Sunday, August 6, 2023

We were picked up by our driver reasonably, but not impossibly early. The airport for internal flights is in the city so pretty close. In the airport, it felt like the golden age of aviation; we were right in the city with lovely views out over the river.

Definitely recommended though after our cosseting in BA we were slightly outraged to find that we had to check in all by ourselves.

Argentina is huge and it was a two hour flight up from BA to Iguazu in the North. After some fumbling around we were met by our guide in the airport which she firmly attributed to our ineptitude in going out through the wrong exit from the small airport. We hopped into the car and, thrillingly, drove straight into Brazil and into the national park. Our guide sorted out our passports and we went to a buffet with a view of the falls (the main Iguazu attraction) for lunch. Our guide was Argentinian and, until confirmed by our Brazilian driver, refused to believe that there are loads of Brazilians in Ireland. Strange but true.

Our guide was slightly obsessed with ensuring we had as many bathroom breaks as we needed and, as she led us to our table she said proudly, “See right beside the toilets!” Lunch was a bit forgettable and extremely pricey compared to Argentina. Great view though.

As we went into the park after lunch we saw a young man in a Kerry GAA shirt proving that Irish people are not inactive in this area. Daniel experienced considerable regret that he was not wearing his Dublin top.

In the park we saw lizards, toucans, vultures and very cool butterflies including one with 88 on their wings (it’s the pattern).

We also had another look at the waterfall. It was extremely hot and humid. Our guide told us that “The Mission” was filmed there. Mr. Waffle told her that he was at college with the offspring of the stuntman in the poster who went over the waterfall backwards and upside down. Flex as the young people would say.

Our hotel was amazing, right in the jungle with beautiful pools. Swimming in the pool before dinner I saw a monkey sitting on a nearby tree. The children were less delighted as, for reasons of economy, we put them all in the same room which they regarded with very low levels of enthusiasm.

We discovered that there is a lot of wildlife in a rain forest. We were slightly ambivalent about the frog sitting on the wall over the dinner table.

We fell into bed that evening having had a busy day of adventure and excitement. I have to say that I hadn’t expected the lap of luxury to be quite so exhausting.

Monday August 7, 2023

Up again at the crack of dawn. Herself had some college work to do and having seen enough of the waterfall the previous day sent us on our way with her blessing. Michael who is very attached to his coat really wanted to bring it but I insisted on his leaving it at home as it had been boiling the previous day and I felt that there was a real danger he might pass out.

There was a huge queue to get in to the park but our special vehicle sailed to the top. V pleasing. There was a train to travel within the park and our guide placed us cunningly so that we got on easily. Apparently, traditionally the Brazilian side of the falls is regarded as giving the superior view but I actually thought that the Argentinian side was better.

It started to rain. Michael was raging.

I remembered that we were in a rain forest (you would think I might have expected “rain” in the rain forest but no). It continued to lash. Even though we all had rain gear, it was back at the hotel so we bought plastic ponchos and basically went around wearing bin bags.

I quite enjoyed it – views were amazing and Mr. Waffle and Dan were reasonably ok but Michael was soaked, frozen and furious. Unlike Michael, I was sustained by a local delicacy, a kind of cheesy scone called chipas that he in his fury refused to touch. At least we were still being offered bathroom breaks at half hourly intervals, I comforted him.

One of the highlights of our day was to be a boat ride under the waterfall. I thought that was an exaggeration. We had to queue to get on the bus to the boat but again were wafted to the front of the queue. I did feel a little bad but I also had a sodden furious Michael and I was keen to get through the final bit of the day and get back to somewhere dry. An open top bus took us down to the boat ride. The tropical rain continued. The mood was, frankly, poor.

The boat ride was, in fact, thrilling. Even Michael enjoyed it. We went under the waterfall and we all got even wetter than we had been already. We had special bags to store our shoes and socks but the rest of us was absolutely sodden. Still very worth it.

Notwithstanding the thrill at the the end of the day, we were all pretty glad to get back to our waiting car and put on dry clothes.

Our guide booked dinner in town for us. I suppose we shouldn’t have been totally surprised to be seated near the toilets. I had steak again. Good, but you know, so much steak.

Tuesday, August 8, 2023

Our guide, having got the measure of us, offered us a late start. This was 8.45 rather than 7.30, but look, any port in a storm.

We were surprised to see our guide in the morning as we were supposed to be meeting our bike hire people. But the guide said, slightly through gritted teeth, I thought, that Corinne (you remember Corinne our travel agent) felt it would be best if she drove us to the bike hire place.

I think Corinne had intended for us to have a mountain bike ride through the jungle (we had sent our heights and weights from Ireland so that our bikes could be set up for us) but one look at me – somehow I always seemed to be the weakest link – and they proposed a much tamer ride. As they kitted us out, the bike hire man reminisced fondly about the Irish group he took cycling across the Andes and how their rucksacks clinked because of the presence of alcohol. I mean it is a stereotype and personally, I hardly drink at all, but yet.

The cycle was a little dull but we saw various local flora and fauna (of the leaf cutter ant rather than the tapir variety). To Mr. Waffle’s great disappointment, we didn’t go across to Paraguay which is apparently an electronics mecca.

That afternoon we were slated to visit the Guarani village. Daniel and herself both bailed but Michael, Mr. Waffle and I went. This was the only part of the whole trip that was really pretty grim. The Guarani are indigenous people and Argentina is mostly made up of white European immigrants with only 20% of the population being indigenous, most of whom are elsewhere in the north (more of which anon). This was a bit like a poverty tourist trap and I felt it was unpleasantly exploitative as we were led around the village where people were obviously, extremely poor. The Guarani guide who was taking us around showed us an armadillo trap and various other traps which are not in use. I asked him had he eaten wild animals and he said that yes he had, for example, eaten tapir. I was curious, “Is it like chicken?” I asked. “It tastes like jungle meat meat,” he said. Seeing my puzzled face, he added “Not like meat from the supermarket which tastes like refrigerators.”

The schools on site had a wider catchment area than the village we were visiting and there were 250 in the primary but only 80 in the secondary. I was curious about the numbers of Guarani speakers on the staff. There are only 4. Happily for the future of the language, it is an official language in Paraguay next door. I honestly wouldn’t be relying on Argentinian support. The strong impression I got from our non Guarani guide was “What would these people be doing going to third level? Sure they don’t need it.” Perhaps that’s unfair but the whole thing was a bit grim.

As we were leaving Corinne rang our non-Guarani guide to say that she had arranged for us to meet the cacique (head of the village). Our guide who was about to drop us back to the hotel was not for turning. For once I was pretty glad of her…determination. But eavesdropping on their conversation, it was like diamond on diamond. I might add that Corinne was in Yerevan for a sporting tournament but was keeping a close eye on our movements.

When we got back to the hotel, as penance, I read the UN Rapporteur’s report on the rights of indigenous peoples in Argentina. Actually, on paper not too bad although while we were there they were looking at limiting the rights in granted in the 1994 constitution so alas for the great regime on paper.

A slightly gloomy end to our trip to Iguazu. Tune in next time when out heroes head to Salta.

Friday August 4, 2023

A discussion with the building concierge the previous night where Mr. Wafflehad understood him to say that the water might be off briefly overnight and I had understood him to say that we should fill every available receptacle with water because the water would be cut off the following morning, proved that my Italian was more useful for understanding these matters than Mr. Waffle’s Spanish. Never have I been so sad to be right.

Mr. Waffle and I went across the road for breakfast and shortly after we finished there was a message from the children that water had been restored. Much rejoicing.

This allowed us to shower before beginning our 17.6 km (the specificity is due to a tracking app that I am attached to) cycling tour of the the city. The weather was beautiful. We began in a little park and saw parrots. Very exciting although our guide was surprised by our enthusiasm.

We went to the Boca Juniors stadium. Big club which I had never heard of before coming to BA but as the kids would say, “That’s on me”. We went to San Telmo which is very touristy but I am a tourist, I like touristy places.

Messi is popular locally.

We went into a nature reserve with lovely views over what definitely looked like the sea but what porteños (what the locals are called, look at me integrating) are extremely adamant is a river.

We were met at the entrance to the park by one of the cycle shop employees with drinks for all of us. This was the Corinne (our travel agent) service we were already beginning to expect. I suspect that Corinne did not know that our cycle tour took us in part along a road that had very strong motorway vibes. We’re all very experienced cyclists but it definitely felt a bit edgy. Largely fine however and a great way to see the city. Honestly, we possibly could have done without the nature reserve. We have lots of nature at home.

We had an opportunity to verify that Calatrava builds the same bridge everywhere. Our guide said that it was supposed to be inspired by the tango. “If this is the case, then why is it identical to the one in the Dublin docklands?” I wondered. She said that she suspected as much all along.

We saw the Casa Rosada where the Argentinian president hangs out. Mr. Waffle offered the fantastic fact that it is made with ox blood, hence the pink colour. It is on the Plaza de Mayo which due to the weird distinct form of Spanish spoken locally is pronounced Plaza de “Masho”, calle is “casho” and so on. For those of us whose Spanish is based on Italian and a couple of duolingo lessons, this does not make things easier.

The Plaza is where the mothers of the disappeared used to march and the headscarf logo on the ground is in memory of that. During the time of the generals, left wing activists or anyone the regime didn’t like were “disappeared”, often dropped by helicopter into the middle of the river. I saw a big sign up announcing 40 years of democracy and that didn’t seem like a very long time to me. It’s not so long since these young people were taken away and killed in huge numbers.

After our busy morning we had an afternoon off. As we were to discover, this was a complete rarity in the Corinne schedule which we probably should have looked at in more detail before agreeing to everything. Herself and myself went back to the fleshpots of Palermo Soho for a more detailed look around. This wasn’t a complete success as I was exhausted from my three hour cycle in the morning. However, I did have a significant triumph. As you may be aware, there are Welsh speaking towns in Patagonia. “Who doesn’t know that?” you cry. In a shoe shop, the assistant was from Patagonia. “Do you know the Welsh speaking towns?” I asked. Herself cast her eyes heavenward. But he did, he knew all about them, he had grown up near one but, sadly, spoke no Welsh.

Our driver having abandoned us at our request, we had to make our own way home. I didn’t feel strong enough to try the metro so we hopped in a taxi which set us back 1,7000 pesos or, at the time, about €3.

Honestly, there was no real need to investigate the metro, the Subte to its friends, which, incidentally, I gather is very good though I am unable to speak from personal experience.

We had asked Corinne to book us a neighbourhood pizzeria for dinner. I regret to report that we did not enjoy Argentinian pizza. The fault lay not in the restaurant which had queues out the door and around the corner but we just did not like Argentinian pizza, – significantly more cheese than appeals to an Irish audience. As we were now becoming accustomed to, we were, yet again, whisked to the top of the queue and installed as honoured guests.

After dinner, a car came to take us to a tango show. A triumph for me as the driver had two Italian parents and I was able to chat away in Italian. Herself had opted out of pizza (a wise move in retrospect) and tango but the rest of us were if not exactly gung ho, certainly curious.

The Tango show was excellent in fairness (the theme was tango through the years) but as scantily clad women danced around our table, it felt a bit like watching films with sex in them with your children ( which is just as bad as watching them with your parents as a teenager, just a different kind of bad).

We emerged, impressed by the artistry and sheer athleticism of the dancers but pleased to see our driver (of course) who zoomed us home to bed across the city.

Saturday August 5, 2023

We went to the Pain Quotidien again. I’m not proud.

After breakfast we were picked up to go on a food tour.  We were rapidly discovering that there was a certain danger in being cosseted beings whose every need was catered to by guides and drivers.  Mr. Waffle expressed the mildest interest in the BA water system following our guide pointing out a pumping system and we very narrowly avoided a tour of the local water infrastructure.

Danger averted we went to our first stop on the food tour,  We got choripán which is basically barbecued sausage in a bun.  We went to a small corner café and sat outside.  Delicious.  It was in a suburban part of town and a lot of the buildings were single storey.  It really reminded me of Brooklyn.  This was not the first time I made this observation and it never failed to irritate the children.

Sadly, the choripán was only the beginning.  Argentinians like a lot of food.  We went to a restaurant which was very nice and everything but we were already kind of full from the choripán. Then we went to an ice cream place. Pretty good, I have to say, but we positively waddled away.

We were trying to get a feel for the Argentinian character and asked our guide what other South America countries might say about Argentina.  “Well,” she said, “they might say that Argentines are snobbish because we are the most European country of South America.”  I found that a bit weird but Mr. Waffle pointed out later that they kind of think of themselves as European.  They’re always saying how far away from everywhere they are but of course they are actually surrounded by other countries although they are a long way from European countries.  They cordially loath the Brasilians who they regard as very blingy but, of course, economically, they are doing far better than the Argentinians and they tend to visit and flash their cash in their white and gold outfits while being very loud (say the Argentinians anyhow).  The Argentinians themselves are turned out like chic French people or Italians in dark well-cut clothes.  The cliché is that an Argentinian is an Italian who thinks he’s Spanish and wishes to be British.  Clichés  are there for a reason, people.

After our enormous lunch, the driver dropped the guys home and Mr. Waffle, herself and I went to explore around San Telmo. 

We found a very cool cafe called La Peurto Roico and, suitably fortified, we went on to the Plaza de Mayo for a more leisurely look around.

When we got ourselves home, the guys seem to have enjoyed a peaceful afternoon.

That evening (because we spit on exhaustion), Mr. Waffle and I went to El Ataneo, a very cool bookshop in a former theatre.  There were very few English language books there – just some school textbooks, printed in Argentina – because of the absolutely prohibitive cost of importing goods.  It was still nice to look around though.

Mr. Waffle was absolutely fascinated by security in the residential buildings we passed.  Sometimes there was an actual security gurad but more often than not there was a live video feed of a very bored person looking out at you – presumably each guard looked after multiple buildings and you were to be intimidated/supervise their work as you went by.  Very odd, I have never seen anything like this before.

People, this is only another two days. If you’re feeling strong, join us soon for our next adventure when our heroes fly North to Iguazu.

Well, hello there, did you think I had dropped off the edge of the earth? Well, yes, Argentina is a long way away, since you mention it.

Monday, 31 July, 2023

I spent the day before our departure stress tidying a bookcase. Some people were not enormously pleased. More fool them as we are home now and we know where all the jigsaws are.

I found myself increasingly worried about our 2 hour window to change flights in JFK. We were only passing through the US but we discovered, rather late in the game, that we would have to go though immigration and rescue our luggage and get it on the connecting flight. We also had to fill in ESTA forms. The US is not ideal for transit but we were flying a long way as cheaply as we could (still very expensive, I might add).

Mr. Waffle found a fantastic app for roaming which herself tested out when she was in Italy. I can truly recommend. It’s called Airalo and no one paid me any money for this recommendation. More’s the pity. Mr. Waffle also sorted out cash, insurance, Argentine plug adaptors and gathered tickets, passports and other documentation. Good job I had the bookcase tidying in hand is all I can say.

Tuesday, 1 August, 2023

We arrived at Dublin airport about lunch time to be given the deeply unwelcome intelligence that our flight from London to New York had been cancelled. We would be flown out via Paris the following day. Could we go home and fly in the morning? Are you joking me? We had to take our scheduled flight to Heathrow and once there would be sorted by BA for overnight accommodation in London and onward flights. The man at the ticket desk gave us this comprehensive paper work.

Essentially we would be spending 24 hours getting to Paris which is kind of in the wrong direction from Ireland, if you are trying to get to Argentina. As my sister conceded when I told her about our woes, “It does seem a roundabout way to get to Argentina.”

When we got to Heathrow we queued for two long hours to arrange our new flights and hotel accommodation. A very pleasant French woman sorted us out eventually, “Oh, you’re going to Argentina,” she exclaimed, “I would love to be you!” I did raise a slightly battle hardened eyebrow at that but I suppose her heart was in the right place.

We stayed in the Renaissance hotel in Heathrow airport. The children had a room each and Daniel was touchingly amazed and delighted that it was free. The rest of us were a bit less impressed and herself sent round a poll asking whether the hotel had previously been a prison; honestly, quite plausible.  We were rigorously separated from paying guests and checked-in and fed in separate rooms – obviously minimising costs as they had some kind of deal with BA but these were – you will scarcely believe this – even less appealing than the hotel restaurants.  I went to inquire about buses.  There were no buses to our terminal and they recommended booking a taxi.  I booked.  I will reveal that in the morning it cost us £50 to get to the airport.  What kind of an airport hotel does not have a shuttle bus to the terminals?  The Renaissance Heathrow Airport.  As I overheard a German lady saying to her husband in reception, “Niemals wieder!”

Wednesday, August 2, 2023

Anyway after a forgettable breakfast buffet at the hotel we were off. I still had a couple of the £8 vouchers we had got from British airways and passed them on to other passengers. Daniel continued to be charmingly astonished by the generosity of British airways, “We got an £8 voucher each? I thought it was one between the five of us!” Herself put our bags through the self check-in like a ninja.

We got to Paris without further incident.  As we transferred in CDG, our substitute cleaner rang.  Our own lovely cleaner was on holidays in Ukraine and this was a friend of hers to whom she had given a wholly inflated and inaccurate impression of my ability to express myself in Ukrainian.  As we scooted around the airport, I was fielding new cleaner’s queries about the front door key in Ukrainian.  I had no idea what was going on.  We resorted to texting each other with the assistance of google translate and the neighbours from both sides got involved and I spoke to each on the telephone.  The Chubb key she had didn’t work, at least one neighbour had one that worked, she got in.  I aged by about five years.

After this we enjoyed an extremely lengthy security queue in CDG and I was filled with fear that we would miss our plane. I am pleased to say that we did not miss our flight and we settled into the five middle seats some distance apart from each other which were to be our homes for the next 15 hours.  I have never flown longer than 5 hours before. I would not recommend.

I was sitting beside an Argentinian woman who sympathised with me on my novice long haul flying status.  “Do you know what we say about where Argentina is?” she asked.  “El culo del mondo” she said patting her bottom.  I can confirm that it is a long way from Ireland.  I asked whether my knowledge of Italian would be at all helpful in getting around.  “No,” she said looking at me, reasonably enough, as though I had two heads.  “I heard that there were a lot of Italian immigrants and perhaps…” I said feebly.  Apparently not.

By the time we got to arrivals in the airport in Buenos Aires it was about 11.30 local time and we were met by our local guide. Honestly, I would pay all of the considerable money we paid our travel agent just to be met at an international airport in the middle of the night. Silvia, our guide, was a Convent of Mercy girl like myself and this helped us to bond. She commented rather acerbically on all the Argentinian families emerging from the plane. “I see that although we’re all supposed to be suffering economically, some people went to Europe for the winter break with their families.” Our driver whisked us off to the Airbnb and Silvia pressed a charcuterie board and a bottle of wine into my hand after we arrived and she had ensured that we were safely ensconced. “Your arrival gift,” said she. I was living my best life, I am not sure I
can ever go back to non-luxury travel.

A word on our travel arrangements: when we decided to go to Argentina, Mr. Waffle mentioned it to an Argentinian woman who had done a post grad with him in Belgium asking for tips.  She put him in touch with Corinne, a friend of hers from school who is a travel agent, and this friend organised our trip.  I can never go back; that was an amazing, amazing service.  More details will follow but she booked all our internal flights and accommodation except for the airbnbs and this was only the beginning.  Stay tuned for further luxury travel details.

Thursday, August 3, 2023

Leaving the children to sleep off the jet lag which was fine really it’s only a four hour time difference, Mr. Waffle and I scurried around the corner to the Pain Quotidien, my safe space everywhere. We were staying in what the airbnb owner called “Chic Recoleta” and Recoleta was pretty chic and also spotless. However, the airbnb did boast this sign in the lift which seems to follow me around from place to place.

As well as breakfast our initial foray into the outside involved a trip to the supermarket. It turns out that Italian is not a lot of use in supermarkets in Buenos Aires. Silvia had said that the supermarkets had very little stock. I didn’t find that but any imported products were breathtakingly dear.

As I was to discover, Argentinians love telling you that BA (as we will now be calling it as I am as good as a local) is a very European city. There was a big boom in the period between about 1880 and 1940 and in the early 20th century a lot of European architects were commissioned to design buildings in BA. So as you walk around, you kind of could be in Paris or Rome or anywhere in Europe except you turn the corner and you’re definitely not. It’s a bit uncanny valley.

After breakfast we went out on tour in our big car. It was a bit weird but not unsatisfying. The big draw in our neighbourhood is the cemetery. I love a cemetery. We were driven there; all of 300 metres from our accommodation. Both driver and guide seemed shocked that we felt we could possibly have walked there through the extremely safe streets of Recoleta.

At the cemetery entrance we were wafted to the top of the queue. No such vulgar issues as buying tickets delayed our entry; this was all sorted beforehand and Silvia guided us around. This is one of the world’s great cemeteries.

Admiral Brown, formerly of Foxford, Co. Mayo and founder of the Argentine Navy is buried here.

The misfortunate young woman buried here was allegedly killed by the shock of discovering that her fiancé and her mother were having an affair. She was then buried but not in fact dead and scrabbled unsuccessfully to get out. Unlikely in my view but a beautiful tomb.

In fact there were loads of really beautiful tombs.

Evita’s tomb was surprisingly very much at the modest end of things. There is a long story about what happened her corpse after she died but most people seem to accept that eventually she landed here.

I very much enjoyed this story about an Argentine great man who wanted his tomb to be a monument to him alone.

His wife died after him and the family, despite his clearly expressed wishes installed her in the same tomb. Her rather grumpy looking bust is around the back.

There was a famous boxer’s grave.

There was something I have never seen before and found quite touching, a shared grave for a Catholic/Jewish couple.

From there we went to inspect a large mechanical tulip in the park which rotates and opens with the sun. I mean, grand, nice even but it was no Recoleta cemetery.

Then off for a quick trot across Parque 3 de Febrero, the “Central Park” of BA. It’s enormous and laid out like all these 19th century parks with water features and walks and so on. Honestly, it probably wasn’t at its best in the middle of winter. I was struck though by how clean it was and for all of the ongoing economic crisis there were loads of municipal employees cleaning and raking and tidying.

The car drove around the park and picked us up on the far side. Unheard of luxury but a bit weird. Our driver, A, was a young Venezuelan; very pleasant and hardworking. He had got himself Argentine residency and voting rights (the ease with which these can be acquired was the subject of some ire among the Argentines). I guess the Venezuelans haven’t had a great time with left wing governments but he told us that he would be voting for Milei in the upcoming presidential primaries. Very popular with the the young men, apparently but definitely someone who would have me clutching my pearls. The former Argentine finance minister, Martin Lousteau, was running for mayor of BA. His posters were everywhere and Michael and I were quite excited as we had been to see him at a small venue in the Kilkenny economics festival (otherwise disastrous) and thought he was pretty good. Our driver and guide were unconvinced.

They took us on a driving tour of the Embassy quarter. A bit dull to be honest but the Indonesians appeared to be prepping for some upcoming excitement and my husband and children enjoyed themselves identifying the various flags.

Then we went to trendy, happening Palermo Soho. This was much more exciting. Because inflation is so problematic (when we arrived in BA the peso was 500 to the dollar, when we left it was 780), the young people are not incentivised to save and they spend all their money in the trendy restaurants and cafes of Palermo Soho and the like. We stopped for churros. Very satisfactory.

That evening we walked to dinner. It was quite exciting to get out with our own map and without a driver. We went to a recommended steak restaurant which was, weirdly, under a motorway. A place called Piegari. We liked the steak but, it was the first of many. Argentinians apparently eat more beef per person than any other nation on earth and I can well believe it.

People, it’s not even the end of the first week and we were in Argentina for three weeks. Much, much more content to come.