Argent-meaner

Now I´m uncorked I suppose I could write about my BA experience. Soon after arriving, a firm friendly Brazillian girl made me her pet. Her "come, come here" itinerary silently changed mine, and included all her errands, but no one spends two months mutely watching Gran Turismo if they aren´t a pushover. So off we went.

Buenos Aires really is beautiful. I wish I had taken photos but I was too scared to take my camera out my bag, so I couldn´t.

Our day was going well until we stopped to rest on the steps of the University. A leathery professor came over to talk to us. She spoke to Ana Paula and quickly ascertained that I could not speak Spanish. She derided this, calling me lazy, but then told me gushingly what English singer she liked. 
"Lazy!" I´ll give you lazy, Signora. You´re hardly branching out liking Adele*! At least I´m not too lazy to switch over from Radio One.
The conversation got worse as she repeatedly warned me how dangerous Argentina was, and how "evil and terrible" people are. And then when she could see my lip really wobbling, she hammered in that "two French girls just got killed by their tour guide here", and "don´t bother asking the police for help as they´re really corrupt and evil too."

I wiped away a few tears with my map, and we went on our way. I only cheered up a bit later when I saw a tramp asleep with crotchless pants.

I am blaming this woman for my new habit of tipping taxi drivers when they don´t murder me.



*Obviously I do like Adele, I´m only human.

Kiss it better

In the 3 days I´ve been in Argentina I have fretted more about writer´s block than about finding the way back to my hostel. I couldn´t think what to tell you about it!

That is until a middle aged couple infront of me on the bus started kissing. I think you all know that annoyance, discomfort, and spite are the binding agents in this blog´s batter. I can suddenly think of lots to say.

Whilst I busy myself ignoring their inappropriate display, I´ll tell you about my journey. I´m on a 20 hour trip from Buenos Aires to Puerto Madryn, which is a small seaside town. I liked BA, it was very Parisian, but who else could possibly bear more than two nights in a dorm with a professional traveller couple? And they were Australian.And they kept watching 21 Jump Street on their tablet on the top bunk.

So, I bought a bus ticket for $667 pesos, and then a whole new one, as the first company went on strike. In the lonely hour it took me to work out why the bus booth was dusty and abandoned I was genuinely close to giving up and coming home. Travelling sin company is not that fun. But finally, I deduced that "wait" meant "for ten hours, or buy a new ticket with another company" so I coughed up and off I went.

From my reclining arm chair seat I have so far watched five hours of green fields rattle past with occasional spots of horses, cows, and a lone pig just now. I´m glad I´m on the bus not in the fields, however much the remind me of the midlands.

Ooh we´re going through such a large stretch of water logged fields now that it looks like Norfolk. Oh how I wish Wory and Gibbo were here to complete my experience.

Sticky fingers

I arranged to meet Dashy and Sashy at their hostel when they were checking out at 11am. Once I got there I stumbled a bit at the desk, "What are your friends called?" "Erm, I'm not sure what they're under. Try Sashwood?" No ok, what about, Dashywoodhead?" "And who wants to see them? "Franny Donner and Blitzen?" "Sure, go right up" She probably thought we were celebrities.

We just carried on getting more glamorous once we were reunited. After making sure we'd taken it in turn to use the room for a poo (no bathroom door, just curtain you see), we toddled off down to James Blunt's favourite restaurant, 'Atomic Kitten Chicken'. He actually endorses it. Where we had a large plate each of sticky wings, waffle fries, and drips. And a side order of a full meal of quesedillas. MMmm I can still smell it on my fingers as I write. 

Blighty bleurgh

I was scanning through the photos on my phone just now and I stopped short at one. An da! Cuande hell esta? Did I take a photo of my vomit one day in Spain after one of my daily 'I've gone for two hours without food, I'm so ill' spaits?

Oh no. I've remembered that this is when Roast and I made Potatas Bravas to have with Spanish omelette and chorizo and red wine. Mmm. Delish. We prepared it so authentically that we made Sashy miss breakfast and lunch and then wait till 8pm to eat it. Just so she could get the true Spanish flavour!

Be lentil with me

To mark my entrance back to England I thought I'd make a proper Spanish dinner for friends.

We scanned through my recipe book

'What vegetables go in this? I don't know. Ana has to pulverise it so the children can't tell there are any.

'Which chorizo goes in this? Er the best.

'How long do you cook this for? Well, Ana always cooks. Actually can you just do it for me? I've forgotten how to turn on an oven.

I'm going to sit down now and mime not talking for hours whilst the children play Gran Turismo.

Well, somehow we managed to make an excellent approximation of chorizo lentil stew, followed by quesilla (sort of creme caramel cheese cake). We also finished off lots of hard cheese, grapes, and tomato salada.

(Ho)Say what?

Before, I was so English that I once refused a date with a dashing Spanish man just because I couldn't pronounce his name. HoSAY? That's not a real name. I couldn't possibly. 

Now that I'm home I'm realising I'm going to have to start diluting back to English. Like preparing against jet lag by going to bed a bit later, I am going to start adapting back my culinary habits. 

In my last week I purposely resisted sugar on my toast, sugar in my coffee, even sugar in my snack time yoghurt. I thought, I have to get back to bitter old England soon. Can't be taking a sweet tooth with me. 

Once back on the Gatwick Express I re-acclimatised with a Cornish pasty and a Mars bar. That helped but I still think it's going to be a shock when I  taste my first irony sips of tea. 

Bleurgh