Mendoza

The day we arrived in Mendoza, the sun was shining and a take-off-the-cardie temperature allowed us to explore the wide tree-lined streets of the city. It was about 1.00pm and much to our surprise, the place was deserted....(PUN on the desert environment completely intended). There were no dog walker, tree root, gaping hole in the pavement, people gauntlets to run (like in BA) just smooth, undercrowded (?) streets (the type that make you want to gander about like you're in a musical).
So why were the streets so empty at this time? Well, the Mendozans do not f*** about with their siesta. That's right, it is serious business here...or... no business ...most shops are closed between the hours of 1.00 and 4.00pm in the afternoon and open late into the evening. A major Mendoza bonus point for me - being an advocate for the afternoon nap, this timetable suits me to a cup of tea.

The spacious layout of the city is down to a devastating earthquake in 1861 which killed over a third of the population - when the city was rebuilt they decided to construct low buildings, these wide streets and plazas to try and make the place more resistant.

Maybe this is why Mendoza feels like a world away from Buenos Aires. A big difference lies in that infrastructure. I never thought I'd get so excited about pavements and concrete until I started living in Buenos Aires. BA is one of those cities where walking over a drainage cover or stepping under scaffolding gives you an adrenaline rush- you just can't be sure how seriously maintenance is taken - 'well it hasn't fallen down yet... so I guess it's Ok.....'
Urban vegetation in BA can also look a bit wasted- trees on the street have no space and roots are constantly rebelling with surface breakthroughs. Mendozan trees appear much happier with their little soil patches and room to breathe (or exactly the opposite). Another thing which benefits the trees are the deep drains (acequias) lining the streets - used as a sort of irrigation system in the arid climate... these drains however are very deep and short people have been known to disappear and never be seen again.....my parents and I had our wits about us.


Having seen the city, the next day we decided to do the 'wine route' by hiring bikes in the local wine making region of Maipu. To get there, Lonely Planet advised taking the 178 bus from 'somewhere' along a long road and getting off at a 'triangular roundabout'. Thinking I could do better (I don't trust guidebooks) and convincing my Dad that there was no way this advice was reliable, I got us on a bus that was going to Maipu..... via an hours extra worth of back roads...oops...and which turned out to go nowhere near the wine route...double opps? (note - Lonely Planet was actually right - 178 is the bus to take... the roundabout is obvious, although it's not really a roundabout - I guess because then it would be a triangabout?)

As we were trying to work out exactly where we were and I was giving it the old 'well, at least we got to see more of the countryside' routine, our lost and forlorn expressions seemed to attract the attention of a kind, local man who approached us, listened to our woes, and ordered a taxi to where we were supposed to go. Kindness like this happened so often on our trip and it's something that always makes me feel guilty... partly because a stranger is going out of their way to help, but also because I know that if they came to London, they would not receive the same treatment. Lost foreigners in London usually get the 'head down, do not look directly into their eyes, keep walking or pretend you're on the phone' treatment... much like the charity sign-up sharks or big issue sellers.

So we eventually hired our bikes from Mr. Hugo, a legend on the bike hire scene, and set off. The wine route wasn't exactly the image I had in my head of quaint, picturesque tracks rolling across the countryside, in fact the first part of the route was a very busy main road with a lot of over-powering lorries.
I have some cyclist friends who give it the 'it's you're right of way as well, don't feel bad about the cars slowing down' attitude, but I just can't muster up any cycling arrogance when a juggernaut of a vehicle is inches away from me, going the pace of a badger whilst I desperately pedal, pedal, pedal with my pokey wheels just so that it doesn't have to literally stop.


Thankfully however, the road got less suicidal further along the route with very little traffic. We had two tours around small boutique vineyards which were interesting and included a tasting at the end. There was a certain demographic on most of the tours that was pretty easy to read - eyes on the prize - do the tour and get the free tasting at the end. Watching people down three glasses of wine, hop on a bike and speed on to the next vineyard, worried me ever so slightly - 'do you want to end up like that grape?'

After a couple more wine tours on the route, we cycled back to the bike hire, headed to the city centre and spent the next couple of days simply relaxing, recovering from the exercise and eating at some great restaurants. As my Dad pointed out - 'holidays are basically just wasting time in between eating really good food'.

The bumbag always has the last laugh

So, we headed over to the subte, the quickest way to get to the centre. I knew there was something up when it took far longer than it should to get my parents and a couple of other people into a relatively empty carriage. Two burly Argentines were cunningly positioning themselves next to us so they had easy access to our bags.
My Stepmum and I had handbags but my Dad was going full-out tourist, sporting the 'bumbag.'
I'll just let you know where I stand on the bumbag. I was raised to be a firm believer in it - at one point during my lifetime it was more or less in fashion. Mr motivator, a hero amongst men, wore one and for this reason I do not like to judge it too much.

Nuff said

However from a travelling point of view, it doesn't exactly hide the fact that you have valuables on you. I understand that all your belongings are in eye view and above that 'sensitive' zone, but... you are a moving target.

'Yes, I have something worthy of stealing, and that is why I have compromised recent fashion trends to wear this bumbag. You can try and steal from me if you wish, but I will see you, you little pikey.'

As the train started, I felt the zip on my handbag opening. I looked down and saw that it was open but thankfully nothing had gone. My head jolted to the man next to me - 'He just tried to steal from me', I gasped with Meerkat alarm velocity.

Unfortunately, what I seem to lack (among many things) is that instinctive fear which tells you a person like that may also be dangerous. Thieving for breakfast, stabbing for lunch, who knows really how far they dabble up the ladder of crime.
But if someone takes something from me, I get very angry and forget about these dangers. I think, for me, the anger stems from the fact that I have irrational, sentimental attachments to just about every inanimate thing I own.
It doesn't matter if I can no longer hear people on the other end of the phone or that my Mp3 player is ten years out of date - I feel guilty getting rid of these things.

Anyway, that day I learnt that my stepmum really has no fear. As soon as the warning came, she looked down to find her bag open and her camera gone. 'My camera's gone, who has it?!'
Not waiting for the inevitable confirmation and apology, she lunged straight for the big man in front of her and began, what I can only describe as 'frisking' him, to try and find the camera. Years of airline service had prepared her for this moment. Before her victim had any time to really register that a short, angry, English lady had begun a full blown patting attack, the man next to him freaked out (perhaps assuming he was next on her body searching rampage) dropped the camera on the floor, and ran off.

Meanwhile, my Dad and his smug bumbag were in the corner wondering what all the female babble was about.

Finally we made it to the ticket office. As we were queuing up, I overheard an authoritative voice announcing to a small group - 'And we are also going to see the White House, where the official offices of the President are.'

The Pink House. No seriously.

Have a peek at the photo to your right... note the subtle shade on the outside of the building. Also note the name - Casa Rosada. You don't have to speak Spanish to realise that this is in no way a direct translation of White House. I'll leave it there.

The bus tour was well worth the money. My parents and their highly tuned property development vision, noticed some stunning shutters ('Do you think they are wood or PVC'?) and good uses of pot plants. You can take the parents out of the property, but you can't take the property developers out of the parents...or something like that.

We hopped off the bus at La Boca -  a very important place in Buenos Aires history, which over the years has developed into an unashamed tourist hotspot. But there is nothing wrong with that - it's bright, it's bustling and you can watch a small show, absorb the ambience and boogy to the incongruous Samba band. Tourist places are touristy for good reason. Sometimes by trying to resist the mainstream and go off the beaten track, you just end up missing out and have no common stories about getting your picture taken with the legend dressed as a hobo/ superhero ant.

You thought I was kidding, didn't you.

The Beatles, the Falklands and that notorious handball

Greeting my parents at the airport with my 63 year old language student may have been a bit of a shock - 'Amy, we knew the men were difficult but...'
Quickly clarifying that he was not my new boyfriend but a student who had kindly offered to drive them from the airport to their hotel, we set off to the city centre.
As we drove up one of the city's main roads, one of the first things my parents noticed was - not the eclectic European architecture or the worlds widest avenue, but the flowering trees....something I had completely over looked in my new pseudo - cosmopolitan life style (I have no time to see trees).

Green eyes

Unlike their visit to Costa Rica however, they decided not to take cuttings for the garden back home. How my stepmother managed to get 32 exotic plant cuttings through two sets of airport customs and back home to our garden alive, shall forever remain a mystery to me.

Looking and sounding like typical Brits, it took only three hours for 'La mano de Dios' to come up in conversation - I warned them both that the Falklands (sorry...Las Malvinas), the Beatles and various football interrogations would be sure to come up eventually.
Now, my Dad's football knowledge is nearly as bad as mine - but he does manage to trump me - whenever he gets asked who he supports he declares triumphantly, Chelsea. I asked him what exactly this fan claim is based on (never having heard him ever mention football)... he replied - 'well I did see them play years ago against Shrewsbury town (where my Dad was brought up), it was 1964 I think, I was wearing a bobble hat and I had one of those rattles...damn fine bobble hat that was, your Grandma knit it...' (Chelsea till I die)

And do we fare better with Beatles talk? Well certainly not in my case...
'You are from England?'
'Yes'
'Do you like the Beatles?
'Yes'
(They begin to sing the words, I sing a couple of words (normally 'Hey Jude') and then fill with dah dahing)
'What? You don't know ALL the lyrics to EVERY one of their songs?'
'No'
'But you're from Engerlaaand!'

A fine example of British living

Yes I am, but neither do I know all the names of the Rolling Stones or have tea at 5.00pm everyday (tea is far too good to restrict to a single hour)...and do I recommend going on a once in a life time trip to England solely to visit Liverpool? How about I shatter your dreams with an episode of Brookside.

It's sometimes hard to explain that England has not remained in a time warp for 50 years and that the place is (culturally) quite different to the 1960's. I found this interview with Gael Garcia Bernal (not Gail, Ga- el, so yes he can still be sexy) which sums it up in some respects...

(Describing his move to London) 'At first, he was shocked by this country's apathy towards politics and culture. As an outsider, he expected the Rolling Stones, the Marquee Club and a thriving art-house cinema scene. What he discovered were the Spice Girls, 'Lock, Stock...' and fellow students who would rather down pints than watch films. '

(I once enraged an Argentine by referring to Pink Floyd as 'he'...Ok ok I know it's 'they', I just always thought it was the name of a band member as well)

Anyway - I'm sorry I digress (see... I do lyrics). The first day we decided to take the open-top yellow bus tour around the city. I knew there was a stop roughly around the zoo area so we headed over there, located it and waited for the bus. Two buses came by both saying that they had no tickets on board and we should have gone to the main office in the centre to buy them. My parents did not look amused. I realised my spontaneous 'lets just see what happens' attitude to travelling wasn't going to fly with these two.

It's a Batho Adventure

It's been a while since my last blog but I am officially starting back up. And what better way to get the ball rolling than a blogfest on my parents visit to Argentina. Yep, the Batho parent team are dropping the strimmer and garden shears and heading over here for two weeks of highly researched and organized adventure. Planned with typical Dad militiary precision, the only things that can really balls this operation up are me and my weak translating skills and, oh yes, the fact that this is South America and 'what your itinerary says' means nothing if the figurative S.A computer says no.

BA on a Budget

So I am now earning and living off the peso and it is getting to me a bit. The other day I refused to pay for a mandarin because it cost 9 pence. And I'm still getting over paying 3 pounds for a salad at my local café. 

But even though I am now living on a budget, it's actually good fun – living in a new city on a budget is a great experience. 
First of all, you have to do a lot more research when you want to travel anywhere, so you learn a lot more about the city, the subte, the buses and the street names. When I first arrived and was living a little more comfortably, studying a map usually followed this thought pattern....

'Ok so I take a left out the door and walk three blocks, then I turn right and look for the stop at the....sod it, I'll take a taxi.' 

And there were many ways of justifying it - 'you know, its probably really far and complicated and anything could happen to me really and I'll probably get lost - far better to take a taxi. Its not because I'm lazy, it's because I am sensible.'

But when the purse strings start to tighten - there is no choice, the only way to survive is forward planning and public transport or walking.... and a whole new world is opened up to you. Money tucked in bra, phone in pocket to prevent grab and run opportunists, and away you go... and you realise that the journey only takes you 20 minutes, you only have to make two turns (thankyou BA's simple grid layout) and you don’t feel unsafe even for a second. 

Some nights I walk back from work, which only takes half an hour, but when I tell people this they look shocked – 'What about all those dangerous muggers with knives? and the rapists on every street corner?' Ok I am exaggerating but sometimes I think people believe they are living in seventeenth century London.

'Well', I tell them, 'I have perfected my get home safely technique you see'. And it goes like this:

1. Phone in pocket, Ipod headphones in... select hard core, pumping music (The Prodigy is a good choice here)

2. Start fast-paced stride and adopt an 'I could seriously f*** you up facial expression / death stare  (You have to really embrace this one, even if you are wearing a floral dress and a cardigan)

3. Once confident march is in full swing, wind things down to a Michael Buble track and remain at cruise control for the rest of the walk whilst at all times maintaining a 'don't mess with me' façade.

Note: Turn music volume low enough so that you are still aware of your surroundings and would hear someone (like a street beggar with no teeth, in a cloak, with a dagger) coming up behind you.

Another advantage of being a cheapskate is that you see more of the city through cheap or even free events that you have to go to because you can't always afford to go to fancy bars. These can include house parties. However, beware, parties of friends of friends of friends can be risky. In my experience, if someone tells you that they went to a party, it was 'quite good' and they 'met some nice people', it generally means it was too random, awkward due to the distinct lack of social group mixing, and they had to down the Fernet at an uncomfortably speedy pace before they felt like they were having a good time. Been there.  

With a bit of research you can also stumble across some great places, off the gringo track, to go out to - arts cinemas that charge you half the price of a regular cinema and show some really decent films, small cultural festivals, free dance classes and quirky concerts. BA has interesting events going down most weekends and experiencing them can make you feel far more 'at one' with the feel of the city and the social scene (look at me, trying to sound cool).

Living on a budget, you also get to know the local shopkeepers better, and unfortunately for them they get to know you (the cheapskate) too, as you can't afford to go to the pricey supermarkets (and you don't agree with them and their ridiculous queues anyway). I am a regular at my local fruit and veg shop where most people go to buy their healthy veg in bulk. They seem perplexed when, during busy hours, I pop in for one banana. 
'You want one banana? Yes? Not a bunch? anything else?
'No - don't want to push it you see, we'll see how things go tomorrow.'

As well as being cheaper with fresher food, it is needless to say that the local shops are more personable and the owners care far more about their produce. You can really taste the difference when food has been sold to you with love - 'hmm this apple came from a good home...'

However, it's also good to let the smaller shops know where you stand on the 'we have no change so would you like a sweetie instead' game. Yes that's right - no one seems to own coins in Buenos Aires, so sometimes when shops don't have any, they offer you little candy sweeties that they keep at the till.

I am not five years old. No, I would not like a sweetie instead of money (note to shopkeepers - chocolate may actually work here).  

'But we have no change. Have you got anything smaller than this outrageous amount of two pesos (30 pence) you have given us for an orange? No? Ok, well we have no coins so it will have to be sweeties....'

'Ok I won't buy the orange then.' 
(Yeah, think you and your sweeties can screw with me?- they know not to pull that one now)

Whilst I am on the money topic, I also find the 100 peso note cracking challenge, a highlight to any week. I recently took a taxi ride with my first female taxi driver...now I am a feminist but on the driving front... hmmm, no comments...cough...but stereotypes, well... hmmm... maybe accurate…

At the end of the ride I handed over 100 pesos (about 17 quid) for my 30 peso fare, which was met with a sharp - 'Don't you have anything smaller?.....No?'

And a huge, stroppy, rant followed suit - 'You could have warned me! Just a little bit of warning would have been nice! Why didn't you tell me you were going to do this?' 
All the while my confused, whimpering inner monologue was saying - 'Why are you angry at me for giving you money? This is not right - I have not just killed a kitten, stop shouting at me please...'

I also enjoy the fact that here you tell the bus driver how much you are going to pay. I really have no idea how much a journey is supposed to cost - apparently increasing distance brackets are charged at different prices - the further you are going the more you should pay. The difference is minimal, but still, I have been using the same price ever since I got here no matter how far I am going - and to be honest I rarely know how far I am going.When I first got on a bus I just copied the man in front of me when he gave his price and that has been my set price ever since.

Of course things aren't that bad, don't get out the violins just yet - the point of this blog is to recommend living on a budget you are not usually accustomed to, and seeing that being frugal, especially in a city like BA, ain't that bad.

Heart disease? I get no beef from that.

Today on local television I saw my first health warning about the risks of a diet high in saturated fat. I haven't come across many health warnings or advertisements like this in South America. They are part of everyday life back in the UK with many food companies cashing in on a health conscious society with their promises of 'lower cholesterol levels' if you buy their margerine or a 'healthy heart' if you eat their whole grain bread.

I just can't see a health warning filtering into everyday eating out here, especially a social get together. The typical Argentine dish is the Asado - a meat lovers dream with beef steak, pork sausages and other animal parts, salted up and slapped on the grill for a couple of hours (with a little salad garnish for show).
The following situation would just not happen at an asado...

Hello bypass

'So, more meat?'
'Umm you know what? I think I'll pass...  there is a dangerous amount of saturated fat in that piece of cow and I am thinking about my cholesterol level.

(cue crickets)

You would never be invited back again, you would be sent into social exile along with those pesky vegetarians, who probably wouldn't even talk to you, and you would be called a right pain in the arsado.
Obviously, in the UK no one wants to be that health conscious nuisance who refuses food at a dinner party because they are dieting, but healthy eating is still prevalent in social situations.
The diet out here seems to go hand in hand with high cholesterol and high blood pressure - as my boss pointed out during last weekends asado - 'you can never have too much salt' (excellent news - I'll pass that on to my arteries).

So with a diet high in saturated fat and salt, surely cardiovascular problems are sky high? According to research, heart disease is indeed high in Argentina with cardiovascular diseases causing 30% of total deaths a year, but compared with the UK, where a third of all deaths are due to cardiovascular diseases, the rate is not that high.

You tell em Daise

With the average Argentine consuming a person of beef per year (about 70 kilos) why aren't the related problems through the roof? According to Beef magazine (not kidding - it exists, and is actually quite a good read....if you are into, well, beef) 60% of Argentine cattle are still grass fed - which is proven to produce beef lower in saturated fats and high in omega 3 (not the name of a spacecraft but a very handy fatty acid). These grass fed cattle produce better and healthier beef then cattle raised in feedlots - the other farming method. The feedlot option however is becoming increasingly popular with many farmers now choosing it because of the increased efficiency and convenience. It also frees up a lot of grazing land which can be used for the profitable growing of grains such as soybeans.
It is estimated that within the next 5 years 60% of Argentine beef will be farmed using feedlots - not good news for the arteries.


Another interesting fact I came across however, is that the traditional herbal tea - a massive part of Argentine culture - Mate (pronounced mah tay - not like your buddy) has been shown to lower cholesterol (so actually kind of your buddy). Yes, Mate magazine (not really) states that a study conducted in Argentina showed that drinking mate can have a significant increase in the activity of an enzyme that promotes HDL (good) cholesterol whilst lowering LDL (naughty) cholesterol.


The Argentines also seem to be a fairly active nation which helps in preventing CVDs. In BA gym culture is big time with a gym just around any corner. My local gym 'HOT gym' - oh yes, I am all about quality - is particularly busy. However I'm pretty sure one of the trainers has been taking fitness advice from a fat person - walking is just as effective as running? Am I missing a trick here - why on earth do people run then?

Obviously my research has solely consisted of a few hours on the internet and a cup of tea, but could we perhaps say that the Argentines compensate for their fatty diet with more exercise, good quality food and a helping hand from the local drink?
Also, another factor to consider is that they aren't quite yet at the same level of fast food indulgence as the 'great English speaking nations'. They are however on that McDonalds appreciation trajectory and it is becoming more popular all the time.

So, although the situation is not noticably worse than other countries, Argentina stills needs to keep those warnings coming. Another study says that mortality due to heart disease and strokes is estimated to increase by approximately 145 percent among men and women in South American countries in the next 10 years, compared with a 28 percent increase for women and a 50 percent increase for men over the same period in developed countries.

Preventative medicine is generally not a priority for developing countries but it seems to be increasing in Argentina and lets hope it keeps on going based on these statistics.

The future for Argentine cattle

Polite Porteños

Before coming to BA I was told by many other Argentinians that 'Portenos' (Spanish word referring to people from Buenos Aires - people from a 'port city') are 'stuck up'. However my experience here has shown me quite the opposite and I have encountered extremely welcoming and friendly people. 
People also show a lot of manners - for example, young teenagers on public transport offer their seat to women and the elderly far more often than I have seen in the UK. Sometimes men on the underground even offer me their seat , and I am a physically fit (that's a lie) 23 year old. I often decline however - being at crotch level in a rammed carriage during rush hour, makes for an uncomfortable journey.

In supermarkets, certain tills also give priority to pregnant women and old people. I found this out a slightly awkward way. Whilst standing in the queue, I was tapped on the shoulder by a man out of the queue who looked at me and pointing to a woman next to him, said 'she's pregnant'.
'Um...Ok' I said, confused (should I say congratulations?)
I just looked at him, smiling, so he continued... 'Are you pregnant?' 
'Um...no' (Oh great, a classic Bridget Jones moment, he thinks I look pregnant - why would he say that?)
He then pointed to a sign above the till which stated that pregnant women had priority.
'Oh, yes of course, go in front of me'.


A couple of days ago my friend Luke and I noted our frustrations on public transport. Like a lot of people we always try our best to be the first into the underground carriage or the bus, in order to get those much wanted seats. If we do get seats, the childish joy only lasts a couple of seconds. 
As all the seats start to get taken, we realise having seats is just not worth the effort. From that point on, the whole journey is spent eyeing up the door everytime a new passenger gets on, judging the demographic of the person and weighing up where they lie in the pecking order for seat priority.... 

'Young male - phew, seats mine.....'
'Young non-pregnant female - no worries, I can keep my seat for now.....'
'Old couple - damn it, both up.'

There is also that awkward line with older women - if I do offer her my seat will she be insulted and think that I think she's too old to handle the arduous task of standing up? 
As a woman, offering my seat to a man no matter what his age, often feels like I'm emasculating him. Most of the time I do offer an older man, I am declined with a 'don't be silly' Harold Bishop double-chin shake of the head, and I sit down a little embarrassed. 

Greeting people is also a lot easier out here. In the UK, there are just too many damn options.....handshake - too formal? hug - too informal? kiss - too pretentious? There is so much to think about that a lot of the time I just end up doing a hand up, salute, wave thing and looking a bit awkward. Out here it's easy - whoever you meet - old, young, male, female, it's always a kiss on the cheek - no awkwardness, straight in there, done. It is rarely even a proper kiss, just a cheek press and air kiss (far more hygienic than a germy handshake).
I have however come across a few frisky folk who adopt the 'two' method- this can confuse things a bit, especially when your caught off guard, do not move your head to the other side and nearly end up lip. on. lip.

In conclusion, not too shabby on the manners front Argentina, some of us Brits could definitely take a lesson.

Don't even bother