Rachel in Buenos Aires
Rachel in Buenos Aires
Well, I am here - sitting in my local cybercafe on a street called Maipu, which is between my flat and the big old tourist trap shopping street Florida. Actually, now that I have sat down, I´m starting to feel that funny swimming about that means my brain is somewhere in the foothills of jetlag. I have checked my email, so that works - many thanks for the sweet messages (if you want to comment on this thing for all to see, you have to register.)
I have´t done too badly so far.
After a series of queues at Heathrow and a very late take-off into cloud so low it may have qualified as fog, we lost more time coming into a thunderstorm in Milan. It´s always fun to have torrential rain and lightening when you are hurtling through the sky in a big can, especially if the can sounds like it is being driven by a giant rattling two-stroke engine. It was time to start working on my laid-back latin attitude but with the tight connection time getting tighter and tighter, I did´t really do too well. Milan airport was ghastly. Not a hint of jet-set glamour. It is the sort of old-fashioned airport where the planes park out on the apron and somebody turns up a bit later with some stairs, down which the first in the queue can look out across the storm for any sign of a bus. True to the stereotype of bus drivers the world over, when he does turn up, he parks just far enough away from the bottom of the stairs to give himself a good laugh at everyone running and getting soaked. Then once the bus was full of soggy people, he found something else interesting to look at until the mood took him to drive us to the terminal. Ai carrumba! So, I had ten minutes to find my way to the right gate and hope that it was still open. But no, more sadists at the security gate. All men, they stood laughing and barking at me as I went in and out of the scanner and beeped every time. In any sensible airport, there would just be a woman there to frisk me and send me on my way but Oh no; I even had to climb half way through the X-ray machine because my stuff got stuck on the conveyor belt and it can´t have been in their job spec to be of any assistance. I ended up running up the escalator clutching all my jewellry and the belt from my trousers and feeling utterly humiliated. Only to find that the whole airport was in disarray because of the storm. So I made the connection and had another hour to wait before we were cleared for take-off. I realised later that I had lost my lovely ring in the process, a present from my sister Christine. Poosible excuse for a bit of shopping!
My delight at having two empty seats next to me didn´t last long as some woman came and requisitioned them both. HOWEVER, I found a suitable punishment in subjecting her to my very first ever Spanish conversation. I reckoned either it would be so painful that she would go back to her own seat or I could get in some practice. The fantastic thing is that it worked (up to a point of course, she was very patient and encouraging!). Needless to say there was a lot of pointing and gesticulating and a smattering of distant schoolgirl English thrown in. She warned me about Bs As´s tourist traps, in particular the so-called ´taxi boys´who prey on gringo women. Apparently I´m not to believe anyone who says that they love me in a tango venue, he´s only after my money! I say I can spend it as I please.
¿Too much detail already?
The cab ride into town was a bit shocking. Talk about deathwish driving. Anyway, he got me to my apartment block and I was actually early to meet the landlord and agent. How´s that folks - me early for an appointment at 9 in the morning... I laughed. SO I left my bags with the super and took myself around the corner for a coffee. It was quite thrilling to order and then pay, all by the use of spoken Spanish!
The apartment is fine, if a little spartan. I am about to go and get some shopping at the supermarket which is very conveniently just next door. Doubt I will be able to resist a few cleaning materials and I may spend a mindless evening getting rid of other people´s finger prints from all the doors! I am too tired to think of dancing today and I need something to keep me awake until bedtime.
I´ve been out walking this afternoon, just around the centre of town and up to Michele´s recommended ATM machine. I´ve mooched into a few shops, had my first steak and chips lunch and even been to a beauty salon for a bit of a tidy-up. When I get home I will call Michele´s friend and see about meeting up some time. That is all quite a lot of spoken Spanish in one day, not to mention twice sitting alone in cafes, so I call it a good start.
Tomorrow, the tango....
Hasta la vista
Well, I am here - sitting in my local cybercafe on a street called Maipu, which is between my flat and the big old tourist trap shopping street Florida. Actually, now that I have sat down, I´m starting to feel that funny swimming about that means my brain is somewhere in the foothills of jetlag. I have checked my email, so that works - many thanks for the sweet messages (if you want to comment on this thing for all to see, you have to register.)
I have´t done too badly so far.
After a series of queues at Heathrow and a very late take-off into cloud so low it may have qualified as fog, we lost more time coming into a thunderstorm in Milan. It´s always fun to have torrential rain and lightening when you are hurtling through the sky in a big can, especially if the can sounds like it is being driven by a giant rattling two-stroke engine. It was time to start working on my laid-back latin attitude but with the tight connection time getting tighter and tighter, I did´t really do too well. Milan airport was ghastly. Not a hint of jet-set glamour. It is the sort of old-fashioned airport where the planes park out on the apron and somebody turns up a bit later with some stairs, down which the first in the queue can look out across the storm for any sign of a bus. True to the stereotype of bus drivers the world over, when he does turn up, he parks just far enough away from the bottom of the stairs to give himself a good laugh at everyone running and getting soaked. Then once the bus was full of soggy people, he found something else interesting to look at until the mood took him to drive us to the terminal. Ai carrumba! So, I had ten minutes to find my way to the right gate and hope that it was still open. But no, more sadists at the security gate. All men, they stood laughing and barking at me as I went in and out of the scanner and beeped every time. In any sensible airport, there would just be a woman there to frisk me and send me on my way but Oh no; I even had to climb half way through the X-ray machine because my stuff got stuck on the conveyor belt and it can´t have been in their job spec to be of any assistance. I ended up running up the escalator clutching all my jewellry and the belt from my trousers and feeling utterly humiliated. Only to find that the whole airport was in disarray because of the storm. So I made the connection and had another hour to wait before we were cleared for take-off. I realised later that I had lost my lovely ring in the process, a present from my sister Christine. Poosible excuse for a bit of shopping!
My delight at having two empty seats next to me didn´t last long as some woman came and requisitioned them both. HOWEVER, I found a suitable punishment in subjecting her to my very first ever Spanish conversation. I reckoned either it would be so painful that she would go back to her own seat or I could get in some practice. The fantastic thing is that it worked (up to a point of course, she was very patient and encouraging!). Needless to say there was a lot of pointing and gesticulating and a smattering of distant schoolgirl English thrown in. She warned me about Bs As´s tourist traps, in particular the so-called ´taxi boys´who prey on gringo women. Apparently I´m not to believe anyone who says that they love me in a tango venue, he´s only after my money! I say I can spend it as I please.
¿Too much detail already?
The cab ride into town was a bit shocking. Talk about deathwish driving. Anyway, he got me to my apartment block and I was actually early to meet the landlord and agent. How´s that folks - me early for an appointment at 9 in the morning... I laughed. SO I left my bags with the super and took myself around the corner for a coffee. It was quite thrilling to order and then pay, all by the use of spoken Spanish!
The apartment is fine, if a little spartan. I am about to go and get some shopping at the supermarket which is very conveniently just next door. Doubt I will be able to resist a few cleaning materials and I may spend a mindless evening getting rid of other people´s finger prints from all the doors! I am too tired to think of dancing today and I need something to keep me awake until bedtime.
I´ve been out walking this afternoon, just around the centre of town and up to Michele´s recommended ATM machine. I´ve mooched into a few shops, had my first steak and chips lunch and even been to a beauty salon for a bit of a tidy-up. When I get home I will call Michele´s friend and see about meeting up some time. That is all quite a lot of spoken Spanish in one day, not to mention twice sitting alone in cafes, so I call it a good start.
Tomorrow, the tango....
Hasta la vista
posted by Rachel in Buenos Aires at 9:51 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home