Hello all and welcome to the first of a more than likely infrequent ´blog´of my travels around the world...
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin...
One week in and its time to leave Buenos Aires before my wallet, liver and soul collapse from relentless excess. A city of numerous sights and sounds and sounds and sounds - did I mention the noise?! Who can fail to love a city where singing ´Glory glory Man United´ (for the sake of parity I must declare I am unsure as to what singing ´Blue Moon´ would have resulted in) gains you VIP access in the club, every step along the way is filled with trepidation for fear of treading in the ´poopas dogas´ and each and every night is an excuse to test one´s stamina and ability to consume a menagerie of substances of which Pablo Escobar would have been proud (for the sake of mummy I must declare I have refrained from anything other than cerveza).
The Georgians never knew excess on the scale the ´portenos´ consider routine - washing down half a cow of raw beef (1 week, two trips to Desnivel - thank you Priya, Libby and Lonely Planet ) with several Quilmes, a dance until dawn and the attentions of a couple of Brazilians is but ´mode de jour´ in these parts. From the back street reggae club to the underground drum and bass night Buenos Aires has turned me from a meek and quiet soul into a drunkard of quite staggering proportions.
Alas, it isn´t all about partying and when not initiating conversations with the ever reliable triumvirate of ´So, where are you from? Have you been travelling for long? Where are you going next?´ I have ticked a few ´turistcos´ boxes but such things are no doubt documented more than adequately in numerous guide books and thus I will not waste pesos reiterating them here. Suffice to say the beach isn´t worth bothering with but a cemetery with street signs and two storey mausoleums is quite unique if a little odd as a tourist attraction. I can´t help but feel guilty that when paying my respects at the grave of Eva Peron I thought of Madonna (it would appear Guy Ritchies directorial career is not the only thing she ruined) - however humming The Smiths - Cemetery Gates - (Joe, sing with me - Keats and Yates are on your side, while Wilde is on mine...!) provided consolation enough.
And thus today the real travels begin with an 18 hour coach ride down into Patagonia - the air miles and lounge access are useless to me now - and my next update should hopefully be sent from the apparently quite lovely environs of Puerto Madryn. Time to say goodbye to the pure insanity of Milhouse (thank you Priya, Cookie) where drinking and sleeping seem the only activities practiced with any vigour and where just breathing gives you the lungs of a 40 a dayer...
Anyways, I´ll sign off and say goodbye to those who have kept up with me this far. I fear the above is no more a travel journal than the Daily Mail is a balanced and informative newspaper but such is life. My electronic scribblings are a welcome diversion to me but may prove a chore to others.
Until the next time...hasta ocho dias mi amigo...x
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