Italy #9

After we went to Florence for our honeymoon in 1999, Terri and I made a habit of returning to Italy every year: Tuscany in 2000, Emilia-Romagna in 2001, The Marches in 2002, the Veneto in 2003. We skipped 2004 because that was the year I had to put Momma in the nursing home, but in 2005 we were back with a grand sweep from Rome through Umbria and Tuscany to Bologna and Venice. Then we got sidetracked by retirement and moving and trips to other places, although we made it back to Rome in 2008 and 2009.

(Six years may not sound like so long ago, but consider this: on that last long trip to Italy in 2005, I was still taking snaps with a film camera, we wandered down dark side streets looking for Internet cafés because we did not own a laptop, and my very first travel report was sent out after we returned home via a primitive communication technology called 'email.' Now I carry several digital cameras, we require WiFi for our MacBook and iPod, and I am a real-time location-services-savvy Facebooking blogger.)

It's time to go back. We leave in a couple of days, flying to Madrid then on to Venice. After several days in La Serenissima, we'll go to Vicenza, Ferrara, Ravenna, and finally Bologna, three weeks altogether. The Italians will be getting ready for Christmas, with roasted chestnuts on every corner and tortelli di zucca in every restaurant. Mostly we'll be eating and drinking, but we'll make time for some looking, too.

While you look at this snap from our last trip to Venice in November 2005, I'm going to start packing.

Next post and snaps from Il Bel Paese...

Almost Time to Go

As I write this, the temperature here in Buenos Aires is 75° while back home in Fort Worth it's 69°. In other words, it's almost time to leave.

Since we did all the touristy things in years past, this time we decided to focus on simply getting to know our neighborhood better and enjoying it more.

One of the most pleasant results of this new approach was that we've eaten really well. I've complained before about the lack of variety and spice in Buenos Aires cuisine, but either the food has gotten better or our attitude has changed. With one or two exceptions, we never ate at a restaurant more than two or three blocks from our apartment. We found places we had never noticed before and stopped in at places we had often walked past. The restaurant fare was so good and still relatively cheap that we only cooked at home a couple of times. Some particular favorites were vacío at La Cholita, sorrentinos at La Parolaccia, sorrentinos at Rigoletto, lomo a caballo at Rodi-Bar, lomo at Melo, pizza calabresa at Güerrin, and milanesa napolitana at María de Bambi.

We brew our morning coffee here in the apartment. The stuff sold in supermarkets as 'coffee' is nasty and imported coffee from Brazil and Colombia is expensive, so we brought a couple of bags of Aldi coffee in our checked luggage. There's no half-and-half in Argentina, but we did just fine adding a spoon or two of crema to our morning café con leche. (There's a lot of cream for sale in the groceries: I wonder what people use it for?)

We've yet to figure out a reasonable way to exercise during our month here. It may not look like it, but I have a regular routine that I go through every day, mostly stretching, light weights, and brisk walking. Here, though, it's hard to do any of that. Walking in the city, dodging cars and buses and jostling through crowds, is not as satisfying as a fast five miles on the Trinity Trails. We're losing our tans.

Last night on the local news we saw a report about a large truck that had overturned on an overpass, dumping tens of thousands of pounds of yerba maté on the ground below. Crowds of men, women, and children rushed in to pick up the packages to haul home.

The parks are getting cleaner and nicer every year; Plaza Vicente Lopez is still our favorite. I can think of few things in life more pleasant than sitting on a park bench on a sunny spring day, watching people come and go: that little boy chasing his ball while his older sister rollerblades past; the young couple intertwined on the grass and in each other's eyes; the elderly woman, elegantly dressed, being helped to a bench by her young companion; the suited businessman on his cellphone making florid gestures in the fresh air. Stories unfolding simultaneously before one's eyes: life being lived.

Every year we come to Buenos Aires we have a bout of respiratory ailments. Cold, allergies, air pollution? All of the above? The last several days we've both been coughing and sneezing; it's not enough to keep us away but it's annoying.

Packing for return is so much easier than packing to leave. Beginning a trip means having to decide which shirts? Cold weather or warm? How much underwear? How many pairs of jeans and slacks? Which pointy kitchen implements in the checked bags? But returning involves no decisions at all: pack everything!

During past stays in Buenos Aires, I've written about things we missed back in Texas. Now, I can't even remember what they were because this year I've missed... nothing.

Before you know it we'll be through DFW customs and boarding the TRE train for home, wondering whether our car will start after sitting in the parking garage for a month. And as I put the key in the ignition I'll wistfully remember being able to live happily and well for a whole month with no car at all.

Here's my snapshots of this trip. Or you can go to the slideshow version.

Surviving in the Third World

Today was another difficult day in Buenos Aires. We eased out of bed around 9.30, had our coffee and facturas (pastries: apple or quince? croissant or cinnamon scone?), and took our time showering and getting dressed.

Around 1.30 we made it out the door to start looking for lunch. We strolled through the neighborhood, browsed some menus posted in windows, and eventually made it to María de Bambi a few blocks away.

We had eaten here two years ago and thought it worth trying again. Terri had spinach crepes and I had milanesa a la napolitana (breaded cutlet with tomato sauce and melted cheese on top), accompanied by a half bottle of vino tinto. Tasty and satisfying, all of it.

Full of lunch, we ambled over to Plaza de Vicente Lopez and sat on a bench. We talked about the gorgeous, almost too warm weather, and commented humorously on each person who went past. I suspect that at least some of them made humorous comments about us.

Bench sitting completed, we headed to the Disco supermarket to take advantage of our 15% discount coupon. We used our VISA to buy bread and butter and liters of Stella Artois and a bottle of sauvignon blanc and some dark chocolate alfajores for dessert later.

We walked back home with our groceries and safely re-entered the sanctuary of our apartment. It's a warm day, so we turned on the air conditioner. I'm pondering watching some cable TV (BBC or Al Jazeera? Turner Classic Movies or Canal 7?) before taking a nap.

Want to see more? Here's the growing set of snapshots of this trip.

Less Writing, More Looking

The weather in Buenos Aires is pleasant, perfect, gorgeous: highs in the low 70s, lows in upper 50s. We walk around during the day in shirtsleeves and I can sit on the balcony in the evening in shorts. The skies are blue with an occasional flourish of wispy cloud.

In other words, it is too warm. I came down here for winter but instead got idyllic spring.

(I should note here that most Argentines, like their Italian forebears, dress by the calendar rather than the thermometer. If the calendar says September -- March in Northern Hemisphere terms -- they will wear coats and scarves even when the temperature suggests less clothing.)

We are having a wonderful time. I could tell you more about it, about get-togethers with our old friend Robert and our new friend Ben, about how good the food seems this trip, about visiting Teatro Colon and Belles Artes, hot dogs in the park and ice cream cones, but I don't feel like writing much now. Instead, you can look at snapshots of this trip.

There's a slideshow version, too.

Big Mac Inflation Index, Argentina Style

As a way to compare official inflation figures with real-world prices, The Economist magazine devised the Big Mac Inflation Index. Comparing worldwide prices for McDonald's signature sandwich, the Big Mac, gives a sense of the true relative purchasing power of various currencies. In an article early this year explaining the index, The Economist pointed out that Argentina's official inflation rate was only 10% while burger prices had actually gone up twice as much, 19%.

Argentina's response to this is fascinating and fiendishly clever.

Walk into any McDonald's in Buenos Aires and look up at the big lighted menu board and you will find the usual stuff: Cuarto and Angus Tasty and McPollo and McNifica and all the rest. Look again, a little more closely, and you'll notice there is no Big Mac. No Big Mac at McDonald's? Huh?

Why isn't the Big Mac advertised on the menu? The rumor is that the Argentine government has asked (perhaps even paid?) McDonald's to keep the price of that particular item artificially low because of the inflation index. McDonald's has complied with the request but, to avoid losing money selling an item below cost, has taken the Big Mac off the published menu to discourage customers from ordering it.

We temporarily suspended our aversion to McDonald's to test this out. We walked up to Palermo to enjoy the Thays Botanical Garden; it was lunchtime and we were getting hungry, so we stopped in a McDonald's on Las Heras near the park. All the listed combo meals (sandwich, fries, and drink) ranged from A$32 to A$42 (US$7.75 to US$10). There was no Big Mac on the menu board but we asked, and sure enough they had it, at A$21.90 (US$5.25), a half to a third off the price of any other meal. We also discovered that ordering a Big Mac ensures that you get a freshly prepared burger, since they don't make them in advance and stick them under a heat lamp.

The other big surprise was that the Big Mac was -- dare I say it? -- tasty. Burgers are hard to come by in Buenos Aires, and the Big Mac meal made a pretty good, and pretty cheap, lunch.

Here's my snapshots of this trip.

Struggling Against Familiarity

On the first visit, a new city in a new country is an exotic destination. Every sight, every sound, every smell is strange and entrancing. On the second and third visits, the excitement is more subdued but there's still a thrill in revisiting famous places and resampling favorite foods. By the sixth visit, it's like being home again and the main concerns center around the daily routine: do we get our groceries at Disco (closer but more expensive) or Carrefour (an extra block away)? Steak for lunch at La Cholita or steak for dinner at Restaurante Melo? One piece of toast or two for breakfast?

We walk down the same streets and see the same buildings. Buenos Aires is a big city, however: just yesterday we were re-familiarizing ourselves with the neighborhood, walking along a nearby street, and saw several shops and restaurants we had never noticed before. Ah, a new place for lunch, perhaps.

I have identified the problem, and it is not Buenos Aires. My brain, dulled by familiarity, has trouble seeing new things to photograph and to write about.

On our first trip, when all was new, one of my favorite (in)activities was to stand on the balcony, glass of malbec in hand, and watch the traffic roar by. On this, the sixth trip, I still stand on the balcony, relishing that glass of wine and the sounds of the city. Perhaps the familiar is not so dull after all.

I am starting to post a few snapshots of this trip.

To the escape pods! ¡Nos vamos!

I hate the Texas summer. Every year seems hotter and this has been the hottest: day after day over 100°, made even worse by the record-setting lows in the mid-80s. The relentless heat is more than my brain can handle: I'm sour, lethargic, and indifferent. I don't smile, I can't think, I don't want to do anything.

But at last, this Friday, we escape.

For the sixth straight year, we're leaving for a month in Buenos Aires, where it's late winter. For the fourth straight year, we're renting the same one-bedroom apartment in a high-rise near the corner of Callao and Pacheco de Melo. For the first time in months, I'll wear long pants, real shoes, and a coat.

We arrive Saturday morning, when it is forecast to be about 50° and overcast.