Once again I find my fingers dancing across the keyboard in an unrehearsed melee: part intention, part inspiration - the worst of my digit’s drunken stumbles hidden (I hope) by the electronic rubber that is the delete key.
If letters are soldiers and words their battalions my blog is the frontline in the war I wage against my own reticence towards communication...
No doubt failing to inform;
Perhaps it entertains;
For me it nevers fail to divert.
Lyrically lolloping the words wander across my mind and saunter slowly onto the page. In and out and out and in, meaning everything, meaning something, meaning nothing.
And thus to Mendoza - the second time around...
Returning to the city after my little sojourn to look at rocks (, rocks and more rocks) and then party (alas, hardly) with the youngsters in Cordoba I decided Mendoza seemed a just lovely base for my first attempts at some mastery (read basic ability to comprehend and be comprehended) in Spanish. Splitting my time between a Hostel and a week with a Mendocinian family my two weeks here have passed without great incident or event of particular note but I shall not let such things prevent the blog from winding its inexorable course...
Spanish lessons have once again proved my dislike for being taught. Whilst I enjoy the learning of the new I grow frustrated easily at both my own lack of understanding and the inability of another to explain to me in terms that I deem adequate. I feel relations with the teacher deteriorated rather rapidly and no amount of provision of fruit or attempts at humour (are they ever anything more?) could overcome the seething disdain with which she simmered, greeting as she did my every fumbling attempt at speaking with a barely contained rage. I perhaps exaggerate but if I said Spanish lessons were OK where would be the fun in that? However it must be noted that after two weeks of lessons I am now able to conversate fluently read the daily newspaper without trouble and follow the news on TV understanding every word. When it comes to Spanish though things are not so easy.
I would love to say that staying with the family really helped and that each night we sat down for dinner and chatted merrily about the affairs of the day. However whilst prone to exaggeration and some artistic license (there was one part of one street in BsAs without dog poop) I try to refrain from absolute untruths. Worth every penny for the ability to catch up on the sleep I have missed over the last month - people seem to have to get up at different times in dorms - the family or I seemed never to be in the house at the same time. Viewing me as a slight oddity my main conversation was with the father Hector, a fourth generation Italian who speaks not a word of English but explained (with vigorous hand actions - as I said he speaks no English AND is of Italian descent) the reasons behind the farmers strike which has been ongoing for over 100 days. Not sure of his allegiance to either the country or the city I kept my nods neutral and my face blank (the latter not difficult). In summation, for those that are interested, the farmer’s strike is, I think, something to do with something selling for more than it used to and thus the taxes being raised, as I said, I think. The main manifestation of the strike to a wanderer such as I is the proliferation of roadblocks on the main arterial trade routes across Argentina. Indeed the Cordoba - Mendoza leg of my journey was almost postponed for just this reason - in not holding me up the farmers have garnered my full support (I may find out what I am supporting at some point but no rush) however the mention on the news last eve of the potential for `no bife` (no translation necessary surely?) would put a significantly different slant on things and may rapidly alter my allegiances.
So apart from chewing the fat with Senor Hector what else have I been up to?
Nursing a severe addiction to empanadas (think miniature Cornish Pasties) for one. In this arena special mention must go to ¿Que Como? a restaurant barely five minutes walk from the hostel and serving 6 of the little pastry beauties and a fizzy drink for less than the price of a first class stamp (should said stamp cost a couple of quid). Yes the T-Bone Steak (read Bife de Chorizo in these parts) at Don Mario’s was the size of a small child’s head (cooked to perfection and carved slice by slice akin to the finest farmhouse loaf) and yes 5 pounds for all you can eat (including meat of unknown origin) at Tinajas is good value but something about the convivial host, barely there decor and a complete absence of other diners means ¿Que Como? is a winner every time. The provision of soap and hand towels in the bathroom (never a certainty) are but icing on a very cheap cake.
You still with me? OK, time to wrap up - only four pages to go...
After two, almost three, given my first visit, weeks in Mendoza I feel it is time to move on. Cabin fever, itchy feet, call it what you will but not many towns can sate the insatiable (obviously) hunger, satisfy the voracious appetite nor quench the unquenchable (again, obviously) thirst for the new that travelling instils in one. And therefore my camera, Moleskine and I will take ourselves to pastures new before `ere long has passed. Alas, it must be noted in addition to the rather romantic notion of travelling in only what you stand up in and those tools necessary to document the journey I also have a rather full bag of clothes and `products` which I have no doubt Beau Brummel would have found quite adequate for at least a weekend. I am travelling but I am no brute. Indeed I have with me assorted paraphernalia which means I am adequately and equally prepared for the beach or the glacier, the city or the sierra, from artic to temperate, from equatorial to just plain hot I have the requisite outfit and accessories to hand.
Probably just you and me now mum so I’ll sign off here. Bye for now. More soon as I once again pick up the travelling pace.
On another point the old adage goes that a picture paints a thousand words and whilst this may be true it does not necessarily follow that a thousand words paint a picture (in the case of this little ditty more than likely not). Photos to be posted elsewhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment