with me, design either catches my attention or doesn’t. no (psycho)analysis.
frequent trips to various shops and here we go:
colourful books about various things that can be wrong with us after we’ve eaten too many empanadas.
a reminder of your kid’s vaccinations right where you want it: on your milk.
soap. what else.
water or perfume? water!
mmm, tea with powdered milk inside. anybody?
bread for bimbos?
the food factory likes white. and this is most probably why i’m attracted to it. this, and the fact that they serve couscous. couscous, which i’ve been looking for every day since we arrived in buenos. yes, they serve it. just like that. with their fish of the day.
we go there and order. chicken for Karol, you know what for me. the waiter is a moaner. first he says there is no salad, then it takes him a while to suggest something instead (roasted potatoes – delicious, away from healthy), he also can’t get it why we like it here. apparently we’re nutters because we enjoy the weather and no, buenos is not a good place to learn spanish. it’s not that he’s rude, he just seems tired of his life and oh, the waiting mistakes he makes are endless. reminds me of the taxi driver from Have a Nice Day by Stereophonics. but here they play argentinean, mostly female, hip-hop. it goes with the space and the early evening light that makes it even more inviting.
our food arrives. bread with garlic and rosemary. served with salt. pepper and light white cheese. a strange combination yet we like it. i get salmon and what i’ve been pining for: couscous. whoa, wait a minute, what’s wrong with it? it seems to be cooked in vegetable stock but hey, not any fresh one but the nasty stuff you get packed in a small so-called cube. too salty and far too moist for my liking. i taste the fish and it’s also oversalted. two bits of grilled mango make hardly any difference to the overall taste, maybe they are what they look like: accidentally dropped pieces of fruit.
Karol’s vegetables look and taste good. he reports the chicken is nothing special but we both like the extra: roasted potatoes.
so are we coming back here? yes, but only for coffee. and couscous? the waiter told us we can easily get it in china town so i guess that’s where we’ll be heading next.
(the food factory, nicaragua 6055, palermo, buenos aires)
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w mleczarni muu siedzą turyści z kopiami najnowszego wydania lonely planet i nastoletni porteños. wiatraki na suficie kręcą w głowach, obsługa w błękitnych kubraczkach powoli porusza się po wybiegu pomiędzy kanapami. możemy tu zjeść elvisa i clarka gable, a wieczorami nawet napchać się, wprost ze ściany naprzeciw, filmowym kawałem amerykańskiego kina. my jednak decydujemy się na mrożoną kawę. pytamy, czy możnaby tak bez cukru i kelnerka w odpowiedzi raczy nas ambiguous “postaram się”. do końca nie wiemy czy z cukrem czy bez cukru będzie. aż wreszcie pojawiaja się na naszym stoliku wysokie szklanki z czymś brązowym, po ich ściankach spływa sos czekoladowy, góre pokrywa czapa bitej śmietany, na niej kolejna seria czekolady. jeśli jednak wierzyć naszym zdezorientowanym kubkom smakowym, płyn jest bez cukru. podejrzewamy, że brakuje też w nim kawy, ale co zrobić. pijemy, gapimy się na siebie. ot, wplątaliśmy się w argentyński american dream.
(muu lecheria, armenia 1810, palermo, buenos aires)
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doors, windows, balconies.
doors so similar you must spot the differences.
windows so high you think about costureras who sew those long nets and curtains to please them.
balconies mostly french but with ironwork so imaginative that you don’t mind.
every walk is longer than it should be. i look around and just can’t help my visual greed being kindled by all this beauty. and i hopelessly attempt to snatch it.
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/london, madrid, travellers and uruguay/
we left london in a hurry. it didn’t matter that we knew, that we planned,that we tried to avoid certain situations. we found a tenant for our place and gave her the keys on sunday, the following day some guy tried to fix the suddenly leaking boiler. then packing, putting some stuff to storage and boom, wednesday was upon us. i’m pleased that somebody’s living in our flat. it makes our stay here similar to a home-swap in terms of accommodation costs but it did make our last days in london much more stressful.
madrid. a small, boring airport with few places to grab something to eat. opening hours vary – the restaurant we stayed in shut down one hour before its official closing time. woman at the information desk explained: “ahh, because there’s soccer”.
as usual, we tried to smuggle more than 100ml of liquids. mouthwash passed both gatwick and barajas vigilant officers. my contact lens solution, bought at gatwick by the way of complete ignorance of the rules of connecting flights, was spotted by spanish ladies. Karol politely explained that we’d just bought it, one of the women took the solution out of its box, looked at her friend and calmly announced: “es para lentes”. her colleague nodded, smiled and they let us go.
the long-haul flight. crying babies, snoring men, turbulence, airlines propaganda and bad cinema on overhead screens.
“chicken or pasta?” asked a pretty though fading blonde stewardess.
“is the pasta with meat?” – i checked, remembering there was no dietary requirements section on their website.
“yes”
“in that case no, thank you”
“but you can always…” – she stopped there. must have realized that whatever she’d say it would just sound too sarcastic.
memos:
don’t fly AirEuropa, especially if you don’t eat meat. or shop for food before. and bring your laptop. and movies. and earplugs. and toothpaste. and…
use spareroom.co.uk when renting out your property. it took us 6 days to find somebody for our place. no agencies, no fees, no time-wasters.
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