Argentinean Volcanic Thievery

 

Well, what’s a trip without stories?

I’m writing this from Buenos Aires, but I shouldn’t be.  I’m supposed to be on a plane to Johannesburg and en route to Cape Town as we speak.  But the volcanic ash cloud from the recent Chilean earthquake has thrown a spanner into that plan, and I’m stranded on this continent for a few more days.

There’s worse places to be stranded, to be fair; Buenos Aires is truly amazing.  However, that’s not the end of Karma’s cruel jokes in this city.  Our favourite succubus has also enjoyed orchestrating the pick-pocketing of my wallet and all its contents, and also another subsequent mugging (this one successfully resisted).

So, I’m currently poor, homeless and in the wrong continent.

But it could be worse: all limbs are attached, and the chess schedule for South Africa should be unharmed, thanks to a few days’ grace in my planning to tourist around Africa.  And this place really is amazing.  Dangerous, granted, but amazing – the common trade-off between culture and crime, safety and soul, that all the world’s greatest cities seem to face.  Sure, I may have been a victim of some unfortunate events, but I’ve also been the receiver of some very fortunate experiences.

I’ve hit the floor with the locals at an Argentinean tango parlour (poorly, but not as poorly as expected), drank Malbec and talked of Miguel Najdorf and Bobby Fischer til the early hours with bartenders and old-timers, and sung along in the central Plaza de Mayo on Argentinean Independence Day to their musical legend, a sort of Latino John Farnham.  I’ve eaten more steak and empanadas than I can count, learned more about soccer plays than I thought possible, and bought my first ever leather jacket at a ridiculously discounted price.  And I can hold a vaguely understandable conversation in Spanish with just about anyone (though not a particularly interesting one).

I’ve been lucky enough to travel to thirty countries in my life, but Argentina has really grabbed me, and particularly its capital.  And this, coupled with a dedication to a new ‘Zen’ approach to not sweating the small stuff, has left me relatively relaxed in the face of inconvenience.  Or a big guy wanting money.
Africa will still be there next week.

And finally, here’s a photographic taste of Evita’s homeland: