We went out today to explore some museums. As is the way here nothing goes to plan. We took the subte to Las Heras and walked up Libertador. The first museum looked closed, perhaps we were at the wrong door, we walked around and could find no other entrance so we walked back. We saw another couple talk to the guard then look at their watches. Viv said to ask them, but it made more sense to ask the guard. “A las Dos” he said, so we tried the next museum.
The entrance was open and there was a working café there as well, it looked good. We walked through the door and spoke to the guard “A las dos martes a Domingo” he said. So it looked like we had almost three hours to kill.
So we walked up to Santa fe, stopping for coffee on the way. Viv still had some shopping to do, but we were having little success. Eventually we reached Alto Palermo and rain started She found some of what she wanted (at a very inflated price in my opinion) at least she was happy. I asked the girl if there was an Isadora here, she asked at the next stop then tried to tell me in English. “out there” ” Do you mean Santa fe?” “Si, turn left” pointing, “Do you mean right” “Si”. well we followed her directions but found no Isadora, so we gave up and headed back towards Libertador.
As we were now on Salguero, we decided to head for Malba. This was in fact open from 12 but we were not to know. It was $90 each entrada, and I have to say it was a waste of money. The building was beautiful but the art was mainly pretentious rubbish. There was modern art that looked like infant school paintings, Sheets of wood spray painted and framed, and some paintings that looked like Beryl Cook, they were the highlight.
The only really exciting thing was a wall mural that had been taken down restored and installed here. There was a video of the restoration and transportation and I was impressed with the care and attention to detail here.
There was an exhibition of sound, where various things were transposed into music box tunes; a video of the traffic and some other things that I just lost interest so much that I forget what it was.
Finally there was a moving set of pictures, photographs of Brazilian Indians, moved from their homes in the name of progress. The number tags they all wore were somehow dehumanizing, but poignant just the same.
We have new umbrellas, but they are at our apartment. We were stuck in Las Canitas in the heavy rain without them. We managed to dodge under buildings until we found good place for coffee to sit out the rain. It was still raining, though not so hard when we trudged the 20 blocks home.
After our poor parilla in Florida we though we would give it another try. Not far from us on Corrientes is a bar called Los Floristas, super parillada $450. We got there soaked despite the umbrella, the roads are, by now, flooded and the broken flags spray water up your legs.
Super it was, we struggled with the chips and all the meat, even the salad. The waiter offered to box it up for us but we are too near going home and have most evenings planned. We hate to leave food but sometimes you just have to.
Soaked again on the way back, the trenches dug on every street don’t help. Time to just roll up and sit out the storm.