Bad Haircuts in Buenos Aires

Instead of taking two days in a bus to get down to Patagonia we saddled up an airplane and flew both directions. We flew from Buenos Aires down to area which means that upon our return we were actually visiting BA for the second time. The first time wan not much. We had opted to stay in Mendoza for an extra day and just catch the overnight bus to get to the airport in time for our flight. One the way in we had some unexpected bus trouble and found ourselves sweating, not knowing if we were going to make said flight. Finally on the edge of town while the bus was broken down for nth time (where n = more fingers than I have) Dave and I decided to just pony up and take a taxi. At this point in the day it is probably 2:00 and and the flight is at 3:30. We motor through town in the cab, pull the "I'm a lost gringo" trick and walked to the front of the line in the airport. No one even seemed to notice. By 2:15 we were checked in and realize we had not eaten all day and were famished.

I had noticed a stand outside with a grill. We headed back outside the airport to fill our striking stomachs. Unbeknownst to us at the time we accidentally stumbled upon the choripan which wins the best street food of south america award. For three Argentinian Pesos (about a dollar) one can get an excellent sausage (chorizo) packed inside a freshly baked roll (pan), and if you mash chorizo y pan into one word you come up with the above stated choripan. Part of the reason why these stands win this award is because they have more condiments (some of them made fresh daily) then they have items on the menu.

Dave and I shove two into our mouths each, and as we are contemplating a third we look over to see the cook talking with a pretty lady who has a camera man in tow. I turn around just in time to see him point at us and say, "you can interview the gringos too if you want, they speak Spanish well enough." Unable to resist, she came over and started to chat us up. Eventually she wandered into asking for an interview, I looked at Dave and myself and saw nothing but scrubby backpacker who hadn't changed clothes in over 24 hrs, showered recently, and had greasy sausage face as well. Unfortunately while I had thought about saying no, Dave had immediately exclaimed "anything for you pretty lady," with his big cartoon like googly eyes. Somehow I got roped into standing by Dave's side. Before allowing Dave to do the interview i asked what the interview was going to be about. She promised just a couple of easy questions about where we are from and Buenos Aires. My spid-e-senses were going crazy, but I had no real ammo to say no.

The interview went something like this...
What are your names?
Dave and Lane

What are you doing here in Buenos Aires?
Traveling, we are on our way down to Rio Gallegos by plane

How did you like Buenos Aires?
We actually have only been here for about an hour, we will spend more time here on the way back

Aren't you concerned about sicknesses and eating at a dirty sausage stand like this one on the streets?
...

As Dave, startled by the sudden change in question, started to say something about how we had been through all of South America and that this place was probably 100X better than anything in Bolivia, blah blah blah the camera moved in for the portrait on just him. The questions continued and Dave just kept talking. As I slowly stepped away all I could see was in the close-up shot on Dave, all one would see is his unkept self as stated above, and his shirt that had Promotor de Saluda emblazoned across the front and a Peace Corps logo.

In the Peace Corps we are told to avoid the media, but we were out now. Why not do the interview? I knew that she could cut the film to make us look like idiots, and thus the Peace Corps as well. I, like Tom Sawyer after stealing a hunk of bacon, thought that the gods of doing the wrong thing were going to rain hell-fire down upon us, but as I opened my eyes to see the interviewer walking off and Dave saying, we gotta go, and not but blue sky all around, I wiped my brow having escaped fate again and walked off. Dave later admitted to me that he had no idea what he was saying during the interview, he was just trying to speak Spanish as well as he could and make sure that the answer given matched the question asked. Maybe it was a good thing that we didn't see the end result of the interview.

Once we got back from Patagonia we were ready to get down in BA. We had heard so much good stuff about BA, and she did not disappoint. We got a local recommendation for some tango lessons in the basement of a near-by community center. It was mostly locals, and a great experience. The tango is amazing to watch, it is the vertical representation of the horizontal mambo. Dave and I looked at each other and both decided to practice a little, but we really just wanted to watch.

The next day we went down to the El Caminito which is in Boca the blue-collar part of town. This colorful alley has tourist trap written all over it with tango dancers in the street, over priced restaurants, art galleries, and gift shops everywhere. It was quaint, but over the top, the stadium of the Boca Juniors (The South American soccer version of the Yankees) which seats over 100K people was far more interesting for Dave and I. On the way back to our hostel we stopped at the Casa Rosada, the Argentine 'White House' to be able to say we went to the house where Madonna played that famous lady in that movie we never saw. what was that movie called?

To kill an afternoon Dave and I went and got haircuts. I was nervous because Argentina apeared to be the mullet capital of the world. Everyone had one and the style was to see who could make their hair look more greasy and redneck than the rest. Haircuts were mandatory because we would each have an interview on the way home, and we did not want that awkward "I just had a haircut yesterday" look. We made the executive decision to do it in BA because we could speak Spanish and explain what we wanted, who knew what would happen in Brazil where we might not be able to communicate with the hair cutter. Dave went first and came out fine, but when I came out next, Dave stifled his laughter and said, "looks great, no mullet." It wasn't until we met up with Jon a week later at Carnival when he asked "do you know you have a mullet thing going on in the back?"

Dane showed up soon there after. He was headed down to Patagonia to instruct a NOLS course on long distance hiking in Patagonia, but had some time to kill in BA and we just happened to be there at the same time. We strolled around town and went to see Romeo and Juliet styled cemetery. It was full of all the famous families from Argentina that I didn't know, but the Catholic style housing for the dead was quite impressive.

The next morning we clambered onto a train and went down to Mar de Plata. Spent the day on a beach where we had to walk for a quarter mile just to find enough space for three dudes to lay down in the sand. It was PACKED. Why here you ask? Because the beach was secondary for everyone. We were all there to see a football game. It had been a sin to have skipped so many games in the other countries, but we were making up for it here. The three of us were going to see a boca/river game. This is a crosstown rivalry AND a social class rivalry AND the two most well know teams in the country. Imagine Yankees / Red Socks on HGH. People have been killed, and as we got off the train, the riot police made their presence know right away in their full riot gear and dogs. It got better by the minute. We scalped some tickets infront of the summer league stadium, downed a couple of choripans and went into the game. Chaos ensued. Boca won, our prize for standing with the winning team was we were locked us into the stadium for almost an entire hour after the game. Measures that the local authorities had taken to prevent mixing of the fan bases. We walked back to the bus station (over 3 miles), and only had to duck a couple of stones thrown. We survived the game, but I was more worried about what was to come. Dave and I had four days to get to Carnival, and 3 days on buses if everything went well. We didn't have much time to dilly-dally. We parted ways with Dane and started the first night of three on a bus north to the glory of Carnival.