Every now and then it’s best to travel off the beaten path if you really want discover the heart of a city.  My weekend adventure included an Italian night of culture and a visit to an Estancia(ranch) and I’m confident someone somewhere is sending me signs from above but I’m still alive after facing down a truckload of pigs so I’ll take that as a positive.  Oh where to begin…

Landra and I joined her two friends from the States at an Italian restaurant in San Telmo.  The changing neighborhood is a mix of yuppies, immigrants, lower to middle class and more recently upper class families.  There are cobble-stoned streets, cultural centers, restaurants, antique shops and the tango is commonplace.  At night, San Telmo fringes on unsafe but that’s more or less because it’s not as populated as other neighborhoods.  You get the sense you are in a Charles Dickens plot with old street lanterns and dark walkways.  When we arrived at the family-owned restaurant around 9 pm, we had no idea what to expect.  Moments later a series of events unfolded.  We were treated to a dynamic opera and accordion performance, a painter creating depictions of Rome and Venice, and traditional Italian dances performed by a family dressed in what reminded me of 1700 European dress (very Heidiesque).  As I’ve mentioned in the past, many Argentineans descended from Italian roots and it’s apparent in their clothing, music and food.  Our night of culture proved to be one of my favorite nights in Argentina.  We met the owner Martino who shared family stories with us.  (Thankfully, Landra and her friends Kat and Zack translated a bit for me. Natives speak too fast.)  After all the performances, Kat and Zack tried to bargain with the artist for one of his paintings but the negotiations led to an auction where Kat successfully picked her own number anyway.   It’s not often a traveler can say I spent the night with locals enjoying delicious homemade pasta and authentic music.

My trip to the Estancia or ranch was quite a different story.  When I booked the trip, it took me several attempts to spell my name for the booking agent.  I tried in English and in Spanish but decided the woman had my credit card number so what did I care.  Landra and I were to meet at the Marriott at 9:30 am for pick up and transport to the Estancia.  A young woman arrived and called out two names.  A group of US college students answered and began walking with the woman who barely waited 5 seconds for anyone else to respond.  As I was rethinking the spelling of my name, it dawned on me that the name she shouted could be it so I got up and ran after her.  I asked to see the listing on her roster.  There it was in bold print for pick up at the Marriott Keory Gweoyn (2) USA.  It didn’t take much for me to put two and two together that KG and USA was probably me.  After all, this bus was the only one in the city going to the Estancia I booked.  Landra and I boarded the bus and sort of half thought shit this might not even be right place but let’s wing it anyway.  Hours later we enjoyed horses, empanadas, gauchos(real life cowboys), meat, more meat, and even more meat and then later a folkloric performance where the highlight proved to be a barely walking 2-year-old darling girl mimicking the real life performers.

Our group sat at one long table and Landra and I were sandwiched between four American college students and a delightful Chinese-American couple, Agnes and George, who have lived in Texas for 40 years.  When I realized we weren’t going to drink our bottle of wine, I gave it to the Columbians, who traveled with us on our bus to the Estancia.  They were visiting Buenos Aires because of the World Cup qualifying match between Argentina and Columbia.  (Argentina won).  Of course, I thought nothing of my kind gesture at the time (hint, hint), since they were the only people at the table drinking.   Landra and I spent the afternoon chatting with our new friends Agnes and George about their children and travels and we shared stories of our own.  We meandered around the grounds taking photos and enjoying the beautiful fall day.  It was a relaxing break from the crowded city.

When we boarded the bus for our return trip to Buenos Aires, the Columbians seemed a bit liquored up and already quite loud and obnoxious.  They came armed with even more bottles of wine and Landra said to me I guess we won’t be getting a nap on the way home.  Little did we know a sleepless ride was the least of our problems.

About a mile outside of the Estancia, the bus driver pulled over and went ballistic on the Columbians telling them they could not drink and they needed to put away their wine bottles.  Keep in mind we are talking about 15-20 Columbians probably ages 35-45+.  These were not kids.  What ensued is a bit of a blur but basically we had a bus driver watching the passengers more than the road, drunk Columbians singing songs, drinking wine (despite the driver’s rants) and standing up on the bus, a 20-year-old tour director with no control and about eight Americans wishing they boarded another bus.  The very distracted driver pulled over a few times to scream and carrying on about the noise and wine and each time five or so Columbians would get off the bus to use nature’s bathroom.

The last straw for me and for Landra occurred when the bus driver nearly crashed into a truckload of pigs.  We literally saw it happening.  Landra said ahhh.  I screamed DESPACIO (slow) and then the driver slammed on the breaks and halted the bus.  When the Columbians realized what happened, they started yelling, “peligroso,” which means dangerous and they jumped into the driver’s face.  It was a bad scene and I thought for sure I was about to witness a brawl.  Instead, the very drunk Columbians started hugging the bus driver saying, “tranquilo,” while a few slightly more sober folks tore him a part.  Tranquilo means calm and at this point Landra and I were anything but calm.  In our frantic state, we didn’t know what to say in Spanish or whether or not we should risk our lives on this bus or get off and be stuck in the middle of nowhere an hour and a half away from Buenos Aires.  Our Chinese American friends were in the front row and looked terrified.  Landra somehow bonded with one of the Columbians and told him someone needed to take control.  There were several women who accompanied their husbands/boyfriends but none of them did a thing.  We were wondering if it had something to do with Latino culture.  We even pleaded with the young tour director but she was hopeless.  The situation didn’t get any better and between the Columbians hugging and talking to the driver and the passengers acting completely unruly it proved to be a miracle we arrived home safely.  Once we landed on solid ground in Buenos Aires, Landra and I headed to a café for dessert and dulce de leche to calm our nerves.  We were both pretty fired up and in disbelief of what occurred.  It was then that Landra reminded me I gave the Columbians our bottle of wine during lunch.  Nothing like aiding and abetting but in my defense I would like to point out of the 14 or so bottles the Columbians consumed I highly doubt our bottle was the one that pushed them over the edge.

One last update…My Canadian friend returned my credit card after Landra stalked him all weekend via Facebook and text.  We even tracked him down last night after our nightmare excursion but to no avail.  Today, we happened to be at the same restaurant at the same time and my card is a go.  YEAH!!!!!  First time for everything right?

I resumed my Spanish classes this week.  To my dismay, the school slated me for the afternoons and that would just not work with my Pilates and eating schedule so after some careful negotiating they bumped me to a higher level.  That sounded just fine until I joined a class of nearly fluent speakers.  After just two days with me in the class, two of the four students jumped two levels.  I didn’t take it personally they were youngsters after all.  To quote Alice Cooper, “School’s Out for Summer” and the college students from Europe and the US have descended upon Buenos Aires and I’m NOT happy about it.  I promise you I was not one of these spoiled, obnoxious brats from the States (and I am always right).

Plugging away with my private tutor and schoolwork, I decided some fun was in order.  I read about an organization called Spanglish on Facebook and decided to check it out.  The purpose is to improve language skills but I would more or less equate it to a cross between speed dating and meet up organizations.  For 5 minutes, I spoke English with my partner and then for 5 minutes we spoke Spanish.  My first partner was a crack up.  After being married for 34 years, one day she asked her husband why they were still married and he said he didn’t know.  She said, “I looked at him and thought I don’t like him I am rich I want a divorce.”  They have 3 children and 2 grandchildren and she said she talks to him more now than before and she loves her live.  She is taking an art course in NYC in September for a month and wanted to improve her English.  Another partner, a college student, told me she hated the United States but she dated a guy from Texas and decided she wanted to learn more English just in case she met another potential boyfriend.  What?  Finally, I ended up with some random chain smoking 43-year-old who told me he inherited millions 10 years ago so now he enjoys traveling.  He loves the United States and wanted to teach more American’s Spanish.  The only thing I could get out of my mouth was my parents live in Chicago, I have one brother and I’ve been traveling since November.  Clearly, their English is much better than my Spanish.

During Spanglish, I also met a few other random guys from the States who I recruited to join me at the American sports bar for the first NBA Finals game.  I’ve never been one to shy away from men in sports bars but I was pretty impressed with my assemblage of Argentineans and Americans with the token Israeli and Canadian.  When the game ended, I decided to head home as it was late and I had school in the morning but apparently I missed quite the fireworks.  The bill had not been settled and everyone went crazy arguing over 50 pesos ($15).  Unfortunately, Landra and I had walked out with the freeloader, a 19-year-old Argentinean cutie pie who clearly played the two American men she picked up.

It wouldn’t be a night out on the town if I didn’t lose something right?  At some point in the evening, I pulled out my driver’s license to show my new Argentinean friend out to spell my name.  No one in Argentina gets my name right so I feel compelled to spell it.  Well you know where this story is going.  My driver’s license and my credit card are buddies and when I pulled out the license, I dropped my credit card on the ground.  The minute I got home I started looking for it and realized quickly it was gone.  Keep in mind two weeks ago I left my ATM card in the machine so now I am down to one way of obtaining cash.  I sprang into action and called my credit card company to put a block on the card then I frantically called the bar until someone finally answered and said they didn’t have it.  After stalking the bar the next day to no avail, I had nearly given up when Landra texted me the Canadian had my card.  Elated and in complete disbelief at my great luck since I NEVER EVER get anything back, I am still trying to connect with this guy four days later.  Cross your fingers!!!!!