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The last hurrah

Our last day in Porto is another corker weather-wise and we spend it wandering the nearby precincts discovering little pockets of yet more beautiful buildings, enticing cafes and great shops. One we’d set out to find was Livrario Lello, a bookstore opened by two brothers in 1906. You need to buy tickets next door (refunded upon a purchase) and today it has two mannequins in window decked out in fashion student’s design based on the azulejos tiles and another blooming camellia at its door. It’s camellia week in Porto, it’s flower emblem and together with the magnificent specimens of blossoming port wine (yes) magnolias everywhere, I am in my element and itching to paint one as soon as I can get my hands on a branch or two next spring. Where was I? oh Lello, a narrow building with a Gothic façade whose centre is dominated by a fabulous staircase that winds and curves both left and right from a central landing. A wonderful stained glass ceiling, bearing the store’s motto “decus in labore” (honour in work) and its gothic woodwork inspired the Hogwart’s library. it very Harry Potterish, evidenced by the many excited children poring over books and merchandise. Indeed, JKRowling lived in Porto teaching English in the 1990’s and it’s easy to see how she was influenced by not only places like Lello but also what we notice as groups of young men and women wearing black suits, white shirts and black ties and draped in black cloaks and capes. Apparently they are uni students and the tradition called praxe denoting their status as members of elite groups or fraternities. That reminds me of the couple of times (at the Alhambra and at the Real Alcazhar) of the people on Game of Thrones trails as some filming occurred at both. GT and I, ignorami as we are, had no idea why they were so excited and they looked at us, equally as surprised. The Portuguese, along with the Spanish, (and we observed it in BA as well) missed the emails re smoking and the harms of soft drink. They do both liberally, particularly smoking and it was distressing to see how copiously the children were fed soft drink – I even saw it being poured into a baby’s bottle! Would be interesting to see some statistics on health impacts and compare to other countries. Perhaps we’re not much better as we eat and drink our way along I hear you say? Touche. The other emails they missed were the ones about no carbs, paleo or quitting sugar and re this we say, yay, Spain and Portugal! We’d read an article in NY times about Cantilnho de Avillez, passed it on our wanderings and booked in for tonight. Hip and happenin’ with a modern take on the traditional food, we had a fun waiter, had a great conversation with two English women in Porto for their textile business and the food was fabulous. A fish soup whose broth was rich and smooth, studded with chunks of seafood was intensely good and tempura green beans with a garlic aioli equally so. Their signature is a flaked, braised chunks of cod, sauteed cabbage, olive “explosions” and a crumb of crispy egg (I know) and we had it and a risotto of scallops with porcini mushrooms. “The hazelnut dessert will change your life” says our waiter – very happy with it actually but GT feels the need. Layered in a tin cup is a salted caramel bottom then an hazelnut icecream topped with a feathery foam of hazelnut. No change but it was yum. It’s now a good time to ring my sweet Mamma for her birthday and we do so en route to hotel. Miss her and the family as they gather to celebrate. She tells our children when they ring “you mummy ring, tanks be to God but she never home”. Now, Lisbon, which immediately feels and is the big city, grittier but also boasting some majestic monuments which greet us upon arrival at the Altis Avenida. Great location, we quickly settle in and out for a bite to eat and stumble upon an obviously popular local haunt for a fun lunch and familiarise ourselves with the area. Then on to the hop-on-off for a picturesque tour that is unfortunately delayed due to an accident we pass close by where someone has been run over by one of the ancient trams. Sobering. Sunday and museums, delving into the hilly narrow streets to see some of the stunning art deco and beautifully ornamented shops – frescoed walls, gilt glass cabinets, intricate woodwork. Stepping back in time. Dinner is Cerverjaria Ramiro – a seafood palace of three levels, no booking but a constant line of hopefuls. We join in and there is a numbered system and an outside beer station, operated by token bought at the inside bar so there is fun conviviality making waiting not a problem. We have a lovely chat to an Irish couple before our number is called. The place is heaving but the waiters have this down pat. A limited menu of seafood – freshest lobsters, crabs, langoustines, prawns, barnacles (Boze!) served simply boiled or grilled, some with garlic. All around us people are slurping, bashing shells with little mallets, digging out shellfish flesh with prongs, laughing as shell flys this way and that! We are seated next to two Chinese young girls (can they be 18?) who are assiduously working their way through a huge lobster, large crab and a pot of clams. They do not leave a morsel, indeed one makes an impressive pile of picked meat and asks for a takeaway box. We clap them in admiration and they giggle away. Our own clams, lobster and prawns are sumptuous and we follow it with the traditional steak sandwich (warm roll, garlic butter and the tenderest thin steak) – I know, ridiculous but so good, it works!! What a great night. Our last day and I do a little museum-visiting of my own (wink) while GT visits the Carris museum (trams and transport) then we meet up and do a last nata stop, making a bee-line for the gorgeous glove shop, Ulisses (since 1925 and literally only big enough for one person at a time). I have a lovely time with the elegant senhora choosing a fab pair. A final chug up the hill on the ancient tram (thankfully everyone stayed on the tram rather than…) and that’s just about it. A final drink upstairs in the bar overlooking the square then a piri piri chicken pilgrimage (as recommended by Rick Stein) and that’s all folks! What a ball we’ve had – done so much including sharing a special wedding, seen so many amazing sights, soaked up a great deal of culture, alcohol and great food. We’re both very grateful for our good fortune, very much looking forward to seeing our family and friends and getting back to our already blessed life which has been enriched once again.

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Days...whatever...but we're now in the Por part of argspapor

PORTO

We never thought it was going to be the Orient Express…and it wasn’t but this tiny cubicle with double bunks, shower, toilet, sink and a surprising amount of storage space (albeit requiring the hombre to do a he-man) provided a very comfortable night’s sleep and transit into Lisbon by 7.20am. We then transferred trains to Porto and immediately things feel strange, the people look different (bearing an uncanny likeness to the only other Portuguese people we know (Manuel and Elsa Alves) and particularly the language and accent we hear around us. I feel lost when I can’t say the basic niceties in the language of the day and all I can manage is “obrigada” but GT is still gracias-ing and leche caliente-ing all over the place. I said to GT, sounds like they’re speaking Russian. Pfft he says.

A warm welcome is soothing at the Intercontinental, whose location was key and before too long we’ve unpacked, refreshed and manned with map and directions from Gonzalec the Concierge, we’re out and up the hill to Ave Santa Catarina for a cafe con leite and the first of what I believe will be many Pasteis de Nata (Portuguese Tarts to you and me) at the famous Majestic Cafe (one of the finest Art Deco cafes in Portugal). Christine, you asked me to have one for you and you know what I’m like about sweets but GT says he’d do anything for you so has mine and his, just for you. Wow, the crispiest and finely-layered puff pastry enclosing a creamy custard, topped with a crunchy caramel! Does that sound as good as it was? Hello, Portugal.

It’s International Women’s Day and we sit outside of the Majestic, watching the parade, “igualdade” chanting and every woman in sight being given red carnations. Santa Catarina is Porto’s ‘passeggiata’ and we join in, wandering by magnificent churches and buildings decorated in the art of “azulejos” - the mostly blue and white but also other coloured, painted ceramic tiles. So arrestingly beautiful.

It’s a gorgeous, sunny Spring afternoon and a wonderful introduction to Porto as we sit in the square for what is the largest G&T (accent on the G) I’ve ever been served and before long, I’m waxing lyrical and the other G&TT has to weave me home over the wobbles, err, cobbles.

A Portuguese siesta sees me right and Gonzalec has recommended his pick for dinner tonight. Now, we usually steer clear of concierges’ recommendations (and their kickbacks) but this trip has seen us being blown away by the genuineness and expert advice we’ve received when we were unsure of local areas. Before our 9.30pm booking at Taberna Dos Mercadores, we enjoy a delightful stroll down the winding alleys to the riverfront and along the way admire the many fantastic-looking wine bars, restaurants and cafes, together with enticing boutiques and artisan workshops. One of which is a beaut shop selling the speaciality tinned goods of all of Portugal ie sardines, anchovies, bacalhao etc, each area’s brand differently but so groovily packaged. We’ll be back to buy tomorrow (Jennie, something for us to share when you visit?)

La Taberna is a tiny, 8 table restaurant, the chef and his sous right there at the back, the walls stacked with wine and our waiter, thankfully with excellent English, pleasant and patient in explaining the menu. We excitedly settle on a little pot of succulent clams (steamed in wine and whole garlic cloves with parsley) and a croquetta kind of sausage of smoked meat and bread. They complement each other so well and we’re humming with a bottle of Duoro Valley red to match. Next up, grilled pork ribs with a salsa of chilli, garlic and coriander served with a little pot of saffron, smoked arroz (rice, risotto style). The ribs are heaven and a nice little addition of fine slivers of pith-peeled orange on the side, to cut the richness, is brilliant. GT is rhapsodising over his balsalmic and glazed onion liver, finely sliced and fried served with little steamed potatoes. Love it all and it’s topped for GT when waiter agrees that the best dessert is the steamed pudding of creamy custard, glazed with port sauce. Right. Up.His.Alley. A dinner to remember and the portents (sorry, couldn’t resist) for the next few days are exciting. Oh, of course I should mention that in chatting to mine host, I mentioned how I found the Portuguese language so unusual and difficult and he said, yes, many people think it sounds Russian. So, pffft, to you GT.

A sparkling day greets and we decide to get our bearings with a hop-on/hop-off and it’s perfect as it takes us way a good way out of the city to the seaside town of Foz where the wealthy have impressive homes and we get a glimpse of another part Porto life. The sea walls and pedestrian boardwalks leading back to the river Duoro (of gold) entrance reminds us of Newcastle but it’s beach is not a patch of course. I spy only one guy sunbaking and laugh as he’s surrounded by beached flotsam. Desperate obviously. But around the bend and we approach Porto from the seaside and the stunning hills on either side of the River (Gaia on the right with all it’s port wine caves and Porto on the left with it’s tall and thin terraced and tiled buildings), the fabulous bridges (six of them, some inspired by admirers of Eiffel) - everything reflecting the sun and spangled water so colourfully on this perfect day.

The other noticeable thing that we keep remarking on is the number of cranes (dozens) and restoration, building works going on. This place is on the go. We chat to a waitress who tells us yes, things are buzzing (with many complaining too - hello Newcastle) and they just hope that it doesn’t get to the situation that happened in places like Prague, where the same thing happened but then it all collapsed (economically, ie). She pointed to a building across the way, being renovated that a little while ago was selling for 200,000 and now would go for over $1m. Yikes.

Whilst over in Gaia, we take the cable car up to the Infante monument overlooking the city and river for more breathtaking views. There are riverboats, tuk tuks, light rail, old trams, cable cars, buses, taxis and trains. Plenty of ways to ease the legs as you take in the sights because you don’t go far without facing a hill.

GT off to Graham's for port wine tasting and tour while I explore the little alleys before tonight's predinner bucket is Porto Tonico (the city's favourite of white port, dry and tonic) but the cobbles stay still tonight. I'll post when in Lisbon on the weekend after another day/night in this great city.

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Days 3, 4

Well, so much for that plan. We’d researched leaving the one case and small carryon in the left luggage at Granada estacion but no go. It’s drizzling to boot so what’s a couple of gringos to do but repair to a good-looking pulpoeria (octopus-eria) for a cerveza and vino tinto. They come with a baby paella and olives with a fried sardine so we pass an hour or so very happily then there’s nothing for it but to wander the calles, popping into shops while GT trundles the bags over the cobbles. Que hombre! There are lots of hens’ and bucks’ parties around with mostly the brides and grooms the only ones in the group wearing fancy dress – no veils or rude attachments – we saw a cute bull with Spanish flamenco dancers (hens) and a lion with a bunch of cool dudes. The same the world ‘round yet different. Bus and train, then finally Sevilla, to our hotel which is an 18th palace in the old quarter, which until 9 years ago had housed generations of the same family till they ran out of money and had to sell. More of the Moorish-meets-old-Spain influences and beautifully transformed with contemporary touches. We’re so into this Spanish thing that we think nothing of heading out at 10pm for tapas. Jose, the tallest man in the world, had shown us to our room and whilst my neck was still in crick, had directed us to Catalina, around the corner, a fab modern place for what was a promising start to our stay in Seville. Now, this may end up seeming like The Trip of the Artichokers ‘cause it’s on the menu and cannot be resisted, this time roasted whole with crispy jamon slivers and a fresh tomato salsa. Yep and the raviolis of duck confit with truffle and porcini sauce were as good as they sound. A comfort plus bed sees us snooze in and the drizzle continues though there is promise of an afternoon change to sunny skies. We find our way (which, let me tell you, is a challenge in these winding and narrow calles that can send you literally ‘round the bend) towards the Real Alcazar (palace) but on the way spy the light rail weaving it’s way through the city centre. Yes, Newcastle, it works brilliantly, even and especially juxtaposed with the ancient buildings it passes. People on bikes, with prams, pass in front and behind it, the driver just toots – it’s a quiet and efficient modern mode of transport. Can we please just get on with it! There is some kind of marching band congress going on and two groups are about to set off. In and around the light rail, small boys with drums and huge men with trumpets (one even with a cigarette in hand – how’s he going to manage both, we wonder?) start their march with an almighty blare. Fabulous. We also come across a strange sort of procession with men wearing towel-like headgear, grouped and walking slowly in step, bearing a kind of heavy-looking platform. We later learn it is the society of a religious group practising for their annual procession in the lead-up (or part of) the Semana Santa (holy week). We approach the Real Alcazar of Seville, the Islamic palace with a history stretching back more than a thousand years which touches on key moments in Spanish history. We avoid the queue by joining a walking tour with another excellent guide, Sofia and it’s another wonderful experience. The sun breaks out as we go and we see much splendour and hear such amazing stories that it’s almost too much to absorb. Truly awesome and once again, we follow Queen Isabella of Castille’s steps. Issy, you’re named after one great woman. Overheard as we’re wondering through the magnificent gardens: a couple with northern English accent: she “so, ‘oo do ya think lived here then?” he “oh, some kind of kings and queens, I reckon” (insert non-plussed face emoji) I’ve never been tempted with the horse and carriages in Central Park, NYC, ‘cause they always looked manky and the horses not well treated but the carriages just outside the Real are spiffy and the horses beautiful so even though it’s cheesy, give it a go. Love it, a 45 min slow-paced clippity-clop passed the major monuments, Maria-Louisa Park, Plaza de Espana etc. Map-man struggles to lead me home the short way and we are reminded of the vias of Venice, so confusing and unable to be traced by map. Round and round we go, my steps dragging by now as we’ve not eaten and by the time we finally find Santiago and the welcome of our room, it’s 7pm. A wee siesta and it’s to Casa Manolo Leon – a gorgeous conservatory room and another amazing dinner which starts with…yep, artichokes (speciality of the house, yes indeed and no, not boring as we so seldom see them on menus at home and they are one of my favourites.). Grilled Iberico pork and the palest roast lamb, excellent wine (200 Monges ie Monks). Of course, yes, GT has been sampling postre wherever he can (thank goodness for the thousands of daily steps). We wake to a beautiful day and via a quick route, find our way to firstly, the astonishing Iglesia Divina Salvador with it’s baroque gilt chapels. They knew how to do a cherub and gilt back in the day and the statues are mostly 17th century. Onwards to Calle Sierpes where Glenn veers off to the Cathedral and it’s 17 floors to the roof and I poke around the fascinating tiendas selling all traditional costumes and flamenco accoutrements. I come across one shop full of stunning tortiseshell mantillas, veils, shawls and fans and watch on as a mother-of-the-bride selects her mantilla and veil for the big day. It’s still a big thing, apparently all over Spain but even more so in Seville. Fun. I was keen to see flamenco but was apprehensive about it being cheesy and/or a tourist trap but Jose, tall man, has directed us to what he says is an authentic, intimate performance in the basement of the Museo de Flamenco. Just one hour but performed by recognised artistes and with only about 20 in the audience. That sounds the ticket and wow, was it ever. A guitarist, singer, one female and one male flamenco-ists. We sit in a circle about 2 feet away from them in a dim, small, brick-lined room and the singer and guitarist start, with the tortured yet soulful sound, foot tapping and gentle hand-clapping. The woman emerges, stunning figure, dark haired in red and black and it is awesome. She performs an ‘allegorias’ or happy dance and the stamping, finger-clicking and arm movements are dazzling and reach into your heart. We’d been told that their costumes weigh up to 18kgs so, the word impressive doesn’t do it justice. Remember the woman in red at the wedding? Well, GT thinks there’s a theme because he swears her flashing, kohl-rimmed eyes are for him alone. Fool, I tell him, her focus point is behind your head but he’ll hear nothing of that and the peacock’s flourishing in the Real gardens is nothing compared to his strut as we leave. Mind you, the male performer leaves me with heart a-fluttering too – think Benedict Cumberbatch with Hugh Jackman’s body – such powerful, empassioned, physicality is literally breathtaking. The highlight of Seville. O-bloody hell-le!! , ‘ Scuse the Spanish. We stagger for a drink before dinner at a nearby restaurant and it’s good but early (9pm) so the room lacks atmosphere. Anyway, we’re still raving about the performance and my mind is dallying with thoughts of channeling senorita and toying with a centre-part, dangly earrings and fishnet stockings and working on my finger-clicks. The body, well, anyway….. Today we’re back on the fast train to Madrid where tonight will see us on an overnight train to Lisbon, before a short hop to Porto for three days. Now for practising my ‘obrigado’ and ‘espresso duplo com leite quente’. Adios Espana, nosotros amor usted y volvera!

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Days 1 and 2 Spa

We arrive into Madrid seamlessly with driver Jorge pointing out sights along the way…in Spanish (insert “I got nothing” emoji face) but it’s a blessedly cool early Spring afternoon and the brilliant blue sky and setting sun lend the city a golden glow. The gateway arch monument is basking in the light and the national flag is flying high on at least a dozen flagpoles in its garden bed. A huge banner “Refugees are Welcome” is strung upon a government building. A warm welcome indeed. We’re only here one night en route to Andalucia but have chosen an NH Hotel near the Plaza Mayor and the Mercado San Miguel, a favourite spot from our 25th wedding anniversary trip. We freshen then go quickly to wander and get some exercise after the flight. Ah, the joy of a scarf and jacket after the humidity and heat of BA. Tapas and cava at the Mercado is not as buzzy as in our memories and though the time of day may the reason, we suspect the locals have moved on as the tourists discovered this gem. Not to worry as more walking brings us back to the San Sebastian calle and we discover another spot that is packed by locals and a lovely stop for another tapas, Casa de Cerverzeria. The hotel’s breakfast has to be one of the best we’ve had: varied, unusual bites, fresh, local and beautifully presented. We had repacked, planning to leave some luggage at the station and travel light down south and when we enquired at reception they kindly offered to keep the luggage for us free of charge. Such a bonus as we have several hours to kill upon our return from Seville and before our overnight train to Portual in a week’s time. Yay. The Madrid to Granada line is in upgrade so a mid journey change to bus is once again seamless and pleasant and provides great views of the everlasting olive groves and sheep farms and the distant snow-capped mountains of the Sierra Nevada. A quick taxi from the station to the Alhambra, where we are staying in the Parador San Francisco inside the walls. A beautiful room overlooking the parterre garden and across to the valley on another bright and clear late afternoon is a treat and we drop everything and go for a wander. Such a good idea, as the crowds have left and the surrounds of the Palace Charles V, the Nasrid and outlooks back to Granada are bathed in a golden and bronze light, once again against a cerulean sky and the reflected red of the tower walls. The bare white birch trees become silhouetted against the darkening sky though pops of colour from red cyclamen beds and flowering almond trees are a delight. It’s blissfully quiet and surreal and these couple of hours will stay in our memories as something special. Dinner in the Michelin restaurant downstairs has been recommended for its local specialities. Highlights? Roasted artichoke hearts in romescu sauce (hehe), prawn raviolo in lobster bisque-like soup, roast cod and confit cochinillo (don’t you love that word?) or suckling pig. Delicious. We’re doing a guided walking tour of the Alhambra, the Generalife, Nasrid and gardens and it’s to be recommended. Antonio, our guide, is extremely knowledgeable and has an obvious indepth understanding of the Islam, Sephardic and Christian influences through the centuries. Jaw-droppingly stunning in so many ways – the architecture, colours, history are simply awesome. It takes 4 hours but it’s captivating and we come back to the Parador for a cerveza/coffee and are almost stunned by what we’ve seen and heard. Having said that, there is an exhibition in the Palace of Fortuny’s work and it’s another revelation. Can you absorb so much beauty in one day? A siesta is required and a cold change and rainshower is perfect for a cosy retreat before dinner tonight at Mirador de Morayma which is across the valley with fabulous views back to the Alhambra. The restaurant has a vine covered terrace which would make for a spectacular spot for a meal in fine weather but our table upstairs has a beaut view of the Alhambra under lights and it’s stunning. The food is too with Glenn’s entrée of toast with pesto, shaving of pear and the finest anchovies with a sprinkle of manchego so tasty it must be recreated back home. Seriously good. Lots of thoughts of our Isabella today as her name is everywhere and keeps coming up – Queen Isabella lived here and in fact wanted to be and was buried just near the chapel in this hotel before the new King said she had to be buried with all the other Royals. Bah humbug to him. I had hoped to catch up with a FB botanical artist friend who lives in Granada but she is currently in England wrapping up her sellout solo exhibition, Leafscape (IG @inkyleaves or Google Jess Shepherd Inkyleaves) and release of her kickstarter book. Have a look, her work is awesome and such an inspiration to me. Jess has such a great sense of humour and is warm and generous with her knowledge and I had so looked forward to meeting her and collecting my copy of her book in person. We messaged yesterday and have taken a raincheck for ‘one day’. Seville tomorrow evening after we spend the day exploring the centre of Granada. Gra-na-da! You know the song? Come on sing it with us – Placido Domingo does a particularly fine version!

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Days 6 and 7 Adios

Back on the bus for the return and the bevy, now in their sneakers (clever girls) are more subdued after their exertions but GT is in full throttle as Cock Robin makes an appearance (relax, it’s a song) and we sing our way back to bed at 6.30 am ie the sensible ones do…GT and Boze realise France is playing Ireland and decide a night(morning) cap is the go. Kath and I emerge at 1pm for a coffee and stroll but another nap calls. We’d decided an early 8pm dinner downstairs at the Italian would provide the comfort food for our recovering souls and Conor and Tony had been in touch to say they’d join us. A delicious meal goes well with an amusing recap of last night together with GT and Boze recounting the funniest of their rugby tour stories. Monday is our last full day together in BA and the morning’s visit is to La Boca port where the little terrace houses were, back in the day, painted in the leftover paint from the fishermen’s vessels. Alas it is all looking tawdry and seedy even if some of the exteriors could be called fashionably rustic. We walk a couple of blocks to Boca Junior stadium, the home of it’s soccer team and for which Maradona starred. Blue and yellow everywhere. Dillon had told us how he had stupidly worn a River Plate shirt (Boca’s fiercest rival) when he and Amy had gone on a tour of the stadium and where he had been shouted at by others and subsequently pulled aside by police and told to take it off. A rookie error that could have seen him mobbed and/or killed. It has happened before. Incidentally, La Boca was the home of famed artist, Benito Quinquale Martin, who painted scenes of the day and who was a friend of Nacho’s grandmother’s (Abuelita) grandfather. We had admired a large painting of his in her home on the day of the luncheon and came across his home and a mosaic plaque as we strolled. We then taxi to Palermo Soho and luckily find it’s center after having been led astray by the driver (and the concierge). An American guy sitting in an outside café hears our English and gives us a rundown of where to go and how to get there with a few amusing asides as well. We love its many tree-lined streets of interesting shops, cafes and bars and it’s funky, hip atmosphere and enjoy a great lunch stop with a fab ginger, mint and lemon-ade cool drink. Worth spending some more time here on another visit. Tonight we’re going to find an intriguing-sounding gin palace/cocktail bar I’d been told about by the flight steward and pile out of the taxi in front of a florist shop. You enter the shop (filled with gorgeous blooms and an intoxicating perfume of tuberose (my fave) and then open the huge, steel, coolroom door and descend to the bar. We’re lucky to be amongst the first and pull up stools at the bar and an order of Citron Tonics with thyme are soon being theatrically mixed by the cool bar guy. What a great room: long, winding bar, great wall murals and furniture and beautifully lit. The vibes are good. We hadn’t realised it was a restaurant as well but one look at the menu (including roast bone marrow and sweetbreads, quail to name a few) had us wanting to cancel our parilla (steakhouse) reservation and see if we could stay. GT is off and returns saying – could be 9.30-10 and as we’re discussing, the woman approaches and offers a table! We’re on and take our drinks (which are great by the way) to a booth, cancel the reservation and a fantastic meal follows. Boze unfortunately is feeling…shall we say, in need to be near amenities so not in form. There’s little sympathy as we chow down and then Nacho is in touch to say they will be joining us soon though when they do, the place is packed so we leave to move elsewhere. Boze and Kath bid farewell to all (I know, anyone who knows him, knows he must be feeling really unwell to leave at this point) and Sofi, Nacho, Conor, Tony, Glenn and I find another place for a goodbye drink. Warm adios’, see you back in Newcastle, thanks for the most memorable of times. We’re now solo and will miss the fun of Kath and Boze’s company who have this morning (Tues ie) flown out to Santiago for a week’s visit to Chile. We pack and make a visit to the famous Recoleta Cemetery, a mini-city of mausoleums just around the corner and Eva Peron’s resting place. On the way we come across an even bigger tree than the one we’d found a few days earlier. Three of its branches are as big as huge trees of their own and all up make for one awesome specimen. The long-reaching branches are supported by steel structures and one of them, a fabulous sculpture of an he-man shouldering its burden. Love it! The Cemetery itself is wonder-ful, a testimony to the artistry and talent of many monumental architects and whilst the peeks inside some could be ghoulish, we found it fascinating and against a backdrop of clear blue sky and sun, particularly beautiful – an homage to loved ones, persons of importance to the cultural an political history of Buenos Aires. Adios Buenos Aires – we barely started peeling back the many layers of your faded beauty but there are promising signs of a resurgence and even though working with “Argentinian time” can be frustrating, we look forward to seeing you again.

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Last days BA

Back on the bus for the return and the bevy, now in their sneakers (clever girls) are more subdued after their exertions but GT is in full throttle as Cock Robin makes an appearance (relax, it’s a song) and we sing our way back to bed at 6.30 am ie the sensible ones do…GT and Boze realise France is playing Ireland and decide a night(morning) cap is the go. Kath and I emerge at 1pm for a coffee and stroll but another nap calls. We’d decided an early 8pm dinner downstairs at the Italian would provide the comfort food for our recovering souls and Conor and Tony had been in touch to say they’d join us. A delicious meal goes well with an amusing recap of last night together with GT and Boze recounting the funniest of their rugby tour stories. Monday is our last full day together in BA and the morning’s visit is to La Boca port where the little terrace houses were, back in the day, painted in the leftover paint from the fishermen’s vessels. Alas it is all looking tawdry and seedy even if some of the exteriors could be called fashionably rustic. We walk a couple of blocks to Boca Junior stadium, the home of it’s soccer team and for which Maradona starred. Blue and yellow everywhere. Dillon had told us how he had stupidly worn a River Plate shirt (Boca’s fiercest rival) when he and Amy had gone on a tour of the stadium and where he had been shouted at by others and subsequently pulled aside by police and told to take it off. A rookie error that could have seen him mobbed and/or killed. It has happened before. Incidentally, La Boca was the home of famed artist, Benito Quinquale Martin, who painted scenes of the day and who was a friend of Nacho’s grandmother’s (Abuelita) grandfather. We had admired a large painting of his in her home on the day of the luncheon and came across his home and a mosaic plaque as we strolled. We then taxi to Palermo Soho and luckily find it’s center after having been led astray by the driver (and the concierge). An American guy sitting in an outside café hears our English and gives us a rundown of where to go and how to get there with a few amusing asides as well. We love its many tree-lined streets of interesting shops, cafes and bars and it’s funky, hip atmosphere and enjoy a great lunch stop with a fab ginger, mint and lemon-ade cool drink. Worth spending some more time here on another visit. Tonight we’re going to find an intriguing-sounding gin palace/cocktail bar I’d been told about by the flight steward and pile out of the taxi in front of a florist shop. You enter the shop (filled with gorgeous blooms and an intoxicating perfume of tuberose (my fave) and then open the huge, steel, coolroom door and descend to the bar. We’re lucky to be amongst the first and pull up stools at the bar and an order of Citron Tonics with thyme are soon being theatrically mixed by the cool bar guy. What a great room: long, winding bar, great wall murals and furniture and beautifully lit. The vibes are good. We hadn’t realised it was a restaurant as well but one look at the menu (including roast bone marrow and sweetbreads, quail to name a few) had us wanting to cancel our parilla (steakhouse) reservation and see if we could stay. GT is off and returns saying – could be 9.30-10 and as we’re discussing, the woman approaches and offers a table! We’re on and take our drinks (which are great by the way) to a booth, cancel the reservation and a fantastic meal follows. Boze unfortunately is feeling…shall we say, in need to be near amenities so not in form. There’s little sympathy as we chow down and then Nacho is in touch to say they will be joining us soon though when they do, the place is packed so we leave to move elsewhere. Boze and Kath bid farewell to all (I know, anyone who knows him, knows he must be feeling really unwell to leave at this point) and Sofi, Nacho, Conor, Tony, Glenn and I find another place for a goodbye drink. Warm adios’, see you back in Newcastle, thanks for the most memorable of times. We’re now solo and will miss the fun of Kath and Boze’s company who have this morning (Tues ie) flown out to Santiago for a week’s visit to Chile. We pack and make a visit to the famous Recoleta Cemetery, a mini-city of mausoleums just around the corner and Eva Peron’s resting place. On the way we come across an even bigger tree than the one we’d found a few days earlier. Three of its branches are as big as huge trees of their own and all up make for one awesome specimen. The long-reaching branches are supported by steel structures and one of them, a fabulous sculpture of an he-man shouldering its burden. Love it! The Cemetery itself is wonder-ful, a testimony to the artistry and talent of many monumental architects and whilst the peeks inside some could be ghoulish, we found it fascinating and against a backdrop of clear blue sky and sun, particularly beautiful – an homage to loved ones, persons of importance to the cultural an political history of Buenos Aires. Adios Buenos Aires – we barely started peeling back the many layers of your faded beauty but there are promising signs of a resurgence and even though working with “Argentinian time” can be frustrating, we look forward to seeing you again.

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[argspapor]

Days 5 and 6 La Boda de Sofi e Nacho

We have planned to take the slowly in preparation for the festivities which are scheduled for commencing with bus pickup at 6.20pm, church service at 8pm and return at finish at 5am. Not a typo. 5am. This is going to be interesting with Kath and I wondering whether we’ll be able to sneak into a corner for catnap in order to last the distance. So a leisurely breakfast followed by a stroll to another close-by area, shopping and coffee stops sees us ready for siesta and preparation by 3pm. Have I mentioned the heat? An unrelentingly hot and steamy heatwave. So unusual that locals complain bitterly whenever we chat. Bozo’s predilection for hot weddings continues but the bus is blessedly air-conned. Gimena, Sofi’s friend meets us and another couple (she Chilean, he Italian, living in Sydney) and we progress to the next stop where we collect the rest of our Aussie contingent and a bevy of Sofi’s girlfriends. Now, Gimena herself is an Argentinian beauty, dressed in a short sequinned dress, the latest chunky-heeled high platforms and long dark hair and she is joined by what can only be described as a flock of long-limbed, bronzed Miss World entrants with the most perfect heads of long flowing locks in all shades from blonde to brunette to black. Every single one stunningly beautiful, dressed in the shortest, cutest dresses. Hola’s and kisses all round. Tony and Conor (singles) are mute, faces frozen with barely suppressed glee but Dillon, GT and Bozo’s eyes are wide and unbelieving. Flirting quickly ensues and the omens for an interesting night are amusing.

We arrive at the church which is a chapel in what appears to be an enclosed village in the countryside. A simple and beautifully rustic altar area and pews are adorned with greenery and white flowers. We have greeted Nacho outside, taken our pews and Sofi arrives as the strains of Jimmy Little’s “What a wonderful world” fill the room. Goosebumps. Another warm, personal service is conducted by a priest friend of Nacho’s family and laughter and tears (mostly Nachos’) sees the ceremony conclude with a beautiful rendition of Ave Maria. Loud and cheering applause then the Beatles’ “All you need is love” accompanies them down the aisle and all can’t help singing and swaying along with them. Fantastic. A sweet moment was when, after the vows, the priest offered each of parents an opporunity to say a few words to the couple which we later found out were their own wise words of blessing and good wishes. Just a sentence each. A lovely touch.

After hugs and wishes to them both we escape the heat once again for the short hop on the bus to the reception venue. Wow, a huge garden area is dotted with white marquees with lounges, cushions and coffee tables. Cool white sun loungers and food stations with footlights make for a party atmosphere then we enter the room itself (air-con, phew) where two large bar areas are stocked with an amazing array of spirit bottles for cocktails of any desire. Appetisers quickly starts circling and the wedding party arrive with no fanfare. We had been told it was to be an informal affair with no

ceremony. We stake a table and head for a cocktail, mini roll of pulled pork and start mingling. Many more young people were at the church and the place is abounding with handsome young men in white shirts and ties and more of the stunning women as described above. Are they wearing frizz-free helmets? Body-cooling suits? Seriously? Our heads swivel taking in the beauty but there is food everywhere around to be tasted: little fajita stations, plates of gnocchi, empanadas and other stuffed pastries, spinach lasagne, fish and chip cones - we don't taste them all! And the wine is one made by Nachos' winemaker Uncle Eugenio - a really wonderful Malbec and it flows. The boys have our ever-attentful waitresses in giggles with their pretend wringing of the bottleneck and the wine bucket (for it's nicely just chilled) is never empty, glasses refreshed often - any request answered. Some really great conversations with family, most of whom have excellent English. One particularly interesting one was with Nachos' brother, Juan Paolo's, parents-in-law. He is 74, plays polo four times a week and he and his 70 yr old (but looking fabulously like 60) tango several times a week. He tells of the 90,000 registered polo players in Argentina and why they dominate the sport, his building empire, his four daughters, their travels. So good. All of the family members at some point in the night, make a point of talking to us, ensuring we have anything we need or would like and with much laughter, friendships are made. So at about 11ish, the DJ, sound guy and their assistant take the stage. The lights dim (about 8 different sized disco balls start glittering, yes!) and it begins. All of a sudden, the music starts and Nacho and Sofi are surrounded by their friends in gender groups, in two big group hugs and they start their group bouncing. It is awesome - tribal almost - strobe lights and every now and then a burst of the paper machine as large square confetti showering the room. This is a party. The dancing, does not stop for one minute (and I'm serious) until 5am. Not one slow number amongst it. There is no break, ever. Lots of Spanish modern hits, some of our Australian and English faves and Nacho and Sofi are thrown about in the air, and more of the group bouncing. It is wild. We avoid the group bouncing thing but cut the rug with only a few rests. Drinks are ok on the dance floor apparently and amazingly, not one person falls over, not one glass breaks and no-one disgraces themselves. We notice a two hi-top drum sets being erected on the dance floor and a guy in the centre with another (a minder apparently) nearby. He does a strange magician-y thing with his back to the dancefloor and then starts the most amazing bracket of drum-beating with music backing that has them all jumping like gazelles. See video (I hope). We join in as it impossible to resist. Serious fun. Hard to believe. He finishes but the music and dancing just keep going. Dessert spread is set up. Now, you have to understand, the Argentinians, LOVE their sweets. I mean, LOVE. It is at every meal, breakfast included, vast and varying. Tonight it is cake after different cake, tarts, icecream and even an apple crepe with dulce de leche station. Sofi's Mum spies that we haven't had any and soon arrives bearing two large plates with a selection of all, forks, plates etc and then notices we haven't any champagne to go with it, so scurries off and returns signalling, eat! eat! drink! Sweet (ha). More dancing and as we do, bags arrive on the dance floor, filled with funny hats, glasses, glowing things and it's corny but funny and the wildness goes into overdrive. Glenn is pulled into a circle with Sofi and her friends and a long-haired blonde with a tight-fitting, low-plunged (well-endowed) red catsuit with cut-away sides (I know, but they obviously dress for a dance party not a wedding!) pulls him away for a dance! The other boys are shell-shocked! She's apparently "the hottest chick in the room" and GT scores a dance?? She's very....um...keen and Sofi pulls her aside, with a whisper in her ear and all of a sudden, she disappears. I had scurried away to get my phone for a photo 'cause no-one would believe the story otherwise but missed it! No doubt, it will be retold and embellished many times. Funny. We make it to the end! Kath and I high-five! Wasn't hard at all! What...a...blast. The best wedding party. Such exuberance, such celebration of young love, the moment. No speeches, no cake-cutting (Sofi was adamant). Just fun. We're about to board for Madrid so will finish are BA stay and photos en route if possible. Adios Argentina!

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