The Tango Show

During dinner on my first night with Angel and Aurora, they asked if I wanted to go see a Tango show. I asked when and they said later that night. And for those of you who don’t know Argentina, Tango shows equal late nights. It was already 9 o’clock. My bus had been 2 hours late. I was tired. I wanted to be awake and alert for my first day of class the next morning. “What time will it start?” I asked. And Aurora and Angel replied, “11:30.” I thought a minute and said okay with some reluctance.

So 11 o’clock came around and we had all put on some nicer clothes, and we made our way into town. They had an old Nissan pick up truck with 4 doors and I insisted on sitting in the back. As we drove into town, I couldn’t help but think that I was, in fact, with some version of my grandparents.

Earlier that evening after dinner, Aurora had led me to my room, which was downstairs and had a queen and two bunk beds. Just as I had been about to put my stuff down and say this room looks great, Aurora had said, “Don’t put anything on this bed,” pointing to the queen, “This is your bed here.” And she pointed to the lower bunk.

So as I sat in the backseat of the truck watching Angel wrestle with the non-power steering, steering wheel I was wondering if I had somehow landed into some Twilight Zone that was a cross between 7th grade camp and a visit to my grandmother’s house and this was our night out on the town.

When we reached the venue for the show, I quickly realized that this show would be performed in a run of the mill steak restaurant. My stomach started to sink with the hunch that this Tango show was just another staged tourist event in a place that was trying to get tourists to come eat their food. Angel asked the maitre d', “What time will the show start?” And the man replied, “Oh you’re early!” With an enthusiasm and a grin so large that I cringed.

We were lead downstairs to the basement. Fluffy couches and comfy chairs surrounded a small wooden dance floor. The place was empty as we were the first group to arrive (it was 11:20), and we duly ordered drinks and waited.

As it turned out the show didn’t begin until 12:30. For close to an hour we watched as couples came down the stairs, settled themselves into their seats and began chatting about inconsequential things while they waited for their drinks.

A little after 12 midnight, one couple asked if they could dance while they waited. The stooping maitre d' insisted that this of course would be a delight for the entire world. This couple began to dance to the background tango music, and soon 2 other couples had joined them on the dance floor.

At this point in the evening, Aurora was getting annoyed with the late hour, Angel was trying to get the maitre d'’s attention, and I was close to falling asleep on the couch. After watching the dancing couples for a few minutes, Angel leaned over and said, “They’re dancing the tango all wrong.” Aurora nodded in agreement and said, “Angel knows. He can dance the Tango. They’re not that good.”

When the headwaiter, a younger version of the maitre d' with jet black hair and slicked back in a 1940’s Cubano style and wearing a white dinner jacket with a black bow tie, was making his rounds to ask how everyone was doing (inferring about the state of their drinks and if they needed more), Angel pointed to his wife and said, “She’s not doing well.” The headwaiter stooped in a few inches in a way that would have made the maitre d' proud and asked, “Oh, what seems to be the problem?” Aurora replied, “It is close to 12:30 and this was supposed to start an hour ago!” The waiter stooped two degrees lower, mumbled “of course”, and immediately went to the bar where he told the maitre d' and the manager, who nodded their heads with vigor and promptly disappeared. The waiter did not return after this mini, customer service and customer relationship conference. Nor did he ever make eye contact or come within 3 feet of our table for the rest of the night.

Soon after all of this the real Tango dancers made their appearance and danced two dances to recorded music. They were the typical over stylized Tango dancers replete with heavy eye shadow and a sky blue evening dress for the lady and a black 3-piece suit and fedora hat worn at the sharp, sinister angle for the man. Despite the fact that we were in a basement of a mediocre steak house in Bariloche, a town that is known for its chocolate and ice cream eating visitors who walk around in sandals and contemplate the amount of coffee they will drink in a day, this over stylized dress seemed to work, albeit with a slight suspension of belief and/or a willingness to time travel back to the shady 1930’s barrios of Buenos Aires.

After 2 dances the dancers left the dance floor and out came the maitre d', who now had on his suit jacket. He began talking into the microphone while two guitarists set up behind him. The microphone cord snaked around the edge of the dance floor and this man began a lengthy chatter of some kind about Tango, singing, and the aura of the night. And the maitre d' continued to talk, or maybe ramble is a better verb, into the microphone, playing with the microphone cord and stirring up the unquestionable feeling in all of us that he really was a failed comic who has found himself in Bariloche hosting steak eating and wine tasting tourists to their seats while he really wished he could make us laugh, but instead he would like to introduce, the amazing-only-for-tonight-because-he-is-leaving-tomorrow-morning-for-Buenos-Aires-Maestro-blah-blah-blah. And then he started clapping like some sea lion looking for extra fish at the St. Louis Zoo all the while looking up from his stooping and raising his shoulders and clapping some more in order to encourage us to raise the decibels of unbearable anticipation and delight and joy and sheer Tango cheer for this octogenarian Tango singing star. And out came the Maestro.

So there I was, in the basement of a restaurant I wouldn’t find myself dead in if I had to eat dinner there, sitting on a couch, comprehending only every third or fourth word that is spoken, feeling like a grandson who has returned to some sort of end of summer camp with bunk beds, noticing the impatience of my hosts increase by the minute over the past hour, watching the mechanics of the waiter and maitre d' sell overpriced drinks to the poor souls who have come to find themselves in this overly stylized, cultural extravaganza-esque bar and who have been waiting to watch Tango dancers and to hear a Tango singer, a style of music and dance that has its roots in the town they probably are on holiday or retired from (Buenos Aires), and all of us breathing in the increasingly cigarette smoke filled air because Argentina still believes that civilized countries are ones where people smoke inside unventilated rooms, and out walks Danny Devito.

The maestro, his complete self, in his black tuxedo and black bow tie, with his nearly bald head and remaining hairs dyed a dark red, and with shoes so polished that even a 2 year old baby could see his own reflection, looked like an overgrown, slightly overweight Danny Devito. And he grabs the microphone, says a couple of words and then proceeds to blow us all away with sorrowful, passionate renditions of the Tango.

And as he sang his songs of desperation, isolation, longing and a heart that has had a knife plunged into it over and over again (Classic themes of the Tango); it all began to make sense. I was stuck in some form of the 20th century cultural showcase. The manager had an air of Bobby Ewing from Dallas with his semi permed black hair, white linen sport jacket and dark jeans. The maitre d' had to be an ex-country club manager, always stooping to win the thrown away respect of visitors and regulars alike, trying as he might to earn a tip or a laugh. The headwaiter was straight out of the Cuba portrayed in The Godfather 2. The dancers wished they lived in early 1920s Buenos Aires when things were on the rise in Argentina and people wore their stoic facial expressions as symbol of how far they had climbed from nothing and what they had lost or given up along the way. And the maestro, who was leading the charge with every one of his 84 years and every vocal cord that he had under his control, was a spitting image of the 1980’s movie star Danny Devito, only one and a half feet taller. Everything made sense and after each song, I willingly joined in the applause led of course from the back corners by the manager and the maitre d'. After all, how often do you find yourself in a cultural showcase so rich with actors so ardently wishing they were somewhere, anywhere but here?

We ended up staying until 2 a.m. and then decided to pack up and head to bed. And wouldn’t you know, the next day, in the afternoon after I returned from my first day of Spanish classes, when Angel and Aurora asked me how I liked the Tango Show and I had said, “I liked it a lot” adding after a second’s pause, “But that singer…he reminded me of….”, Aurora and Angel finished my sentence saying in unison, “Danny Devito.”

Long live the maestro!

An Argentine Homestay

Towards the end of our time in Chile, I had decided that when we moved to Argentina and after Joe’s departure, I would take two weeks of Spanish classes. Knowing Neuquen like I did, I knew it was going to be similar to Temuco in its size and its lack of tourist infrastructure. So I started looking for a city close to Neuquen, that way I wouldn’t have to travel all the way into Buenos Aires, 1250 kilometers away.

Lucky for me, Bariloche is only 550 kilometers / 5 hours away. I was determined that this time my language school experience would include a homestay. I did this because I wanted to get the most of my time, in addition to the fact that I was determined to stay away from hostel living! Little did I know that I would end up living with a complete jokester and his wife who loved playing along with the teasings and jokes.

Upon my arrival at their house during the last week of February, I was greeted by a cheerful woman in her 60s. This was Aurora, and we would come to talk about all sorts of topics and issues every morning over the course of my stay. It was close to 8:30 p.m. and she was in the midst of getting dinner ready. She told me that her husband, Angel, was in the shower and would be out shortly for dinner. About 10 minutes passed and a small, shirtless, tank of a man appeared and shook my hand with vigor and began asking me all sorts of questions with a smile alighting his face. This was Angel. Later that night we went to a Tango show, which was a cultural event in and of itself (see above post).

My homestay with Angel and Aurora was terrific. Every night was a fun filled evening. Aurora was a great cook who made nearly everything herself. Every morning Aurora and I had a 20 to 30 minute discussion in Spanish ranging in topics from life in Buenos Aires to life in the U.S., from the increase of drug use in Argentina to books we have read about Turkey, Italy and India. We also talked a lot about travel as they have been to Columbia, Chile, Cuba, Mexico, Spain, Italy, France, Germany and Greece. Over the two weeks, the best moments were the ways in which we made each other laugh (and, of course, the Spanish I picked up during my stay).

Below are a few stories from my time with them.

Early on in my Spanish class I was asked to take an extra private lesson. This private lesson focused on the past tense of irregular verbs. After my private class, I was determined to memorize all of the irregular verbs. So from the second night of my homestay on, I was studying all the time, mostly at the kitchen table and down in my room. I would write sentences, make flashcards, quiz myself, you name it, I did it.

One day, I came home early in the afternoon and went downstairs to my room to study. I had eaten lunch in town and Angel and Aurora were around the house doing this and that. After 30 minutes of studying, I decided to read the book 501 Spanish Verbs as I lay down on the lower bunk of the bunk bed. Within minutes I was asleep with the book on my chest. When I woke 40 minutes later and went upstairs to get some water, Angel turned to Aurora and said, “Here he is!” Then turned to me and said, “Paul, how was the studying?!?” And then they proceeded to laugh. Angel mimicked me asleep on the bed with the book on my chest and said “That is a great way to study!”

Another day, I was studying the verbs at the kitchen table and it was close to 8 o’clock and Angel had been working out in the yard. He came up behind me and shouted to Aurora, “Aurora, where is the water? I need a bucket! Paul’s head is on fire!” and they both laughed and Aurora said, “Angel!” And he chuckled some more and walked back out of the house. (Even now, I am not sure if he was referring to the uncontrollable nature of my hair or making a comment on the intent to which I was studying.)

My third night at the house, it was an hour before dinner and Angel came into the kitchen and asked Aurora what we were having for dinner. She told him, and he turned around and asked me, “Paul, what do you want to have for dinner? Pizza or Tarta?” I looked at Aurora, knowing that she made everything and not sensing what the right answer was, shrugged my shoulders and said, “Tarta?” Angel said, “No! No! Pizza! Pizza!” At dinner that night we ate a Tarta and a little bit of meat. I asked him if he liked Pizza or Tarta. He shouted “Pizza!”

So the next afternoon I came walking in through the front gate of the house and Angel was cleaning their truck. I said hello and he greeted me with his usual cheer. I asked him if we were going to have Pizza for dinner. His face lit up, he smiled and winked and then put his fingers to his lips in the universal "shhing" sign. He told me to go into the house and ask Aurora.

I walked into the house, put my bag down, got a glass of water and asked Aurora what was for dinner. She asked what I wanted. I said, if we could have it, pizza would be great. She said okay. She went back to whatever she was doing in the kitchen and I started studying. About 20 minutes pass and Angel walks in and goes straight to the kitchen and says, “Aurora, I’d really like some pizza tonight? Is that what you are cooking?" He waited a second and then said, "I think Paul would like some pizza too.” And like a bird that is pestered by another bird, she shushed him away and turned and saw the smile on my face and she burst out, “You two!” And pointing to me “You are just as bad as him!” then pointing back to him, “Angel, you are bad! Go finish cleaning the truck!” And we all just started laughing. And then I taught them the phrase, “Would this face lie to you?”

That night, we had pizza for dinner.

Within a few days, I noticed that Aurora would often eat something different from what she made for Angel and me. I asked and she told me that she was allergic to wheat. So she couldn't have any typical Argentine dishes whether they be pastas, tartas, pizzas, etc. While she would cheat every once in a while, she normally ate some vegetables and meat. And because of this, she would prepare her food separately.

One night, she served Angel and me and put our plates on the table. She then put her bowl of vegetables at her place, but because she was slightly preoccupied with her work from the day, she went back into the kitchen without thinking. While she was away (and without me seeing), Angel took her bowl and hid it behind some pictures and a small, portable cd player that was on a chest just behind his seat. Aurora walked back to the table, didn’t see her food, went back into the kitchen, couldn’t find the food in there, and came back out to the table.

She did this one more time mumbling to herself that she knew she had prepared her food. She then looked closer at the table and her brow furrowed and she her face grimaced and she said, “Angel! Where is my food?” To which he looked up all innocent and said, “I don’t know what you are talking about. You prepared it. I am just sitting here at the table with Paul.” She started looking around and after a minute or so saw it behind the pictures and yelled, “Angel! You are horrible, terrible!” (In only the way an Argentine can with the dramatized and rolling “R”s). Angel replied, “What? I have just been sitting here. Your food is what left the table.” To which I said laughing, “Aurora, would that face of Angel’s lie to you?” And she replied, “Yes. It can and it does.” And then after a minute she said, “You know Paul, before the devil became the devil, he was an angel!”

Another night, I was trying to learn more about Argentine futbal teams and Angel was listing who his favorite teams were and which teams were just a bunch of drunks, etc. And while we talked he really started getting into listing all the teams that were bad or pathetic. By this time, dinner was over and I was just sitting at the kitchen table and Angel got up and went over to a chair in their living room and brought back this pillow. It had a crest / emblem on it of his favorite team and he began explaining what the emblem means. I was still seated and he was leaning towards me with this pillow and Aurora, who was in the kitchen, turned to me and said, “Paul, stand up!” And I did, thinking that Angel was going to let me test out the pillow on the chair as it was the size of those stadium seat cushions we use back in the States, and I thought that was maybe what he had it for. Aurora then said, “Paul! Salute! You must show respect for the team whenever that pillow is shown.” And with a knife in her hand, she saluted the pillow and just started laughing, turning back to finish what she was cutting in the kitchen.

The funny exchanges and incidents like these just kept coming during those two weeks. One night, when Angel was feeling tired and sick, I asked Aurora if I could take him a glass of his homemade Vermouth. She loved the idea and helped me prepare it and told me to go knock on his door and tell him that his medicine had arrived. Another time, Angel was extolling the virtues of eating meat and as much meat as possible (in Argentina meat means beef) and that vegetables were a waste of space on the plate. He told me that he was like a lion and lions only eat meat, they don’t eat vegetables or grass!

Aurora and Angel are a lovely couple and I was a bit sad to have to head back to Neuquen. They told me to call them if Sarah and I were back in Bariloche before they left for their next trip in May. And if Sarah and I do make it back down to Bariloche in the next 4 weeks, we will be sure to invite them for a cup of coffee at their favorite chocolateria. And I know that if we do and if they accept our invitation, Aurora will arrive and be as charming as ever and full of conversation, while Angel will arrive with his glasses hanging around his neck, a large grin on his face and all ready to pull his next prank.

Some pictures from the house.

Upper left, the house from the front.
Upper right, the house from the back.
Middle left, the view from the back window.
Middle right, the kitchen.
Bottom left, my room.
Bottom right, the jokers.

Bariloche, Steak and Buenos Aires

We wanted to round out Joe’s South American experience with a trip to Bariloche. As you know by now, it is one of our favorite towns with its opulence of chocolate, beef steaks and mountain vistas. We thought we knew the town like the back of our hands, so we were thrilled to discover an artensenal ice cream shop during this visit with Joe.

Our time in Bariloche was relaxed. We rented a cabana on the lake and planned to stay there for 6 nights. After the first night, when we all woke up with creaks in our backs we knew we had to look for another place to stay. Since it was high season, most all of the accommodations were filled with no vacancies. We eventually found another cabana with real beds and decided to make the switch. We were very happy we did because the new cabana had a garden with chairs where we ended up relaxing many hours of our week away.

One of the greatest characteristics of Argentina is Bife de Chorizo, a sirloin beef steak that is the most tender, juiciest, most delicious piece of meat a person will ever eat (at least it is 99% of the time). We introduced Joe to this steak on our second night. He seemed to like it pretty well. He ate his fair share, drank his portion of wine and asked for seconds on the French fried potatoes. On our third night we ate at an out of town location of our all time favorite Parilla: El Boliche de don Alberto. We were talking much before the food arrived (it had been a long day and we were tired), but after Joe had tasted his first forkful of Bife de Chorizo we had stopped talking altogether. Well, maybe that is an exaggeration. Joe stopped talking after tasting the meat from El Boliche. I had to keep asking the waiters if we could get more food.

To say that Joe liked the Bife de Chorizo is an understatement. HE LOVED IT. He enjoyed the taste so much that every single night after this one he ate Bife de Chorizo (with a balsamic vinegar salad and French fried potatoes). There was only one exception to Joe’s Argentina diet and that was the night that Sarah said enough meat, and we went to a vegetarian restaurant. (I know can you believe it? Vegetarians exist in Argentina?)

Our days in Bariloche were laid back with lots of reading. We took short hikes, hung out at the beach, and ate ice cream in the afternoons. We took a boat ride on Lago Nahuel Huapi to Puerto Blest where we were able to walk in the woods among giant Alerces and Coihue Trees.

After Bariloche we made our way to Buenos Aires. Joe continued on his steak eating streak while Sarah and I looked for restaurants that offered more than just steak. We walked all over the city, through the huge parks, down to the Plaza de Mayo, out to the Rio Plata and across two of the world’s widest avenues, 14 and 18 lanes in width. The heat was a killer but we managed to bear it with the help of some of the best ice cream in this country. (Persicco)

It was while eating his second cone of Chocolate Chip in one sitting that Joe hit upon the theory that the ice cream in Argentina is warmer than the ice cream in the US. Warmer in the sense that the ice cream servers do not have to scoop portions from a frozen brick, the ice cream is softer and shapeable here and the servers tend to sculpt the ice cream into cone-shaped scoops. I, of course, laughed at him for such an idea, but later when we told some friends about Joe’s theory they said that it was quite possible as the ice cream here may have more cream (whereas the ice cream in the States has more water).

On Joe’s last night in town, we went to Don Julio, a parilla in Palermo Viejo. After having steak for the last 5 out of 6 nights, I thought that we would have to endure just another steak. (Red meat is silent killer, you know.) But I was soon mistaken, for the food and service at Don Julio were superb. We started with a Malbec Rose and then had a Tempranillo along with an excellent Bife de Chorizo, Papas Fritas, and mixed salad with Balsamic and oil. It was terrific, and it is a steak house worth returning to when we are back in Buenos Aires.

Our boat ride...

Our walk in the woods...

The final meal in Buenos Aires at Don Julio...

Extras...

Estaurio de Reloncavi

Below are some pictures from a drive to Cochamo and Estuario de Relancavi. We decided to take a drive the day after Cari’s departure. We headed to this giant watershed south of Volcan Osorno in the morning and had a rich lunch at Yan-kee-way, a fishing lodge on the shore of Lago Llanquihue. One of the highlights of the morning was actually seeing a fishing boat sink (bottom photo). There must have been a leak!

Casa de Té

The day after our walk in the woods, we decided to take it easy with a morning of tea outside of Frutillar, a town just north of Puerto Varas. In Chile, normally a person takes it easy by eating a steak with two fried eggs and grilled onions accompanied with fries and a glass of wine. So, needless to say, this House of Tea was off the beaten track in terms of cultural experiences. That being said, it is a house we would return to again and again.

Set on a bluff looking out over Lago Llanquihue and the ever photogenic Volcan Osorno, this Case de Te is an old Victorian turn of the century house with an open ceiling. The wide low porches open up to two large fields of lavender, which were in bloom, and the entire house inside and out was painted white. As any good English Tea drinker would, we ordered our pots of tea blends and discussed the weather all the while playing with our tiny sugar spoons and lace-trimmed napkins. After establishing the fact that the sky was clear and we had a bright afternoon ahead of us, I snuck into the kitchen and ordered brownies, biscottis and itty-bitty lemon frosted scones.

The teas arrived, along with the cream, sugar and treats and we spent the hour sipping our good blends, savoring the sugared snacks, indulging in the wisps of lavender that would float with the wind and reminiscing about our adventures on the mighty Fu. It was tranquil and unforgettable. In fact, I think I can hear my brother slurping his tea right now, and making a mockery of our late morning ceremony of civility.

The House of Tea

A Walk in the Woods

We returned to civilization on Sunday, February 3rd and spent the following 4 nights in Puerto Varas. On the evening of the 3rd while we were finishing our dinner and drinking the last of our beer or wine, the lights went out. Not just the lights of the restaurant but the lights of the entire town. Just like that. And as quickly as they went out, the stars came alive.

One of the most amazing things about being in the Futaleufu Valley was the clarity with which we could see the stars each night. We have star gazed in the deserts of Utah, on the side of Mauna Kea, Hawaii, and even on the shores of the Boundary Waters, and many places in between, but few of them compared to the stars of Southern Chile. There is the very real possibility with stars that because we oftentimes only see them from cities or near cities that each time we see them unobstructed by man made lighting the experience seems so fresh and so clear that it is the best, the clearest, and the most stars ever seen. That is exactly how we felt in the Futaleufu, and we had assumed that we would not see such stars again. Then the lights went out in Puerto Varas and it was as if the stars made an encore appearance.

The next day, Monday the 4th, we made our way to the Parque Nacional Alerce Andino, an under-funded park about an hour outside of Puerto Montt. The hiking was intense with lots of up and downs and the weather was muggy as we were back in the hot, humid part of Chile. Our goal was to see an Alerce or two. Alerces are giant, old trees that are related to the North American sequoia, I believe. They tend to only grow at the higher altitudes and in order to see the really old ones we were told by the park ranger that we would need to hike an hour or so.

Chilean time is different than normal time, esp. when the topic of hiking is at hand. An hour hike usually means close to two hours. I am not sure why this is, if it is a matter of Chileans having a slower clock while they are on the trail or if when no one is around, they tend to run along the trails. In any case, it took us a couple of hours but we eventually reached a small groove of the old timers, the Alerces.

We were told these specific trees were between 2,500 and 3,000 years old. 2,500 years old! That is one hell of a birthday candle, and it means that these trees were around when the Greeks defeated the Persians in 490 B.C. So we took a few photos of these silent giants, ate some cheese and salami, and hiked back out to the car. After our encounter with antiquity we decided to spend the remainder of the afternoon engaged in the modern mundane, namely shopping.

The photos...