I'm a tad behind due to a wi-fi outage....
It’s Tuesday and we plan to actually get a few museos in today since we only have a few more days left in our beloved Buenos Aires. So much to do – on the agenda for the day: the Museo Evita and MALBA, Buenos Aires’ modern art museum. Both are actually not far from our apartment and though I’m still coughing a bunch, I feel better and ready to be outside in the sun. We walk through the backstreets of Viejo Palermo; the neighborhood is lovely and full of embassy buildings and, as is to be expected, the ubiquitous blooming jocanda trees line the streets and shade us as we walk.
It’s Tuesday and we plan to actually get a few museos in today since we only have a few more days left in our beloved Buenos Aires. So much to do – on the agenda for the day: the Museo Evita and MALBA, Buenos Aires’ modern art museum. Both are actually not far from our apartment and though I’m still coughing a bunch, I feel better and ready to be outside in the sun. We walk through the backstreets of Viejo Palermo; the neighborhood is lovely and full of embassy buildings and, as is to be expected, the ubiquitous blooming jocanda trees line the streets and shade us as we walk.
Klover has been very excited to visit the Museo Evita since she’s all about hearing details about how they embalmed Eva Peron’s corpse. And. I. Can't. Wait.
During the walk to the museum, Klover explains a bit more about what happened to Evita after she died – how since she was catholic, they couldn’t cremate her and the new government that took over after Juan Peron worried over how to handle her body since she was so important and folks gained power through their guardianship of her body.
As was common in those days, the heads of state and famous people were embalmed so they could be on display and the Argentine people could come pay their respects. Klover told me that some people lined up for over ten hours to have the chance to see Evita. Evita's mother really wanted her body to be returned to her family, but due to the revolution Juan Peron had to go into exile in Uruguay and he had no control over what they did with his wife's body. In the end, Eva’s body went through a twenty year journey - traveling the world - before finding its final resting place back in Buenos Aires. And the journey actually included not only robbery, but at one point it went missing; it also spent some time in a cemetery in Italy where Eva was buried under a false pseudonym.
During the walk to the museum, Klover explains a bit more about what happened to Evita after she died – how since she was catholic, they couldn’t cremate her and the new government that took over after Juan Peron worried over how to handle her body since she was so important and folks gained power through their guardianship of her body.
As was common in those days, the heads of state and famous people were embalmed so they could be on display and the Argentine people could come pay their respects. Klover told me that some people lined up for over ten hours to have the chance to see Evita. Evita's mother really wanted her body to be returned to her family, but due to the revolution Juan Peron had to go into exile in Uruguay and he had no control over what they did with his wife's body. In the end, Eva’s body went through a twenty year journey - traveling the world - before finding its final resting place back in Buenos Aires. And the journey actually included not only robbery, but at one point it went missing; it also spent some time in a cemetery in Italy where Eva was buried under a false pseudonym.
“It’s sort of like a mystery, how she ends up back in Buenos Aires,” Klover told me excitedly.
The whole idea that Eva Peron’s corpse was moved about so much, and therefore not really having any “rest” until twenty years after her death seems absolutely ridiculous to me. Nevertheless, we decide we must reenact her outstretched arm pose whenever and however possible. Oh, and we must sing “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” – quietly of course – whenever we strike this pose. We’ve decided that – since she played Evita in the movie – it’s okay to also strike Madonna poses while in the Museo Evita. Same difference. And if we’re going to be touristas, we might as well be completely dorky tourists – no need to look stupid just for stupid’s sake. It's much better to look stupid for the sake of a photo.
The Museo Evita is in a lovely mansion with a black and white checked marble foyer and parquet floors. Around back, there’s a lush garden with a café where we sit and have our first empanada for the day, a lemonada, and a ginger-lemon tea. The weather is slightly cooler out there under the shade of large green trees and someone is making crepes near the entrance and we can smell the scent of vanilla and cream wafting through the air.
Our waiter attempts to engage us, talking in castellones about the beauty of Buenos Aires and asking us how long we'll be staying, but we don't have the energy to keep up with him or try to translate and he doesn't understand any of our English. On the other hand, Klover keeps her eye on a few handsome portenos at a nearby table, and gets a tad miffed with me that I don't appreciate all of the pickings to be found in Evita's little garden.
Actually, though our walk to the museum was filled with women - little portenas carrying their groceries home for lunch and touristas making their way through our Palermo neighborhood - the Museo Evita seems to be a magnet for men with a yen for Eva Peron. One of our dinner companions at Casa SaltShaker was the one who told us this was his favorite museum, so clearly Eva appeals to both sexes and we're not the only ones who want all the details about her life and death. Oh, and her shoes.
In the museum itself, there are some pieces of furniture from Eva’s home as well as some clips of her films and recorded bits from her radio performances. Klover tells me that, hey, she really was a lot like Madonna in her day – a political pop star. And her lovely clothes are also on display throughout the museum. Klover looks over Eva’s whimsical hats, beaded bags, and her small, Italian-made shoes, and tells me this is her favorite part of the museum – she loves Eva’s clothes and she tries to decide which ones she'd wear.
Of course, I like the odd kitchen set up toward the end of the tour. There’s a huge stove with fake plastic pieces of chorizo de bife on the grill and an old-school refrigerator set up like a life-like art project. I also like the trip-hop tango music they use as a backdrop to all the very propaganda-ish film clips about Eva’s life in Buenos Aires as the wife of the president of Argentina. There’s also a nice little alter in one room that recalls Madonna's “Like a Prayer” and I get Klover to pose impishly in front, mining her best Madonna moves.
The final bit of the exhibit is the film that describes what happens to Eva’s body when she dies. It's narrated by her sister and her tone is very solemn as she describes what happened to Eva's corpse. There are also photos in there of her body and evidence of the beating it took while traveling around for those twenty years – her nose was broken, her feet stained with tar, and there were stab marks in her face, possibly from bumping up against something inside the coffin. Blecch. What a harsh non-life for that corpse to have and proof again that Eva's legacy was that of the dead that kept on living.
After our visit to the museum, we try to get into the MALBA, but realize too late – that is, after a trek that leaves us sweaty and tired – that the MALBA isn’t even open on Tuesdays. Clearly we'll have to leave it for another day. Instead, we continue walking down Figueroa Alcorta toward the Museo Nacional de Bella Artes. On the way we see a weird flower-like satellite dish made of stainless steal and somewhere near the size of an apartment building, and we walk by the university where students sit on the steps looking serious and academic. For a moment, we get slightly lost in the Museo Nacional de Bella Artes museum’s café, and since we’re walking down a major boulevard (that might as well be a freeway), we find ourselves also getting honked at by cab drivers and elderly men in suits who are out in their Peugeots. Yes, it’s just another day out amidst the people in Buenos Aires. Alora!
When we get to the Belle Artes, we find the admission is free. Yes, this place is friggin’ free! And they’re open until 8:30 PM (and it’s already 7 PM). This is my kind of museum. Inside, they have a collection of all the greats, including Van Gough, Rodin, Degas, Picasso and other more modern American artists like Rothko and Warhol.
The fact that it’s free means we really luxuriate and only see what we feel like seeing. This is my idea of visiting a museum - where you chill and leave when you feel like it rather than after a gluttonous rampage of visuals because you feel you need to get your money's worth. I realize I keep seeing the centaur raping the nymph motif in tons of paintings and sculptures and I’m sort of disturbed by it and this is the one thing that is somehow stuck in my mind - maybe it has to do with the logistics, or maybe it's just that it's odd to me how everyone wanted to create art around these same classical stories over and over again - tirelessly! - through the years. Also, after an hour or so, I’m so brain-dead that my favorite part of the wander ends up being the part where I'm standing in a backroom, staring at a collection of silver mate cups, the container used for Argentina's national beverage of bitter tea.
The fact that it’s free means we really luxuriate and only see what we feel like seeing. This is my idea of visiting a museum - where you chill and leave when you feel like it rather than after a gluttonous rampage of visuals because you feel you need to get your money's worth. I realize I keep seeing the centaur raping the nymph motif in tons of paintings and sculptures and I’m sort of disturbed by it and this is the one thing that is somehow stuck in my mind - maybe it has to do with the logistics, or maybe it's just that it's odd to me how everyone wanted to create art around these same classical stories over and over again - tirelessly! - through the years. Also, after an hour or so, I’m so brain-dead that my favorite part of the wander ends up being the part where I'm standing in a backroom, staring at a collection of silver mate cups, the container used for Argentina's national beverage of bitter tea.
After the museum visit, the sun is setting and we stand for a bit on the steps outside, gazing up at the cotton candy colored sky. It truly looks this way to us, and Klover notes that though she loves it she "doesn't even like cotton candy." Hmm. We're sort of listless and museum-ed out, and we wave down a cab and head home for a quick siesta and the chance to coordinate dinner plans with Scott.
It turns out we get a reservation at the classic parilla, Rio Alba - since this is Scott’s last night in Buenos Aires and he and Boche want more steak. It turns out, dinner will be pared down to just be Boche and Theresa, Scott, and Klover and I since Steve West and Remko decide to stay near the Plaza de Mayo to catch a music festival. Somewhat sad since I would've liked to talk to them a tad more, but a smaller group will make it easier to manage dinner.
Klover and I arrive by cab at the Rio Alba and we're a little disappointed with the decor. The lights are bright, the walls are yellow, and they have big Parisian posters on all the walls. We quickly realize that Don Julio had a much better atmosphere, but we refrain from saying anything to anyone since this is the place we've already been - and where no doubt everyone would prefer to be.
It turns out we get a reservation at the classic parilla, Rio Alba - since this is Scott’s last night in Buenos Aires and he and Boche want more steak. It turns out, dinner will be pared down to just be Boche and Theresa, Scott, and Klover and I since Steve West and Remko decide to stay near the Plaza de Mayo to catch a music festival. Somewhat sad since I would've liked to talk to them a tad more, but a smaller group will make it easier to manage dinner.
Klover and I arrive by cab at the Rio Alba and we're a little disappointed with the decor. The lights are bright, the walls are yellow, and they have big Parisian posters on all the walls. We quickly realize that Don Julio had a much better atmosphere, but we refrain from saying anything to anyone since this is the place we've already been - and where no doubt everyone would prefer to be.
Nevertheless, the food at Rio Alba is really good. And though we have a waiter who speaks to us in rapid-fire castellanos and doesn’t understand a word of our very bad Spanish, he keeps track of our order without writing any of it down, and he's somewhat frenetic when serving us our dishes. Regardless of how stressed he seems, he keeps telling us, "Tranquile - tranquile!" as if he thinks we need to chill out, or something. We must seem even more stressed than he is, and - of course - this becomes the motto of the night and no matter what someone is doing, we shout, "Tranquile!" in a way meant to shake the rafters as opposed to calming someone down.
We all talk about how there are other things that are different in Argentina. For instance, when asking for one chair, or one steak, or one beer (or one glass of wine), you don't use your pointer finger to indicate this. Rather, you use your thumb, as in, "Thumbs up!" Of course, this is familiar to me from spending a little time in Europe, but Boche is amazed and wishes he'd known earlier since he seems to keep getting two of everything when he really just wants one.
Also, Klover notes that in the ladies room, they have a note where they say they have condoms for sale, but the ladies need to purchase them at the bar. How embarrassing! And she thinks I need to go ask for one and that this will be an optimal way for us to make new porteño friends. Of course, we laugh since, oddly, (or maybe not?) there are no such signs in the mens' room. Clearly this suggests that even in Argentina, the men know the ladies are the responsible ones.
We also talk about how in Argentina, the double-“L” within words is pronounced “cha” instead of “ya” – so pollo is po-cho instead of po-yo. Nuts, and completely confounding! It’s not like I really know the language to begin with - I keep trying this little trick where I add an "o" or roll my "r" to make it sound Spanish and half the time it works and the other half of the time people look at me like I'm loco in the cabeza. But these porteños seem set on adding confusion to an already confusing situation by throwing in this little twist to the pronunciation. Not only this, but they also speak with Italian intonations, which I’ll admit is pretty perfect since with my six week Italian class I took seven years ago, I seem to think everything should be spoken with an Italiano accent. Molte bene!
We all talk about how there are other things that are different in Argentina. For instance, when asking for one chair, or one steak, or one beer (or one glass of wine), you don't use your pointer finger to indicate this. Rather, you use your thumb, as in, "Thumbs up!" Of course, this is familiar to me from spending a little time in Europe, but Boche is amazed and wishes he'd known earlier since he seems to keep getting two of everything when he really just wants one.
Also, Klover notes that in the ladies room, they have a note where they say they have condoms for sale, but the ladies need to purchase them at the bar. How embarrassing! And she thinks I need to go ask for one and that this will be an optimal way for us to make new porteño friends. Of course, we laugh since, oddly, (or maybe not?) there are no such signs in the mens' room. Clearly this suggests that even in Argentina, the men know the ladies are the responsible ones.
We also talk about how in Argentina, the double-“L” within words is pronounced “cha” instead of “ya” – so pollo is po-cho instead of po-yo. Nuts, and completely confounding! It’s not like I really know the language to begin with - I keep trying this little trick where I add an "o" or roll my "r" to make it sound Spanish and half the time it works and the other half of the time people look at me like I'm loco in the cabeza. But these porteños seem set on adding confusion to an already confusing situation by throwing in this little twist to the pronunciation. Not only this, but they also speak with Italian intonations, which I’ll admit is pretty perfect since with my six week Italian class I took seven years ago, I seem to think everything should be spoken with an Italiano accent. Molte bene!
Once we receive our wine and agua con gas, we talk a bit about the end of the Pavement tour and I ask Scott and Boche if there were tearful goodbyes and big hugs.
Scott shakes his head. “Uh, no.”
Theresa protests, “Wait - what do you mean? I saw some hugs going around!”
And Scott laughs with a little chagrin and acknowledges that maybe the Pavement guys were a little more loving and sentimental than he's willing to admit.
I ask Scott if he’s sad about it all being over, and he says, “Yeah, sure. I’m a little sad. But it’s also been hard not having a home this year and being out of sorts.”
He also tells us that he thought everyone seemed to get along pretty good – better than expected, actually – and though they had a rough spot at the Matador show in Vegas, overall the tour went really well. This is actually a surprise for me since I was thinking he'd have all sorts of gossip about mishaps and confusions to share. He does mention that there was the one confusion that Steve arrived in Buenos Aires not realizing that he was playing two shows (he thought there was just the one on Monday night), and he was sort of pissed since this bit into his sight-seeing plans, but other than this, everything went pretty smoothly.
Boche, Theresa and Scott all order hefty steaks from our waiter, haggling a bit over the size and who can eat more, and Klover and I share some local fish (we’re a tad steaked-out) called, borita. As usual, Boche takes care of ordering a few bottles of of well-chosen Malbec and the whole meal is pretty lush with an abundance of salads, plenty of sides, and too many desserts - ice cream and a huge dose of tiramasu. When the bill comes, Scott surprises us and treats, which makes the meal taste even sweeter; Klover and I are quick to complain that we would've ordered the lobster if we knew he was paying (wink!).
It's funny that Scott is so polite and generous this way - here he's having a big meal with his booking agent and his ex-wife and he doesn't blink an eye when suggesting to host us all. He's got great manners - and I think to myself how of all the dinner dates I’ve been on this year, not one guy treated for dinner. It’s not like I would ever expect this, and I’m always quick to offer to pay my share (which they're even quicker to take me up on), but I think this just speaks for what a rare bird Scott actually is that he'd be this sweet to all of us. This also makes the evening more fun since it allows Klover and I the opportunity to be generous right back as we offer to treat Scott to drinks and cab rides for the rest of the night as a thank you for such a delicious meal and the comped tickets to the show.
After dinner, we head over in two cabs to Milion, a restaurant/bar located in a mansion in Recoleta. Because there’s some construction going on at Santa Fe near Milion and the streets are blocked off as they begin setting up Christmas decorations – we spot what looks like a string of wrapped Christmas boxes – we get let off nearby and sort of get turned around again because of the mapping situation. Nevertheless, between Klover, Scott and I, we figure out where we’re going and luckily find Boche and Theresa, wandering nearby. We learn their cab ride was a tad more dramatic since they actually experienced a little accident where their driver rear-ended another car and just deposited them where they were so he could work out things with the other driver.
There’s a little hunting for Milion, and then we enter what might have been the carriage entrance to a Victorian mansion and walk upstairs to a candlelit bar. Near the front door, there’s a fireplace mantel and a few chairs similar to what you’d find in a library. There’s also a scattering of tables inside to the right and to the left there’s a full bar, and beyond there’s a terrace and dinner seating outside in a garden. The weather in the garden is perfect and there are plenty of people both inside and outside the building, milling about.
Scott shakes his head. “Uh, no.”
Theresa protests, “Wait - what do you mean? I saw some hugs going around!”
And Scott laughs with a little chagrin and acknowledges that maybe the Pavement guys were a little more loving and sentimental than he's willing to admit.
I ask Scott if he’s sad about it all being over, and he says, “Yeah, sure. I’m a little sad. But it’s also been hard not having a home this year and being out of sorts.”
He also tells us that he thought everyone seemed to get along pretty good – better than expected, actually – and though they had a rough spot at the Matador show in Vegas, overall the tour went really well. This is actually a surprise for me since I was thinking he'd have all sorts of gossip about mishaps and confusions to share. He does mention that there was the one confusion that Steve arrived in Buenos Aires not realizing that he was playing two shows (he thought there was just the one on Monday night), and he was sort of pissed since this bit into his sight-seeing plans, but other than this, everything went pretty smoothly.
Boche, Theresa and Scott all order hefty steaks from our waiter, haggling a bit over the size and who can eat more, and Klover and I share some local fish (we’re a tad steaked-out) called, borita. As usual, Boche takes care of ordering a few bottles of of well-chosen Malbec and the whole meal is pretty lush with an abundance of salads, plenty of sides, and too many desserts - ice cream and a huge dose of tiramasu. When the bill comes, Scott surprises us and treats, which makes the meal taste even sweeter; Klover and I are quick to complain that we would've ordered the lobster if we knew he was paying (wink!).
It's funny that Scott is so polite and generous this way - here he's having a big meal with his booking agent and his ex-wife and he doesn't blink an eye when suggesting to host us all. He's got great manners - and I think to myself how of all the dinner dates I’ve been on this year, not one guy treated for dinner. It’s not like I would ever expect this, and I’m always quick to offer to pay my share (which they're even quicker to take me up on), but I think this just speaks for what a rare bird Scott actually is that he'd be this sweet to all of us. This also makes the evening more fun since it allows Klover and I the opportunity to be generous right back as we offer to treat Scott to drinks and cab rides for the rest of the night as a thank you for such a delicious meal and the comped tickets to the show.
After dinner, we head over in two cabs to Milion, a restaurant/bar located in a mansion in Recoleta. Because there’s some construction going on at Santa Fe near Milion and the streets are blocked off as they begin setting up Christmas decorations – we spot what looks like a string of wrapped Christmas boxes – we get let off nearby and sort of get turned around again because of the mapping situation. Nevertheless, between Klover, Scott and I, we figure out where we’re going and luckily find Boche and Theresa, wandering nearby. We learn their cab ride was a tad more dramatic since they actually experienced a little accident where their driver rear-ended another car and just deposited them where they were so he could work out things with the other driver.
There’s a little hunting for Milion, and then we enter what might have been the carriage entrance to a Victorian mansion and walk upstairs to a candlelit bar. Near the front door, there’s a fireplace mantel and a few chairs similar to what you’d find in a library. There’s also a scattering of tables inside to the right and to the left there’s a full bar, and beyond there’s a terrace and dinner seating outside in a garden. The weather in the garden is perfect and there are plenty of people both inside and outside the building, milling about.
The building itself is sort of a fantasy spot – and it seems like you’d have to have a million to hang out at Milion. The people themselves look like a mixture of European tourists and extras from the movie Less Than Zero - slick hair and sports coats dominate. And the grounds are lush and slightly dilapitated and outside people are sitting luxuriously on the steep marble stairs that lead down to the garden, drinking glasses of wine and elaborate cocktails.
Inside, there are also all these little hidden nooks where a party of people can sit and talk and there are lots of people nestled away unseen. We hunt through these spaces, then a waiter helps us put together a table inside and Boche orders another great bottle of Malbec. I haven’t had anything to drink in so long, I start feeling WAY chill. Until, that is, I start coughing again. I get some agua con gas from our waiter, and I’m back (!) and this is the last coughing fit for the night, fortunately.
Inside, there are also all these little hidden nooks where a party of people can sit and talk and there are lots of people nestled away unseen. We hunt through these spaces, then a waiter helps us put together a table inside and Boche orders another great bottle of Malbec. I haven’t had anything to drink in so long, I start feeling WAY chill. Until, that is, I start coughing again. I get some agua con gas from our waiter, and I’m back (!) and this is the last coughing fit for the night, fortunately.
We all take turns trying to find the bathroom at Milion and we're fascinated that los banos appear to be co-ed, which adds a little hijinx to the evening. There also appear to be tons of dark nooks upstairs, and these make me think of Eyes Wide Shut, and people in masks lingering in dark corners, doing God knows what with who knows who. After one particularly awkward visit to los banos, which includes a little interruption from a German man who isn't sure if he's in the men's room or the women's room, Scott points out that there's actually a damas solo bathroom downstairs directly within eye view. Duh.
As we sip wine, at one point talk turns to what’s going to happen to Scott once he returns to Australia and what his life will be like back there. His year has been full of tons of changes. This includes selling his house in Seattle - the same one we bought together when we moved up there for my grad school, and the one that he's been very attached to - and getting married and moving to Australia. Scott has always had a tough time with changes, but he seems to be doing good. Also, there’s been all the stress with the tour and he and his wife haven’t had a real place to live all year and though initially they planned to live in Melbourne, it seems that plans are now in flux and they may be moving to Brisbane instead. Beyond this, he's not really sure what he’ll be doing for a living once he's in Australia, either – he’s got all that sort of stuff to figure out once he gets home.
We also talk about a friend who was surprised to find herself pregnant at 49, and discuss other friends we have in common who we haven’t seen for a long time. Things have changed so rapidly and some people that I thought would be in my life forever are now so far away or they're leading very different lives. Also, over the last six years, Scott and I have had time to form friendships without each other and we have pretty different lives now that aren't that intertwined. Funny, it occurs to me that I haven’t hung out with Scott with other friends like this for at least six years, and though I have moments during the evening where I forget that we’ve both lived an entire new history and we aren't together any more - moments of flashback where I forget that I really don't know him like I used to - it’s actually pretty comfortable overall being around everyone and I feel really lucky to have this extra time with Boche and Theresa, too.
Once the wine is finished, we say our goodbyes and Boche and Theresa and Scott head back to their respective hotels though Klover and I decide to continue on at Milion for a while longer. It’s past 2:30 AM, and for a moment I imagine this might be the perfect place for Klover to meet her novio del dia. Since I’ve been sick, they’ve been a tad more difficult to come by and no waiter - not even the elderly man at Rio Alba - can compete with B from Tegui. Klover notes that she wished Tegui and B didn't happen so early in the trip since nothing compares. On the other hand, Klover’s email has been burning up with love notes from home and I'm not sure she really needs a novio in Buenos Aires.
We take a look around, linger for a bit over our agua con gas, then decide pickings are really slim at the over-the-top Milion. So we decide to grab a cab home for the night with promises to really do up our final 48 hours in Buenos Aires. Really. We mean it.
Once the wine is finished, we say our goodbyes and Boche and Theresa and Scott head back to their respective hotels though Klover and I decide to continue on at Milion for a while longer. It’s past 2:30 AM, and for a moment I imagine this might be the perfect place for Klover to meet her novio del dia. Since I’ve been sick, they’ve been a tad more difficult to come by and no waiter - not even the elderly man at Rio Alba - can compete with B from Tegui. Klover notes that she wished Tegui and B didn't happen so early in the trip since nothing compares. On the other hand, Klover’s email has been burning up with love notes from home and I'm not sure she really needs a novio in Buenos Aires.
We take a look around, linger for a bit over our agua con gas, then decide pickings are really slim at the over-the-top Milion. So we decide to grab a cab home for the night with promises to really do up our final 48 hours in Buenos Aires. Really. We mean it.
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