PUERTO NATALES: THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 13
My apologies, readers. I have over walked and am on my last leg. I will BLOG properly from Puerto Octay. Where? At the head of a vast lake north of Puerto Montt.
I board the ferry tonight here in Puerto Natales and disembark at Puerto Montt on Monday morning. A bus takes me to Puerto Octay where I will rest out in the country for a couple of days and gaze at snow-capped volcanoes.
And, yes, I will bring this BLOG up to date with tales of fjords and ice caps, delicious fish, good wine and chocolate brownies doused in brandy cream. And I will post photographs, including one of my naked ankle which right now is as fat as an old elephant´s trunk. Yuk!
I would be in a worse state but for an excellent mattress at Hostal Casa Cecilia.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
PUNTA ARENAS: CITY OF HOPE
PUNTA ARENAS:
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11
I am arrogant and impertinent in judging a town on the evidence of a single day. I have hobbled a few blocks, bought tickets for bus and ferry, found a bank that accepts my VISA card (Banco Santander).
EL Chocolate is a chocolatierre a block from the main square at Bories 852. I sit at a table in the window, sip hot chocolate, people watch and read the newspaper. The hot chocolate is orgasmic. I ask a cab driver where he would eat fish the day before pay day. He drives me to the waterfront. Up three steps into a four-table workman's cafe: shellfish stew sets me back $3 and is delicious.
And evidence of optimism?
Trees newly planted in gardens and in the sidewalk. People plant trees because they believe in a future.
Freshly dug flower beds are a further sign.
Builders at work embellishing homes.
Parks free of rubbish.
People want to be here. 90% of people in Rio Grande want to be somewhere else.
No building in Rio Grande is worthy of a second look. No one cares.
People are proud of Punta Arenas, proud of the architecture - as they should be. Those first estancia owners in the 19th century built splendid mansions on the back of a boom in wool. The cathedral is charming. Modern domestic architecture is simple and in keeping with the past: clapboard or corrugated, sloping roofs, dormer windows, fresh paint. And trees: avenues of trees, squares shaded by trees, gardens with trees. On this Spring day the sea sparkles blue at the south end of every street, the first emerald shoots glow on garden shrubs, roses are in bud. I am joyfully free as I hobble on my crutches. Drivers stop at every intersection and wave me across. Such acts of courtesy are jewels in an old man's journey. Thank you, people of Punta Arenas, thank you for a great day..
I am arrogant and impertinent in judging a town on the evidence of a single day. I have hobbled a few blocks, bought tickets for bus and ferry, found a bank that accepts my VISA card (Banco Santander).
EL Chocolate is a chocolatierre a block from the main square at Bories 852. I sit at a table in the window, sip hot chocolate, people watch and read the newspaper. The hot chocolate is orgasmic. I ask a cab driver where he would eat fish the day before pay day. He drives me to the waterfront. Up three steps into a four-table workman's cafe: shellfish stew sets me back $3 and is delicious.
And evidence of optimism?
Trees newly planted in gardens and in the sidewalk. People plant trees because they believe in a future.
Freshly dug flower beds are a further sign.
Builders at work embellishing homes.
Parks free of rubbish.
People want to be here. 90% of people in Rio Grande want to be somewhere else.
No building in Rio Grande is worthy of a second look. No one cares.
People are proud of Punta Arenas, proud of the architecture - as they should be. Those first estancia owners in the 19th century built splendid mansions on the back of a boom in wool. The cathedral is charming. Modern domestic architecture is simple and in keeping with the past: clapboard or corrugated, sloping roofs, dormer windows, fresh paint. And trees: avenues of trees, squares shaded by trees, gardens with trees. On this Spring day the sea sparkles blue at the south end of every street, the first emerald shoots glow on garden shrubs, roses are in bud. I am joyfully free as I hobble on my crutches. Drivers stop at every intersection and wave me across. Such acts of courtesy are jewels in an old man's journey. Thank you, people of Punta Arenas, thank you for a great day..
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
TATY´S HOUSE
plaza and cathedral
PUNTA ARENAS: TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11
Of all my travels last year and this, TATY'S HOUSE offers the greatest home comforts. Pay attention anyone travelling to Punta Arenas. Claudia has only five rooms. Call or email well ahead for a reservation.
TEL: (61) 241525
MAIL: reservas@hostaltatyshouse.cl
Check out the web site at www.hostaltatyshouse.cl
I soaked in a hot bath this morning. The ankle is back to normal, back of the calf a little stiff. Breakfast waited me in the kitchen. Claudia found me at the computer in the sitting room.
"You're up early."
"Quarter past nine?"
"Quarter past eight," Claudia corrects.
Time in Chile is an hour behind Argentina. No wonder I found restaurants closed last night.
Of all my travels last year and this, TATY'S HOUSE offers the greatest home comforts. Pay attention anyone travelling to Punta Arenas. Claudia has only five rooms. Call or email well ahead for a reservation.
TEL: (61) 241525
MAIL: reservas@hostaltatyshouse.cl
Check out the web site at www.hostaltatyshouse.cl
I soaked in a hot bath this morning. The ankle is back to normal, back of the calf a little stiff. Breakfast waited me in the kitchen. Claudia found me at the computer in the sitting room.
"You're up early."
"Quarter past nine?"
"Quarter past eight," Claudia corrects.
Time in Chile is an hour behind Argentina. No wonder I found restaurants closed last night.
PUNTA ARENAS
wool boom mansion
PUNTA ARENAS: MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10
The bus stops on the same block as the Tourist Bureau. A change bureau operates on the corner. The young lady at the tourist bureau calls hostals. Hostal Taty's House is a block down and four blocks east on O'Higgins, then a block south at Maipu 1070. US$20 is more than I would normally pay. US$20 is cheap for Paradise. The room is big, the bathroom is vast, the mattresses are perfection (trust in the opinion of one who suffers from a bad back).
Hostal owners come in three categories. Those who offer the minimum that they can get away with. Those who calculate a reasonable norm. The very few who truly care for their guests and add those small touches that make the guest feel at home.
Claudia is the best of the third category.
Vases of dried spring flowers in bedroom and bathroom, scented candles, thick towels...I could go on and on.
Walking from the Tourist Bureau, I begin to tire on the last block - pain in the outside of the ankle and back of the calf. Claudia tells me that restaurants open at 8 p.m. I walk up O'Higgins. Everything is closed. I walk on and on. The pain increases. I realise that I am following the same pattern that lead to my downfall when riding on ice. I turn back to the hostal, take off my sock and elastic bandage. The ankle is red and swollen. Dumb...
Forget dinner.
I lie in the glory of a warm bed and watch cable TV.
PUNTA ARENAS: MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10
The bus stops on the same block as the Tourist Bureau. A change bureau operates on the corner. The young lady at the tourist bureau calls hostals. Hostal Taty's House is a block down and four blocks east on O'Higgins, then a block south at Maipu 1070. US$20 is more than I would normally pay. US$20 is cheap for Paradise. The room is big, the bathroom is vast, the mattresses are perfection (trust in the opinion of one who suffers from a bad back).
Hostal owners come in three categories. Those who offer the minimum that they can get away with. Those who calculate a reasonable norm. The very few who truly care for their guests and add those small touches that make the guest feel at home.
Claudia is the best of the third category.
Vases of dried spring flowers in bedroom and bathroom, scented candles, thick towels...I could go on and on.
Walking from the Tourist Bureau, I begin to tire on the last block - pain in the outside of the ankle and back of the calf. Claudia tells me that restaurants open at 8 p.m. I walk up O'Higgins. Everything is closed. I walk on and on. The pain increases. I realise that I am following the same pattern that lead to my downfall when riding on ice. I turn back to the hostal, take off my sock and elastic bandage. The ankle is red and swollen. Dumb...
Forget dinner.
I lie in the glory of a warm bed and watch cable TV.
GREYS OF GLORY
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10
This is my goodbye to Tierra del Fuego. I will remember clarity of light, immense distances. Today the sky is every shade of grey from charcoal to near white. Rain softens the greens and greys of the moors. Hills on the eastern horizon glow topaz blue. The dirt road follows a valley through hills reminiscent of the Scottish borders. Wind and weather has rounded every crest. Burns overflow their banks. The lee side of a hill has broken away under the weight of rain; a curved pink cliff rises above the fallen waves of grassed earth. Fifteen guanecos stand on a ridge by the road side. Wild geese face west into the wind. Hereford cattle face east towards our homeland. Spring approaches. Geese pair. Freshly sheared sheep cringe beneath low scrub. Horseman are blue balloons in rain suits worn over puffa jackets and pants. A small drive-on ferry crosses the Straits of Magellan. Sun sneaks between the clouds and transforms the sea into a shimmering sheet of aluminum foil, pale side up.
This is my goodbye to Tierra del Fuego. I will remember clarity of light, immense distances. Today the sky is every shade of grey from charcoal to near white. Rain softens the greens and greys of the moors. Hills on the eastern horizon glow topaz blue. The dirt road follows a valley through hills reminiscent of the Scottish borders. Wind and weather has rounded every crest. Burns overflow their banks. The lee side of a hill has broken away under the weight of rain; a curved pink cliff rises above the fallen waves of grassed earth. Fifteen guanecos stand on a ridge by the road side. Wild geese face west into the wind. Hereford cattle face east towards our homeland. Spring approaches. Geese pair. Freshly sheared sheep cringe beneath low scrub. Horseman are blue balloons in rain suits worn over puffa jackets and pants. A small drive-on ferry crosses the Straits of Magellan. Sun sneaks between the clouds and transforms the sea into a shimmering sheet of aluminum foil, pale side up.
OFF
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10
Tecni Austral runs a bus service to Punta Arenas from Rio Grande six days a week. The bus leaves at 9 a.m. and arrives at 5 p.m. The fare is US$25.
The bus is half empty. A double seat to the rear enables me to prop my feet up on the arm rest. Meeting a truck, the driver slows. Not so the truck driver - not so any of the truck drivers.
We climb the last hill before the Chilean border, the hill where the truck ran me down.
I am an old familiar to immigration and customs at both Argentine and Chilean frontiers - no queues for Grandfather Hoppity-hop, merely congratulations at being mobile.
Tecni Austral runs a bus service to Punta Arenas from Rio Grande six days a week. The bus leaves at 9 a.m. and arrives at 5 p.m. The fare is US$25.
The bus is half empty. A double seat to the rear enables me to prop my feet up on the arm rest. Meeting a truck, the driver slows. Not so the truck driver - not so any of the truck drivers.
We climb the last hill before the Chilean border, the hill where the truck ran me down.
I am an old familiar to immigration and customs at both Argentine and Chilean frontiers - no queues for Grandfather Hoppity-hop, merely congratulations at being mobile.
LOST WEEKEND
mobile phone marginales
and my new hat
RIO GRANDE: SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 9
I have been going stir crazy. I need to be out of here. Each new act of kindness adds to the pain of separation from new friends soon to be my past and adds to the guilt of wishing to be gone. My Friday barbecue was saddened by the ex-future's absence. Saturday Carlos from the Petroleum school drives me to his novia´s home for beer, tapas and conversation. Graciela cooks a delicious stew of squid and shrimp. The ex-future, Graciela, Pedro of the viviendas and I eat at the kitchen table. Sunday I join in devouring a final meat mountain with the Sunday gang at the ex-future's car port. The doctor´s novio has copied the files from my laptop to CDs. The mobile-phone marginales present me with freshly crocheted black woolly hat. I will be gone in the morning. How will I cope?
I have been going stir crazy. I need to be out of here. Each new act of kindness adds to the pain of separation from new friends soon to be my past and adds to the guilt of wishing to be gone. My Friday barbecue was saddened by the ex-future's absence. Saturday Carlos from the Petroleum school drives me to his novia´s home for beer, tapas and conversation. Graciela cooks a delicious stew of squid and shrimp. The ex-future, Graciela, Pedro of the viviendas and I eat at the kitchen table. Sunday I join in devouring a final meat mountain with the Sunday gang at the ex-future's car port. The doctor´s novio has copied the files from my laptop to CDs. The mobile-phone marginales present me with freshly crocheted black woolly hat. I will be gone in the morning. How will I cope?
Saturday, September 08, 2007
SIZE DOESN'T MATTER
goodbye dinner
RIO GRANDE: FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 7
The Argentine Pumas whipped France in the opening match of the Rugby World Cup and I am giving a barbecue tonight for all the guests at the Hotel Argentino. My intention is to give a barbecue tomorrow night. Wires have become crossed. No matter…Or the matter is out of my hands.
Javier takes me shopping. I suggest ten chickens. Javier says five. These aren’t battery-bred half-water English chickens from Tesco supermarket. These are Catholic Mission raised Tierra del Fuego chickens. No water, all flesh, size of a mini-turkey. Around US$4 a bird.
Next comes Tierra del Fuego beef: nine and a half kilos of skirt at US$1.30 a kilo.
I select a kilo of strawberries and fresh cream for the ladies.
Yes, Argentine strawberries are BIG.
Argentine apples and pears are the size of a small melon.
Pick big back home and you eat fruit without taste (eat fruit in The US and none of it has taste).
Not so in Argentina. Best apples I have ever tasted. Good pears. Superb strawberries. Yum Yum Yum!
HOPPITY HOPPITY HOP
kitchen corner with Javier
RIO GRANDE: THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 6
I walk alone to the bank. The bank is two blocks uphill the far side of the six-lane Avenida San Martin. I use the crutches at the intersections and to lean on a couple of times while taking a short rest. A security guard beckons me to the head of the queue at the cash machine. From the bank, I take a cab on a shopping spree: two pairs of boxer shorts and a big holdall, shampoo and a couple of throwaway razors.
The ankle is fine. However, the instep hurts as the tendons restretch.
What more can I write from the kitchen at the Hotel Argentino?
UNDESERVED REWARD
RIO GRANDE: WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 5
Pepe visits in the evening. He declares the bone fully healed. I am to have an x-ray taken tomorrow. I must start exercises at the weekend.
"Don’t be obsessive with the exercises," Pepe warns as he demonstrates - dumb advice to give an obsessive.
My healed bone is Pepe’s victory, proof that he was correct in his argument with Doctor Lopez. I am rewarded with dinner at the Posado de los Sauces, Rio Grande's most expensive restaurant (though I don’t see the menu). Food is unquestionably the best. They serve fish. Fresh fish. Fish that has never seen the inside of a freezer!
Pepe orders for me Black Hake, a south Atlantic fish caught on long line deep down (1500 metres). The fish is perfectly grilled, the steamed vegetables are crisp, wine (a ten-year-old red) is divine.
The other guests?
Estancia owners, visiting foreign businessmen, upper echelon oil employees.
Pale skinned? Yes, of course.
Pepe visits in the evening. He declares the bone fully healed. I am to have an x-ray taken tomorrow. I must start exercises at the weekend.
"Don’t be obsessive with the exercises," Pepe warns as he demonstrates - dumb advice to give an obsessive.
My healed bone is Pepe’s victory, proof that he was correct in his argument with Doctor Lopez. I am rewarded with dinner at the Posado de los Sauces, Rio Grande's most expensive restaurant (though I don’t see the menu). Food is unquestionably the best. They serve fish. Fresh fish. Fish that has never seen the inside of a freezer!
Pepe orders for me Black Hake, a south Atlantic fish caught on long line deep down (1500 metres). The fish is perfectly grilled, the steamed vegetables are crisp, wine (a ten-year-old red) is divine.
The other guests?
Estancia owners, visiting foreign businessmen, upper echelon oil employees.
Pale skinned? Yes, of course.
VILE FOOD
RIO GRANDE: TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4
We made it to the fake Chinese tonight. Why did we make it to the fake Chinese? What possible reason exists? Unless in a competition to discover the worst food in the world?
All you can eat from a buffet for US$7.
The food? Fried everything in a batter designed to retain oil. Even the empanadas are fried. Press with a knife and oil spurts. Some dishes are recognisable: whitebait, squid. Others require a guess. Are those oil-dripping wraps of semi-burnt batter meant to be Spring rolls?
Were I to notify the Union of Chinese Chefs International, they would send an assassin.
Prawns?
Don’t be silly.
We made it to the fake Chinese tonight. Why did we make it to the fake Chinese? What possible reason exists? Unless in a competition to discover the worst food in the world?
All you can eat from a buffet for US$7.
The food? Fried everything in a batter designed to retain oil. Even the empanadas are fried. Press with a knife and oil spurts. Some dishes are recognisable: whitebait, squid. Others require a guess. Are those oil-dripping wraps of semi-burnt batter meant to be Spring rolls?
Were I to notify the Union of Chinese Chefs International, they would send an assassin.
Prawns?
Don’t be silly.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
FAKE CHINESE
RIO GRANDE: MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 3
No x-rays. Pepe says that an x-ray delays healing by up to two weeks. I must walk with the aid of crutches for a few days. I can leave for Chile on Saturday. Tonight we celebrate. Prawns are essential. Javier drives. The Chinese restaurant is closed. It was closed last week at midday.
"Chinese work three-hundred and sixty-five days in the year," declares Javier. "These aren't proper Chinese."
We go to the corner Chilean for a choice of meat, meat or meat - and drink beer.
No x-rays. Pepe says that an x-ray delays healing by up to two weeks. I must walk with the aid of crutches for a few days. I can leave for Chile on Saturday. Tonight we celebrate. Prawns are essential. Javier drives. The Chinese restaurant is closed. It was closed last week at midday.
"Chinese work three-hundred and sixty-five days in the year," declares Javier. "These aren't proper Chinese."
We go to the corner Chilean for a choice of meat, meat or meat - and drink beer.
CAST OFF
RIO GRANDE: MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 3
Pepe finds me lying on my bed. He has a steak knife, scissors and newspaper. He bangs my cast a couple if times. "Any pain?"
"Not on the broken side," I reply.
Pepe is uninterested in pain on the unbroken side. He saws the cast, splits it and taps the broken bone. "Pain?"
"No," I say.
"Stand," says Pepe.
I stand.
"Any pain?"
"No," I say.
Pepe gives me a bear hug. No more cast. He wraps the leg in an elastic bandage.
I thank him.
He says, "Thank yourself," and taps his temple. "You did the curing. Cure comes from the head."
If so, Pepe governed my thoughts with his energy and determination. He gave me belief.
Pepe finds me lying on my bed. He has a steak knife, scissors and newspaper. He bangs my cast a couple if times. "Any pain?"
"Not on the broken side," I reply.
Pepe is uninterested in pain on the unbroken side. He saws the cast, splits it and taps the broken bone. "Pain?"
"No," I say.
"Stand," says Pepe.
I stand.
"Any pain?"
"No," I say.
Pepe gives me a bear hug. No more cast. He wraps the leg in an elastic bandage.
I thank him.
He says, "Thank yourself," and taps his temple. "You did the curing. Cure comes from the head."
If so, Pepe governed my thoughts with his energy and determination. He gave me belief.
I HATE ARGENTINES - THEY MAKE ME WEEP
doctor and novioRIO GRANDE: MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 4
I am a manic depressive. I have learnt tricks that snap the mental circle. Skiing works. Ski a black run, reach the bottom, ski it again. An hour and your only worry is whether your legs will hold up. Right now I can't ski. I can't even travel and a depression has threatened over the past couple of days. I sit in my corner. A young doctor and her novio enter the kitchen. They give me a gift-wrapped packet. The packet contains CDs of Tango and the Misa Criolla and a beautifully illustrated edition of the great poem of Argentina's gauchos, Martin Fierro. The edition includes the English translation and a dictionary of gaucho slang.
I am overwhelmed by generosity and thoughtfulness.
The doctor holds me in her arms while I weep.
Damn these Argentines.
Monday, September 03, 2007
NON EVENT
RIO GRANDE: SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1
I am satiated with meat. I lie on my bed and do leg exercises. A cab was to collect me. No cab has arrived. I have been uninvited to the meeting of academics. I may be to blame. I ran a dummy run on one of the organisers.
I said that my knowledge of Argentina was very limited.
1) Are people suffering from hunger?
2) Is the independence and integrity of the judicial system assured?
3) Is the Government clean of corruption?
All else is a distraction, a Roman Circus...
I am satiated with meat. I lie on my bed and do leg exercises. A cab was to collect me. No cab has arrived. I have been uninvited to the meeting of academics. I may be to blame. I ran a dummy run on one of the organisers.
I said that my knowledge of Argentina was very limited.
1) Are people suffering from hunger?
2) Is the independence and integrity of the judicial system assured?
3) Is the Government clean of corruption?
All else is a distraction, a Roman Circus...
BIRTHDAY PARTY
RIO GRANDE: SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1
For his birthday, the ex-future is our guest for lunch at the Hotel Argentino. What I can I write of an Argentine birthday lunch? Heaps of barbecued beef are immense rather than merely large. We eat a cake, we drink toasts and we sing the Spanish version of Happy Birthday.
For his birthday, the ex-future is our guest for lunch at the Hotel Argentino. What I can I write of an Argentine birthday lunch? Heaps of barbecued beef are immense rather than merely large. We eat a cake, we drink toasts and we sing the Spanish version of Happy Birthday.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
DANGER IN GOOD INTENTIONS
RIO GRANDE: FRIDAY, AUGUST 31
I haven’t shaved since the accident. Wooly is the image. I need sprucing. Javier drives me to a hairdresser who works in her front room. The hairdresser is in Spain for three months. Her replacement is an overweight teenager.
Retreating would hurt the girl’s feelings and might hurt Javier’s feelings. I have been equally imprisoned in church on the southern leg of this journey. Enter during a service, the priest remarks an unfamiliar face. Leave, he may obsess into the night. Did he fail to save a soul from eternal damnation? I have knelt and stood through three masses in succession in a city of many Hispanic Colonial churches. How can I deny a teenage hairdresser?
The beard first: the girl approaches with an electric trimmer. Zip and a bald patch marks my right cheek.
I made the same mistake ten years ago when trimming Jed’s hair. Jed remains unforgiving. I am more liberal. I say, "That isn’t quite what I imagined."
The girl says, "This is the first time I’ve cut a beard."
Her tone suggests I am to blame.
The bald patch is too wide to hide. Shaving my cheeks is the only option. I reach for the clippers.
The girl is forlorn. She is already severely overweight. I imagine her going on an eating jag. She says, "Can I cut your hair?"
"A very light trim. Very light," I ensist.
The girl is nervous. Snip go the scissors. Blood drips from a gash in her palm. She emits a small screech and vanishes in search of a bandage.
Javier and I muffle hysteric laughter.
Javier produces a cold beer – a true friend.
All is well…Though I look a little strange. Or not that strange. There is a similarity to my father-in-law!
I haven’t shaved since the accident. Wooly is the image. I need sprucing. Javier drives me to a hairdresser who works in her front room. The hairdresser is in Spain for three months. Her replacement is an overweight teenager.
Retreating would hurt the girl’s feelings and might hurt Javier’s feelings. I have been equally imprisoned in church on the southern leg of this journey. Enter during a service, the priest remarks an unfamiliar face. Leave, he may obsess into the night. Did he fail to save a soul from eternal damnation? I have knelt and stood through three masses in succession in a city of many Hispanic Colonial churches. How can I deny a teenage hairdresser?
The beard first: the girl approaches with an electric trimmer. Zip and a bald patch marks my right cheek.
I made the same mistake ten years ago when trimming Jed’s hair. Jed remains unforgiving. I am more liberal. I say, "That isn’t quite what I imagined."
The girl says, "This is the first time I’ve cut a beard."
Her tone suggests I am to blame.
The bald patch is too wide to hide. Shaving my cheeks is the only option. I reach for the clippers.
The girl is forlorn. She is already severely overweight. I imagine her going on an eating jag. She says, "Can I cut your hair?"
"A very light trim. Very light," I ensist.
The girl is nervous. Snip go the scissors. Blood drips from a gash in her palm. She emits a small screech and vanishes in search of a bandage.
Javier and I muffle hysteric laughter.
Javier produces a cold beer – a true friend.
All is well…Though I look a little strange. Or not that strange. There is a similarity to my father-in-law!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
GOOD SHOES ARE A LIFT
RIO GRANDE: THURSDAY, AUGUST 30
Back home I search charity shops for good English Church’s shoes hand made in Northampton. I wore a pair of Church’s on the ride south from Mexico last year. They survived staying at my friend’s estancia on the Rio Dulce. A dog ate a shoe on a previous visit; Church use fine-tasting English leather and Eugenio has large dogs (see last year’s BLOG). The shoes survived 22,000 kilometres on a bike. They survived rain and snow and the heat of the engine. They survived six months in Snr. Preto’s cold store in Ushuaia. A good polish and they looked as good as new. Now the left shoe has the sole raised 3 cm to match the rised heel on the cast. The shoe looks kind of cute. I could have the other shoe raised and be as tall as my two younger sons – nearly as tall. Just a thought. I’m not sure that I enjoy being looked down at…Our youngest, Jed, claims I'm shrinking.
Back home I search charity shops for good English Church’s shoes hand made in Northampton. I wore a pair of Church’s on the ride south from Mexico last year. They survived staying at my friend’s estancia on the Rio Dulce. A dog ate a shoe on a previous visit; Church use fine-tasting English leather and Eugenio has large dogs (see last year’s BLOG). The shoes survived 22,000 kilometres on a bike. They survived rain and snow and the heat of the engine. They survived six months in Snr. Preto’s cold store in Ushuaia. A good polish and they looked as good as new. Now the left shoe has the sole raised 3 cm to match the rised heel on the cast. The shoe looks kind of cute. I could have the other shoe raised and be as tall as my two younger sons – nearly as tall. Just a thought. I’m not sure that I enjoy being looked down at…Our youngest, Jed, claims I'm shrinking.
TALL STEMS, HIGH PRICES
RIO GRANDE: WEDNESDAY: AUGUST 29
Javier and I are taking Graciela to dinner at the local Chinese. I hope to eat prawns. Pepe drops by. His wife’s Landrover has been serviced. He has a better idea than the Chinese. He drives to a new restaurant on the seafront. The owner is a friend of Pepe’s. Everyone is either Pepe’s friend or Graciela’s friend or Javier’s friend. Rio Grande is that type of town. The restaurant is big and smart. Restaurant prices are governed by the height of the wine glass stems. These glasses are tall, the tablecloths are thick and starched. Diners at other tables are different from most people in town. They are paler skinned.
Pepe departs with the owner to select wine from the cellar. He chooses a 2004 Malbec, excellent. We eat calamari in batter crisply fried, mussels in garlic sauce, ravioli. Javier gluts on an ice-cream cup that would fill a milk pail. Pepe drops us back to the hotel. Graciela and I chat in the kitchen for a couple of hours. Not much travel for a Travel BLOG but a good evening…
Javier and I are taking Graciela to dinner at the local Chinese. I hope to eat prawns. Pepe drops by. His wife’s Landrover has been serviced. He has a better idea than the Chinese. He drives to a new restaurant on the seafront. The owner is a friend of Pepe’s. Everyone is either Pepe’s friend or Graciela’s friend or Javier’s friend. Rio Grande is that type of town. The restaurant is big and smart. Restaurant prices are governed by the height of the wine glass stems. These glasses are tall, the tablecloths are thick and starched. Diners at other tables are different from most people in town. They are paler skinned.
Pepe departs with the owner to select wine from the cellar. He chooses a 2004 Malbec, excellent. We eat calamari in batter crisply fried, mussels in garlic sauce, ravioli. Javier gluts on an ice-cream cup that would fill a milk pail. Pepe drops us back to the hotel. Graciela and I chat in the kitchen for a couple of hours. Not much travel for a Travel BLOG but a good evening…
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