Adam and Jay Visit Argentina: Day 3, Muchos Perros



I'm a lover of animals. Though I do have to say, my love has some limits. I've never been a huge fan of dogs, mostly because they often lunge at my crotch. I'm told this behavior means "he likes you," but for me, any creature's sharp teeth near my private area isn't the type of thing I welcome.

Why do I mention this in a recap of my time in Argentina? Well, in Bariloche, Jay and I made some new friends. Friends we had a hard time getting rid of. Like that neighbor in Empty Nest.


Ding Ding Ding!! That's The Sound Of Adam's Life Random TV Sitcom Reference Of The Week!!!

These friends were not Charley Dietz, providing comic relief. They were stray dogs-- apparently, there's a lot of them in South America. Because Argentinians don't believe in animal control, they'd rather feed the strays scraps than allow people to round them up and euthanize them. Go figure.

After waking up from my alcohol-induced coma, Jay and I walked through Bariloche with Jay's friend Mark, who he'd met earlier in his travels. We looked at the ice-skating rink (desperately in need of a Zamboni) and walked a little ways out of town along the main road. A lone dog began to follow us. Instantly, I knew wearing my new Purina One aftershave was a mistake.

At least this dog seemed reasonably well-groomed. I figured he'd been left to roam around by his owner. But as we turned a corner and headed down to the beach, another dog joined us. Then another. Soon, we were leading a stray dog parade, interrupted only by the passing of a unfortunate minivan:


The Dogs Mistook The Minivan For A Giant Steak. There Were No Survivors.

We sped up our pace, but the dogs stayed with us, all the way to a secluded, gorgeous, rocky beach on the shores of Nahuel Huapí. We sat down to take in the scenery and take a nap. The dogs joined us:


Minutes Later, Mark Disappeared Mysteriously

The view on the beach was pretty incredible, and the wind coming off the lake was intense, but refreshing on a sunny, cool day. I can imagine that the windsurfing must have been pretty great just about then:


Sure, That's Me...

Jay and I were a little mystified as to where his friend Mark went, but the dogs did seem a little fatter. "How do we get rid of these dogs?" Jay said in our secret human language. "I don't know," I said. "But maybe we can lose them if we walk on ridiculously rocky terrain back into town."


Well, That Didn't Work

Finally we reached a point where one path led up to town, one path led down to the beach, where a group of Argentinians were sitting in the shade. Jay and I looked at each other, and immediately had the same idea. We headed down the path, leading the dogs... and then, the moment they started to look at the other group...

We took off the other way.

I do mean took off. Ran. Up the street, in relatively high elevation. We were both winded when we reached the main square of town. No more dogs!! Well, except this guy:


Don't Even Think About It, Fido

We had some time to kill before my cousin Mark and his fiancee Kati arrived, so Jay and I went to, what else, the town's only casino. Having successfully lost all my money in Peru, I wasn't too optimistic. But Jay and I got a run of incredibly lucky cards, and I left up 150.

Pesos. But still. Not bad.

My cousin's arrival was met with hugs and a big Mexican dinner at Los Dos Zapatos. I recommend the carne fajitas. Muy bien. We also had some of the most sickeningly sweet margaritas I've ever had.

We couldn't party too hard though. Tomorrow we were off on yet another adventure. A three day, two night camping trip along the Seven Lakes route. At dinner, we looked through our guidebooks: Frommer's, Lonely Planet, and Rough Guide. On one of the last pages in the Rough Guide, there was a cryptic, one-sentence note about some hot springs located at the end of a "rocky" road. "That sounds interesting," I said.

Oh Adam. When will you learn?

Tomorrow, more. I promise.

Uruguay/Argentina Day 2: "Se Fue, Buquebus"


"I Hate You Buquebus!"

Our plan for Day 2 of our trip involved a LOT of traveling. In order to meet my cousin, who was down in Argentina for six months with his fiancee, we had to travel to Bariloche, an Argentinian mountain town about a two and a half hour flight from Buenos Aires. On paper, the plan looked solid. Wake up early, take an hour bus ride to Colonia, billed as "Uruguay's only World Heritage site!" and then a ferry, called the "Buquebus" to Buenos Aires, where we'd catch a cab to the airport in time for our flight.

The landscape outside the windows wasn't as interesting as the one I gazed at in Peru, so I used the bus ride to catch up on some sleep. Upon arrival in Colonia, Jay and I made a comical attempt to find lockers to store our bags, which involved us speaking pigeon spanish to people and receiving complicated instructions in speedy spanish in return. We'd ask, they'd point... and we still had no clue.

Finally, we broke down and sprang for a hostel, paying $10 each to stuff our bags in a room. "It's crazy that we're booking a hostel that we're not even going to sleep in," I told Jay. Little did I know it wouldn't be the last time...

How was Colonia? Well, it's a pretty town, leafy trees, cobbled streets, whitewashed, 17th and 18th century architecture, a picturesque lighthouse. But it was pretty dull. We had seen what felt like the whole town in an hour, and after killing time at the handicraft market (which should have been called the handi-CRAP market), we didn't have that much else to do.


Look! A Lighthouse!

Traveler's Tip: Jay's friend in Argentina would tell us later that a fun thing to do is rent a golf cart or ATV and just go cruising around... and in retrospect, we noticed a few of those rental agencies in town. But we didn't think of it at the time.

Bored, we made our way to a small restaurant down by the water with a garden in back, which had been recommended by our guidebook. I loved the atmosphere... the open red brick grill, a planter running along the top of the wall from which the cook occasionally picked fresh herbs for the food. It was a beautiful day out, so Jay and I ordered the lunch specials (which included wine and dessert), sat back and relaxed.


The Meal That Lasted Forever

And relaxed... and relaxed.

With a half an hour until our ferry was due to leave, I asked the chef if I could try some cooking on the grill. With twenty-five minutes left, we dug into some ice cream. With a little over fifteen to go, we paid our check.


In America, We Call This "Lawsuit Waiting To Happen"

Calmly walking up the street towards our hostel, neither of us remarked on the time. We got to the hostel, however, and the realization finally hit.

"We have to run."

With our big backpacks strapped on, we ran towards the Buquebus terminal along the uneven pavement, nearly toppling over as we went. We arrived at what turned out to be the wrong terminal... pulling a U-turn, we sped towards the bright, shiny, Buquebus, sitting in the water by the dock. A few crewmen passed us.

"El Buquebus?" one of them asked.

"Si!" I shouted, out of breath.

"Se Fue," the man responded. "Se Fue. It's gone."

"But it's right there, it hasn't left!"

He shrugged his shoulders.

We arrived at the terminal five minutes before the boat was scheduled to leave. Above the check-in desk was a sign: "All passengers must check in at least an hour before departure."

Traveller's Tip: If you miss the Buquebus from Colonia, or need a cheaper option, there's the Colonia Express.

The next boat didn't leave until 4:30, which meant there was no way we were making our 5-something flight. It also meant staying in boring ol' Colonia for about three more hours.

Desperate, I called my Mom while Jay purchased tickets for the next Colonia Express boat (our tickets for the Buquebus-- non-refundable). My mom's travel-agent style skills snagged us the last two seats on the early morning flight from Buenos Aires to Bariloche. Jay and I weren't happy about the whole situation.

It wasn't until we were on the boat headed to Buenos Aires before I realized... We're going to be spending an extra night in friggin' Buenos Aires. Feel good about that, you ungrateful little shi...


Florida Street, Buenos Aires


A Michelangelo at a Shopping Mall? The Galerías Pacífico

We stayed at a hostel in Recoleta, an area much like New York's Soho. We walked around the city, cruising through the shopping street of Florida, going through one of the prettiest malls I've ever seen, and ended up in Puerto Madero, the newest part of town, a revitalized waterfront with restaurants and bars. Wanting to sample some of the local flavor, we stopped into a favorite traditonal Argentinian haunt.


Jay and I Meet The Locals

I have to say, impressive Hooters. Although their idea of chicken fingers was a chicken cutlet, they won points for some inspired dancing and quality..er..service.

We also met some great Portenos (Buenos Aires residents), who gave us some tips about where to go and what to see.

As mentioned earlier, Jay had a friend in Buenos Aires, so around 10:30, we head to his place in Palermo to go out for dinner. He chose a popular parrilla (i'll have to get the name), otherwise known as a grill restaurant, where we could try some of Argentina's greatest natural resource: Beef.

After about two hours of waiting (they did give us some complimentary champagne and chorizo), we sat down with some American girls we met outside. We ordered the lomo, or filet mignon, and the bife de chorizo, a cut like a New York strip steak... except three times as thick.


Beef: It's What's For Dinner. And Lunch. And Breakfast.

Along with our meal came a smorgasbord of sides all in their own small porcelain dishes: traditional things like mashed potatoes and grilled onions and mushrooms to some delicious adventures like a creamy chopped egg salad and some sort of eggplant-tomato sauce. We also got some fries, some sausages, enough food to satisfy Jessica Simpson for a day:


Tony Romo Likes 'Em Meaty

Two of the girls were, strangely enough, vegetarians, who apparently had no problem going to a restaurant solely known for serving copious amounts of succulent meat. Perhaps it was the orgasmic sounds we made while chewing the jugoso (juicy), perfectly cooked steak, perhaps it was a prevailing "When in Rome" attitude that adventurous travelers are known to adopt, or perhaps it was all the wine (Malbec) we were drinking, but the veggie-lovers threw caution to the wind (and horrified committed vegetarians everywhere) by giving in and giving the steak a try. "You guys just make it look so delicious," one of the girls said.

This is how I described it in an IM to my friend Chris:

me: the best steak ever

chris: was it, what cuts did you get

me: the lomo, which is filet mignon, but there its bigger and just like butter and then theres my fav the bife de chorizo which is like a ny strip steak but three times as thick its like cuttin into a whole cow and just absorbing the animals life force, thereby becoming stronger and more deadly

chris: is it delicious

me: oh yeah and the sides they give you this sauce' chimmichurri every place makes their own some garlic, herbs, some oil and of course, the mashies and the fries and then you down it all with the tastiest of wines the malbecs

chris: that sounds like high quality porn for your mouth

Show me all the PETA ads you want. After that Beef in Buenos Aires, there's no way I'm givin it up.

We finished dinner at around 2 am, the time when locals PREGAME before going out. Jay and I knew we had a flight to catch in the morning. We had to leave our hotel at 4:00 AM to get to the airport. After a long day, heading back to the hostel for an hour or two of shuteye would have been wise.

"Come on guys," Jay's friend said. "Let's go to Crobar."

So we stuffed all six of us in a cab and headed to one of Buenos Aires' hottest clubs. I don't really know how he did it, but Jay's friend got us past the line and inside before we knew it, and arranged for us to have a table in the VIP area, complete with bottles of champagne.


Champizzy at the Crobarizzy

Techo-beats blaring, table dancing all around. It was a wild scene. At 3:30 AM, plastered and in the middle of my patented "put on the roof" dance move, my phone alarm went off. The time when Jay and I had planned to WAKE UP for our taxi to the airport.

"Wee SHlood Pob bobbly gow," I said to Jay.

We checked out of our hostel at 4 am... without having even slept in it. Again.

I don't know how I got on that plane, but I know I was still drunk. I closed my eyes before liftoff and let the alcohol take me on a wild, scary ride to dreamland.

The next time I'd open them we'd be in Bariloche, land of the seven lakes and several stray dogs...

Adam and Jay's Argentinian Adventure: Day 1: Uruguay


Fried Churros + Dulce De Leche + Sugar = Mmm

The long awaited trip recap begins, as all international trips do, in an airport.

When I booked my flight to Montevideo, Uruguay, a mere month before departing, I had few worries. Sure, I had to make two connections, one in Miami and one in Panama City, and only an hour or two between each leg, but what could possibly go wrong on Christmas Eve? If problematic travel on Christmas Eve was a common thing, then you'd expect there to be tons of films about the experience.







Oh, right.

At the Newark airport, I watched my 8:00 flight to Miami slowly turn into a 1:00 flight. At 12:30, finally knowing there was no way I'd make my connection, I went over to the Continental Airlines Customer Service center in the airport. The line in front resembled one of those Russian bread lines.



In the spirit of Christmas, the people ahead of me in line made way to let me in front, being that my flight to Miami left soon and I had no idea whether or not I should be on it.

"I need to get down to Montevideo," I tell the customer service woman. "I'm meeting my friend down there."

"I'll see what we can do," she said.

I expected the classic brush off. She'd type a few things, then look up at me and with a smile so forced you just want to slap it, say "I'm sorry, there's nothing we can do."

Maybe it was the look of desperation on my face. Maybe it was the aura of the impending Obama administration. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit. But instead of acting like every other customer service person has ever acted towards me, the woman picked up two phones at the same time, typed on two computers, called DIFFERENT airlines and after about 15 minutes, was able to book me on the last available direct flight from Miami to Montevideo. A flight that would arrive only five hours past when I initially was supposed to arrive.

Angel at the airport? I believe so.

I emailed Jay from my iPhone while spending my 8 hour layover at the Miami airport, letting him know my new time of arrival. I had no idea if he would receive the message. But sure enough, as I pulled up in front of our hotel, Jay was at the door, and he had something with him.

"Have you ever had a Alfahor?" he asked.

"An Alpha Whore?"

He handed me a foil package containing a round chocolate hockey puck. With some hesitation, I opened it up and took a bite.

Wow.

There's nothing like it in the states. Picture a Ring Ding (those Drake's cakes that are soooo good). Instead of merely a cream filling, there's some kind of cookie or wafer, sandwiched between layers of chocolate fudge and dulce de leche, a creamy kind of caramel. The level of deliciousness beats any sort of cookie or dessert cake you can buy at your local bodega.

They're everywhere in Uruguay and Argentina. Which prompted me to ask the question... Why haven't I heard of these delectable delights before?

Even a google image search only came up with this photo, and most don't have nuts:



After my tasty introduction to Uruguayan cuisine, Jay and I hit the town. We walked along the Rio Plata that separates Uruguay from Argentina. The water was muddy brown, either from the sediment in the riverbed or the pollution. We got some delicious pollo and carne empanadas at the only open cafe in town (it was Christmas day, after all) and then took a cab to a beach called Pocitos, where the city faces the South Atlantic.

Travelers Tip: Cabs in Uruguay have meters, but they tally distance, not money. At the end, the driver pulls out a chart, and you pay the money that's listed next to the distance. Why do they do it in this bizarre way? To confuse Americans, of course

I took many pictures, but they were all erased due to the awkwardly close positioning of the "Delete All" and "Delete One" options on my camera. Screw you, Sony.


That kid in the background tried to sell me something called "marijuana" in Spanish.

Jay and I laid out on the beach while a group of Uruguayan kids brazenly smoked something that was not cigarettes. There were some Uruguayan hotties next to us, too. One girl on the beach was riding her boyfriend's lap like it was one of those 50cent mechanical amusements outside the supermarket. The perfect way to spend Christmas.

Pictures? Nope. Erased.

We were walking back toward our hotel along the La Rambla, the Montevideo boardwalk, when some girl called out to Jay and waved. Turned out she was a girl from Switzerland who had been part of a group that Jay went with to an Argentinian soccer game earlier in his travels. We chilled for a while in a rocky alcove off La Rambla which featured a giant broken stone wall. And then there were these rail tracks implanted into the ground. Seeing a used condom lying on one of the rocks, Jay and I figured it was a park like the one we'd seen in Peru, where locals go to take their chicas for romantic sexo de publico.

Then we saw the plaque:



Yes, it was Montevideo's Holocaust Memorial. Nothing says romance like... well... here's to the rebirth of life, I guess.

The sun began to descend in the sky as we made our way back. We stopped to buy some churros from a rather picturesque stand on La Rambla. If the fried dough snacks aren't already fattening enough, in Uruguay, they INJECT them with dulce de leche, and then top them off with some sprinkled sugar. Delicious.



We stopped to watch the sun sink into the Rio Plata before making it back to the hotel. Day 1 ended with a oversauced Uruguayan version of french bread pizza and an ultimately failed attempt to enjoy an "enhanced" view of the city skyline from our hotel's rooftop.



Tomorrow, we'd have to get up early for the day's journey to Buenos Aires, where we planned on catching our afternoon flight to Bariloche, an Argentinian mountain town. First, a bus to Colonia, Uruguay, about an hour away, and then a two hour boat ride to the city and a cab to the airport. After the day of traveling I'd had, I was looking forward to a day where all our meticulously planned travel connections would go smoothly.

Little did I know...