Daily Archives: May 17, 2013

Living on a chess board

We decided to give up on our usual furniture shops and go exploring for somewhere new. We just could not get agreement on the table.
So we set off,trying to find different places. Now it was not very long before we were on streets that we do not know. If you can imagine living in the middle of a chess board where you can only travel on the dividing lines. To reach the outside of the board in any direction you move out from the centre on any axis of a cross. This means that all the other squares you pass remain unexplored.
This is how we have been here, so there are so many places not much more than a block away we have never seen. The trouble is, searching street by street we could still pass within a few yards of somewhere and never see it. Still we keep trying.
After a while we sort of gave up, and Viv said Gascon always has good shops. The sun was now shining so we walked to the corner of Gascon and Honduras, and there was a cafe with seats in the sun. Coffee was calling so we sat down and ordered two cafe con leche. The young guy who served us was very chatty, I could do with this level of conversation every day, then maybe my castillano would finally improve. He wanted to know if we were on vacation and how long for, all the usual stuff. He brightened up considerably when we said tango. He said he sings in a place down the road on a saturday. We got the address off him and asked what time it was open. It was at this point he became all porteño on us. Instead of just saying 9:30 until midnight he gave us a long and detailed description of something or other. I had no idea what he said, I just hoped I got the time right.
When I got back I checked the address he gave me, it said on the paper, Gascon entre Honduras and Costa Rica. That is three blocks. Sometimes I could scream, “somewhere over there” would be just as precise. I love the people here, but why do they have to always talk in poetry or a long list of idioms. If I ask you the time, I don’t want to know where your watch was made, just tell me the time. If I ask for and address, give me the street and the number, not a description of the district. OK rant over, until the next time.
In Fulgor again the old guy is on the door, he accepts my right change with barely a grunt. Then says nothing when someone else gives him $100 note for one entrada. I guess it’s just me he doesn’t like. Fortunately there are others there who do like me and as usual we are greeted like locals, kisses all around for us again.
After another night of dancing we take our walk home. Before we set out this time I checked my dictionary for dark chocolate. It is either negra or chocolate amargo. We found a kiosco on Guardia Vieja and I asked the guy for chocolate negra, he offered me Cadbury’s dairy milk. How on earth is that negra. So I tried Amargo. bingo! we now have chocolate for our submarinos.


Filed under Argentina, Tango