Showing posts sorted by date for query war of the roses. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query war of the roses. Sort by relevance Show all posts

Sunday, February 16, 2020

Fast Tango in Aires


Flying to Buenos Aires from Los Angeles takes longer than flights to Europe.  It's not only far to the south but also five time zones to the east.

In fact, if you refresh your memory with a glance at a globe or map, you may be surprised to realize that the vast majority of South America, including Chile, is east of our Atlantic Seaboard, much less California.

Our friends Mike and Linda, who joined us on this trip, used air miles to upgrade to Business Class, allowing them to stretch out for the longer leg, while we at least upgraded to Premium Economy.  Surprisingly, I managed to sleep almost as well as I do at home on this redeye flight, thanks to two complimentary heaping pours of red wine.


The transfer Mike arranged through Casa Calma Hotel carried us directly to our lodgings for a reasonable fare.  In Buenos Aires, taxis and meals are pretty inexpensive, making it easy to live like one of Ernest Hemingway's fictional characters in the Cafe Society of Paris.  Buenos Aires has appropriately been called the Paris of South America.

There are many stately buildings on what could be stunning streets, including one boulevard so wide that it takes at least two long traffic signals with a break in between to walk all the way across.


Unfortunately, like many big cities in the United States and the rest of the world, city leaders have decided it's fine to let gang members and "street artists" spray their graffiti on buildings they don't own, including monumental government buildings and historic structures that unmarred by such scribbles would create a truly gorgeous urban environment.

When we arrived at our boutique hotel, I could hear Linda gasp to realize we would be staying on a narrow street marked in ink by these territorial dogs.  With its entire front being glass, there was nothing for vandals to tag, but the flagstone facade next door had not been spared.


The small lobby showed more wear than in the web site pictures, which is never much of a surprise, but the young lady behind the front desk, Augustina, could not have been more pleasant throughout our stay.  The entire helpful staff who work there share her sunny disposition.

Augustina had one room available for immediate check-in, and despite having Business Class seats, Mike and Linda had not slept as well as Julie and me, so they took that room to rest while Julie and I took a stroll around Buenos Aires.


First seeking our second cup of morning coffee, we found Mostaza, a sparkling clean fast food chain outlet offering coffee plus two croissants for about about $1.50 U.S.  Julie wanted a doughnut instead, and somehow we ended up with two cappuccinos plus a croissant and donut for about $2.  Rejuvenated, we set off to find sites Julie had mapped out before leaving home.

It was 89 degrees Fahrenheit, so we weren't seeking the sunny side of the street.


In the shade of those should-be beautiful avenues lay beggars, some of whom have been allowed to drag filthy mattresses on which they lounged while holding out cups for money, though I guess that's better than the sidewalk tents becoming increasingly common in US big cities.  They weren't abutting each other, and the derelicts weren't shooting up heroin in daylight, so I guess that's something.

Nonetheless, it is a bit disheartening, especially when there are help wanted signs begging for workers nearby.




We walked next to Casa Rosada, the executive manor of the President of Argentina.  Locals say the building's pink color comes from mixing cow's blood with white paint, but another explanation is that it combined the white color associated with the Unitarians with the red color of the Federalists at the conclusion of a bloody civil war as a symbol of resolution.  Most of us think of Casa Rosada as the place where Madonna playing the role of Argentina's First Lady Eva Peron sang "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" in the movie Evita.

Maria Eva Duarte de Peron was the illegitimate daughter of an upper-class man who bequeathed her only the right to use his last name after he died.  She rose from impoverished, humble beginnings to become an actress during the Great Depression and then the most glamorous, honored woman in Argentina as the wife of President Juan Peron.  More popular than her husband, she seemed destined to become his Vice President until she was struck down by cancer at age 33.


The four of us would visit her grave the next morning at Recoleta Cemetary, a remarkable site well worth visiting.  The mausoleums and statues in this city of the departed make it widely agreed to be one of the most beautiful and interesting cemeteries in the world.  A bit of rain added to the atmosphere and also snapped a hot spell.



On our first afternoon in Buenos Aires, however, Julie and I had sought plazas shaded by trees and highlighted with monuments.  The plazas frequently turned out to be smaller than we imagined, but at lovely Plaza Dorrego we found tango dancers performing for tips among cafe tables beneath the sunshine as promised.  This is what most people hope Buenos Aires will be like.

We found we had wandered a long way from our hotel, so we had an iced coffee that seemed more like a chocolate chip milk shake before starting the long trek back.  We arrived exhausted, but after a shower and changing clothes, we were ready for happy hour.

Casa Calma has an honor bar in its tiny dining room.  I arrived on a mission to bring Julie back a cappuccino and found Mike and Linda enjoying a bottle of Argentinian red wine and some local treats with a friend of their son Greg plus her husband and toddler.

After dropping off the coffee in the room for Julie, I selected a local beer from the honor bar and tried the delicious cheese rolls Greg's friend had brought.

Incidentally, Casa Calma served a diverse breakfast, including freshly made eggs with all the trimmings on demand, in the same room the next morning.



The big event for us was still to come.  That night, we had tickets for the dinner show at La Ventana Tango.

As promised by Viator, the van picked us up at our hotel at 8 PM and whisked us to the barrio where most travel books say it is better not to walk.


Inside, it was everything we hoped it would be, with wine bottles stored along the wooden ceiling and old photos lining the staircase.  Well, the line leading down the staircase wasn't what we wanted, but the underground restaurant was beautiful.

Contemplating the throng of people already packed in the room, I looked around the back to see if we would have views from those tables to which we would undoubtedly be relegated.


Only the Maitre d' instead said, "This way," and then surprisingly took us toward the front.

It turns out the words "VIP Sector" really did mean something.

We had great seats, very close to the stage with unobstructed views throughout the show!


However, first we would be served dinner.

I went with our waiter's recommendations right down the line from Empanadas to Meatball Soup to thick, juicy Steak to Pears Cooked in Malbec with Ice Cream, but it seemed everything on the menu was terrific based on our table, including the bottle of wine per couple.

Because Julie wanted white wine while I drink red, apparently Julie is Unitarian and I'm Federalist, though it has more historical relevance for us personally in regard to the War of the Roses.  In any case, we were served two large glasses each, presumably adding up to a half bottle for each of us.


The show exceeded all expectations!

The dapper, talented band played lively music to which an impressive array of couples performed energetic, complex tango steps.  After a particularly flourished dance --- I believe it was to "Hernando's Hideaway" --- we assumed the show must be over, but then a beautiful woman in an evening gown came out to sing "Don't Cry for Me Argentina."


Of course, I thought, the perfect grand finale for a Buenos Aires show.

Only it wasn't.



A tuxedoed leading man also sang a song.  Then a group of Peruvian musicians appeared to do an instrumental version of the best-known song of that genre, "El Candor Pasa," which Simon & Garfunkel made famous, but they weren't just one-hit wonders.  They played more songs, and then the percussionist did some crazy stuff, but nothing compared to a gaucho with lightening fast bolas that would have killed someone in the crowd had one of the straps broken.

The night went on and on, and everyone went away more than satisfied with a remarkable evening's meal and entertainment.

I strongly recommend that show for anyone spending an evening in Buenos Aires.

As for the rest of the city, there is much to see, so I would recommend a tour for that too.  It's not that you can't see it on your own, but that involves a lot of roaming past less inviting areas as you find your way, whereas a tour will whisk you between the highlights so you are less likely to be distracted by the government failures to keep beautiful Buenos Aires fresh.

Getting to Argentina is challenging, but once you're there, Buenos Aires is an affordable destination with lots to do and see.

































Wednesday, August 28, 2019

Rounding Out Grasmere

On our last afternoon in Grasmere, we strolled from our rental house away from the village for the first time, or at least it was the first time for Julie and me.

I hadn't realized our stone cottage was the last one before pastures lined both sides of the road for as far as the eye could see.

Memories are funny things.

My mind went to my grandparents' farm that I visited every summer when I was a boy.

No, the bucolic landscape is not identical.

It's more that same peaceful feeling I always find in such settings.

I could clearly see how my ancestors who lived in the Lake District had ended up in Virginia and then Alabama.

Yes, the American south is more humid than the Lake District, but we all adjust over time to the climates where we live.  Granddaddy called rural Alabama "God's country."


We has arrived in stages, and for this last walk, it would be only Gina, Emma, Julie and me.

We talked a bit about Gina's upcoming move to a new home within her community outside Philadelphia that also has echoes of the Lake District, though in that case more in terms of stone walls and green landscapes than pastures. It built over time as a bedroom community, but it does include green parkland.  There's even a castle of sorts called Maybrook Mansion.

While California is now built beyond anything I could have imagined as a young boy in Westminster, when we moved there we had cow pasture three houses away at the end of the street where one day a cul-de-sac would be built.  Driving between Orange County towns took us past strawberry fields, orange groves and more pastures.

We still love our little beach enclaves in California, but Julie and I have joined my sister's family in spending more time in Montana, once again getting back to the countryside where raising cattle has been a way of life for decades.

These days, a renewal of bison (American buffalo) has been brought about through ranching for its low-fat meat in the Big Sky region.

Amy and Jay both love the cities where they live and work, but they also take time to go to the country frequently for renewal.

As we race into a future where cow farts are deemed dangerous perils to the environment, I hope we don't lose all that beautiful pastureland.

Along our cottage's driveway, not in a prehistoric cave
My Granddaddy's surname started not as Strikeland, referring to Vikings striking land as some have claimed, but rather Styrkland, with "Styrk" translating as bullock, so in essence, cattle pasture.  It's in our blood.

Interestingly --- to me, at least --- the last name of the rugged family of the North's Winterfell in Game of Thrones was Stark, which is only one letter different from Styrk, though the writer George RR Martin referred to Stark as being in lieu of York, and Lannister instead of Lancaster, from the War of the Roses.

My nephew Brooks and son-in-law Laszlo both support the cattle-raising lifestyle by adhering to the Paleo Diet, with meat at its center.  They seem to maintain the slim physiques of strident veganism without sacrificing daily rations of bacon and Kerrygold butter.

Julie and I try to practice a somewhat modified Atkins/Paleo approach.  I'm sure cave men would have eaten huckleberry ice cream sandwiches in prehistoric Montana.

That night, we ate pre-made meals from Grasmere's reasonably priced Co-op Market, played Monopoly, finished the puzzle and prepared to head to our next destination, the Beatles' home town, Liverpool.  Looking back over our time in the Lake District, it had been thoroughly wonderful.