The Sao Paulo Saga

On Friday morning, the first day of June, when I woke up in Sao Paulo, Brazil, I was in desperate need of some clean clothes.  It had gotten to the point where I pretty much had nothing to wear.  The hostel had a washing machine and though it seemed a bit expensive (about $10 per load to wash it myself without the use of a dryer), I decided it was still preferable to lugging my laundry around trying to find a laundromat.  It didn't help that I was in a suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of town.  Unfortunately, just as I was going to put my wash in, the cleaning lady had started a cycle with a very small number of towels.  This meant I had to wait another hour for her to finish.  She tried to talk me into waiting until the next day since there was a party that night, but I was afraid the clothes wouldn't be dry on time with the damp and chilly weather. As it was, I had to book an extra night to make sure they'd be ready.  Since I was washing pretty much everything in my bag, I was left wearing a black sweater and a pair of black capri pants that I guess I determined were still relatively clean.  That's probably because I hadn't had a chance to wear them in South Africa or Argentina where the weather wasn't that warm.  As it was, I was a bit underdressed, even for Brazil.

Finally by about mid-afternoon I was able to get my clothes into the washer and then I had to wait another hour for the cycle to finish before I could hang them on the rack.  I contemplated taking a shower while I waited, but my towel was in the wash and I couldn't seem to get any hot water, though in retrospect I think that was because I was confusing the taps.  I decided to just forget it and instead remain dirty and shrouded in black all day.  By the time the laundry was finished, it was too late to go into town and besides I was dressed like a crazy person.  It was drizzling a bit outside so I just walked about a block to a pub right out on the main street.  The menu was only in Portuguese, but since written Portuguese is somewhat similar to Spanish, I could nearly figure out what was listed.  However, after I put in my order, what the waitress came back with was not exactly what I had expected.  I ended up getting a hamburger-like sandwich with a fried egg on top.  Luckily, it was okay in spite being not quite what I'd pictured.

As I was finishing up my dinner, loud music suddenly started playing and an older Brazilian man grabbed a microphone to start singing.  It was apparently time for karaoke.  This same man sang three or four songs one after another until someone else finally got up to the mic.  His voice was loud and booming, but honestly not very good.  Most of the songs were in Portuguese, but one that I didn't recognize was in English.  That was actually rather amusing, since it was quite clear that this man did not know how to speak the language.  However, overall the loud, off-key music was really just annoying.  After paying my bill, I knew it was time to go, but not before I half considered going up there to belt out a tune in front of a bunch of random strangers just to have a funny story.  I ultimately decided against it because it seemed like there were a lot of people waiting in the wings and I couldn't stand to hang around listening any longer until my turn finally came up.

Unfortunately, my night didn't get any less annoying from there.  Just as I got outside to head back to the hostel, it started to pour down rain.  I didn't have an umbrella so I waited until it let up a tiny bit before deciding to make a run for it.  I couldn't escape getting a little bit wet, which wasn't helped by my lack of any other dry clothes.  Then when I got back to the dorm room, all the lights were off as my roommates were taking a nap.  I didn't want to disturb them so I kept the light off and worked on my computer until I fell asleep myself.  A few hours later, while I was still asleep, the group of the three or four guys and a girl suddenly turned on the light and started talking loudly in Portuguese right next to my bed while they got ready to go out.  I didn't mind the light so much as the unnecessarily loud conversation, especially since I'd been so considerate to them all earlier. 

The group finally left, but then the managers of the hostel started cranking music for the huge party they were hosting for all their friends that night.  Hostel guests were invited, but since I was unshowered and had nothing to wear, I didn't have the motivation to go out and try to meet people who didn't even speak my language.  I may as well have been out there, though, since it was so loud it felt like I practically was.  I tried to go to sleep for a while, but it was completely impossible.  They had a live band that didn't even START playing until almost 2:00am!  I don't think the thing wrapped up almost 4:00am or 5:00am.  I hate wearing earplugs because I find them so uncomfortable, but I finally put some in since it was the only thing that would slightly muffle the sound and let me get some rest.  To say that I was LIVID that the owners of a hostel where people theoretically come to sleep would not allow me to do so, would be a complete understatement.

The next morning I slept in for a bit, then got up, showered and found some clothes that were relatively dry.  From there I left the hostel and took the subway to the bus station in order to buy a ticket for Rio de Janeiro the next morning.  I had tried to do it on-line, but wasn't able to book it without a Brazilian ID number.  There was a company I'd found that I was planning to go with, but when I got to the station there were dozens of stalls for different companies and I couldn't even find one that listed Rio.  I kept walking around until I finally saw "Rio de Janeiro" on one stall's sign.  I bought a ticket from them by pointing at the screen to show which time I wanted (no one in Brazil speaks English.)  Then as I turned around to leave, I saw the booth for the company I'd been looking for all along.  By that time, it was too late to change my ticket, so I just hoped the one I had would be fine.  Before I left the station, I stopped to grab some food and once again screwed up my order.  I asked for a coxinha, which I thought was a cheese croquette, but turned out instead to be stuffed with chicken.  That's how I learned that frango means chicken and queijo (which admittedly is close to the Spanish word, queso) means cheese in Portuguese.

From the station, I took the subway to Sé, on the recommendation of one of the hostel workers. The Praça (or Plaza) da Sé is where the Catedral da Sé as well many court and government buildings are located.  It's also the starting point for all street numbers in the city.  I went inside the Neo-Gothic Catholic church where there was a mass going on since it was Saturday afternoon.  I walked around for a bit, but the crypt was closed so there wasn't much to see.  I went back out through the plaza, which sadly seemed to be a meeting point not just for the city streets, but also for its homeless population.  At the end of the plaza was the Caixa Cultural or Cultural Center, which had free admission.  I went in to look at the various art exhibitions on display, but my favorite was the one done by a graphic artist who used various repetitive shapes and patterns to create what amounted to one-dimensional obstacle illusions.  There was also a cool display of various photographs from outer space taken by the Hubble telescope.

After leaving the cultural center I walked toward the Pateo de Collegio where the whole plaza was blocked off for what appeared to be a car commercial shoot.  A lot of spectators were gathered around out of curiosity and I joined them along the barrier fence. Unfortunately, the crew started resetting the scene shortly after I arrived so I decided to move on.  I walked over to Sao Bento where there is another plaza with a basilica and school.  I then crossed over a footbridge and tried to figure out how to get down to the lower level where I had seen a market street I wanted to check out.  Once I got down there, I couldn't figure out how to get to the street I wanted.  It felt like I was in a weird area so I decided to instead go back up toward Sé to try to get some food.  Along the way, I was so thirsty that I stopped at a snack shop to chug down some freshly-squeezed orange juice.  From there I just wanted to find a grocery store where I could get something small to bring back with me to the hostel. 

As I walked along a nice pedestrian street, there was a restaurant that appealed to me and I nearly stopped.  Then I noticed that even though there were still people eating, the sign on the menu said "closed."  I kept walking and found a commercial strip with lots of stores and some bars, but all the stores were closing and none even seemed to sell groceries.  I finally gave up and decided to just go back toward my hostel.  Once there, I asked the guy at reception if he had any take-out suggestions.  He recommended a pizza place not too far down the road.  I quickly found the place and was able to order a small pizza, which I planned to take with me to go.  As I was returning to the hostel, however, I started to feel really nauseous.  I have no idea what came over me, but once I got back I had to force myself to eat a slice or two before finally giving up.  I put the rest of the pizza in the fridge and figured I would take it with me in the morning.  I was feeling so sick that I decided to go right to bed.  Unfortunately, I had to deal with my obnoxious roommates who appeared to be getting ready to go out to a "white party" that night (who are they, P. Diddy?!?)  They finally left and I was able get to sleep.  I barely even batted an eyelash when they returned later that night.

On Sunday morning, I was fortunately feeling a bit better, though I still had no desire to eat my pizza.  Since I also had no way to heat it up for lunch once I had boarded the bus (I don't love cold pizza) I just left it in the fridge to either be eaten by someone else or get moldy.  As I was packing up my clothes, which for the most part had finally dried, I noticed that some of them were all covered in dirt.  The workers had moved the drying racks for the party so I assume a few things had fallen on the ground and been trampled before being thrown back on the rack.  I was really pissed that I had spent so much money for laundry that I had to do myself and then still had dirty clothes because of that stupid party!  I went to talk to the receptionist to tell him I wanted a discount.  He said he couldn't do that, but would let me rewash the dirty items. 

"Uh, no," I responded.  "I'm leaving right now and besides the clothes already took two days to dry as it is."

In the end he finally gave me around a 25% discount on the laundry (not much, but at least something) and I checked before heading to the bus station.  After all those debacles, I was certainly in no rush to stay at that place again any time soon.  I took the subway to the station and then braced myself for the six-hour trip to Rio de Janeiro.

I'll post photos in the morning.

Back to Buenos Aires and Onward to Brazil

For my trip back to Buenos Aires from Montevideo, I booked an overnight slow ferry because it was the cheapest option.  This meant that I had to take a bus leaving the capital city at 1:00am for Colonia and then a ferry that left from the port at 4:30am for Argentina.  Since it was so late, I took a cab from my hostel to the Tres Cruces bus station and was actually able to board a bus that left Buenos Aires shortly after 12:00am.  I guess they just fill buses up as people arrive at the station and then take off when they are full.  The only problem was that this meant that I arrived at the ferry terminal shortly before 3:00am.  I was hoping that they would let us on early so I could just crash in one of the reclining seats.  In the end they didn't let us on until more than an hour after I arrived.

When we finally got on board just before 4:30am, I chose a seat out up front and out of the way.  I wore my eye mask and put in headphones, but unfortunately my seat was by the snack bar so I all I could hear was two people yammering away at a nearby table.  I finally moved a bit farther back, but not soon enough since I kept thinking they would eventually shut up.  I probably only got about two hours' sleep before the boat started pulling into the harbor.  The sun was just rising so it was actually really pretty, but by the time I got motivated to pull out my camera, the magic hour had already passed.

When I got back on dry land, I forced myself to take the bus all the way back to Palermo even though I was itching to just hail a taxi.  The ferry docked shortly before 8:00am, but by the time I disembarked, walked to the bus stop and rode the bus to Adela's, it was after 10:00am by the time I arrived.  I was so tired that I went directly to my room and crashed for quite a few hours.  I was even able to sleep through the private acting classes that Adela's daughter gives in the adjoining room.  Still feeling lethargic, I didn't do much all day long besides nap and go out for food.

On Thursday, the last day of May, I was scheduled to fly out to Sao Paulo, Brazil. To try to save money again, I decided to take public transportation instead of just grabbing a cab.  Since I had no idea how long it would take, I left the house in the early afternoon on the advice of Adela.  Suddenly, as I was riding the bus toward the airport shuttle stop, it dawned on me that I had no idea if I was flying out of the international airport or the smaller regional one.  I had assumed it was the international terminal since I was flying out of the country.  In the end, I'm really glad I checked because it was actually the regional airport.

Once I got off the bus at the end of the line, I had to walk a while to get to the spot where I could pick up the private shuttle.  I then had to wait about 25 minutes until the next bus was scheduled to leave.  Luckily the regional airport is not too far from the city center so, though I cut it a tiny bit close, I made it reasonably on time.  However, if I'd gone to the wrong airport first, there's no way I would have made it (flashback to Malaysia!)

Since I had booked my ticket on a Uruguayan airline, I had a short layover in Montevideo.  Luckily, I still had a few Uruguayan pesos remaining so I was able to get some dinner at the airport.  It was like I had never even left.  I got to Sao Paulo just before 10:00pm and, even though it cost me a small fortune, at that point I did spring for a cab.  At that hour I had no motivation to try to figure out how to get to my hostel by public transit.  I just wanted to get into bed.

On Your (My) Way to Uruguay

On Friday evening, I caught a ferry across the Rio de la Plata to Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay.  I had a bit of trouble finding the ferry terminal after taking the bus from Palermo to Puerto Madero.  I had to walk quite a ways along the waterfront until I finally saw a big sign on a building announcing "Buquebus."  The terminal itself reminded me of an airport as we had to go through customs (both to leave Argentina and enter Uruguay) before getting on board.  The boat itself was nice and since it was a fast ferry it only took an hour to get across to the other side.  Colonia is a pretty small town so luckily it was only a few minutes' walk from the terminal to my hostel.

By the time I arrived, it was already late so I just chatted for a while in Spanish with a young woman and her mother from Argentina and then got ready for bed.  In the morning, I headed over to the historic neighborhood passing through the Porton de Campo city gate.  Colonia is a former Portuguese colony and the oldest city in the country.  It is one of the most charming and quaint little towns I have ever seen.  I felt like I was stepping back in time since the cobblestone streets the Portuguese built and many 17th and 18th century buildings are still standing to this day.  I also loved how all of the street signs were posted on traditional ceramic tiles.  I mainly spent the day just wandering around the waterfront, popping into different shops and having a leisurely lunch.  I did make it into the Basilica of the Holy Sacrament and up the steps of the landmark lighthouse, but by the time I tried to go to any other museums they were already closing for the day.  Instead I went to a cafe on the water to have a glass of wine at dusk before stopping at another place for dinner on the way back to the hostel in the "non-historic" district.

When I got back to the hostel, there was a new guest in my room who I introduced myself to in Spanish.  It turns out that my roommate, Remy, was actually French, but had been living for the past few months in Argentina.  He didn't really speak English and I don't really speak French so the only language we had in common was Spanish.  A bit later we met another one of our roommates who I believe was on vacation from Colombia.  The three of us went to go buy some beers and then sat in the hostel garden talking into the wee hours of the night.  We were all planning to go to Montevideo the next day so we discussed taking the bus there together.

The next morning, I had wanted to get up early to go back to the barrio historico one final time, but of course that didn't end up happening.  As it was, once I had showered, eaten breakfast and finished packing, it was nearly time to head to the bus station.  I had already booked my ticket and the two guys were planning to join me.  However, when it was time to leave the Colombian guy was still in the bathroom taking a shower.  I felt bad, but I needed to go so I wouldn't miss my bus.  Remy decided to come with me, which meant we left the Colombian guy behind.

The bus took a little over 2 1/2 hours and then Remy and I shared a cab to the hostel I had booked ahead of time on-line.  He hadn't reserved a bed, but luckily there was still space.  After checking in, we went to the grocery store down the street and bought some ingredients to cook lunch in the hostel kitchen.  We were only a few blocks from the riverfront so once we had eaten we walked down toward the beach.  Remy and I didn't really know exactly where we were going so we picked a direction and ended up heading west down the Rambla.

We walked for a while in the direction of the port until we started to get an uneasy feeling about the neighborhood and decided we should probably turn around.  We thought that on the way back we would walk through the Old City instead of right along the water.  The eerie sensation continued for a while as the streets and even many of the surrounding buildings seemed to be nearly abandoned.  I later learned that the neighborhood wasn't so much unsafe as just not very well maintained.  Uruguay is doing pretty well economically, but hasn't yet poured a lot of money into new development.  As a result, older buildings constructed in the early-1800s are still in continuous use and can appear rather dilapidated from a lack of consistent upkeep.  Also, the reason why the area may have seemed particularly empty was because it was a Sunday.  We passed through the deserted financial district and were able to walk right in the street given the complete absence of any moving vehicles during the weekend.  We then went by the Plaza de Independencia before making it back to the hostel.

That evening while he was using the hostel computer, Remy started talking to a French couple that was also doing an around-the-world trip.  The couple was planning to go out with some other friends they had met along the way so Remy and I tagged along.  We joined the other couple, a Spanish guy and his girlfriend, who I believe was also Spanish, at the Tres Cruces bus station.  We then walked around the area and tried to find a place to get some drinks, though it proved to be a bit of a challenge.  Evidently many bars were closed because it was a Sunday night.

We finally found a low-key place where we could sit out on the sidewalk and have some beers.  We also ordered food to share, including the traditional chivito sandwiches filled with vegetables and meat.  Communication was a bit of an issue as the French couple only spoke French and English, Remy only spoke French and Spanish, I only spoke English and Spanish and the Spanish guy was the only one who I believe spoke all three languages.  As a result, there were quite a few separate conversations going on all at the same time.  I ended up speaking mostly with the French guy who was sitting right across from me.  His English was excellent as his mother is a native English speaker.  Back at the hostel, we went out to the balcony where the three Frenchies started blabbing away, leaving me completely left out.  I finally called it quits and decided to just go to bed.

In the morning Remy was still asleep when I woke up so I ventured out on my own for the day.  I went back through the Plaza de Independencia in order to look for a bank.  After getting some cash I stopped at one branch of the National History Museum, which seemed to consist of only one room that was currently open.  Luckily I didn't pay anything to get in so there was nothing lost or gained.  I then got some lunch at an outdoor cafe in Plaza Constitucion across from the Montevideo Metropolitan Cathedral.  In the afternoon, I walked back to the Rambla promenade and set off in the opposite direction from the day before.  I went along the water for what seemed like forever until I finally reached the Parque Rodo.  It wasn't quite as exciting as I expected it to be, especially since one whole large swath was taken over by a golf course.  In spite of that, I meandered around for a bit around the ponds before going back through the city streets to get a different perspective.  That night, the French folks all cooked dinner together without asking me to join, so I just went out and grabbed some take-away on my own.  I was a bit annoyed about being left out, but I guess that's what can happen when there's some sort of language barrier.

On Tuesday, I was too unmotivated to figure out the bus system so I decided to walk north from the hostel with the vague notion of making it all the way to the botanical garden.  I ended up going by the commercial port area and made it as far as the Legislative Palace before realizing the park was too far to go by foot.  The actual legislature building is in a plaza in the middle of a major multi-lane traffic circle.  I wasn't sure if I was allowed to go inside as a layman so I didn't bother trying to cross all the lanes of traffic to find out.  I instead looped back around and set off toward an interesting modern building that I wanted to check out.  As I got closer I realized it was not really accessible since I was stuck on a narrow sidewalk along a busy highway next to the port.  It was a rather unpleasant walk for some distance, but I did get to go by the old abandoned rail station.  When I made it back to Barrio Sur, I grabbed my video camera and then stopped for lunch before wandering around the Old City to get a bit of scenic footage.

When I returned to the hostel in the late afternoon, I happened to run into Remy.  He apologized for the day before, explaining that he had needed to talk over some things and found it a lot easier to do with his "countrymen" in his native language.  We chatted for a bit and discussed how we couldn't believe the other French couple still kept to such a tightly-packed sightseeing schedule even after nine months of travel.  We both agreed that that would drive us nuts.  Soon it was time for me to leave to catch my bus and ferry back to Buenos Aires.  It was the quick and dirty tour of Uruguay but I'm still really glad that I went.

Through the Air to the "Great Airs"

After a sad farewell to Cape Town, I took off on the first leg of my 31-hour (yes... 31 hours!!) trip to Buenos Aires, Argentina, at just before 7:00pm on Thursday, May 17th.  We flew first to Johannesburg where I was able to stay on the same plane for the next leg to Doha, Qatar.  In Qatar I had an hour layover before heading overnight across the Atlantic Ocean to Sao Paulo, Brazil.  I was able to stay on the same plane again before finally landing in the Argentinian capital just before 9:00pm on the following night.

If you're keeping track, that meant I had to fly way northeast in order to fly pretty much directly west.  That's because the flight on Qatar Airways was about a third as much as a direct flight from Joburg would have been.  In retrospect, I probably should have extended my layover and spent a night in Doha where one of my friends actually lives.  The problem was I didn't know how to arrange that over the internet until another traveler explained it to me later (for the record, you would book a multi-destination ticket, which should cost roughly the same price.)  In any case, I finally made it to South America, my sixth and final continent.  I was so exhausted when I arrived that I hopped right in a cab to my hostel.  Luckily I had to the dorm room all to myself -- though it was right off the lobby, which made it rather noisy come morning.

My hostel was located in the San Telmo neighborhood so the next day I grabbed a map and wandered from there to the Plaza de Mayo in the Microcentro area.  I wandered around the plaza for a bit and saw a lot of people lining up to go into a building surrounded by a high fence on the far end.  I followed the crowd and discovered that I was at the Casa Rosada (Pink House) where I could get a free tour of the inside.  At that point I wasn't even quite sure what exactly the Casa Rosada was.  The all-Spanish tour, which was difficult for me to understand all with the echoes and huge crowds of people, didn't really help clear things up right away.  Finally I was able to gather that the building was the executive residence and offices of the President of Argentina -- basically the equivalent of the U.S. White House.  We got to see some of the reception rooms and the presidential office, but the highlight was definitely going onto the balcony where Eva Peron addressed the people upon her husband, Juan Peron's, release from prison.  I'm not going to lie, I felt a bit like bursting into "Don't Cry for Me Argentina!"for the mingling crowds down below, but instead just shuffled along and took some pictures.

After leaving the Pink House, I tried rather unsuccessfully to find the Puerto Madero (Old Port) Waterfront along the Rio de la Plata riverbank.  Despite quite a few wrong turns I finally made it down there.  By this point, I really needed to go to the bathroom so I wandered around for trying to find a coffee shop where I could grab a bite to eat and use their restroom.  Unfortunately, this recently revitalized warehouse district sports mainly higher-end sit-down restaurants that didn't quite meet my criteria.  I finally resorted to paying a buck or two to go onto an old sailing boat museum just because they had a bathroom.  I did wander around the boat for a bit afterwards, figuring I should at least get my money's worth.  I then headed back toward my hostel, stopping along the way to pop into the Metropolitan Cathedral and grabbing some empanadas to eat for dinner.

The following day I took it easy for much of the morning then had a late lunch and wandered back to the Plaza de Mayo.  This time I went into the Buenos Aires Cabildo, which was used as the seat of government during colonial times.  The building is now a museum dedicated to the history of the city in the 18th century.  It gave me an opportunity to learn more about the colonial era and revolutionary history of the country.  I had gotten a late start that day so I left just as the museum was closing and it was starting to get dark (being late fall and all in Buenos Aires.)

On Monday, I took the subway from San Telmo to the Retiro neighborhood.  I walked around the nearby park and went into a church before heading in the general direction of Recoleta with the hopes of going to the Recoleta Cemetery.  As usual, it took me much longer than it should have to get where I was going, but I finally made it after a few short unplanned detours.  The Recoleta Cemetery is where Eva Peron is entombed in the Duarte plot.  The layout is a maze of towering tombs that were built above ground because they sit on marshy land.  I finally found the right spot and paid my respects before heading indoors to the Del Pilar Church to escape the city's drizzly autumn weather.  I thought about going over to the Fine Arts Museum, but it was closed on Mondays.

When I had first arrived in Buenos Aires I had asked Paul to put me in touch with his friend Matias, who I finally had a chance to catch up with for lunch the following day.  Paul worked with Matias, a comedic actor known as the "Argentinian Jack Black" during the 2010 World Cup.  I took the subway to meet Matias in the trendy neighborhood of Palermo where he lives.  He was very welcoming and as we were eating he slipped out to call his girlfriend's mother to ask her if she'd be willing to host me at her house.  She offered to have me stay with her and since I felt it was ungrateful to turn down the offer, I accepted their generosity and decided to move out of my hostel the following day.

After lunch Matias brought me in a cab to the Blue and Green Pavilions near Plaza Italia where the final day of the contemporary art festival, ArteBA, was underway.  Matias had to go back to work so he didn't come inside with me, but he did graciously loan me the entrance fee when I found myself short on cash.  I, of course, paid him back in full the next day, but it was still very generous of him.  I've never been to Art Basel in Miami, but I imagine it to much the same as the setup in Buenos Aires.  I had a great time wandering around checking out all the artists and different styles of work.  The show was so massive, though, that I only got to see a portion of what was there and my feet were still killing me by the end.  Probably my favorite piece was the statue of a mini Joe Lieberman look-a-like covered in sperm(?) and holding a crystal ball.  I mean, come on, you can't deny this guy looks like the spitting image of the former Connecticut Senator, right?

Wednesday morning I had to drop off my visa application at the Brazilian consulate before going to meet Matias in Palermo to head over to his "mother-in-law" Adela's.  I had heard that the Brazilian visa was as big of a pain as the one for China and India (and also Russia... it's those darn BRAC countries) so all morning I rushed around trying to print copies of plane tickets, bank statements and hotel bookings.  In the end the only thing the woman asked to see was my bank balance, which she wrote down on the application.  She then told me to come back the next day to pick up my passport.  It ended up being totally painless.  I went back to my hostel to get my bags and then hopped on the subway for Palermo.  Matias met me there and we went back to his place where I met his girlfriend, Greta, and their baby boy, Antonio.  We then walked the few blocks over to Adela's house, a huge old brownstone with a courtyard.  Adela was lovely, though I felt pretty bad that she was just getting over the flu.  She had lived for much of her childhood in the US so her English was nearly flawless.  We had a cup of tea and a great chat before heading to bed for the night.

On Thursday, I went back to the Brazilian consulate to pick up my passport and was chastised because I wasn't there right at noon.  I thought the woman had said to come AFTER noon, but apparently I was supposed to be there right on the hour.  She then proceeded to tell me that it was too late because they were already closed (even though she was still clearly there working.)  Thankfully the woman then handed me back my passport and sent me on my way.  The consulate was right in the heart of the city along the main avenues of Carlos Pelligrini and Avenida 9 de Julio.  The sun was finally shining so I grabbed some food and then took a bit of a walk past the Colon Theater and the Obelisk of Buenos Aires to see the multi-story portrait of Eva Peron on the side of the Ministry of Health building.  Afterwards I walked  toward the theater and went on a wild goose chase trying to buy some video tapes before heading to the Tribunales subway station next to the Palace of Justice to get home to Palermo.

Friday, May 25th was a holiday in Argentina for the May Revolution of 1810.  Adela and I went to the restaurant across the street from her house to pick up some of the lorco meat stew traditionally eaten on that holiday for lunch.  I then got ready to head to the Puerto Madero where I prepared to board a ferry en route to Uruguay.

Cape Town Concludes

During the rest of my second week in Cape Town at the beginning of May, I went back to the Slave Lodge to try to get through the rest of the museum that I hadn't had time to see before and I still didn't get all the way through the second floor.  I also visited the South African National Gallery Art Museum in the Company Gardens.  The art museum had a really cool video installation by an artist named Candice Brietz who juxtaposed individual interviews with sets of twins that were then edited together into virtual conversations.  The same artist also had another exhibition where she conspicuously inserted herself into different scenes of the popular South African soap opera Generations.  Another exhibition by the South African artist Barbara Tyrrell showcased her visual recordings of traditional southern African costumes.  I hadn't quite made it through exhibit when the museum closed for the day.

On Friday night, Paul and I went into the city center where we ended up at a bar with an African burlesque show playing.  We got there about midway through, but that didn't save me from a moment of utter embarrassment at the end of the night.  The performers had started a conga line around the room and were picking people to join them along the way.  Unfortunately, I was one of the "lucky" chosen ones so I got pulled up on stage to dance.  I had no idea what I was doing and it didn't help much that my shoes kept slipping off.  Of course Paul tried to take pictures with my phone, but fortunately it was locked and he couldn't remember the password.  I did get a picture (without me in it) after the fact just for illustration p]]]p.

The next day Paul was busy at a workshop all day so I went over to Clifton to meet up with my friend, Hamzeh, who I had originally met in Jordan.  Hamzeh is going to school in Cape Town so he showed me around his new neighborhood.  We walked over to Camps Bays and then stopped to get something to eat at a coffee shop across from the beach.  Afterwards Hamzeh had to head home to do some schoolwork so I went to go sit on the beach for a while and then started wandering back to Sea Point.  I stopped along the way at a rock outcropping looking over the water and got some amazing photos of the waves crashing up against the cliffs.  I had taken a minibus over to Clifton in the morning, but since I didn't have any other plans for the afternoon, I leisurely walked all the way back over to Paul's apartment.

On Sunday, I had booked tickets for us to go out to Robben Island where Nelson Mandela and many other political prisoners were held for decades during the apartheid era.  I had been planning to go by myself during the week, but Paul had never actually been so he decided to come with me over the weekend.  The whole island complex is so huge that we had to stick with a tour group that brought us around on a bus.  Then when we got to the main prison building, a former inmate actually showed us around and told us about his experiences.  We got to see the tiny cell where Mandela spent 27 years of his life and learn about how the inmates continued to work toward the cause even while they were stuck behind bars.  It really made me step back and realize how much these men had sacrificed in the name of freedom.

That night was the night of the so-called "supermoon" so as it started to get dark, Paul and I drove up Signal Hill to watch the sun set and see the full moon rise.  It was really pretty to see the sun go down over the water near Green Point, but the moonrise was honestly a bit of a letdown.  Sure, it was cool, but since I was imagining something massively enormous that only wound up being slightly bigger and brighter than normal, it didn't quite live up to expectations.  I'm still glad that we (and the other hundreds of people up on the hill with us) decided to check it out.

During the following week, I went back to the National Gallery to finish going through the Barbara Tyrrell exhibit and check out the prints on display by contemporary South African artist, Peter Clarke.  Clarke is a linocut and woodblock print-maker whose pieces reflect the societal upheavals of the apartheid and post-apartheid eras.  It was interesting to see his work, not just from an artistic standpoint, but also from an historic one.  One day that week Paul was out sick from work with a bad cold so we just went around town running errands and then made delicious homemade chicken soup for dinner.  Then on Wednesday night, we joined some of Paul's friends for a Cape Town Opera performance of Puccini's La Boheme.  It was really unique to see a nearly all-black cast in the popular Italian opera.  It was really good, but I do think my running commentary that, "This is exactly like Rent!" started to get old to everyone else after the fourth or fifth time that I said it.

On Saturday, one of Paul's friends was hosting a birthday braai (barbecue) at his house overlooking the water.  The house was really nice and even had a pool, but it was obviously too cold to actually go in.  We got there pretty early, but in spite of Paul's best efforts to move things along by getting the charcoal going, we had to leave before any meat was actually put on the grill.  Luckily I had loaded up on chips and dip so I didn't leave the party hungry.  We had to head out before the food was ready because another group of friends was having a potluck dinner that night.  I helped Paul to make his mother's famous apple crumble before we headed over to Constania, a suburb south of Cape Town.  The dinner was nice and I was the only person who had no one guess my lie in the game of "Two Truths, One Lie."  Everyone thought that I was lying about nearly falling off a chairlift to my death when I was a child, but that was actually the truth (long story.)  In reality I was lying about traveling to more than 50 countries throughout my lifetime because I've really only been to about 45.

The following day, Paul and I set out to conquer the third and final peak in our Cape Town Challenge.  The one that remained was Devil's Peak just to the northeast of Table Mountain.  As with the other three mountains, the primary vegetation is scrub and fynbos so hikers are above the treeline the whole way up.  Before driving to the base, we swung by Clifton where a Japanese fishing boat had beached itself during heavy fog the night before.  Luckily no one had gotten hurt, but the ship was still stuck on the sand so I was able to get some pretty cool photos.  We then drove back through the mountains, parked and headed up the trail.  Since the first part of the trail is the same as the way up Table Mountain, we got a few pick-up shots for our iPhone film along the way. 

The mountain was nearly empty aside from a few other small groups so we had the trail pretty much all to ourselves.  When we got to the top it was so windy and cold that I couldn't take it for too long.  I felt like I was going to get blown right off the summit and when Paul went off exploring I couldn't even watch for fear he was going to go over the side.  As we finally starting heading back down the peak, we could see a string of dark, foreboding clouds off in the distance.  Paul began to get a bit worried because he knew how quickly the weather could change and that hikers sometimes get stuck.  We tried to move as fast as we could, but on the way down we passed others still on their way up.  When a large group went by us, Paul warned one of the guys that he would need to put on more layers, but didn't suggest not going any further.  We did tell another couple they might not want to try it, but Paul kept kicking himself that he didn't also warn the first group.  In the end it was their decision to continue so there wasn't much we could do.  Luckily, we made it back down the road just as the rain started to fall.

The next week was my final one in Cape Town so I spent some more time wandering around downtown and picking up last minutes things that I needed.  I also visited the Castle of Good Hope, which is a 17th century fort built by the Dutch East India Company.  I learned more about the history of the early Dutch and English settlements in Cape Town and their battles against one another.  Wednesday was my last night in town so Paul and I joined Hamzeh and some of his friends at a quiz night fundraiser.  It was hosted by a drag queen named Princess Pop so it was definitely quite a fun time.  It was also really nice to get a chance to see Hamzeh one final time before I left.

On Thursday afternoon, Paul left work early and came by the apartment to pick me up for my flight.  He brought me to the airport and saw me off as I left for yet another continent and the last phase of my adventure.