OMGYOUGUYS. We have no wifi. We have had no wifi since we got back from Argentina. It is TORTUROUS. I can't blog. I can't Facebook-stalk you. I can't check my email without racking up a huge data charge on my mobile phone bill. I don't even know who I am anymore.
Between that and eyebola*, it is like I have retreated into the Dark Ages. HOW DOES ANYONE LIVE LIKE THIS?! I reject this version of the world! They say t'internet will be back 'in our area' by the weekend, but I'm skeptical. It's already been three weeks. VIRGIN MEDIA YOU ARE UNRELIABLE SACKS OF GRAMPA-DISAPPROVED-LANGUAGE.
So now I'm at the pub next door, where they have wifi and a sense of common decency. Also,
Now back to the holiday, when life was sweet, easy, and uninfected. Buenos Aires, part deux!
First, let's talk about BA hipsters. Did you guys know that no matter How Unique Like a Snowflake a hipster is, THEY ARE THE SAME EVERYWHERE? Just LOOK at them. This Argentina Campari party could be any Street Feast at Dalston Yard. Except with sun. And skin. And Campari. So, way sexier.
This is the point at which I grabbed a bunch of hot dogs and a bottle of Cynar and headed for the bushes.
Then that night, we had an asado (that's Argentina-speak for BBQ) on the roof terrace. Look at Pablo, grilling all that meat. Steak! Ribs! Blood sausages! Regular sausages! MEEEAAAAAAT!
Tabasco: bringing cultures together since 1962.
There is a pond with a path around the perimeter. There are a couple of bridges over the pond. There's a restaurant at one end, a gift shop at the other. In total - and nailing all the bridges and walkways if you're feeling whimsical - you can walk around the entire thing in less than ten minutes. TEN MINUTES. This is WONDERFUL STUFF. Nothing makes my spine retreat into my neck quite like the feeling of an unfinished-thing and this garden DOES NOT GIVE ME THAT FEELING. I left here a whopping fifteen minutes later feeling 100 percent satisfied with a job well done.
Even this left me feeling good, and it's clearly fake.
And at the MALBA's Antonio Berni exhibit, they've got what has to be History's First Photo Bomb:
A painting bomb? Totally has to count. Hilarious stuff, Berni!
And then, because the previous evening's asado was clearly not enough meat, lunch at The Burger Joint:
Burgers: bringing cultures together since 1962.
It was an epic two days. And next time I find myself with wifi, I will tell you even MORE. That's right. WAY MORE. We've got San Telmo. Salta. Iguazu. YOUGUYS WE HAVEN'T EVEN SCRAPED THE TIP OF THE ARGENTINIAN ICEBERG. You're lucky we didn't go to Patagonia or we'd be here all year.
In the meantime, wish me luck with this wifi dra-ma - I miss you and I miss this space!
Big hugs and lots of love,
*OMGYOUGUYS. Alan gave me pink eye. PINK EYE. My right eye is swollen shut and grotesque and I haven't left the house without sunglasses in the past week - in rainy London, even indoors, even at night - which means I totally look like That Girl. Over New Years in Scotland, Alan's niece Lauren dubbed it 'eyebola' because it was brought over from travels abroad and it spreads like wildfire. So at least it sounds cool. Slash terrifying.