On Getting Lost

My greatest asset whilst travelling is my sense of direction, apparently passed down on the Eberhard side family from my gran and my dad. Unlike them, I don’t need to know where North and South are at all times, but I do need to know how I’m oriented in the city. For example, in Buenos Aires the river is my guiding point. Along with my sense of direction comes an inherent stubbornness. I have a tendency to look at the map before I leave and then to just walk whether I know where I’m going or not. I also don’t ask for directions since I have (too much) trust in said sense of direction. This way often involves a short period of being lost, followed by new and unexpected discoveries, a greater knowledge of the city, and me finding my way without a problem. Every now and then, however, I end up completely lost.

Yesterday I went to San Isidro, a beautiful area outside of the city, alongside the river. Lucia was kind enough to drop me off on her way to work, and I assured her as I got out the car that I knew where I was going, I had looked at Google maps before I left. Not that I had a map with me, since I don’t own a physical map of anything outside of Buenos Aires city.

The tree-lined streets of San Isidro

I soon discovered that I had not zoomed in sufficiently on the map to get a sense of the distances. My second (and biggest) error was writing down the places I wanted to see, but not writing down their addresses or even a vague sense of where they were. So I walked, and walked, ever grateful that I’d put on my tourist garb, including my running shoes and rain jacket. My sense of direction served me well as I guided myself to the area where I needed to be, central San Isidro, albeit that it was further than I anticipated from my drop-off point. Not that I was complaining, since I was walking next to a racetrack, where they were training the horses, so I was very happy.

I found the area, walked around the charming cobbled streets, got stuck (predictably) in a bookstore for ages, found the cathedral and the lookout point, and then things went downhill. Literally, in that I had to walk down to get to the river area, where I was determined to find the elusive Peru Beach (without using my good sense to ask someone where it was). That’s when things went figuratively downhill as well.

Graffiti on the way downhill to the river.

As I walked, the area quickly became less picturesque, and very unlike any descriptions of the place I had read. I could tell I was heading toward the river but this didn’t seem anything like the windsurfing/bicycle rental/bar-lined river-front I was imagining. Spotting some buses in the distance, I thought, oh yeah, now I’ve found my way. But I had the sinking feeling, even before it was confirmed, that I was at the bus graveyard, where the buses go to sit in the turnaround between their routes. And there was the water and a yacht club. As I looked around, at this point very tired, I suddenly didn’t feel so safe, and did not want to take out my camera or make it obvious I was a foreigner, or lost. Cursing myself for not paying more attention, I headed further down the road, even with my gut instinct telling me I was going the wrong way. I saw another touristy looking man (backpack, walking shoes)* going that way, and followed (stalked) him, to the point that he crossed the road several times. A good distance later the road ended at a much fancier yacht club. Finally realising I had no choice, I asked the guard at the club where I was and where I could find Peru Beach.

*In retrospect, not a tourist.

The river and Peru “Beach” at last!

Lo and behold, the lovely gentleman not only spoke English and could give me easy directions, he was also an ex-flight attendant who had been to Cape Town.

Set on the right path once more (even though I had to trek all the way back to my starting point), I learnt an important lesson in travel attitude. The same area that had felt so unsafe and looked so unkempt and (dare I say) ugly whilst I was despondent and tired, suddenly did not look so bad or unsafe, but had a charm to it, a working man’s dockyard. So much of what we experience when we travel stems from our particular emotion at the time.

Cat sleeping at the windsurfing school / grill house I stopped for a much needed coffee.

I think the reason I tend to always have good travel experiences is my attitude to my surroundings. I notice now more than ever how when I’m excited or happy and relaxed, I look up at my surroundings, seeing the beauty everywhere. When I’m tired or stressed, I look down and see litter, uneven pavements and city smells. All it takes is a moment to step back, remind myself where I am, to really appreciate my surroundings.

Taking the coastal train back to the city

Disclaimer 1: I made it safely to Peru Beach, which was a bit disappointing. I’m not sure why I was expecting an actual beach along the river. Also, I can imagine this place is great on the weekends, when there is a market and everyone comes out from the city. Not so much in the middle of the week on a rainy day.

Disclaimer 2: I did not learn my lesson. I set off again without a map today, this time in the south, outside of the city. But my sense of direction got me where I needed to be with no problems.

First Impressions

One of the things I love most about travelling is discovering new cities, and soaking in a new atmosphere. I threw myself into the deep end on Wednesday by setting off to find my new office with a serious case of jet lag and travel-and-bad-inner-ear-induced wooziness. After walking two blocks I quickly realised I was setting off in the wrong direction, given that the city is so flat there is no marker such as a mountain to guide you. But what the city has, is in incredibly simple and logical layout. The whole center is neatly divided into blocks with clear street and building markers, making navigation super straightforward. I power-walked downtown, amazed at the sheer number of pedestrians, the beauty of the city, the lovely juxtaposition of very old and very new buildings, as good maintenance next to signs of shabbiness and poverty, and the surprisingly low pollutions given the number of cars.

Casa Rosada, or the Pink House, on Plaza de Mayo.

~ Interjection of boring stuff: arrived at the office only to be thrown immediately into training, followed by other job interviews, money calculations, apartment hunting etc. ~

Over the next few days I tried to spend as much time walking and getting to know the city. I am now very familiar with the city centre, with its narrow streets, giving way to wide avenues lined with theatres, cinemas and restaurants, busy pedestrian alleys, and confusing traffic directions. I’ve explored the Catedral, visited Plaza de Mayo and Casa Rosada, got stuck many times in the middle of Avenida 9 de Julio, since it’s too wide to get all the way across before the traffic lights change. I’ve explored the San Telmo antique markets on a Sunday, to the backdrop of talented musicians, and impromptu tango shows. I’ve discovered the glorious combination of cuisine from my two adopted Latin American home countries, churros with dulce de leche. I’ve had local beer at a pirate bar, eaten choripan while watching tango, negotiated the underground, drunk fernet ( a local spirit, very bitter and potent) and coke. I’ve also (ashamedly) sampled both McDonalds and Burger King due to convenience. I’ve been in to many bookstores in a city where they are as common as 25 hour convenience stores, although it is a struggle to find English books. I have also started reading the complete works of Shakespeare and Harry Potter in Spanish, we shall have to see how that goes.

Catedral on Plaza de Mayo

The challenge ahead is to adjust to the hours of this city. On Friday night I was supposed to go out to see a cumbia band. But at 2am when we were only just going to leave the house for the club, I could no longer keep my eyes open. I need to learn the art of the evening siesta before I can manage to keep up with a city whose nightclubs only fill up around 3am.

Sunday markets of San Telmo

I’ve also had the privilege to escape from the city to the province and to go horse riding. It makes a big difference to have such lovely connections in the city and to have met some lovely co-teachers already. I feel like I’ll be quite at home in this city.

El Ateneo, a stunning bookshop in an old theatre.

The view from Plaza San Martin

Getting there

So I am off on grand adventure number 2 (you can read about my previous travels in Mexico here).

After roughly 35 hours of travel I have found myself in Buenos Aires. Taking the plunge to move to another continent was a lot harder the second time around. It seems that at 25 you worry about all the little details (like health insurance, money matters etc.) a lot more than at 21. So I set off with a lot of trepidation, a great deal of stress, biting back tears and knocking back anxiety pills at the airport. A lot of my anxiety came from the thought of the long flight ahead of me, as I flew Turkish Airlines from Cape Town to Istanbul (via Johannesburg), and from there to Buenos Aires via Sao Paulo. Once I got a handle on my stress and was airborne I suddenly remembered my long-time dreams of spending a year plus in South America.

But before the excitement could really take hold I had to endure the flight. The first flight saw me next to a lovely German man (I always worry when I fly about sitting next to a sick/unpleasant/spilling-over person). The flight was fairly uneventful, besides a group of loud Italians, the food fairly mediocre, and miraculously I managed to sleep a bit. Landing in Istanbul was not very relaxing as around 5:30am it seems that all connecting flights land simultaneously creating the largest queue for security (which one has to go through before you can transfer) I have ever seen. Turkish Airlines great prices have clearly translated into many many customers and their extensive new routes make this airport feel busier than Heathrow or even Atlanta’s airport. But that might have been my tiredness and irritability at struggling to find a seat! I managed a catnap on a bench before boarding for the next flight.

And that’s where the chaos really started. Planes are usually chaotic in boarding but this one was exceptional. There was a large group of very traditionally dressed Jews, who I (very politically incorrectly) labelled the wandering Jews for their inability to stay in one place. They were walking up and down and babies were screaming, leading the Argentinian man in front of me to lose it with the poor flight attendant asking what the problem was (“why are all these babies crying?” “why are you letting these people jam their oversize luggage in the overhead bins”). This continued for the rest of the flight. When we landed in Sao Paulo, I was really expecting the aforementioned flight attendant to really lose his shit. Technical stops are difficult at the best of times, as people need to get off, bags removed, then security measures mean everyone aboard needs to be counted, all luggage on board needs to be checked again, before crews are changed and new people board. This is made much harder when the flight attendants are trying to count but the wandering Jews are refusing to sit or even stay in same area. Eventually the flight attendant was yelling “Sit. Just sit please. SIT!” He had to get in a Spanish speaker but that didn’t seem to help much. Then a prayer session was held just when security came on board to confirm the names of all passengers and to check if all the overhead luggage was claimed. Nothing makes people more awkward than trying to be sensitive to religion but also really needing to get their job done. Needless to say we were delayed by nearly an hour.

The final flight into Buenos Aires was quick, and I slept through much of it. I got a good view of the city by night coming in to land, although was very sad to see no mountains anywhere in sight, especially after seeing so many going over Brazil. The problem with living in the Western Cape is you become very attached to seeing a mountain everyday.

I luckily had no hassles in the airport or with my luggage and was extremely happy to be picked up by the wonderful family who are hosting me while I find my feet and secure an apartment.

Now as soon as I can shake the unbalanced feeling that I am still on an airplane (damn my terrible inner ear and its fondness of motion sickness) I will be ready to take on this beautiful new city!