Going in an out of consciousness after a heavy night of booze courtesy of the boyz and the Navy, I made a decision on my 30th Birthday last year that I was going to see the world once I moved back into the nunnery. So, after the Christmas rush I bought a package to Buenos Aires and found myself cramped in seat 15E at the bulkhead on United 847 at 9 p.m. on January 28, 2007. A push and a tug and off I went hurtling across the equator into balmy Sur America, Argentina, y Buenos Aires.
Flying United is interesting. I am convinced that unless you fly upper deck 747, the economy section of any plane of any airline is pretty much a sardine can. Air France has better looking flight attendants and Christian LaCroix cravats but that's the only difference. The chicken is still made of rubber whether it is served as poulet on Air France Tempo or as "CHICKEN" on United Economy Plus. Before the flight, I ran into our erstwhile partner-in-crime, the esteemed Mrs. Chopra, who had been bumped off 5 flights to Boston and was still on the waitlist for the 6th one. So we perched ourselves, somewhat precariously, on a couple of barstools at the wine bar outside gate C5 and had a few flights of wine. We then went our separate ways jetting off in opposite directions-she for the wintry confines of Harvard Yard and me for the summery pampas of L'Argentina.
So there I was flying somewhere over North Carolina when the flight attendant with gout and four chins started down the aisle screaming "BEEF" or "CHICKEN". I got the beef. Any resemblance between United's beef and that meat that comes from things that go moo is purely a coincidence. I also had to pay $5 for a small bottle of wine. Honey, why don't you charge me $25 for the freakin' seatbelts?
The movies were good-The Last King of Scotland, the Queen.
After much hurtling, a smooth landing, passport stamp collecting (oooh another one), I got into a remise and into Buenos Aires. My first impression was WOW, it's just like Paris. They have an obelisk too, you just can't take an elevator to the top. I checked into my lovely room at the Kempinski Park Chateau and went exploring. Wow, it's just like Paris. The streets and the houses in Recoleta are just like, well, Paris. I spent the first morning exploring my gorgeous neighborhood.
My first impression was that B.A. is full of beautiful people. Everyone is tanned, looks gorgeous, and have 28 inch waists. Oy vey, this was going to be a fun week. I walked down Talcahuano, across Avenida Santa Fe, right on Avenida Cordoba, and right on Montevideo back to the hotel. Cute little neighborhood, lovely parks, and my first Argentine experience with stuff from the guidebook-a paseaperro. Passeaperros are people who are professional dog walkers. They walk upto 10-15 dogs at any one given time.
Off it was then for a spot of lunch at a parilla, not an authentic one, as I later found out but great nevertheless. The parilla man said "De donde vos? (where are you from)" and I said "Estados Unidos" and he was pleasantly surprised that someone would travel from the U.S. to B.A. on vacation. Then it was a trek to Recoleta Cemetery and I had saved that for the next day but I sat in a cafe, ordered "un cafe cortado" and listened as the mime played La Cumparsita in the park. They do it for the tourists, but HELL'S BELLS, MARGE, I am a tourist. My trip to Paris was complete only when the accordioniste played La Vie En Rose, and my trip to B.A. was complete when I heard La Cumparsita or Por Una Cabeza (The Scent of a Woman Tango song) played at the street corner or in the park.
One rests after such hard work so I took a long nap. Up at the PM and I was off exploring again, this time on upper Avenida Santa Fe. I walked into Cafe Olmo at Santa Fe and Puyrredon and enjoyed a whole bottle of Malbec and two cortados. Nothing better after a long flight than a bottle of Malbec and some coffee to balance it out. I came back to the hotel and dozed off watching Gran Hermano (Big Brother) 2007.
Flying United is interesting. I am convinced that unless you fly upper deck 747, the economy section of any plane of any airline is pretty much a sardine can. Air France has better looking flight attendants and Christian LaCroix cravats but that's the only difference. The chicken is still made of rubber whether it is served as poulet on Air France Tempo or as "CHICKEN" on United Economy Plus. Before the flight, I ran into our erstwhile partner-in-crime, the esteemed Mrs. Chopra, who had been bumped off 5 flights to Boston and was still on the waitlist for the 6th one. So we perched ourselves, somewhat precariously, on a couple of barstools at the wine bar outside gate C5 and had a few flights of wine. We then went our separate ways jetting off in opposite directions-she for the wintry confines of Harvard Yard and me for the summery pampas of L'Argentina.
So there I was flying somewhere over North Carolina when the flight attendant with gout and four chins started down the aisle screaming "BEEF" or "CHICKEN". I got the beef. Any resemblance between United's beef and that meat that comes from things that go moo is purely a coincidence. I also had to pay $5 for a small bottle of wine. Honey, why don't you charge me $25 for the freakin' seatbelts?
The movies were good-The Last King of Scotland, the Queen.
After much hurtling, a smooth landing, passport stamp collecting (oooh another one), I got into a remise and into Buenos Aires. My first impression was WOW, it's just like Paris. They have an obelisk too, you just can't take an elevator to the top. I checked into my lovely room at the Kempinski Park Chateau and went exploring. Wow, it's just like Paris. The streets and the houses in Recoleta are just like, well, Paris. I spent the first morning exploring my gorgeous neighborhood.
My first impression was that B.A. is full of beautiful people. Everyone is tanned, looks gorgeous, and have 28 inch waists. Oy vey, this was going to be a fun week. I walked down Talcahuano, across Avenida Santa Fe, right on Avenida Cordoba, and right on Montevideo back to the hotel. Cute little neighborhood, lovely parks, and my first Argentine experience with stuff from the guidebook-a paseaperro. Passeaperros are people who are professional dog walkers. They walk upto 10-15 dogs at any one given time.
Off it was then for a spot of lunch at a parilla, not an authentic one, as I later found out but great nevertheless. The parilla man said "De donde vos? (where are you from)" and I said "Estados Unidos" and he was pleasantly surprised that someone would travel from the U.S. to B.A. on vacation. Then it was a trek to Recoleta Cemetery and I had saved that for the next day but I sat in a cafe, ordered "un cafe cortado" and listened as the mime played La Cumparsita in the park. They do it for the tourists, but HELL'S BELLS, MARGE, I am a tourist. My trip to Paris was complete only when the accordioniste played La Vie En Rose, and my trip to B.A. was complete when I heard La Cumparsita or Por Una Cabeza (The Scent of a Woman Tango song) played at the street corner or in the park.
One rests after such hard work so I took a long nap. Up at the PM and I was off exploring again, this time on upper Avenida Santa Fe. I walked into Cafe Olmo at Santa Fe and Puyrredon and enjoyed a whole bottle of Malbec and two cortados. Nothing better after a long flight than a bottle of Malbec and some coffee to balance it out. I came back to the hotel and dozed off watching Gran Hermano (Big Brother) 2007.
