Day ...9?
The days after my birthday have gone by swiftly. Not necessarily because they were jampacked with activty, but because the whirlwind touring has caught up with us. Mental fatigue has set in. Even though we've said we would slow down or take it easy, we're still managing to pack in a lot of stuff, and a lot of walking.
The highlight reel for the end of the week: MALBA, La Boca, Confeteria Ideal Milonga.
Thursday was our day to check out the museum of latino art, otherwise known as MALBA. They had an exhibition of work from Carlos Cruz-Diez, who is now C's new hero. It was fascinating to see the artist's progression from somewhat crude, represntational art to these very abstract, very cool works of art that change based on your perspective. The name of the exhibition was "El color en el espacio y en el tiempo" (Color in Space and Time) and it certainly was just that. The more recent art had strips of board with different colors on each facet that stuck out of the painting in various degrees and angles. The effect was that you could walk up to a painting, looking at it dead on, and see nothing but a solid color; then when you walked over to the side, you would see a rectangle of a different color emerge. A flat picture would certainly not do this work justice, so even if I had been able to take pictures I wouldn't be able to share the experience with you. I really enjoyed the exhibit. You should check it out if it ever comes to a museum near you - if that sort of thing appeals to you.
Friday we headed out early for La Boca. It really was pretty early for us - we had breakfast at home and were ready to leave before 11am. The guidebook was full of dire warnings about how dangerous La Boca is, how it is home to the poorest segment of the population, and it's not safe to walk along most of the side streets, or along the water. However, it also has this big tourist destination: El Caminito. The neighborhood is situated right next to a port, and was once inhabited by poor Italian immigrants who built their houses with corrugated steel and other materials on hand. It is said that they "borrowed" paint for their houses from the ships they worked on, resulting in the houses being painted in bright, sometimes garish colors. It is also said that the tango dance started in the brothels of this neighborhood. Tourists flock to see the brightly painted houses, which have been kept in much the same condition over the years. If anything, the colors have gotten brighter and more eye catching. One or two famous brothels have been turned into museums with life-sized sculpture of men in suits and whores leaning over balconies. I think these are made of papier mache or something - possibly plaster - so they have a crumpled look to them.
The result of all this "historial preservation," if you can even call it that, is that you have something like SF Fisherman's Wharf stuck in the middle of a neighborhood like West Oakland. (For those who don't know SF Bay Area references, replace Fisherman's Wharf with any tacky tourist trap you know, and replace West Oakland with any poor, crime infested, slightly industrial, inner city neighborhood. The tourists mostly confine themselves to this little circuit where they walk around taking pictures of all the brightly painted houses and browsing the trinkets in countless little "antique malls" or souvenir shops. Most of the junk on offer here is made in China, but even the made-in-Argentina "crafts" seem to be mass produced and gaudy. And over priced.
We had other things in mind. C had read about a great parilla somewhat off the beaten path that had played host to a few celebrities over the years. A hidden gem called El Obrero. To get there, we would need to walk a few side streets in La Boca, which had me a trifle worried because of all the dire warnings in our guide books. All sources encouraged cab or tour bus to get to and from La Boca, and "don't even consider walking along the waterfront" back toward San Telmo. So before we set out, I removed all of our credit cards from our wallets, and stashed a few hundred pesos in this silk bra pouch I had purchased for the trip - an easy way to hide a few bills that is much less conspicuous than the typical traveller's money belt. I figured this way if we did get robbed, we would avoid the hassle of needing to cancel credit cards, and would still have the money to get a cab back home.
When we stepped out of the cab into the tourist trap of El Caminito, we both laughed at my precautions. The place was swarming with tourists, and with locals trying to take advantage of them. Want to take a picture with a tango dancer? How about sticking your face into a painting of a tango dancer? No? Do you want to have a drink at this fine restaurant? How 'bout this one? The in-your-face hawking reminded us of the strip along the waterfront in Ensenada where rows and rows of taco stands are set up next to picnic tables. Walking down the strip you are accosted from all directions by persistent, almost desperate, salespeople offering 2 fish tacos for a dollar. We walked the circuit dutifully, took some pictures, and then left the touristed area in search of our parilla. This led us past the famous stadium where local futbal favorites La Boca Jrs are based, and then down a few side streets, where the houses were not painted, and were mixed with car shops and little markets with sad looking vegetables.
We found El Obrero without incident, and since it was just after noon there was not a single patron in the restaurant, and about six waiters. We found seats and took in our surroundings. The place was covered floor to ceiling in futbal memorabilia; photos of legendary players, pennants, etc. While we were there, we watched a couple come in and donate a pennant to the wall. The man was proudly showing off the autograph he had gotten on the back of it. They love their soccer in these parts.
As we were eating, the restaurant filled up with mostly locals. True to the name (El Obrero means something like the worker or working man) most of the patrons who came in after us were single or groups of working class men. Some were in greasy coveralls, and all were dressed more casually and less fashionably than the locals we have seen to date in the rich and trendy neighborhoods we've frequented. The food was great - we ordered lomo again (did I mention I've finallly discovered that it means tenderloin?) and I must say it was at least on par with the first lomo I had at Juana M, and possibly the best steak I've had in Argentina. Plus, I was pleased to find a simple arugula salad on the menu, since most of the salads we've gotten have been disappointing - too many ingredients, and bitter lettuce. This one came with way to much parmesan cheese, but that's a problem easilly solved by letting it sink to the bottom of the bowl. Otherwise, the arugula was excellent.
Walking back from the restaurant, we took the major avenida cutting through town as we had been instructed by our tour guides, and swung around to see the other major point of local interest: a big orange metal bridge, just called La Boca bridge. C got some pictures, and as we were turning to head back to El Caminito a nice woman came up to us gesticulating wildly and shaking her head. "Muy peligroso" and "siempre la avenida" and other words of caution. She was telling us to always stick to the large avenue, not to go down any side streets, telling us it is very dangerous. This simple gesture of kindness sets La Boca apart in my mind from sketchy 'hoods in other parts of the world, where people don't generally come up to a stranger and set them on the path to safety. It seems like big city folk in the US generally keep to themselves, and even when they see wayward tourists heading for trouble most people just don't want to get involved. I hope I'm wrong about that characterization.
We followed the nice woman's advice, walking around the port back to El Caminito rather than taking the more direct route I had been eyeing. Rather than catching a cab, we decided to take a bus up to San Telmo (finally! I convinced C to try the bus, and it was totally easy!) and then walked from San Telmo to Centro again, looking for a little resto he had seen on our first day there. We never found it, but we landed at Confiteria Ideal (to be described in the next installment.) We have never needed naps so badly as we did after this mammoth day. And we hadn't even had dinner yet.
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