So I wake up to the sound of an alarm clock the day after the proposal. I´m utterly hungover, one might even go as far as to say I was still drunk. It´s 0500 in the morning, we have an 0800 flight to catch to El Calafate in Argentinian Patagonia. I move slowly to turn the alarm off and get myself out of bed. Alison looks almost as bad as me. We have to pack and be ready for some guy from the estate agency who´s coming round to check the apartment. He´s going to make sure we haven´t trashed it or anything. So we have a bit of work to do. It feels as if someone is ice fishing in my head.
We get everything ready and wait. 0530 comes and goes. It gets to 0545. We have to leave at 0600 to get to the airport in time. 0555, where the hell is he? At 0600 we are about to leave when the buzzer goes. He´s sorry, he went to the wrong place or some other equally unlikely story. I bark at him that we have to go or we will miss our plane. He tries to reassure me, there´s no traffic, it won´t take that long. He´s got thick glasses and he looks like he likes those Argentinian steaks a bit too much. He runs around the apartment looking through cupboards and making notes. He then says he will take us to the airport. Great. So we jump in his car and he floors it to the airport.
Now I think most Argentinians would agree with me when I say they can´t drive or perhaps more accurately they have a complete disregard for other users of the road. Not as bad as some countries but let´s say they´re in the top 5. I´m pondering on this as we speed through another red light and nearly end up on the other side of the in the central reservation. We are going so fast I can´t even see things through the window. Everything´s just a blur. I do notice, however, an ambulance. It´s lights are flashing, it´s siren is on and it´s in a hurry. We, it seems, are in more of a hurry because we race passed it! Let me repeat that for those that had nodded off. We overtook a speeding ambulance! I had to blink twice to make sure what I was witnessing to be true. Again, like Juan, our Bolivian taxi driver all those months ago, I wanted to tell our man to slow down. Did I know the Spanish? Nope. So in typical English fashion I sat there terrified to my very soul until at last he bounced the car up on the curb outside departures and we got out, shakily. He said goodbye and screeched away. It was then I realised he´d dropped us at the wrong terminal. Bastard. We trundled the fifteen minute walk to the other terminal, checked in and made our flight. No thanks to to our bumbling estate agent man.
So we arrive at El Calafate and immediately I´m hit with a cool blast of air. The temperature is markedly different from the seventy degrees in Buenos Aires. We jump in a cab to our hostel which is little like being in a school dorm but okay (as long as they don´t keep me up at night everything will be fine.)
Now bear in mind we´d just got engaged, what was the first thing we wanted to do? Yep, tell everyone we´d ever met. So we mosey on down to the nearest telephone and Internet places and we have a bit of a shock. First the Internet is painfully slow so Skype´s out of the question and second the telephones are painfully expensive.
It costs one pound forty per minute to make a call from mobile! Damnit. Well I have to call my brother and sister which I do but in terms of friends it seemed to take ages to actually find a way to tell people. Every time I wrote an e-mail and tried to send it was like waiting for a second Ice Age. Anyway, finally we told everyone that needed to know. Alison´s mum was particularly happy as the day we had got engaged was also her sixtieth birthday. Smooth!
So what is there to do in El Calafate? Glaciers. Big, crashing, noisy. They´re a bit cool (apologies for that one). We pay a quite insultingly large amount of money to go ice trekking on this one glacier called Perito Moreno. They strap on these iron claws on to our shoes called crampons and we go walking on the ice. It´s a beautiful day and whilst some of our group are behaving like children by throwing snowballs (Alison) I enjoy bumming around on the ice. It´s like looking at blue mountain peaks. The ice is so heavily compacted that when the sun shines through, it makes them look bright blue. I know what you´re thinking. Dan, I didn´t read this for some goddamn geology lesson, I read it to be entertain so entertain me, bitch. Okay. Man, you guys are a hard audience.
So as we finish walking down a steep bit we come across a table with lots of glasses set upon it. Hmm, I wonder. I can tell you´re thinking the same thing. Our guide then produces a bottle of ´Famous Grouse´ whiskey and smiles. I like his thinking. Then, just for a little extra class he takes his ice pick and hacks off some thousand year old ice from the glacier and tips it in to our glasses, quickly followed by the whiskey. Nicely done!
The next day we jump on a catamaran and see other glaciers and mountains. This time I get to play my favourite role by standing on the front of the catamaran and shouting "Ice berg right ahead!" Also Alison and I held our arms outstretched as the catamaran zipped along the water. I could almost feel Celine Dion behind me.
The day after we took a bus to a place called El Chalten about 3 hours north of Calafate. The Argentians wanted to incorporate the beautiful mountain range called Fitz Roy next to El Chalten into their territory in 1985. Chile wasn´t too happy about this, so they had a little race as to who could get there first. The sneaky Argentinians only went and built El Chalten as a way to say "Hey Chiliean neighbour, our towns already here, can´t have this slice." And the Chileans were like ´´Dude, this is so not cool.´´ But the Argentinians were already sitting down to dinner and had a bottle of wine open so the Chileans thought they´d let this one slide rather than cause a fuss.
So El Chalten is the youngest town in Argentina. I tell you this because I want you to be cultured so that next time someone stops you in the street and asks you "Do you know the story of El Chalten?" You say hold your head up high and say "Yes, Dan Grant told me." Anyway, we stayed in a nice cabin with a little kitchen and all was well with the world. We would do a few hours of hiking then come back to our cabin and get stupidly drunk on Argentinian wine.
So after all this fun we jump on another bus to a place called Puerto Natales (I hope you´re paying attention to all these names cos there´s going to be a test at the end). Natales is just over the border in to Chile and represents the gateway to the most impressive national park in all of South America called Torres Del Paine (roughly translated to Towers of Paine, or pain as we would soon discover). Natales used to be an old fishing village but now depends mostly on tourism. I have to say the weather here holds no punches. It´s rainy and windy and sunny, and snowy and did I mention windy? It´s like living in a hurricane 24 hours a day. I think bleak is a more descriptive word perhaps. I kept thinking, why would anyone settle here? The first Europeans to arrive must have actually thought "It´s crappy, rainy, cold and miserable. Perfect! Let´s build our houses right here." I think, good job we´re going hiking in this sort of weather, I love a challenge.
However...
Such is the way things turn out we had decided to do this famous trek for 5 days in the national park called the ´W´. It´s called this because the trail takes you in roughly the shape of a ´W´. Anyway we start the walk. 4 hours north to a glacier and a hut-like structure that we would stay the night in. Of course, nothing is ever simple. Half way to our hut, the path is cut off by a running stream. In the middle is a large log. It looks stable. I take one step on to it. It rocks a little. But I´ve committed myself now so the next foot steps forward. The log flips and throws me straight in to the stream, my big backpack and everything. I lie on my back, water flowing around me. Alison is saying something to the effect of "Are you okay?" But I´m a man. And I´ve just made a fool of myself. So I immediately stand up, swear and carry on. I´m soaked, I think I´ve busted my knee and my pride is in little pieces next to that bloody log.
Alison, wisely leaves me to it for ten minutes before attempting communication again. By which like I´ve come off the boil a little and can communicate back. "I´m fine, just so stupid."
Anyway we reach the hut and stay the night. It´s rustic but not particularly endearing. Alison had banged her toe rather badly on the Inca Trail and the nail had turned a rather dashing shade of purple. It hadn´t really been causing any problems on our trip but the cold must have awoken the beast inside. Because the next day she could barely walk. And just to make matters worse it rained, hard. All day. And it was cold. And just not that pleasant. So by the time we got to the next camp we had decided we couldn´t carry on.
Back to Puerto Natales we go. Our hostel is somewhat surprised to see us but accommodate us. So we get to our room and settle in for all-night results coverage of the Paraguayan election. Man, why don´t we get this in England.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
THE PROPOSAL
So we´re coming to the end of our trip to Buenos Aires. I´ve been trying to figure out how I go about proposing to Alison when we´re in each others company all the time. Answer...with difficulty.
First problem: The ring
What kind, how much? How do I get out of her company long enough to find it? Since we´ve been renting an apartment in Buenos Aires, I figure this is the perfect time to go ring hunting. I make up some rubbish about going for a walk. I know it sounds lame but she bought it. Ha, so gullible! So I went for a walk along a parade of shops in the very agreeable Palermo district. I look in the first jewelry store window I come across. You know what I think? These rings suck. They look like rings my great grandma wore. To make matters worse they look like they haven´t been cleaned since about the time she wore them. The woman behind the counter looks over her glasses at me and I scamper away.
Next shop. Looks like they sell rings to goths. Next one - Closed. Next one...hmmm, maybe. Alison had bought some earrings in this Argentinian pink stone she liked (don´t ask me what it was called, I don´t know). This one sold these pink stones in rings but they somehow just looked very ordinary. Man. By now I´d been gone about two hours and I wasn´t sure how much more I could justify being away. So I trudge back empty handed.
We do a bunch of activities like Tango dancing, which I really enjoyed. And went to an estancia, like a ranch outside Buenos Aires where I got to look like a girl on a horse for the afternoon.
All the while, I´m trying to work out how I get away from Alison to get this blasted ring. And meanwhile the clock is ticking. We are running out of time in Buenos Aires. What am I going to do? Maybe I just wait for some other time. Yet it does seem like this is the right moment.
Then, a lifeline on our last day. "Can you pop to the shops and get some potatos?" Alison asks. I jump up from the sofa almost too eagerly. Recovering quickly I say "Uhh, sure." I casually walk out of the building and break in to a run down the road nearly knocking over a woman with bad cankles, (big ankles) eliciting shouts of Spanish-abuse. It will have to be the jewelry shop up the road, don´t care how ugly the ring is. I´m on a clock. I get to the shop and look once more in the window. Man, they really are some of the most ugly rings I have ever seen in my life. Maybe she could use it as an emergency cheese grater or something, I dunno. I can´t, I just can´t buy her something so utterly repulsive. I´m going to have to go up to the parade of shops again. I´m only supposed to be getting potatos but...sod it. I run up the road, in my Berkenstocks and it´s not comfortable let me tell you.
On my way, however, I see a jewelry shop I hadn´t noticed before. I cross the road paying no attention to the beeping horns and screeching tires. I look in the window. There´s one ring that is not bad at all. Great. I go in and the woman pulls it out. Yep, that´s the one. I pay and run out. I´m nearly back at the apartment when my mind does a 180. "Hey Dan, how bout those POTATOS!" Bollocks!
I race to the greengrocers just outside our building. Of course there´s a queue and of course they are nattering away in Spanish. I feel like I´m going to combust there and then. The man sees my internal strife and interrupts the conversation so he can give me my two goddamn potatos.
I race up to the apartment and try to catch my breath. I open the door. Alison turns and stares at me. "Where have you been?" I freeze. I can´t even begin to...and then words just come out of my mouth. Like divine inspiration although this was more like divine perspiration I say
"There was an enormous queue at the store and they totally ignored me for ages so I had to go up the road, really annoying." I let it hang there in the air. She considered what I said for a few seconds, I could hear the cogs clanking. I was about to say "What´s that clanking sound?" when she piped up and said "They´re always doing that, they did the same to me when I was there yesterday." I let out a breath. Phew, got away with that one, I think.
Second problem: Picking the moment
So then we spend the rest of the day walking around Buenos Aires, going to our favourite spots. We had drinks by the river, then some more drinks in the Bohemian San Telmo. I suggest we go to a restaurant we went to the last time we were here. They had the best steaks in all of Argentina and let me say dear reader, that is a pretty special accolade. It was called Gran Parilla Del Plata and a very simple, yet elegant place.
We wander over there hand in hand. I´m hoping she can´t detect the quiet panic going on inside my chest. "You okay?" She asks. I swallow, my throat is dry. "Oh yeah. I´m great. Couldn´t be better. Feel like a million pounds." I reply. My mind interjects "Stop talking Dan, stop talking now." Unfortunately it says this as I´ve already started mouthing the next reason I´m feeling fine, so what you´re left with is me with my mouth open looking like a goldfish. She frowns and we carry on.
My internal monologue continues, "Jesus Dan, get it together or she´s going to end up telling your kids how you screwed up this moment. Why are you such a loser?" It´s a good question and one I haven´t formulated a proper response to. Anyway...
We get to the restaurant and I could feel sweat building. I ordered water and a bottle of their nicest Malbec. We talked for a while. I was trying to work out how I do this. Damnit I should have prepared this better. I should have written down what I was going to say.
I love you...I should have done this a long time ago...I don´t know, you say it! Time passes and the restaurant begins to fill up. There are people sitting outside, I look at their food. It looks nice. I then glance over at the staff, they are chatting away to one another. Little do any of these people know what was about to happen. Frankly neither did I. We eat our beautifully prepared steaks. Damn it´s like melt-in-your-mouth good. I think I´ve had enough wine...what am I doing, I´m standing up. I´m looking at her. "Think I´ll just go to the toilet." I mutter. She nods. I wander up the stairs passed the slightly bored staff. I get to the toilet and try to avoid my reflection. My heart is thumping, thank god for wine. I take out the ring and look at it. It´s not bad at all I decide, afterall this is only the second time I´m seeing it. I breathe in, take one glance at myself and walk out.
Down the stairs I go. I walk slowly but I think, with purpose. I get to the table. She turns to see me, I seem to have stopped behind her chair. I bend down and I say "Look you´ve dropped this here." She looks totally perplexed, wondering what she dropped. I stay on one knee as I look up and say the most ridiculous bunch of phrases I´ve ever said in my life. I can´t honestly remember the exact words but it was something like "Look, I know I should have done this a long time ago. I hope it´s not too late and well the thing is I love you and I´ve loved you for some time now (Jesus Daniel!) and I was wondering if you would be my wife and...what´s that face for?" Her face went from a confused frown to shock to tears pouring down her face. It seemed to take the age of the universe for her to get what it was I was doing. She still thought she´d dropped something. Anyway, finally the penny dropped and she started balling her eyes out. She looked outside, the people were beaming, then other people in the restaurant started to catch on. Then the waiters and waitresses were staring. She gave me a kiss, her eyes shiny. Of course whilst this is going on I´m still on my knees and the floor doesn´t look too clean and my knee is starting to ache. "So is that a yes?" I ask.
"Yes!" she says. She only had one bloody line and still she needed prompting from the wings. The restaurant clapped and the people outside cheered. I stand up, wiggling my slightly numb knee. Alison´s a mess, I´m a mess. The waitress brings over two glasses of champagne. I down mine immediately. For the rest of the evening the smile couldn´t be wiped off our faces. We went home, got another bottle of champagne, called our parents and got horrendously drunk together. I´m such a softy.
First problem: The ring
What kind, how much? How do I get out of her company long enough to find it? Since we´ve been renting an apartment in Buenos Aires, I figure this is the perfect time to go ring hunting. I make up some rubbish about going for a walk. I know it sounds lame but she bought it. Ha, so gullible! So I went for a walk along a parade of shops in the very agreeable Palermo district. I look in the first jewelry store window I come across. You know what I think? These rings suck. They look like rings my great grandma wore. To make matters worse they look like they haven´t been cleaned since about the time she wore them. The woman behind the counter looks over her glasses at me and I scamper away.
Next shop. Looks like they sell rings to goths. Next one - Closed. Next one...hmmm, maybe. Alison had bought some earrings in this Argentinian pink stone she liked (don´t ask me what it was called, I don´t know). This one sold these pink stones in rings but they somehow just looked very ordinary. Man. By now I´d been gone about two hours and I wasn´t sure how much more I could justify being away. So I trudge back empty handed.
We do a bunch of activities like Tango dancing, which I really enjoyed. And went to an estancia, like a ranch outside Buenos Aires where I got to look like a girl on a horse for the afternoon.
All the while, I´m trying to work out how I get away from Alison to get this blasted ring. And meanwhile the clock is ticking. We are running out of time in Buenos Aires. What am I going to do? Maybe I just wait for some other time. Yet it does seem like this is the right moment.
Then, a lifeline on our last day. "Can you pop to the shops and get some potatos?" Alison asks. I jump up from the sofa almost too eagerly. Recovering quickly I say "Uhh, sure." I casually walk out of the building and break in to a run down the road nearly knocking over a woman with bad cankles, (big ankles) eliciting shouts of Spanish-abuse. It will have to be the jewelry shop up the road, don´t care how ugly the ring is. I´m on a clock. I get to the shop and look once more in the window. Man, they really are some of the most ugly rings I have ever seen in my life. Maybe she could use it as an emergency cheese grater or something, I dunno. I can´t, I just can´t buy her something so utterly repulsive. I´m going to have to go up to the parade of shops again. I´m only supposed to be getting potatos but...sod it. I run up the road, in my Berkenstocks and it´s not comfortable let me tell you.
On my way, however, I see a jewelry shop I hadn´t noticed before. I cross the road paying no attention to the beeping horns and screeching tires. I look in the window. There´s one ring that is not bad at all. Great. I go in and the woman pulls it out. Yep, that´s the one. I pay and run out. I´m nearly back at the apartment when my mind does a 180. "Hey Dan, how bout those POTATOS!" Bollocks!
I race to the greengrocers just outside our building. Of course there´s a queue and of course they are nattering away in Spanish. I feel like I´m going to combust there and then. The man sees my internal strife and interrupts the conversation so he can give me my two goddamn potatos.
I race up to the apartment and try to catch my breath. I open the door. Alison turns and stares at me. "Where have you been?" I freeze. I can´t even begin to...and then words just come out of my mouth. Like divine inspiration although this was more like divine perspiration I say
"There was an enormous queue at the store and they totally ignored me for ages so I had to go up the road, really annoying." I let it hang there in the air. She considered what I said for a few seconds, I could hear the cogs clanking. I was about to say "What´s that clanking sound?" when she piped up and said "They´re always doing that, they did the same to me when I was there yesterday." I let out a breath. Phew, got away with that one, I think.
Second problem: Picking the moment
So then we spend the rest of the day walking around Buenos Aires, going to our favourite spots. We had drinks by the river, then some more drinks in the Bohemian San Telmo. I suggest we go to a restaurant we went to the last time we were here. They had the best steaks in all of Argentina and let me say dear reader, that is a pretty special accolade. It was called Gran Parilla Del Plata and a very simple, yet elegant place.
We wander over there hand in hand. I´m hoping she can´t detect the quiet panic going on inside my chest. "You okay?" She asks. I swallow, my throat is dry. "Oh yeah. I´m great. Couldn´t be better. Feel like a million pounds." I reply. My mind interjects "Stop talking Dan, stop talking now." Unfortunately it says this as I´ve already started mouthing the next reason I´m feeling fine, so what you´re left with is me with my mouth open looking like a goldfish. She frowns and we carry on.
My internal monologue continues, "Jesus Dan, get it together or she´s going to end up telling your kids how you screwed up this moment. Why are you such a loser?" It´s a good question and one I haven´t formulated a proper response to. Anyway...
We get to the restaurant and I could feel sweat building. I ordered water and a bottle of their nicest Malbec. We talked for a while. I was trying to work out how I do this. Damnit I should have prepared this better. I should have written down what I was going to say.
I love you...I should have done this a long time ago...I don´t know, you say it! Time passes and the restaurant begins to fill up. There are people sitting outside, I look at their food. It looks nice. I then glance over at the staff, they are chatting away to one another. Little do any of these people know what was about to happen. Frankly neither did I. We eat our beautifully prepared steaks. Damn it´s like melt-in-your-mouth good. I think I´ve had enough wine...what am I doing, I´m standing up. I´m looking at her. "Think I´ll just go to the toilet." I mutter. She nods. I wander up the stairs passed the slightly bored staff. I get to the toilet and try to avoid my reflection. My heart is thumping, thank god for wine. I take out the ring and look at it. It´s not bad at all I decide, afterall this is only the second time I´m seeing it. I breathe in, take one glance at myself and walk out.
Down the stairs I go. I walk slowly but I think, with purpose. I get to the table. She turns to see me, I seem to have stopped behind her chair. I bend down and I say "Look you´ve dropped this here." She looks totally perplexed, wondering what she dropped. I stay on one knee as I look up and say the most ridiculous bunch of phrases I´ve ever said in my life. I can´t honestly remember the exact words but it was something like "Look, I know I should have done this a long time ago. I hope it´s not too late and well the thing is I love you and I´ve loved you for some time now (Jesus Daniel!) and I was wondering if you would be my wife and...what´s that face for?" Her face went from a confused frown to shock to tears pouring down her face. It seemed to take the age of the universe for her to get what it was I was doing. She still thought she´d dropped something. Anyway, finally the penny dropped and she started balling her eyes out. She looked outside, the people were beaming, then other people in the restaurant started to catch on. Then the waiters and waitresses were staring. She gave me a kiss, her eyes shiny. Of course whilst this is going on I´m still on my knees and the floor doesn´t look too clean and my knee is starting to ache. "So is that a yes?" I ask.
"Yes!" she says. She only had one bloody line and still she needed prompting from the wings. The restaurant clapped and the people outside cheered. I stand up, wiggling my slightly numb knee. Alison´s a mess, I´m a mess. The waitress brings over two glasses of champagne. I down mine immediately. For the rest of the evening the smile couldn´t be wiped off our faces. We went home, got another bottle of champagne, called our parents and got horrendously drunk together. I´m such a softy.
Friday, April 11, 2008
BUENOS AIRES - TANGO SPECIAL
Yes Alison dragged me kicking and screaming to Tango lessons. Man, what a delight it was. So we get there and it's set, not in a nice 18th century café but in what looks strangely like my old school hall.
I keep making jokes like 'We could just go to the bar over there and order a bottle of wine..' and 'It looks closed, let's go order a bottle of wine.' It wasn't closed however. We went in and bought our ticket for 12 pesos, a bargain in any other circumstances. We had made sure the lessons were in English as well but of course, come the time, everyone there was Argentinean and spoke nothing but Spanish…nice.
I'm wearing a white t-shirt, jeans and black shoes, going for my mid-life look. As we sat down and waited for proceedings to begin, I looked around the room. There was a bunch of couples, whispering to each other. That couple over there looks far too professional for my liking. So do those two to the left, giving me evils. I sit there, my palms are sweaty. Why did I agree to this, let's face it, if I hadn't I would still be hearing the moaning in Australia in two month's time.
The teachers arrive and I swear one of the guys looks like he'd just been to a Metallica concert. What the hell…every time he spoke, all I could think was 'get a haircut. Tuck that shirt in. Have those Big Macs every other day maybe?' Strangely his partner is a skinny nothing of a girl. Looked like the lightest of pushes would break her in to pieces.
So things begin. Another man with greying hair starts talking in Spanish. I'm distracted by his tufts of hair springing out of his shirt. Of course I nod in all the appropriate places. I chuckle when everyone laughs, try to fit in as best I can. I look at my watch 19:15. The lesson finishes at 20:30, okay…you can do this. Our Michael McDonald lookalike gets us to stand up. My head was thinking 'Do I have to?' but my body obeyed almost willingly. I made a note for my mind to have a conversation with my body later to cut out that sort of enthusiasm.
The first thing we seem to be doing is walking in a circle. Brilliant. 'Michael' is teaching us how to walk again. 12 pesos down the toilet. He wants us to slink as we walk, move sexily or something. I'm just ogling at everyone else, trying to copy what the other apes are doing. That guy over there looks like a muppet, I surely look better than him. I notice there are more girls than boys. Maybe 15 girls and 8 boys. Ha some of those losers won't get to dance. Alison informs me however that we have to change partners? Oh for goodness sake, I throw my hands up to the heavens. 'Why should I be punished because someone can't get themselves a boyfriend, it's not my fault they're ugly.' Alison shoots me a scornful look and we carry on walking in our circle.
Then 'Michael' splits up the group in to beginners and advanced.
We get Metallica man and his waif of a partner. I can't believe this guy is going to try to teach me Tango. He belongs in a cage with me poking bananas through the bars. Anyway, they show us a move and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. It seemed quite elegant. First step here, second step there. We split again, girls on one side, boys on the other. I'm standing next to the muppet, his worn out Nikes seem particularly inappropriate. The boys follow Metallica Man, the girls follow the waif. Then we have to rejoin our partners. Of course I take to it like a Llama to water (a Llama with no means of floatation). I fumble around, step on toes, huff and puff. Try again, damnit I can't do this stupid thing. Time check: 19:45. How can there still be 45 minutes to go? Try again, nope. I'm utterly useless at this. I'm at the point of tears when Metallica man barks 'Switch partners.' Alison gives me a nervous glance. I roll my eyes 'Maybe we can just carry on, who's going to know..?'
'Hi, do you want to dance?' A blonde, very pale, slightly butch girl is standing in front of me. 'Uhh…okay.' I take her hand and we start. I still stumble around like the bumbling arse that I am. She is patient with me as I step on her shoes for the fifth time. Then she starts small talk, where am I from, is this my first time etc. I'm as polite as I can be but the frustrations soon came out. I'm a man, and I can only do one thing at a time. I can't talk and remember the steps as well, I just can't.
'Change partners!' The monkey man barks. Alison is back with me. 'You're sweating.' She observes. 'Yeah…well, I can't do it.' I say grumpily. 'Yes you can.' She takes my hand and we start again. Except this time, I'm starting to get it. My feet are placing themselves in the right place at the right time. Don't get me wrong I still look like a girl but at least I'm getting the moves right.
'Very good, see you can do it.' Alison says. She's trying to be encouraging but in my typical male way I find it condescending. Time check: 20:15. Horrah! Only fifteen minutes to go.
Then we have to change partners again and I get this lumpy American girl, who's looks annoyed about something. Maybe it was dancing with me or maybe she'd just been told her home was to be repossessed but either way she was plenty pissed. Just what I needed with my burgeoning Tango moves. We started, I screwed it up. I apologised. She huffed. We started again. I stepped on her toe. She yelped. I apologised. And on and on. I was starting to panic, I couldn't do it under this sort of scrutiny. She was being mean and I wanted to go back to Alison. My prayers were answered when she stopped abruptly and made some lame excuse about her new shoes hurting. Whatever, I thought. And I went back to Alison who was dancing with the monkey and had her eyes closed stench of his pits making them water. 20:30, time to go. As we left, Alison was beaming. 'Thank you for doing that.' She said. Yeah right, I thought. Well we're off to an Argentinean 'futbol' game tomorrow. How do you like them apples!
I keep making jokes like 'We could just go to the bar over there and order a bottle of wine..' and 'It looks closed, let's go order a bottle of wine.' It wasn't closed however. We went in and bought our ticket for 12 pesos, a bargain in any other circumstances. We had made sure the lessons were in English as well but of course, come the time, everyone there was Argentinean and spoke nothing but Spanish…nice.
I'm wearing a white t-shirt, jeans and black shoes, going for my mid-life look. As we sat down and waited for proceedings to begin, I looked around the room. There was a bunch of couples, whispering to each other. That couple over there looks far too professional for my liking. So do those two to the left, giving me evils. I sit there, my palms are sweaty. Why did I agree to this, let's face it, if I hadn't I would still be hearing the moaning in Australia in two month's time.
The teachers arrive and I swear one of the guys looks like he'd just been to a Metallica concert. What the hell…every time he spoke, all I could think was 'get a haircut. Tuck that shirt in. Have those Big Macs every other day maybe?' Strangely his partner is a skinny nothing of a girl. Looked like the lightest of pushes would break her in to pieces.
So things begin. Another man with greying hair starts talking in Spanish. I'm distracted by his tufts of hair springing out of his shirt. Of course I nod in all the appropriate places. I chuckle when everyone laughs, try to fit in as best I can. I look at my watch 19:15. The lesson finishes at 20:30, okay…you can do this. Our Michael McDonald lookalike gets us to stand up. My head was thinking 'Do I have to?' but my body obeyed almost willingly. I made a note for my mind to have a conversation with my body later to cut out that sort of enthusiasm.
The first thing we seem to be doing is walking in a circle. Brilliant. 'Michael' is teaching us how to walk again. 12 pesos down the toilet. He wants us to slink as we walk, move sexily or something. I'm just ogling at everyone else, trying to copy what the other apes are doing. That guy over there looks like a muppet, I surely look better than him. I notice there are more girls than boys. Maybe 15 girls and 8 boys. Ha some of those losers won't get to dance. Alison informs me however that we have to change partners? Oh for goodness sake, I throw my hands up to the heavens. 'Why should I be punished because someone can't get themselves a boyfriend, it's not my fault they're ugly.' Alison shoots me a scornful look and we carry on walking in our circle.
Then 'Michael' splits up the group in to beginners and advanced.
We get Metallica man and his waif of a partner. I can't believe this guy is going to try to teach me Tango. He belongs in a cage with me poking bananas through the bars. Anyway, they show us a move and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. It seemed quite elegant. First step here, second step there. We split again, girls on one side, boys on the other. I'm standing next to the muppet, his worn out Nikes seem particularly inappropriate. The boys follow Metallica Man, the girls follow the waif. Then we have to rejoin our partners. Of course I take to it like a Llama to water (a Llama with no means of floatation). I fumble around, step on toes, huff and puff. Try again, damnit I can't do this stupid thing. Time check: 19:45. How can there still be 45 minutes to go? Try again, nope. I'm utterly useless at this. I'm at the point of tears when Metallica man barks 'Switch partners.' Alison gives me a nervous glance. I roll my eyes 'Maybe we can just carry on, who's going to know..?'
'Hi, do you want to dance?' A blonde, very pale, slightly butch girl is standing in front of me. 'Uhh…okay.' I take her hand and we start. I still stumble around like the bumbling arse that I am. She is patient with me as I step on her shoes for the fifth time. Then she starts small talk, where am I from, is this my first time etc. I'm as polite as I can be but the frustrations soon came out. I'm a man, and I can only do one thing at a time. I can't talk and remember the steps as well, I just can't.
'Change partners!' The monkey man barks. Alison is back with me. 'You're sweating.' She observes. 'Yeah…well, I can't do it.' I say grumpily. 'Yes you can.' She takes my hand and we start again. Except this time, I'm starting to get it. My feet are placing themselves in the right place at the right time. Don't get me wrong I still look like a girl but at least I'm getting the moves right.
'Very good, see you can do it.' Alison says. She's trying to be encouraging but in my typical male way I find it condescending. Time check: 20:15. Horrah! Only fifteen minutes to go.
Then we have to change partners again and I get this lumpy American girl, who's looks annoyed about something. Maybe it was dancing with me or maybe she'd just been told her home was to be repossessed but either way she was plenty pissed. Just what I needed with my burgeoning Tango moves. We started, I screwed it up. I apologised. She huffed. We started again. I stepped on her toe. She yelped. I apologised. And on and on. I was starting to panic, I couldn't do it under this sort of scrutiny. She was being mean and I wanted to go back to Alison. My prayers were answered when she stopped abruptly and made some lame excuse about her new shoes hurting. Whatever, I thought. And I went back to Alison who was dancing with the monkey and had her eyes closed stench of his pits making them water. 20:30, time to go. As we left, Alison was beaming. 'Thank you for doing that.' She said. Yeah right, I thought. Well we're off to an Argentinean 'futbol' game tomorrow. How do you like them apples!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
BROKEN TOILETS, CUBIERTOS AND HIGH JUMPING
Another blog in such quick succession? What is he, on drugs? Alas, my friends he is not. I wrote the last blog and it was so long I thought it might throw you in to the depths of despair by publishing it all in one go. I didn’t want to be responsible for a spate of suicides in the Greater London area so here is what I affectionately label Part 2.
So we spent Easter in Rosario and the day after our little ordeal with Luis the psychopathic nightman we get up at two in the afternoon and decide to go for a walk. I have to say it’s great being back in Argentina. It’s cheap, the people are friendly, you don’t feel like you’re going to be raped every time you step out of your door. It’s just a great country. We find a restaurant for dinner and I’m pumped. I want a good Argentinean steak and now. And get it I do. The food is impeccable, the service is good, the wine is divine. The only issue came when they delivered the bill. Something called Cubiertos for 5 pesos. Interesting. What’s that? I didn’t order any Cubiertos, whatever it was. So we ask the waiter, who can’t speak English, so he runs away and comes back with someone who can. Here’s how the conversation went:
Me: Hi there, (showing the bill) what’s this…cubiertos?
Waiter: It’s for this (he points at the knife.)
Me: The knife?
Waiter: For the cutlery.
Me: You’re charging me for the cutlery?
Waiter: (Nods and smiles)
Me: 5 pesos…to use the cutlery? What did you expect me to eat the steak with…my hands?
Waiter: (Smiles some more and shrugs) I’m sorry I’m from Germany...(leaves)
Rosario was nice but we were definitely ready to go after 4 days. So we jump on another bus back to Buenos Aires. Because we love this city, we have decided to rent an apartment in the San Telmo area. I had this idea that we would eat steak, drink wine, go jogging along the river, do some writing and just relax before we head off to Patagonia for a couple of weeks. Well the reality couldn’t have been further from the truth. You’ll think I’m making this up but I assure you everything I write is from truth (or truth as I recall it)
So it was Friday and we get to our apartment and immediately I’m worried. There’s these hippie student types just hanging around outside the building which is an old big window jobbie. So after clearing them off the steps to the door, we go in with the agent. First impressions? Nice, big, modern. Upstairs bit has bedroom and bathroom. Downstairs - kitchen, living area. It’s on the ground floor so when you open the windows, there’s the street…with the hippies. Not to worry, I’m sure they’re just there during the week. There was no fan or air con (bear in mind it’s 85 outside, I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me because I know in England it’s pissing it down and cold but stay with me if you will). The gas oven took as long to light as it takes to read the Book of Genesis out loud and the bed didn’t have sheets on it.
Also the agent wanted us to pay in cash, a fact they had omitted to tell us. So I had to go traipsing around San Telmo looking for a cash point that would accept my card (most of them didn’t), then when I finally found one, it would only let me take out a maximum of 250 pounds. So I come back sweating like a fat man who’d been chasing a runaway M&M and I’m not happy. After much discussion they agreed to let us pay the rest on Monday. The agent leaves. It’s not two minutes she’s gone when Alison yells downstairs ‘The toilet doesn’t work.’ She was right, it didn’t flush. More phone calls. The agency said they could get a plumber round tomorrow. I asked where I was supposed to take a dump in the meantime. She didn’t have an answer.
Then Friday night comes and San Telmo becomes a party town. Revellers out till late, drunks, noise. Brilliant. And it’s hot. I can’t open the windows without letting the whole street see my arse so I just have to lump it.
The following night, our neighbours upstairs decide to throw a party and are shouting and screaming until four in the morning! I mean literally screaming. And the jumping as well, let me not forget that. Were they engaged in some sort of crude high jumping competition? Who knows? All I do know as I gaze at the clock through cracked, sore eyes is that I want to kill people, but I haven’t got the energy or tools at my disposal. Then just as I’m starting to nod off (bearing in mind it’s now 0530) there’s noise outside. A different kind of noise. I crawl on all fours to the window, beaten. I look out to see, a market. They are setting up a market outside our apartment. With all the metal banging and yelling. What…the…hell.
So come Monday we take a trip to the ‘Agency’ (Sounds like the CIA but I assure you it’s a lot less impressive). And after barking at them for half an hour they eventually offer us another apartment in a district called Palermo. This place is nice and it is where I am writing to you now with a glass of Malbec at my side. It’s on the 5th floor, it has a sunny balcony, it’s quiet and…it’s got a toilet that works! It even has a remote to close the shutters, nice. So things at the moment are very satisfactory.
I suppose I’d better sign off, this has been far too long-winded. I need to learn the ancient art of editing. Well at least I didn’t leave it open ended like last time, although I know you secretly love those Eastender cliff hanger writings.
And so, with a heavy heart and even heavier stomach (need to lay off those steaks) I say Adieu.
Dan
So we spent Easter in Rosario and the day after our little ordeal with Luis the psychopathic nightman we get up at two in the afternoon and decide to go for a walk. I have to say it’s great being back in Argentina. It’s cheap, the people are friendly, you don’t feel like you’re going to be raped every time you step out of your door. It’s just a great country. We find a restaurant for dinner and I’m pumped. I want a good Argentinean steak and now. And get it I do. The food is impeccable, the service is good, the wine is divine. The only issue came when they delivered the bill. Something called Cubiertos for 5 pesos. Interesting. What’s that? I didn’t order any Cubiertos, whatever it was. So we ask the waiter, who can’t speak English, so he runs away and comes back with someone who can. Here’s how the conversation went:
Me: Hi there, (showing the bill) what’s this…cubiertos?
Waiter: It’s for this (he points at the knife.)
Me: The knife?
Waiter: For the cutlery.
Me: You’re charging me for the cutlery?
Waiter: (Nods and smiles)
Me: 5 pesos…to use the cutlery? What did you expect me to eat the steak with…my hands?
Waiter: (Smiles some more and shrugs) I’m sorry I’m from Germany...(leaves)
Rosario was nice but we were definitely ready to go after 4 days. So we jump on another bus back to Buenos Aires. Because we love this city, we have decided to rent an apartment in the San Telmo area. I had this idea that we would eat steak, drink wine, go jogging along the river, do some writing and just relax before we head off to Patagonia for a couple of weeks. Well the reality couldn’t have been further from the truth. You’ll think I’m making this up but I assure you everything I write is from truth (or truth as I recall it)
So it was Friday and we get to our apartment and immediately I’m worried. There’s these hippie student types just hanging around outside the building which is an old big window jobbie. So after clearing them off the steps to the door, we go in with the agent. First impressions? Nice, big, modern. Upstairs bit has bedroom and bathroom. Downstairs - kitchen, living area. It’s on the ground floor so when you open the windows, there’s the street…with the hippies. Not to worry, I’m sure they’re just there during the week. There was no fan or air con (bear in mind it’s 85 outside, I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me because I know in England it’s pissing it down and cold but stay with me if you will). The gas oven took as long to light as it takes to read the Book of Genesis out loud and the bed didn’t have sheets on it.
Also the agent wanted us to pay in cash, a fact they had omitted to tell us. So I had to go traipsing around San Telmo looking for a cash point that would accept my card (most of them didn’t), then when I finally found one, it would only let me take out a maximum of 250 pounds. So I come back sweating like a fat man who’d been chasing a runaway M&M and I’m not happy. After much discussion they agreed to let us pay the rest on Monday. The agent leaves. It’s not two minutes she’s gone when Alison yells downstairs ‘The toilet doesn’t work.’ She was right, it didn’t flush. More phone calls. The agency said they could get a plumber round tomorrow. I asked where I was supposed to take a dump in the meantime. She didn’t have an answer.
Then Friday night comes and San Telmo becomes a party town. Revellers out till late, drunks, noise. Brilliant. And it’s hot. I can’t open the windows without letting the whole street see my arse so I just have to lump it.
The following night, our neighbours upstairs decide to throw a party and are shouting and screaming until four in the morning! I mean literally screaming. And the jumping as well, let me not forget that. Were they engaged in some sort of crude high jumping competition? Who knows? All I do know as I gaze at the clock through cracked, sore eyes is that I want to kill people, but I haven’t got the energy or tools at my disposal. Then just as I’m starting to nod off (bearing in mind it’s now 0530) there’s noise outside. A different kind of noise. I crawl on all fours to the window, beaten. I look out to see, a market. They are setting up a market outside our apartment. With all the metal banging and yelling. What…the…hell.
So come Monday we take a trip to the ‘Agency’ (Sounds like the CIA but I assure you it’s a lot less impressive). And after barking at them for half an hour they eventually offer us another apartment in a district called Palermo. This place is nice and it is where I am writing to you now with a glass of Malbec at my side. It’s on the 5th floor, it has a sunny balcony, it’s quiet and…it’s got a toilet that works! It even has a remote to close the shutters, nice. So things at the moment are very satisfactory.
I suppose I’d better sign off, this has been far too long-winded. I need to learn the ancient art of editing. Well at least I didn’t leave it open ended like last time, although I know you secretly love those Eastender cliff hanger writings.
And so, with a heavy heart and even heavier stomach (need to lay off those steaks) I say Adieu.
Dan
Thursday, April 3, 2008
BUS RIDES, FIZZY DRINKS AND EASTER EGGS
So I’m back. You probably all moved on since the last blog. Probably thought that Dan Grant has just given up on us. Maybe I should do something more useful than sit here hour after hour waiting for a new blog to come out.
Well here it is! Sit back and enjoy.
So we jump on possibly the longest bus ride I have ever known and frankly have no intention of repeating. It’s a 6 hour journey to Sao Paulo from Paraty and it’s just about bearable. The bus stops every couple of hours at these ridiculously remote service stops that look like someone’s house and appear only to bother opening when this particular bus pulls in.
Anyway we begin to see built up areas and I realise we are nearing Sao Paulo. Allow me to read to you what the Lonely Planet says about Sao Paulo.
DANGERS AND ANNOYANCES
Reports of crime in the city have increased and Sao Paulo is said to be less safe than Rio…if you’re driving, be aware that carjackings and red-light robberies are common after dark. It’s so bad that Sao Paulo recently changed a traffic law – it’s now legal (and recommended) to just slow down at red lights at night. If there’s no traffic, continue without stopping…
What the..? Don’t stop at red lights, crime worse than Rio?? Well that little paragraph had us scanning every car and every person as we rode along towards the bus station. Who was suspicious? That man with the hood, too obvious? What about that pregnant lady…a cunning disguise perhaps? Who knows? So we arrive fully prepared for urban combat. Unfortunately we have to stay at the bus station for 5 hours to wait for the night bus to take us to Florianopolis (which is a 12 hour drive).
Sao Paulo has the worlds biggest bus station. It’s like an airport - shops, fast food chains, internet cafes all very nice. But I swear there are some distinctly dodgy people walking around that place. Every time I made eye contact with someone I pictured them shoving a gun in my face and demanding my Lonely Planet Brazil (which they can have as far as I’m concerned). My mind then draws a picture of me unable to understand what they are after so I try desperately to do a translation exercise with the help of my phrasebook before they pull the trigger.
So for 5 hours we sat and ate then after we finished eating we ate some more. We don’t smoke, so what the hell else are we supposed to do? One thing I’ve noticed here. When you ask for something in English, even though the name of what you are asking for is the same in both English and Portuguese they just don’t understand. So I say ‘Sprite por favour.’ And the two-star Bob’s Burger employee stares straight back at me with a sort of cross eyed expression and says ‘Sprite?’ I look up at the menu lit up in front of me, a beautifully lit photo of a large cup of Sprite with ice cubes and a straw with big letters on the side saying Sprite. I look down at our missing link friend. ‘Yes Sprite.’ The mongoloid shakes his head and smiles. Then I do what so many of my compatriots do. I start saying it over and over again, varying things like volume, speed, pitch. Nothing. He asks his manager. I say ‘Sprite?’ The manager shakes his head, then an idea. I see it forming in his brain. ‘Ohhh…Sprite?’ I stare at him, a small frown on my now sweating forehead. ‘Yes, Sprite.’ And let me tell you, dear readers, he said Sprite in exactly the same way I’d had and I finally got my goddamn beverage.
Finally the time came and we got on the bus. Which was, I have to admit, quite funky. They had these chairs that turned in to beds. Actual flat beds with sheets and pillows. Brilliant. I actually slept for some of the way. Wayhay!!
So we arrive in Florianopolis at 6 Am, another beach location. Our guest house is lovely, the owner was slightly surprised to see us so early but offered us breakfast and spoke excellent English. Great, we’re winning. What wasn’t winning, however, was the weather. It was still raining. You may remember how I told you it rained the whole time we were in Paraty. Well it carried on here. Fab. So what do you do when it rains here? We thought let’s take a bus downtown and go see a movie at the multiplex. So that’s what we did. The ticket cost about 2 pounds each cos it was a matinee and we saw Charlie Wilson’s War which was not bad at all.
Whilst walking around the mall something else occurred to me. Brazilians don’t wear glasses. Seriously I have not seen one Brazilian wearing them. Maybe they don’t like being called four eyes. Maybe they all have perfect 20x20 vision. Maybe there’s a trade embargo on them, who knows? I have yet to see one pair, weird no?
Anyway, the weather improves and we have a nice few days on the beach. Then it’s time to go and we’ve booked a flight from Florianopolis to Rosario in Argentina. So it’s farewell Brazil. Well not quite, because the flight we booked doesn’t leave Florianopolis till 1800, then it flies one hour south to a place called Porto Alegre where we then have to wait 5 hours until we leave (around midnight) for Rosario thus arriving at 0155 in the morning. Confused? We were.
As I’m sitting on the plane watching the sunset I look down and see the baggage guys loading the plane with various pieces of luggage. As usual they are in that ‘couldn’t give a toss mode’ throwing it around, kicking it etc. However I quickly realise there’s no conveyer belt taking the luggage up in to the plane; they are lifting each piece individually. And all I could think was the airport surely could afford to buy them one conveyor belt. They could even share it when there’s more than one flight. It would be good for them, and it would be good for me so I don’t spend my time with this stuff running around my head and we could get on our way!
So we arrive in Porto Alegre airport and here we must wait and wait and wait some more. We wander around looking at shops pondering how we are going to kill this much time when Alison notices there’s a cinema on the top floor. A cinema! In an airport. Brilliant! What an inspired idea. So we amble up there and guess what there’s a movie starting in 20 minutes. Hallelujah! We buy tickets to see a film called Vantage Point. Not bad, bit like a long episode of 24. Anyway, that kills a couple of hours straight off. Before you know it we’re boarding our next plane to Rosario.
Now because it’s Easter and everything was booked in Rosario we ended up booking a Holiday Inn. We didn’t want to, but everywhere else was full. So we arrive at Rosario Airport at 2 in the morning, only to find it’s so late all the immigration people have gone home. I mean, what the hell! So we’re herded in to this room for about the length of the Bronze Age. Then a guy from the airline comes out and makes an announcement, in Spanish. Everyone groans. Then 5 minutes later he comes out again and makes another announcement, suddenly everyone stands up and heads back towards the immigration area. We, like the sheep that we are, followed them. They had located some passport people who were now under so much pressure to get the queue moving I swear they would have let Osama Bin Laden in.
Anyway, exhausted and more than a little tetchy we emerge through arrivals fully expecting no one to be there, but to our great surprise there was a guy holding a sign with my name on it. Ace. He drove us (like the absolute lunatic he was), to the Holiday Inn. We walk through reception and we meet the man who is going to have a great impact on our lives. He is called Luis. We explain that we have been trying to let the Holiday Inn know for the last week that we were coming at 3am. They had booked the transfer so surely they wouldn’t do that if we didn’t have a reservation, right? Wrong. Luis was possibly the most unhelpful, couldn’t-give-a-toss nightman I have ever had the misfortune to meet. He said our room would not be ready until 3pm, then just looked at us. So we said ‘Fine, we’ll sit in reception and wait.’ And that’s what we did looking like a couple of Albanian goat herders we sat and dozed and tried to avoid the mozzies. From 3 in the morning until 9 we sat there. He didn’t offer us a damn thing unless you count strange looks. Only when the day staff started to come in did he bother to say ‘You can get some breakfast, the restaurant has opened now.’ I wanted to tell him where he could stick his breakfast but I was hungry and coffee sounded nice.
Eventually the manager came over. Totally different attitude. Very sorry, totally understood our position. Offered us a nicer room etc etc. Luis by that time had gone home. I thought about leaving him a special ‘Easter egg’ of my own but what the hell, life’s too short.
And here is where I must leave you. With that thought of my ‘special’ Easter egg. There’s more, much more. And I shall be posting it as soon as I figure out how to get out of the Tango lessons Alison has planned for me.
Until that time.
Arive Derche
The Dan
Well here it is! Sit back and enjoy.
So we jump on possibly the longest bus ride I have ever known and frankly have no intention of repeating. It’s a 6 hour journey to Sao Paulo from Paraty and it’s just about bearable. The bus stops every couple of hours at these ridiculously remote service stops that look like someone’s house and appear only to bother opening when this particular bus pulls in.
Anyway we begin to see built up areas and I realise we are nearing Sao Paulo. Allow me to read to you what the Lonely Planet says about Sao Paulo.
DANGERS AND ANNOYANCES
Reports of crime in the city have increased and Sao Paulo is said to be less safe than Rio…if you’re driving, be aware that carjackings and red-light robberies are common after dark. It’s so bad that Sao Paulo recently changed a traffic law – it’s now legal (and recommended) to just slow down at red lights at night. If there’s no traffic, continue without stopping…
What the..? Don’t stop at red lights, crime worse than Rio?? Well that little paragraph had us scanning every car and every person as we rode along towards the bus station. Who was suspicious? That man with the hood, too obvious? What about that pregnant lady…a cunning disguise perhaps? Who knows? So we arrive fully prepared for urban combat. Unfortunately we have to stay at the bus station for 5 hours to wait for the night bus to take us to Florianopolis (which is a 12 hour drive).
Sao Paulo has the worlds biggest bus station. It’s like an airport - shops, fast food chains, internet cafes all very nice. But I swear there are some distinctly dodgy people walking around that place. Every time I made eye contact with someone I pictured them shoving a gun in my face and demanding my Lonely Planet Brazil (which they can have as far as I’m concerned). My mind then draws a picture of me unable to understand what they are after so I try desperately to do a translation exercise with the help of my phrasebook before they pull the trigger.
So for 5 hours we sat and ate then after we finished eating we ate some more. We don’t smoke, so what the hell else are we supposed to do? One thing I’ve noticed here. When you ask for something in English, even though the name of what you are asking for is the same in both English and Portuguese they just don’t understand. So I say ‘Sprite por favour.’ And the two-star Bob’s Burger employee stares straight back at me with a sort of cross eyed expression and says ‘Sprite?’ I look up at the menu lit up in front of me, a beautifully lit photo of a large cup of Sprite with ice cubes and a straw with big letters on the side saying Sprite. I look down at our missing link friend. ‘Yes Sprite.’ The mongoloid shakes his head and smiles. Then I do what so many of my compatriots do. I start saying it over and over again, varying things like volume, speed, pitch. Nothing. He asks his manager. I say ‘Sprite?’ The manager shakes his head, then an idea. I see it forming in his brain. ‘Ohhh…Sprite?’ I stare at him, a small frown on my now sweating forehead. ‘Yes, Sprite.’ And let me tell you, dear readers, he said Sprite in exactly the same way I’d had and I finally got my goddamn beverage.
Finally the time came and we got on the bus. Which was, I have to admit, quite funky. They had these chairs that turned in to beds. Actual flat beds with sheets and pillows. Brilliant. I actually slept for some of the way. Wayhay!!
So we arrive in Florianopolis at 6 Am, another beach location. Our guest house is lovely, the owner was slightly surprised to see us so early but offered us breakfast and spoke excellent English. Great, we’re winning. What wasn’t winning, however, was the weather. It was still raining. You may remember how I told you it rained the whole time we were in Paraty. Well it carried on here. Fab. So what do you do when it rains here? We thought let’s take a bus downtown and go see a movie at the multiplex. So that’s what we did. The ticket cost about 2 pounds each cos it was a matinee and we saw Charlie Wilson’s War which was not bad at all.
Whilst walking around the mall something else occurred to me. Brazilians don’t wear glasses. Seriously I have not seen one Brazilian wearing them. Maybe they don’t like being called four eyes. Maybe they all have perfect 20x20 vision. Maybe there’s a trade embargo on them, who knows? I have yet to see one pair, weird no?
Anyway, the weather improves and we have a nice few days on the beach. Then it’s time to go and we’ve booked a flight from Florianopolis to Rosario in Argentina. So it’s farewell Brazil. Well not quite, because the flight we booked doesn’t leave Florianopolis till 1800, then it flies one hour south to a place called Porto Alegre where we then have to wait 5 hours until we leave (around midnight) for Rosario thus arriving at 0155 in the morning. Confused? We were.
As I’m sitting on the plane watching the sunset I look down and see the baggage guys loading the plane with various pieces of luggage. As usual they are in that ‘couldn’t give a toss mode’ throwing it around, kicking it etc. However I quickly realise there’s no conveyer belt taking the luggage up in to the plane; they are lifting each piece individually. And all I could think was the airport surely could afford to buy them one conveyor belt. They could even share it when there’s more than one flight. It would be good for them, and it would be good for me so I don’t spend my time with this stuff running around my head and we could get on our way!
So we arrive in Porto Alegre airport and here we must wait and wait and wait some more. We wander around looking at shops pondering how we are going to kill this much time when Alison notices there’s a cinema on the top floor. A cinema! In an airport. Brilliant! What an inspired idea. So we amble up there and guess what there’s a movie starting in 20 minutes. Hallelujah! We buy tickets to see a film called Vantage Point. Not bad, bit like a long episode of 24. Anyway, that kills a couple of hours straight off. Before you know it we’re boarding our next plane to Rosario.
Now because it’s Easter and everything was booked in Rosario we ended up booking a Holiday Inn. We didn’t want to, but everywhere else was full. So we arrive at Rosario Airport at 2 in the morning, only to find it’s so late all the immigration people have gone home. I mean, what the hell! So we’re herded in to this room for about the length of the Bronze Age. Then a guy from the airline comes out and makes an announcement, in Spanish. Everyone groans. Then 5 minutes later he comes out again and makes another announcement, suddenly everyone stands up and heads back towards the immigration area. We, like the sheep that we are, followed them. They had located some passport people who were now under so much pressure to get the queue moving I swear they would have let Osama Bin Laden in.
Anyway, exhausted and more than a little tetchy we emerge through arrivals fully expecting no one to be there, but to our great surprise there was a guy holding a sign with my name on it. Ace. He drove us (like the absolute lunatic he was), to the Holiday Inn. We walk through reception and we meet the man who is going to have a great impact on our lives. He is called Luis. We explain that we have been trying to let the Holiday Inn know for the last week that we were coming at 3am. They had booked the transfer so surely they wouldn’t do that if we didn’t have a reservation, right? Wrong. Luis was possibly the most unhelpful, couldn’t-give-a-toss nightman I have ever had the misfortune to meet. He said our room would not be ready until 3pm, then just looked at us. So we said ‘Fine, we’ll sit in reception and wait.’ And that’s what we did looking like a couple of Albanian goat herders we sat and dozed and tried to avoid the mozzies. From 3 in the morning until 9 we sat there. He didn’t offer us a damn thing unless you count strange looks. Only when the day staff started to come in did he bother to say ‘You can get some breakfast, the restaurant has opened now.’ I wanted to tell him where he could stick his breakfast but I was hungry and coffee sounded nice.
Eventually the manager came over. Totally different attitude. Very sorry, totally understood our position. Offered us a nicer room etc etc. Luis by that time had gone home. I thought about leaving him a special ‘Easter egg’ of my own but what the hell, life’s too short.
And here is where I must leave you. With that thought of my ‘special’ Easter egg. There’s more, much more. And I shall be posting it as soon as I figure out how to get out of the Tango lessons Alison has planned for me.
Until that time.
Arive Derche
The Dan
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