Cats, Dogs and the Dead

......walking around Recoleta and Palermo is a relaxing thing. Beautiful people line the streets adorned with the most cutting edge hairstyles and ridiculously expensive clothes. But what is very apparent in these neighbourhood is how much they love dogs. Many camp dog walkers straddle the streets with up to 20 dogs each, being led in ridiculous directions. But there is something sinister about these animals. They have lost all prime instinct. None of them bark, there is not one nose stuck up an arse, there are no attempts at copulation. Instead these dogs obey without doubt, attired in their soft wollen jackets and designer leashes. Poor inbred purebreds........and compare them to cats here. People as far as I can tell hate cats. On an amble through the Botanical Gardens, the Zoo or the famed Recoleta Cemetary there are thousands of them, abandoned by their owners. The cats are large and well feed by somebody, or something and are a major problem. And they look evil, staring out at you with vacant eyes full of mischief. Little b$%"·&"ds.........
.......Recoleta Cemetary is a morbid place to spend an afternoon bathed in sunshine. But it is also a testament to the stupidity of the rich. Full of unnecessary foibles. Families paid a princely sum to entere their bodies here and wanted people to know. Temples were built as monuments and the bodies are places with coffins on full show through elaborate stain glass windows and cross cut holes. All under the watchful gaze of fat cats. Now what do they feed on again? What people needed these temples for is a mystery. But then again so is religion to me. Intersstingly enough two graves which are most prominent are for Guillermo Browne and Father Fahy the Confessor. You can´t bring the Irish anywhere without them dying..........
THE JERK.
He sat across from our table in Desnivel a brilliant steak house. His eyes glazed with wine and boisterous talk. He stood awkwardly and came toward our table and grabbed a packet of cigarettes and threw them at the waiter. The cigarettes where retrieved and placed in the centre of the table. On returning the jerk picked the packet again and threw them straight at my nose scraping it in the process. The guy was a jerk.
Ciao

This Accents Got Me Licked

.....I stared blankly at the girl behind the counter.Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she delicately asked, Como? I, in turn scrunched up my eyebrows, muttered something along the lines of ´de nada´ and ´gracias´and left the shop slightly humiliated. I was hungover after a quiet night out with Ciaran and Vicki which involved staring at teenagers perfecting their hairstyles so they would look their best on the dancefloor. Quiet here is returning home at 6am. And my body is constantly reminding me of the fast approach of my 30th birthday by walloping me with burning indigestion and severe hangovers. I slept early that night. It was all I could do......
.....going to a literary debate in Buenos Aires was maybe not the smartest thing to do with my level of Spanish. I gave it a go none the less and left more confused than when I went in. The stage was set with 3 stereotypical professor types, complete with intellectual beards and twead suit jackets. I leaned forward as the discussion began, concentrating on their voices. I picked out words and logically added what I thought would go with them. But the talk got rampant and slurred through high brow jokes and huffing of words. Added to this was the constant noise of someone behind me involved in a text message marathon.It was here I admitted defeat which was also when Jani did. We left and later........................I found myself in.................Buenos Aires equivolent .....to The Big Tree. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. were I hooked up with the mosquito bitten Ciaran and Vicki. The place teemed with students from the Argentine country. I´m sure most of the girls were waiting on the ravages of puberty to provide some curves as the manicured faces of the boys figured out how to savage their young skin. Smoke mushroomed from tables, an 18th birthday party swung into overload next to us. We whimpered and left the kids to themselves. We need to find an older crowd soon. I´m getting embarassed and slightly intimidated by the kids..........
........I once again found myself staring blankly at a Porteño. She had asked me a question. I could not decipher her rapid speech and replied with the trusted, ´no se´which translated means I don´t know. But her voice went into over-ride and I could feel peoples eyes turn towards me on the cramped Subway train. I had to bite the bullet. Her accent had overwhelmed me. I sighed, ´no hablo español, lo siento.`But damn I do understand it, just not in this town..........
Time to watch another glorious defeat by a hyped up Irish team. Ciao.

The Finer Details Of Buenos Aires Life

.......Time is irrelevant in this town. A mobile phone is a definite necessity if you are to have a fully functioning social life. The reasons for this are simple. People here never are where they are supposed to be at a given time. I have been left standing at street corners for over an hour, waiting. People notice you and feel a sense of pity for you. ´Ahh look at the gringo, either lost or stood up.´ But the strange thing is, I{ve not had to meet many Argentines on the streets. Most have been lacsidasical backpáckers who have been infused with the culture here so much they have begun to take on its traits. And I like it. If I were to stay longer a mobile phone would be necessary.......
.......we go from hot to hot and wet to mild and muggy to cold to cold and wet to humid....its been a weird two weeks weather wise. And the heavy rains came when Ciaran and Vicki arrived from home bringing the Irish Summer disease with them. Or it is still winter here......................
......Plaza de Mayo is a great expanse in the Microcentre in Buenos Aires. Great ornate buildings are mixed up with run down edifices and waste ground surrounding a giant statue in the centre with compulsory horses. But this square houses something more. Las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. Mothers of the Plaza who back in the 70{s came out in protest against the military Junta goverment at the disappearance of their sons and daughters. Being mothers they have massive input into society here and were allowed there protests. They continue today, to get information about their stolen generation. Also in this plaza lie the homeless. A strong reminder that although BsAs is a cultured seemingly affluent place poverty is everywhere. Over 50% of people live below the poverty line here. On the plaza they sleep on giant bags of rubbish scavenged from the streets. This is done everywhere, I know, but the organisation I{ve seen here overwhelmed me. As I walked down Defensa in the San Telmo barrio hundreds scavenged through the plastic bags. Nothing going to waste. Its not the worst I{ve seen, but it provides a stark contrast to the barrio my apartment is in, full of the middle classes and dog walkers......POVERTY IS EVERYWHERE, CAPITALISM DOES NOT WORK.
and so ends my rant

All Porteños Are Vampires

..........ths city is an insomniac. Constantly going, rarely relenting in its pace whether it be in afternoon heat or the pits of the night. Its inhabitants glide through life, past work and into parilladas and bars for after hours drinks which moreover than not stretch long into the night, and then they rest sparingly, until they rise early and do it all again. This lifestyle could kill me in this month if I had to work, but thankfully I can go to bed while others are going to work and rise when they return, this is when my day begins now. Around four in the afternoon. Which brings me to the conclusion all porteños are vampires...
Bad idea #12098476 , Archery in a bar. I´ve seen it next to pool tables were incidently I whooped the arse off a southsider. (Doesen´t sound right does it?)
.........I hate shopping at home. I despise it here. You wander innocently into a shop and some stylishly dressed sort with complicated hair saunters over and tries to sell you all sorts of crap. When you refuse an atitude kicks in. It is because of this I smell of mothballs and look like a faded photo from the 70s without seeming cool.
........a stoopid Quebecquer turned off my water. Damn him. I went the whole day without showering and it got hot. 28degrees, muggy 80% and I stank. He is gone home now. So all is good........
.........Sahara is the type of club I would normally run a marathon to avoid, but while being a lone traveller you tend to go with the crowd, no matter how bad a place may seem. In fairness to Sahara it did look more welcoming than the previous bar we had been in in San Telmo. It smelled of the finest beef infused urine and it was karaoke night. Sahara was the opposite, clean and full of blonde local women. (They do like to dye it blond here, even though it leaves hideous roots(I know, fruity) for these brunettes). There was a performance of a kind going on and all seemed well. We sat digesting our steaks and wine innocently when a man with a microphone approached and asked were we hailed from. Ireland, Oz, Columbia and Quebec came the reply. The next thing I remember I´m on the dancefloor with eyes staring at us. This is were I blank out.............We left soon after,...........,.,.,.,.it was 5am.........-ñ,-.,,m----------......vampires time to head home.
Adios, ciao y slan.
I´m off to eat more cow and drink some of that fine wine. And sleep a touch.

mmmmmmmm Beef

....after an epic journey through Gaucho country by train, car and expensive bus I arrived in the not too unpleasant town of Salta. And as a benefit country No. 10 Argentina. This place is the most European of the lot and a welcome respite from dodgy buses and rotten roads. And then there is the steak.........
Old Jack ; Es por dos personas
Rich , Don´t mess with me old Jack. I want the whole cow.
This is how my first night in Argentina went, in bullet point form :

• Went to Viejo Jacks to get some famous Argentine Steak
• On reading the menu realised the wine was ridiculously cheap
• Steak was also cheap, and weighed roughly half of me
• Wine was so good, drank roughly 15 bottles between 8
• Left old Jack to the carcass of roughly two cows.
• Went in search of Saltas nightlife.
• Found bar, drank cocktails
• Found taxi, who found nightclub
• Club was empty at 3am
• At 4am club filled up. More cocktails.
• Walking in the darkness I tripped down a step ruining my cool strut and sprained my ankle.
• Escorted to hostel to get strap on leg.
• At 6am the rest return and regale me with a tale of drunken brawling, initiated by the two young lads from Brisbane. No surprise there. (Seriously, anyone familiar with Fortitude Valley in Brisbane on a Saturday night can testify to this.

..........5 am sucks. It just does. Getting up at this time is hard and stupid. But I had an important flight to catch to Buenos Aires. 5 hours later I sat across from my landlady. A beautifully classy mature lady, who has an Irish mother. "Verde Erin." She explained to me in Castellano the different facilities and went on her way. (Castellano, Argentine Spanish is the hardest to understand I have encountered. Slangtastic.)

.......I took a stroll up to old Palermo. The barrios atmosphere dripped from the buildings. People lazing away in cafes and sipping mate. The early spring sunshine resting lazily on skin and parkland. The old buildings cracked from weather, appearing from some historical romance. The striking stride of the locals as they literally strut about their days. This place is relaxation for me. Away from the hustle of the centre. In Recoleta, where you don´t have to do anything, anytime soon........

.......Then I met Ultan. Please Ultan leave a comment on where I went that night. I woke up tasting of beer and hearing ringing in my ears. Lo siento Jani. Mi amigo es stupido.

Today I eat more steak.