tango n°002-filched from grispo

We have been in Argentina now for 8 days, arriving in Mendoza, wine nirvana, yesterday. Buenos Aires feels a country away. Two hours on plane and the sexually-charged, dramatic city of Buenos Aires slides away. Mendoza is green and blue; grapes, olives, strawberries grow alongside roads, sunny skies a deep shade of blue that would signal thunderstorms back home. In the distance, the acute peaks of the Andes have dollops of snow.

The people here smile more. I do too. At a corner produce stand, tanned mothers and dirt-smudged manual workers on their lunch breaks eye the fruits and veggies, haggling with the owner. The grocer at the neighborhood deli/grocery shouts, “Hello Ba-by!” as I walk in the door with Mr. Gnome.  We order empanadas by the pound and eat them at our small B &B’s pool. Our room’s balcony overlooks La Escuela Domingo F. Sarmiento. Children singing awakes Mr. Gnome this morning (I’m already up), prompting him to wonder if it’s a school for Argentinian Idol.

To wrap up our first week here’s a list of some of best and worst moments:

Best BsAs connection: Meeting Exile Records shop owner in Palermo Soho. I found two first-edition Nina Simone LPs, Mr. Gnome found a Spanish print Talking Heads LP, and we connected with the owner over our mutual love of North Carolina/Virginia bluegrass. We discussed the merits of old school bluegrass and new school bluegrass. Extended an invite to him to look us up the next time he’s in the States and go to some great pickin’ nights in places like Floyd, Virginia.

Best cosmopolitan moment: Watching the International Tango Festival with our new friends: a Czech woman living in Brussels as a Spanish-Czech translator for the E.U. and a Swiss consultant taking two months off to learn tango in Buenos Aires. The national tango orchestra played complex tango music and husky-voiced singers sounded like they smoked 3 packs of cigs a day. Argentinians got weepy singing along to some of the nostalgic songs. It made me want to find some tango piano sheet music.

Best red face: (me) Being asked to disrobe by our masseuse in Menodoza, I kept asking, “Si?”, “Si?”, “Si?” until I finally got over myself and realized this older lady didn’t give a damn about seeing my naked body.

Worst Restaurant: La Carmela in Mendoza. The pasta tasted like it had been cooked in fishy water, the bread was stale, and the veggies were burnt. To top the bad food off, the waiter tried to mark up the food higher than the menus stated. After going back and forth with the waiter, the bill finally reflected it’s correct amount. Despite this bad experience, the rest of the food in Argentina has been terrific. Better than terrific. It’s a good thing we’ve been walking a couple of hours a day, in fact.

Best tourist attraction: Tango lessons in BsAs. We tried a tango school atop the Galerías Pacífico.  Mr. Gnome and I, a good foot taller than the rest of the class and way more goofy, tried our size 11 feet at the twisty, slidy steps. Our attempts at sultry looks to each other ended up looking constipated and our teacher had to keep reminding us to keep our steps little. (I realize I should have named this blog nancy the giant…but I like the irony of a 5’11″ viking-built woman being a gnome.) Despite natural dance flow, it’s one of the most fun experiences I’ve had all year.

Worst lodging: A hostel in San Telmo. To be fair, Ostinatto hostel was very nice as hostels go, but Mr. Gnome and I have realized we’re just not hostel people any more. It hurts me to admit that, but it’s true. I can’t pull the age card since I’m only 24, but  being married and less party-oriented has taken the fun out of hostels. Now I just feel gross sharing a bathroom with 40 people and annoyed J and I can’t sleep in the same bed together.  It’s got me thinking about authenticity on the road. I’ve changed a lot personally over the years, why pretend to like something just because it seems the most “cool traveler” thing to do? I think authenticity may become my 2010 word of the year.

All in all a fantastic time. Can’t wait to crack open a bottle of oak reserve malbec we bought yesterday and chill out. In postcard sendoff form, wish you were here.