Friday, March 29, 2013

Closed Door Dining




Our left luggage was in the room, waiting for us.  We unpacked, organized, and took off for a dinner at Casa Saltshaker.  Buenos Aires has a tradition of what they call “closed door” restaurants; these can be nightly or irregular events where a chef cooks at his home, someone else’s home, or an undisclosed location revealed only on the day.  Casa Saltshaker is an expat’s home, and he cooks three or four nights a week for up to 12 at a communal table.  It was a stab in the dark!

Casa Saltshaker rates quite high on TripAdvisor; but while TA is a fair gauge for hotels, it’s a little less reliable for restaurants.  The location was chef Dan’s home, a one bedroom loft with a garden in a nice neighbourhood.  He’s an American by birth and according to the site a trained chef.

Beet salad, potato gallette, mango

Joining us were four Spanish guests; two of which were portenos, or locals, their son who lives in Spain with a Spanish wife, two girls from Toronto (one of whom spoke Spanish, thank goodness), and a Pole who spoke perfect English but not a lick of Spanish.  It was a social, lively, and fun evening, full of language hurdles and interesting observations.  The food however varied between quite good and not too bad; we had slightly higher expectations--but it was a fun night out.  We started with a lovely take on a potato gallette, then followed by maybe the highlight of the evening, a soup with all the ingredients of hummus (chickpeas, lemon, tahini, garlic, some spice) topped with avocado.  A marinated fish was mediocre and a roast chicken wasn’t up to snuff.  A dessert of limoncello mousse (excellent) and chocolate hazelnut cake (so-so) topped off the evening.  They paired each dish with wines, perfectly I might add.  What was much better than the food though was the conversation.  It was well past midnight before, exhausted from such a long day, I turned to SS and suggested we make a move.  But earlier I asked the Argentines: It’s a work night, say Tuesday.  Nothing special.  You have to get up the next day at seven for work again.  You’re eating at home.  What time do you have dinner?  They answered, unequivocally, 9:30.  And then I asked, what time do you go to bed?  And they said 11.  And I just shook my head.  They eat heavy, they eat late, and think nothing of it.  Total, all in, including food, booze, tax and tip, $65 US per.  Quite good I would say.

We taxied home for about $5 and, being Wednesday night, it was teeming with nightlife, people everywhere.  Of course.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Chasing Waterfalls

Two days in Iguazu, nothing about the (silly lyrics but extremely catchy) TLC song...



SS got up as if it was a workday: 6:30!  Just over an hour later we were in a cab to EAP, one of two BA airports (their waterfront is an expressway, an airport and another expressway...).  It was a glorious day, blue sky, warm, light breeze.  Plane was packed, we were on Aereolineas Argentinas, the only flight we’ve had to shell out for this trip.  Economy, but row five.  We even got a box with so-called snacks.

Iguazu (spelt various ways whether in Spanish, Portuguese or a literal translation) lies on the northern border between Argentina and Brazil, not far from Paraguay.  The guide book claims that when Eleanor Roosevelt saw it she whispered “Oh, poor Niagara.”  It is quite a site.



The guide book stats: Up to 300 individual waterfalls, depending on the time of year and water levels, the highest around 270 feet.  The largest area, a u-shaped falls, called the Devil’s Throat, sits deep in the jungle with San Martin as the major view falls; the horizon is nothing but water and incomparable.  In the world, the falls with the greatest “flow” are Niagara, Iguazu, Victoria.  Iguazu is one of the (highly contentious) "modern" 7 Wonders of the World, of which I’ve been to three, SS to two (the Amazon, in Venezuela, Iguazu falls and Cape Town’s Table Top mountain); I will never visit Indonesia’s Komodo Island thank you.  I’ve also been to some runner-ups including the Dead Sea.  The only Canadian finalist was the Bay of Fundy.  Go figure.  Oh, also, Roland Joffe's rambling film The Mission was shot here (it tells the tale of Jesuits trying to build a mission and the conflict with slave traders, etc.).

View of the falls from the Sheraton hotel, in the park, from the foyer
The hotel is well situated; it can only be spotted in the park at a couple of places
The jungle setting is much hotter than BA, around 30C on arrival, but curiously less humid.  We have two days, one night here, on points, in the Sheraton.  It’s the only hotel actually in the park (the government owns it and leases it to Sheraton; it is essentially a ticket to print money).  I don’t have a lot of wonderful things to write about it except this: The setting is over-the-top spectacular stupendous.  When you walk into the lobby, at check-in, you see the falls immediately, in the distance, the rain forest off to the side, the pool positioned on a bluff before you.  Of course we don’t have a terrace room, overlooking the falls, we’re on the jungle side, but thems the breaks.

Following four pics: Bossetti Falls




We basically dropped our stuff in the room upon arrival midday (1.5 hour flight from BA) and headed straight into the park.  I had on dri-fit, prepped for getting soaked, but in fact we never did.  There is an upper route of about 650m that goes along the very edge of the southern portion, branches right into the falls proper, much closer than you would imagine.  The lower route, longer and with quite a descent, drops to the base and gives you an opportunity to be drenched in the spray.  You can also take a speed boat into the falls (we didn’t) and/or cross over to Brazil, where although the park is less developed they have a slightly better view and the opportunity for a helicopter tour.  As a Canadian you would pay a fee to enter Brazil plus a fee to enter the park and then a fee to return to Argentina.  So pass.  After doing both upper and lower routes, navigating the hordes (and this park is how I imagine Grand Canyon is in the summer, teeming with tourists, except we are all corralled onto narrow walkways, so dense and slow like rank and file in a factory) we returned to the hotel.  A short siesta, an afternoon under an umbrella by the pool, and reading.  Now this is what I call a vacation!

Following three pics: Early morning mist at Adan y Eva Falls


When I did Angel Falls, you had to fly in to see it.  It’s a classic “long drop” falls. While majestic, and of course huge (the world’s tallest), Iguazu is all about volume.  Tons and tons and tons of water pounding over the Rio Iguassu, like two or three Niagaras because of the terrain, the cliffs, the jungle, the breadth.  Forty years ago it was clear, the water. Deforestation has changed that.  But still...  As I write this, from the veranda off the Sheraton foyer, you can see the steam rising up and the sun setting on the Brazilian side and the toucans harping in the treetops.
A plush-crested jay

Flock of green parrots
That’s right: A first for me.  Toucans outside of a zoo.  I spotted a solo beaker flop by the pool looking like a Disney dinosaur; friendly, unlikely to be airborne, one-third body two-thirds beak.  Then I saw a few more.  Then I went over to the patch of mature bamboo where a flock was roosting for the night.  Like parrots they make quite a ruckus.  We also saw plenty of Coatis, scrounging in the park (like fancy racoons) and exotic birds with plumes and eyebrows and colourful feathers. A warning in the room reminds guests to ensure the sliding door is locked when not in the room; good advice.  Several times in the afternoon we witnessed monkeys clamber deck to deck.  They recognized a closed slider from one ajar and at least once we witnessed a little feller enter a room.



Here we are all alone, the park to ourselves.  Magic!

Dinner was a tad formal in the classic hotel way, but good.  The highlight was a dulce de leche mousse with caramel sauce, berries, and served in a dark chocolate cup.  Then, by chance, I checked my “device” about our flight the next day and it turned out our return flight was on October 27, not March 27.  That was a bit of a panic!  No need to relate the long and tiresome process of dealing with Areolineas Argentina (or not dealing with them) and of course the fee to change the flights but we managed it and got a good night’s sleep.  So the "free" night at the hotel was pretty much negated by our flight SNAFU...

On day two we did something really smart: We got up early and went into the park just before 8 a.m.  when it “opens” to the public.  And you know what?  We were all alone.  No tourists, no groups, no tours, no staff.  There was flock after flock of green parrots, a few toucans, and all sorts of other exotic birds, and you could look up, and walk looking up, without running into anyone.  We went all over the upper level with nary a soul.  The sun was breaking over the jungle treetops, the mist floating into the sky, a light breeze, it was beyond magic, really, really special.  SS went down the lower route alone where he saw some rangers, clumps of wild orchids, and I checked out a few paths to nowhere.

Pics of and around San Martin Falls



 
Then we took the breakfast buffet, included, pretty swanky as these things go, packed, checked-out, left our bags, and went back to the pool for four hours.  Hotter today, dry heat, like Palm Springs heat.  Read, swam, shaded; time flew.  I started a Malcolm Gladwell book beside the pool in which he describes having to “feel” like the people he writes about and how when JFK Jr. crashed he went through something pilots call “losing the horizon” whereby he thought he was flying forward when in fact he was in a nose dive in bad weather and didn’t realize it until too late.  So the only way to “feel” that was for Gladwell to have a pilot take him up, in the same type of aircraft as JFK was flying, in the same sort of stormy weather, and to purposefully engage in a nose dive.  Airport late afternoon, bit longer on the flight home, and of course all I could think of was Gladwell “feeling” what JFK did...  The worst part of it is this: In 1999 a plane crashed at the city airport in BA.  It was I think the worst air disaster in Argentina’s commercial air industry.  I guess that’s neither here nor there, but en route to and from AEP you pass a wrecked plane, a monument to the crash.  Aren’t monuments meant to be symbolic, not literal?  The 9/11 monument isn’t a tower with a plane stuck out of it.  Anyway, a wonderful 72F no humidity clear blue sky early evening awaited us.  Back to the Glu for four more nights.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Exercise Caution



Um...maybe you should see someone about that?

Again with the clouds and remnants of rain.  But I’ve wised up.  SS said I’d be sorry to not bring a jacket but by early afternoon it was 23 although hotter with the humidity and it stayed hot and lovely right until evening.  I would say the only downside to being here in fall is that the days are getting shorter.
Going 90?  Might want to slow.

Where eight roads meet and eight crosswalks pose a few issues.

Hey Glenn, did you forget your manssiere?

If we walked 20 kms today we walked 25 kms; too much exercise!  We walked it seemed across the continent but in fact we only covered a couple of barrios.  From the hotel into the park areas (zoo, Japanese garden, Botanical garden, a number of squares and roundabouts including Ave Libertador, the 12 lane one way boulevard) and on towards the MALBA (stands for Museum of Argentinian Latin American Art of Buenos Aires).  It was a private collection established in a new build.  Not big enough to house the collection, which rotates, but SS claims there are plans to expand underground.

Entrance to the MALBA


This is what would happen if I ever built something with Brent.  His work is on the left...


A very famous Kahlo

Also famous for The Motorcycle Diaries


From a series of photo montages in the 1940s called The Dream by artist Grete Stern

Afterwards we did some shopping, window shopping, and it was two before we realized we were famished and it ended up we had to eat in a mall.  It was a chic mall and the food was prepared for us fresh and there was nothing wrong with lunch but it did seem a bit lazy that we made no attempt otherwise.  Afterwards we made this crazy decision to walk back to the hotel, even though it had taken us half the morning to walk to the MALBA.  It was a pretty interesting route, through some quiet residential streets and local shops.  By the time we reached our neck of the woods, Palermo Soho, we stopped for a coffee, which is generally a half hour proposition (getting service, getting the coffee, asking for the bill, receiving the bill; god forbid you need change).  Then, for no apparent reason, we did a detour before doubling back to the hotel.  When we got to the hotel we left our stuff and went back out to scope out a restaurant; and that took us an hour!  We killed our siesta!
Expensive hand made leather runners

Local fruiteria.  Don't pick from the bottom!

My criterion for dinner was “close.”  So we went into the trendy area of Palermo Soho for eats at a place called Mott, more Yaletown-ish than I would have liked, but the food was good and it was only four blocks away.  Even over-priced food tends to be reasonable here, comparatively.  There had been thundershowers for about ten minutes at 7 p.m. and as we walked the six blocks (was supposed to be four!) to Mott there was lightning across the skies. But as anyone who lives in the sub-tropics knows, or in fact anyone who has had a summer in Toronto knows, these types of storms pass.  When we left the restaurant it was clear and the moon was out. No jacket required.  No umbrella needed.

It's bruschetta.

120 ounce steak.  And salad.

Omnipresent dessert item: Molten chocolate cake...
The real estate listing said "elegant solutions with varying scales."  The only scales were fish, spawning, in the attic.