't have time to catch up with everyone we would've liked to, we did manage to fit in some quality time with the family, day trips to Whitby (with the requisite fish and chips pit-stop), and York (with the requisite visit to the Yorvik Viking Centre), an introduction to Rich's new baby cousin, a quintessentially English BBQ in the rain (where we discovered the culinary delight that is barbecued jam donuts), my dad's birthday celebrations, a highly entertaining attempt at the fitness trail in Guisborough Woods, boozy shenanigans in the capital, an excellent wedding and a significant amount of reacquainting ourselves with such great British foodstuffs as the Sunday roast, the jaffa cake and the Greggs' cheese pasty. It's good to be home.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=244422&id=510568119&l=38e21c53c2
After more than 12 months on the road, a couple of weeks back home for our friends' wedding sounded like an eminently relaxing way to break up the journey to Australia. It probably would have been too, had we just spent a couple of weeks at home and gone to the wedding. But travelling must have become more of a habit than we realised, as before we knew what we were doing we were traversing the country from London to Teesside, to Manchester, to Birmingham, to West Sussex, back to Teesside, then to Birmingham and down to London again just in time for our 26 hour journey to Melbourne.
Relaxing it may not always have been, but as the photos will attest it was a lot of fun. Whilst we didn't have time to catch up with everyone we would've liked to, we did manage to fit in some quality time with the family, day trips to Whitby (with the requisite fish and chips pit-stop), and York (with the requisite visit to the Yorvik Viking Centre), an introduction to Rich's new baby cousin, a quintessentially English BBQ in the rain (where we discovered the culinary delight that is barbecued jam donuts), my dad's birthday celebrations, a highly entertaining attempt at the fitness trail in Guisborough Woods, boozy shenanigans in the capital, an excellent wedding and a significant amount of reacquainting ourselves with such great British foodstuffs as the Sunday roast, the jaffa cake and the Greggs' cheese pasty. It's good to be home.
Monday, 4 October 2010
Restless in Rio
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=244417&id=510568119&l=66f8fa628b
And so we came to the final stop in phase one of our Grand Adventure. From Iguassu we flew to Rio, where we planned to spend a few days before heading back to the UK. We checked into an amazing guesthouse run by a young Brazilian couple, Juliana and Wesley, arriving late on a Friday evening to find a lively barbeque in full swing. After dropping our bags in our room we joined the party and were soon up to our elbows in barbequed meat, the best caipirinhas I've ever tasted and another Brazilian specialty - galinha do coracao or chicken hearts. After a couple of the caipirinhas and much encouragement from our hosts and fellow guests I gave one a go and can report that they are both chewy and extremely tasty.
After this excellent introduction, Rio itself was not such a resounding success. We visited Copacabana and Ipanema, taking in both of the neighbourhoods' famous beaches, but were somewhat underwhelmed by both. We checked out the city centre, including the enormous (and rather dark) conical cathedral and the bustling market, but sadly the Cristo Redentor statue was un-visitable due to recent landslides. We did, however, manage to fit in a football match at the Maracana stadium (watching, not playing, obviously) complete with a performance by the resident brass band.
Unfortunately, the most memorable part of our stay in Rio was the part where we tried to leave. Good old volcano Eyjafjallajokull had been causing problems for weeks before we were due to fly home, but just the day before our flight the UK airports were back to normal and things were looking good across Europe. Except in parts of Portugal, where on the morning of our flight several airports were closed. Of course, this wouldn't have been a problem unless we were flying home via Portugal. Which, of course, we were. So began a delightful 12 hours of being on hold to the airline, queuing at Rio International airport, cancelled flights, rescheduled flights, never-really-cancelled-in-the-first-place flights, delayed flights and, happily, a transfer onto a direct British Airways flight preceded by a complimentary 3 course meal. We arrived at Heathrow 11 hours later tired but happy (and extremely relieved).
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=244417&id=510568119&l=66f8fa628b
And so we came to the final stop in phase one of our Grand Adventure. From Iguassu we flew to Rio, where we planned to spend a few days before heading back to the UK. We checked into an amazing guesthouse run by a young Brazilian couple, Juliana and Wesley, arriving late on a Friday evening to find a lively barbeque in full swing. After dropping our bags in our room we joined the party and were soon up to our elbows in barbequed meat, the best caipirinhas I've ever tasted and another Brazilian specialty - galinha do coracao or chicken hearts. After a couple of the caipirinhas and much encouragement from our hosts and fellow guests I gave one a go and can report that they are both chewy and extremely tasty.
After this excellent introduction, Rio itself was not such a resounding success. We visited Copacabana and Ipanema, taking in both of the neighbourhoods' famous beaches, but were somewhat underwhelmed by both. We checked out the city centre, including the enormous (and rather dark) conical cathedral and the bustling market, but sadly the Cristo Redentor statue was un-visitable due to recent landslides. We did, however, manage to fit in a football match at the Maracana stadium (watching, not playing, obviously) complete with a performance by the resident brass band.
Unfortunately, the most memorable part of our stay in Rio was the part where we tried to leave. Good old volcano Eyjafjallajokull had been causing problems for weeks before we were due to fly home, but just the day before our flight the UK airports were back to normal and things were looking good across Europe. Except in parts of Portugal, where on the morning of our flight several airports were closed. Of course, this wouldn't have been a problem unless we were flying home via Portugal. Which, of course, we were. So began a delightful 12 hours of being on hold to the airline, queuing at Rio International airport, cancelled flights, rescheduled flights, never-really-cancelled-in-the-first-place flights, delayed flights and, happily, a transfer onto a direct British Airways flight preceded by a complimentary 3 course meal. We arrived at Heathrow 11 hours later tired but happy (and extremely relieved).
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
The Most Beautiful Place in the World (except Redcar, obviously)
Pictures of paradise:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=243152&id=510568119&l=1faaa8caae
I've been lucky enough to visit a lot of amazing places on my travels, but Iguassu Falls on the Argentine/Brazilian border is easily the most breathtakingly amazing place I have ever been. Tucked away in the middle of sub-tropical rainforest, Iguassu Falls are in fact 275 waterfalls stretching some 1.5 miles - at one point your field of vision is completely filled by a 260 degree panorama of cascades. With a lush jungle backdrop, water thundering all around you, rainbows in the mist and clouds of colourful butterflies the scene is like something out of a fairytale. Even Rich, who'd had to endure weeks of me banging on about the incredibleness of Las Cataratas del Iguazú, admitted that they more than lived up to the hype.
All of this makes me wonder why so few people know the falls even exist. (I certainly didn't until I first arrived in Argentina and was told I shouldn't leave the country until I'd seen them). It's a complete mystery to me, especially considering the celebrity of Niagra which I visited last year and which is as impressive as a bathroom shower by comparison. If I ruled the world I would make sure everyone got to visit Iguassu at least once in their lives. If you have any inclination to go anywhere near South America get yourself to the falls - if you don't like it I'll drive you to the optician's myself.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=243152&id=510568119&l=1faaa8caae
I've been lucky enough to visit a lot of amazing places on my travels, but Iguassu Falls on the Argentine/Brazilian border is easily the most breathtakingly amazing place I have ever been. Tucked away in the middle of sub-tropical rainforest, Iguassu Falls are in fact 275 waterfalls stretching some 1.5 miles - at one point your field of vision is completely filled by a 260 degree panorama of cascades. With a lush jungle backdrop, water thundering all around you, rainbows in the mist and clouds of colourful butterflies the scene is like something out of a fairytale. Even Rich, who'd had to endure weeks of me banging on about the incredibleness of Las Cataratas del Iguazú, admitted that they more than lived up to the hype.
All of this makes me wonder why so few people know the falls even exist. (I certainly didn't until I first arrived in Argentina and was told I shouldn't leave the country until I'd seen them). It's a complete mystery to me, especially considering the celebrity of Niagra which I visited last year and which is as impressive as a bathroom shower by comparison. If I ruled the world I would make sure everyone got to visit Iguassu at least once in their lives. If you have any inclination to go anywhere near South America get yourself to the falls - if you don't like it I'll drive you to the optician's myself.
Sunday, 12 September 2010
The Day of the Gnocchi
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=200358&id=510568119&l=019e478485
Other than a "classic" Homerism remembered by my Simpson's-obsessed boyfriend, I didn't know very much at all about Uruguay. To be honest, I can't be sure I didn't think it was somewhere in Africa... However, the lure of the new passport stamp meant we couldn't pass up a quick trip to the country, especially as it's only an hour long ferry trip away from Buenos Aires.
As it turns out, Uruguay is a really lovely place. First stop on our whistlestop tour was the UNESCO world heritage site of Colonia del Sacramento. It's picturesque cobbled streets, artsy shops and rustic seaside eateries made for an excellent place to while away a day after the hustle and bustle of BA. We then spent a couple of nights in the capital, Montevideo, home of the first ever football world cup and, it transpires, a promenade uncannily similar to the one in Redcar (see photos). We also experienced the monthly Day of the Gnocchi, on which it is customary to eat the small potato and flour dumplings and almost every restaurant in the country is clamouring to serve you them. This worked out well, as Rich and I are both big fans of the dish and they're cheap as chips. The trip ended with a relaxing ferry ride back to Argentina, marred only by Rich's annoyance at the fact that our arrival, and the abrupt switching off of the on-board entertainment, coincided with a penalty in the football match he had been watching. My observation that it was an achievement just to be watching live football on a ferry in South America did not have the desired consolatory effect...
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=200358&id=510568119&l=019e478485
Other than a "classic" Homerism remembered by my Simpson's-obsessed boyfriend, I didn't know very much at all about Uruguay. To be honest, I can't be sure I didn't think it was somewhere in Africa... However, the lure of the new passport stamp meant we couldn't pass up a quick trip to the country, especially as it's only an hour long ferry trip away from Buenos Aires.
As it turns out, Uruguay is a really lovely place. First stop on our whistlestop tour was the UNESCO world heritage site of Colonia del Sacramento. It's picturesque cobbled streets, artsy shops and rustic seaside eateries made for an excellent place to while away a day after the hustle and bustle of BA. We then spent a couple of nights in the capital, Montevideo, home of the first ever football world cup and, it transpires, a promenade uncannily similar to the one in Redcar (see photos). We also experienced the monthly Day of the Gnocchi, on which it is customary to eat the small potato and flour dumplings and almost every restaurant in the country is clamouring to serve you them. This worked out well, as Rich and I are both big fans of the dish and they're cheap as chips. The trip ended with a relaxing ferry ride back to Argentina, marred only by Rich's annoyance at the fact that our arrival, and the abrupt switching off of the on-board entertainment, coincided with a penalty in the football match he had been watching. My observation that it was an achievement just to be watching live football on a ferry in South America did not have the desired consolatory effect...
Saturday, 11 September 2010
Return to Buenos Aires
Photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=200345&id=510568119&l=310f15c9dd
I first visited Buenos Aires a few years ago and I've been looking forward to coming back ever since. Putting this entry's photo album together I was surprised that the pictures aren't more colourful and vibrant as that's how I've always remembered the city, but maybe seeing it as part of this longer trip has altered my perspective. Don't get me wrong, I still love BA - it's European elegance infused with the Latin American spirit and the seedy passion of the tango make it the most intriguing city I've ever visited. But looking at the place through more cycnical, travel hardened eyes, I realised with some disappointment that a fair bit of what I thought was the "Buenos Aires experience" is cleverly cultivated for the tourists. Yes, the Caminito is a riot of colour and spectacle with its multi-hued buildings and tango dancers on every corner, but it's also the Argentinian equivalent of the Tower of London - great for the tourists, but not really representative of the rest of the city...
But what am I being so negative for? Sure there are touristy elements to BA, but I for one loved the seedy glamour of the tango shows, being spooked by all the cats in the gloriously Gothic Recoleta cemetery and sipping lemon soda in Cafe Tortoni. And I got to see a bit of the other side of things as well, joining the crazy die-hard fans at a Boca Juniors game and sampling the finest steak I have ever tasted in the company of BA's business lunchers.
In fact, we got so caught up in all things Porteño that we ended up not only watching tango shows but learning a few steps ourselves. My plan before we got to BA was to impress Rich with the moves of some professional dancers before suggesting that maybe with a few lessons we too could be gliding across the floor looking all sultry and impressive. Unfortunately, the show I picked was something of a let down - the dancing was awful and at one stage the girls were prancing round a darkened stage clad in battery operated flashing feather bowers. Not the sexy, sophisticated look I was going for. Not to be deterred, I booked us into a show at El Viejo Almacen, where I fell in love with the tango during my first trip to the city and where I knew the dancers would be top notch. They didn't let me down, as you can see for yourself:
Suitably inspired, we found ourselves a milonga that also gave lessons to beginners and booked ourselves in. Unfortunately, it was only when the lesson began that we remembered we were in a Spanish speaking country and the milonga we had chosen was for locals rather than tourists. This made for an entertaining couple of hours as our flamboyant cliche of a Latin American tango instructor resorted to manhandling us into the right positions and gesturing wildly that our movements needed to "flow more." After the lesson we caught our breath and watched some couples who were slightly past their first lesson strut their stuff on the dancefloor. I reckon with a few more sessions (in English) we could get the hang of it, and it was a lot of fun. Rich has tentatively agreed to sign up for a course when we get back to the UK so watch this space...
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=200345&id=510568119&l=310f15c9dd
I first visited Buenos Aires a few years ago and I've been looking forward to coming back ever since. Putting this entry's photo album together I was surprised that the pictures aren't more colourful and vibrant as that's how I've always remembered the city, but maybe seeing it as part of this longer trip has altered my perspective. Don't get me wrong, I still love BA - it's European elegance infused with the Latin American spirit and the seedy passion of the tango make it the most intriguing city I've ever visited. But looking at the place through more cycnical, travel hardened eyes, I realised with some disappointment that a fair bit of what I thought was the "Buenos Aires experience" is cleverly cultivated for the tourists. Yes, the Caminito is a riot of colour and spectacle with its multi-hued buildings and tango dancers on every corner, but it's also the Argentinian equivalent of the Tower of London - great for the tourists, but not really representative of the rest of the city...
But what am I being so negative for? Sure there are touristy elements to BA, but I for one loved the seedy glamour of the tango shows, being spooked by all the cats in the gloriously Gothic Recoleta cemetery and sipping lemon soda in Cafe Tortoni. And I got to see a bit of the other side of things as well, joining the crazy die-hard fans at a Boca Juniors game and sampling the finest steak I have ever tasted in the company of BA's business lunchers.
In fact, we got so caught up in all things Porteño that we ended up not only watching tango shows but learning a few steps ourselves. My plan before we got to BA was to impress Rich with the moves of some professional dancers before suggesting that maybe with a few lessons we too could be gliding across the floor looking all sultry and impressive. Unfortunately, the show I picked was something of a let down - the dancing was awful and at one stage the girls were prancing round a darkened stage clad in battery operated flashing feather bowers. Not the sexy, sophisticated look I was going for. Not to be deterred, I booked us into a show at El Viejo Almacen, where I fell in love with the tango during my first trip to the city and where I knew the dancers would be top notch. They didn't let me down, as you can see for yourself:
Suitably inspired, we found ourselves a milonga that also gave lessons to beginners and booked ourselves in. Unfortunately, it was only when the lesson began that we remembered we were in a Spanish speaking country and the milonga we had chosen was for locals rather than tourists. This made for an entertaining couple of hours as our flamboyant cliche of a Latin American tango instructor resorted to manhandling us into the right positions and gesturing wildly that our movements needed to "flow more." After the lesson we caught our breath and watched some couples who were slightly past their first lesson strut their stuff on the dancefloor. I reckon with a few more sessions (in English) we could get the hang of it, and it was a lot of fun. Rich has tentatively agreed to sign up for a course when we get back to the UK so watch this space...
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