Living with the Buenos Aires mafia

Fortunately not all Argentine men are cowboys and my boss at the wine shop invited us to stay with him until we found our feet. Gladly accepting the generous offer we arrived at his big apartment, which was buzzing with handymen and maids and hunting trophies (the furry kind) covered in dustsheets.
It was a surreal first couple of moments watching Alfreddo ceremoniously pull out about 50 pairs of men’s leather shoes from his cupboard to give us his room (the whole apartment is being renovated) then heading to the supermarket where he bought a trolley full of cleaning products and took the trolley home – it is still on the balcony – then sitting down to a huge roast lunch together before heading to work.
Jim has found himself a job here as a second handy man and we have an interesting family unit with Alfreddo, Franco (the alcoholic ex-military handyman), Beatrix (the native Indian motherly maid) and Colin (the poodle). We frequently dine out with the mafia (enormous old fat men with their fingers in the kind of pockets that you don't ask about) in old Italian restaurants drinking champagne and orange squash. When we are not out eating at another friend's restaurant the three of us eat an enormous piece of meat at the flat accompanied by fine wines or antique gin.
It is a weird reality here and I am not sure if I am in Naples or Buenos Aires, but I quite like it.

A run of bad luck

I am notorious for my bad travel luck and with only one mugging, a spiking and a few injuries on the trip so far I thought I had almost cheated my curse, however within the first two days of Jim’s arrival the curse had all but engulfed us.
Swindled by an apartment company, homeless, mugged at knifepoint and threatened extradition… all within one week. I think I am going to like BA.
On Monday morning the day started off on the wrong note when the cheap cab I booked to and from the airport turned out to be a fraudulent company pushing my latest host to beg me to shell out double the amount for a reliable company. I did and waving goodbye to my salivatingly well-planned steak dinner that night I caught the expensive, safe option which blew the budget. Fortunately despite the delay, the wrong landing information and no notice on the arrivals board, I found Jim. Or rather he found me as I stood desperately turning my head in exaggerated circles looking for him while he was stood right in front of me.
We got in the taxi and headed to the fancy apartment I had spent a bit extra on hoping for a smooth move in and looking forward to a rooftop swimming pool. When we opened the door I immediately saw it was the wrong one…
The online booking form had reserved the wrong apartment for twice the price it was originally advertised for. After hours of negotiation we left under the impression we were moving into another more suitable one later that week for the same price. Now to find somewhere to stay… We ended up sleeping on the floor in a hostel in San Telmo. Not too bad really though and the thunderstorm made it at least seem romantic for the first two hours of backache.
The next day deciding to take in the touristy sites we headed to colourful La Boca to enjoy the tango and floods of tourists. On our way back we took a wrong turn and quickly found ourselves being mugged at knifepoint by a swarm of young men demanding our money and rummaged through Jim’s pockets making away with his digital camera. As I screamed for help, and to unsuccessfully scare them away, the neighbours just looked on and there was even a faint laugh as they left. Nice.
After a couple hours at the unsympathetic police station we gave up and headed back to the hostel for a bottle of cava on the rooftop.
The following day we battled with the agent again who refused to give us another apartment as agreed and we resolved to move into the booked apartment for a week to at least get our deposit’s worth. That also fell through when they demanded even more money and we walked away. Only to find an email threatening my extradition if I didn’t pay up…

Luciano and the pitbull - Couchsurfing Chronicles, Part Eight

Next up was Luciano, a sensitive musician with a young, enthusiastic pit bull. We spent the evenings together singing, playing the guitar, going to contemporary jazz clubs and discussing our favourite polenta recipes.
Luciano lived in a slightly dodgy area of BA which meant that walking home from the subte was a thrilling if not slightly terrifying experience. You know that when at least five grown men warn you not to walk down that particular street and to take the long way round that it might be something worth listening to…

Fortunately I was spared from any midnight muggings in Chacarita, it wasn’t until broad daylight in touristy La Boca that they caught up with me.

Shopgirl

Within an hour of arriving in Buenos Aires I found work at a wine shop. I wasn’t particularly interested in finding a job, I was just lured in by the promise of a free glass of wine and when I got chatting it turned out they needed an English speaker so I had an impromptu interview with the boss (who speaks no English) and was signed up to start the following week.
My first day started off well with a glass of champagne (rest assured it was 2pm) then took a downward turn of sitting there staring at people walking past for about six hours, but then picked up again with quite a few more glasses of champagne towards the end and some customers to talk to.
It is weird being a shopgirl again… I am trying to remember how you while away the empty hours inbetween customers. So far I have read a couple books about wine, written four poems, two short stories, about 35 ‘to do’ lists – none of which I can fulfil while working – and at least two weeks worth of thinking. Being a shopgirl is quite slow, although the champagne obviously helps and the brothel next door makes for quite interesting people watching.

The entrepeneurial type - Couchsurfing Chronicles, Part Seven

I think it was purely for the fact that he was Irish and is accustomed to keeping drunken promises that Eammon put us up for a couple nights at his flat. He was not a couchsurfer, never had been and is not sure if he ever will be, but nevertheless he stood by his word and offered us his spare room.
We met him at his beautiful bohemian San Telmo apartment and quickly went out for some beers to ease him into the new situation.
Still slightly bemused and confused about how he ended up taking in two English girls, Eammon proved to be a lovely host. Happy to help where needed and good company in the evening, we enjoyed our last couple of nights together at Eammon’s house.
I stayed on for a couple more nights after Rhia left which made it an easy transition into Couchsurfing solo.

The strangest Halloweeen

After a rather large Friday night out prematurely celebrating Halloween, we were not really in the mood for a long night but Rhia, Natalie and I figured we could probably manage to throw a few shapes on the salsa dance floor all the same.
Heading out with a group of Colombians we arrived at the club and swiftly moved to the dancefloor. Latin men don’t really take 'no' as an answer and if you so much as hold your head near their eye-level you are immediately tugged onto the dance floor for a few energetic jaunts where you simply try not to get motion sickness as they spin you around.
When space started to clear in the centre and a man took to the microphone, Rhia pushed me forward into the limelight. Too dizzy from my last dance to be fully aware of what was happening I obliged and found myself stood in front of hundreds at the club volunteering to dance in a competition.
I ended up stood next to a short, bespectacled man watching a complex dance routing that we were supposed to follow. Watching the other, far more experienced but nonetheless still quite terrible, couples I resigned myself to the fact that this would just have to go down as one of those mildly embarrassing anecdotes that I could glamorise for my grandchildren.
Trying to work out how we would compensate for the height difference I attempted to recall the sequence when the camp announcer motioned it was our turn. Fortunately my partner took no notice of my English sensibility and spun me around throwing me over his knee for a dazzling finish before my brain or clumsy-prone conscious self could catch up. Whoops and claps indicated that it had gone well as I stood there waiting for the white lights in my eyes to fade and wandering what had just happened.
A clap-o-metre revealed us as clear favourites and down to my short, athletic, clark-kent type partner we walked away with a bottle of champagne each and our pride firmly intact. Quaffing away with Rhia and Natalie we drank up, danced a bit more and pinched a few Halloween souvenirs before heading back to Natalie’s for some rest.

Before we had a chance to touch the bedsheets a couple men in wigs hauled us up to their flat for a house party which meant more dancing and drinking of fruity vodka with BA’s most affluent transvestite quarter.

Our First Lady - Couchsurfing Chronicles Part Six

Next up was our first lady, Natalie. Natalie had surfed extensively in Spain but we managed to break her couch in as her first experience as a host.

We bonded instantly and spent the first couple of hours wearing out our voiceboxes before moving onto a big night out…

Buenos Aires (Couchsurfing Chronicles - Part Five)

Moments before boarding our bus to Buenos Aires we got offered a couch by computor-programming rocker Agustine.
After a wild goose chase around the city, following a mix-up of directions, we found his place and dutifully waited for him to finish work. Agustine was our third host and, having hosted 25 people previously, he was a convenient middle-point between Paulo (who had taken in over 50 surfers) and Jaime (who had taken three).
We spent the first night together eating, drinking, talking, bunking off French class and experimenting with conversations in the dark. The following night we parted ways – Agustine to a rock concert and me and Rhia to a couchsurfing Halloween party (yes we are groupies already). Dressed in shabbily put together costumes that involved extra pairs of pants and cotton wool, we headed to Palermo not knowing what to expect.
To our delight it was a full-blown club with disco lights and lots of dancing. To our disappointment no-one else was wearing costumes so our interesting garb just made us look pretty simple.
We didn’t actually speak to any couchsurfers that night but somehow my inner couchsurfing entrepeneur kicked in and convinced an unassuming Irish chap to take us in the following week for his first, if slightly unexpected, couchsurfing experience.

Couchsurfing Chronicles - Part Four, Boatsurfing

Couchsurfing in Rosario did not get off to the best start as we had no host for the first couple of days and had to retreat to a hostel. However that did not mean we gave up on couchsurfing completely and if we could not use the network to find a spare sofa, we figured we could at least use it as a rent-a-local-friend site.
It worked. We were invited to a party with a family of couchsurfers (two sisters and a brother) and their surfers (a Belgian couple). Turning up at their house with some booze we all got on very well and headed off to what they described as a Communist party for a due night of mayhem.
In the morning we woke up hungover and, alas, someone had agreed to host us for a few nights! We packed our bags and headed off to Jaime’s house which he shared with his musician cousin and film-directing, circus performer brother. I mention their professions because they played an integral part to our experience as we woke up to classical violen and cello duets alternating with film shootings littered with actors and extras.
Couchsurfing with Jaime took the concept to a whole other level with us not only surfing his couch (or rather his generously donated bed) but surfing his boat too!
We jumped at a polite invitation to go to a neighbouring island on his boat and after a couple hours searching for the keys, we found ourselves peacefully racing across the river in his small speedboat to meet his friends on the island and drink in the sun and cheap wine.
The next day we begged to return and Jaime and his friends came up trumps organising a full-on asado (BBQ) of steak, sausage and tripe.
That night we attempted to attend a Couchsurfing Rosario weekly meeting but found ourselves being particularly South American and arriving four hours late. Usually this would not be a problem in Argentina or apparently most of the continent however we proved this rule wrong and managed to arrive just as everyone was leaving. Fortunately the host of the meeting was keen to show us a good time and we used a mattress and steep staircase to try a literal expression of couchsurfing.
As quite a young host as such, we were only his third, Jaime was keen to show us his city and did a great job. We left Rosario blissfully in love with the city and totally enamoured with the concept of couchsurfing, friendsurfing, familysurfing and particularly boatsurfing.