(new) Filling up on Buenos Aires.

After all those all night bus rides and dorm rooms, I was really looking forward to sleeping in. Of course, this mission was thwarted by Adrian’s snoring, the music coming from the bar below last night, the absolutely pouring rain, and finally the not-so-comfy bed at the not-so-comfy hostel. Oh well. Despite all this, it still took us until noon to get up and out of the hostel, partially because there were no plates, mugs or cutlery in the hostel kitchen (kinda making it useless), meaning there was no way to get our much needed morning coffee. The friendly owner told us that there was a free breakfast at the café downstairs but of course it wasn't open this morning (making the café just as useless as the kitchen). Good thing this place was cheap and the owner was nice. However cheap and nice didn't make us breakfast. The owner lent us some of his mugs and we dug the camping cutlery out of our packs so we could eat some yogurt. Then like a couple of Mcguyvers, we used the plastic tubs as bowls to eat cereal. Jealous of our fine dining in the big city aren’t you? Hey, whatever works.

The rain appeared to have let up so we ventured out, walking south towards the modern art museum. About half way there it began pour (of course). We waited under an awning at one of San Telmo’s countless antique stores but when the rain didn’t stop we hugged the walls of buildings as we made our way down the street. When we arrived at the address we were greeted with the familiar sight of construction hoarding. The museum was closed for “amplificacion y modernisacion”. Sigh. At least it wasn’t raining as hard any more. So we continued walking through San Telmo. It looked vaguely familiar from our visit in 2001 but the overall impression this time around was hugely different. From back then I remembered nothing but broken uneven sidewalks, a lot more dog poop (believe it or not) and everything looking like it was on the verge of falling apart. I don’t know if it’s all the traveling we’ve done in grittier parts of the world or if BsAs has indeed scrubbed up real good, but now it actually looks like its nickname the Paris of the Americas. The sidewalks have been mostly repaired, the once deserted buildings now seem to be full of chichi cafes and stores and there was room between the piles of dog poop to step.

We found the national history museum in the middle of Parque Lezama just at it started to rain again. Before another downpour we ducked inside and were happy to discover the museum was free. It wasn’t much of a museum and checking in our bags took longer than walking around. You see, at about half of the museums we’ve visited thus far, you’re required to check your bags in – even if your bag happens to be a purse. Although I’m sure the attendants are fine honest upstanding citizens, I hate the idea of leaving behind our passports, my wallet, ipod, and camera, (ie everything in my bag). So it takes some time to stuff all that stuff in our pockets and the end result is us walking around the museums with grossly deformed bulges in our pants and us checking in two empty bags. It amuses the attendants even if we're not. Oh well at least we were out of the rain which stopped by the time we were done. We got our bags back emptied our pockets back into them and headed back past the bronze lions and back into the drizzle.

After stopping for lunch at a small café, Adrian decided we should check to see if we had a confirmation for our new hostel booking. Rather than pop into an internet café I suggested we just walk over there. Good thing too because there was no reservation for us. Gulp. But when the clerk checked the emails she realized that someone had forgotten to enter it into the computer. So she did her best to find us a room - actually she found us three rooms. One for each of the night we were booked in. But because of the error she was charging a nice low rate. While I was clearing that up, Adrian fixated on the poster for the soccer game the next day. Boca Jr. the most infamous team in South America was playing and the hostel arranged travel, food, drink and ticket packages. It was expensive but I had promised him for the last 8 months that we’d do it. Unfortunately, we didn’t have enough cash to pay for the tickets. So out we headed to the nearest bank machine 8 blocks away. Halfway back to the hostel, a police motorcade stopped traffic. I expected a visiting dignitary but it was a bus load of soccer players. The visiting team had just arrived in town. I took this as a good sign about tomorrow’s game and felt less cranky about the cash we were about to fork over. After booking our tickets, we took are tired feet back to the hostel, deciding that we'd done enough sightseeing for the day.

When it came time for dinner Adrian informed me that he wanted steak – an easy choice and rather derigeur in BsAs. Except with hundreds of cafes, restaurants and parrillas just outside the hostel doors, choosing one was overwhelming. So I let the internet make up our minds then headed out to local institution, El Desnivel for some steak. The place opened at 7:30 but even showing up at 8:15 we were the first ones there. (It’s a good thing we’re leaving soon because I don’t think we’ll ever get into this eating at 10pm thing.) All the reviews talked about the cheap prices, but the owners of El Desnivel had obviously read them too and decided him didn't want to be the lowest priced option out there. Our loss once again. Although when I tell you huge steaks were under $10 you’ll lose all sympathy for me. Looking for a deal we settled on the 2 person special: Bife de chirozo rellando a papas espanoles. Now that seemed to read “t-bone steak stuffed in Spanish potatoes” which didn't make much sense. I chalked this up to my bad Spanish and assumed it was steak with some sort of stuffed potato dish. So we ordered it. 20 minutes later a giant pile of stuff was placed in front of us. I can only describe it as Argentinean poutine. 40 ounces of steak shoved in a pile of home fries and smothered in a layer of ham and cheese and covered with a sauce/stew of tomatoes, mushrooms, peppers, and eggplant. I guess my Spanish was okay after all. As messy as it looked, it was pretty darn tasty and more than two people could possibly eat. The picture up above is only half of the original pile to give you some idea of our ordeal. We did the best we could before having to ask for a bucket or refuse a wafer thin mint ;) . Our day wasn’t culturally filling but we were most definitely absolutely positively full.

¡Buen Provecho!

(Photo courtesy of http://www.perladelasflores.com/ because we ate ours before I could take a picture.)

Over our first dinner at Hotelito Perdido in Rio Dulce, I learned a new phrase. Buen provecho. It’s what Spanish speakers say when they serve food or before eating. The Spanish girls Elena and Belen then asked us how to translate it. Thanks to Jesse and Aska’s amazing Spanish, I learned that translated buen provecho means something like good benefit but that doesn’t make sense in English. So we began to discuss English alternatives. I offered up Bon Appetite but that’s French. How about Dig in? Rub a dub dub thanks for the grub? Not the right sentiment. For Spanish speakers saying Buen Provecho before eating is like saying Hello when answering the phone. It’s a polite greeting as well as a warm invitation to enjoy your food. On my 3rd day of Spanish lessons, I got my first chance to use this phrase.

After 4 hours of verb tenses, vocabulary, reading and speaking, Karina gave me a lesson in Guatemalteca cuisine and how to prepare a dish called Pepian – a sort of chicken curry. But before we could start cooking we had to buy the ingredients. We headed to the market and I watched her pick out the ingredients (many of which I'd never used before), bargaining with the women to get the best price. I was a little worried about how I was going to pay for all the food. Due to our bank machine problems I only had about $3 but it covered all the spices, veg, rice, and chicken. Wow, I think I should try the market more often for shopping.

Then it was back at the school to start cooking. It was fairly easy to make but required a bit of time and thanks to something the owner of the school said to Karina she was stressed and trying to hurry which meant she did most of the cooking. And then when she was done, we laid out three servings which I thought were for her, Adrian and I. But one was for the owner of the school not Karina. Who wished us Bueno Provecho before leaving. And that made me feel weird. I wanted us to sit down and enjoy it together instead I felt like I’d just had a staff member cooking for me. Poor Karina. Thankfully, Adrian and I didn’t have to awkwardly eat with the owner so we got to enjoy it. And it was truly delicious. Better yet, we had enough for left overs.

But once we were done, the uncomfortable feeling came back. Not with Karina or anything to do with the classes – they were great – but with the owner and the way she treated the staff like her personal servants. She left post it notes were left around the school with a to do list and at first I they were complaints about us. And then there was what I can best describe as a shaming chart in the kitchen which listed things that hadn’t been done and who had forgotten to do them. The staff weren’t children in fact they were super nice older women who acted like mom and secondary Spanish teachers to all of us students. The owner however, was a woman in her 20s from a wealthy local family and I think her actions said more about her immaturity than the staff’s. It really bummed me out and made me want to leave the school.

So we decided to get out for the afternoon. Plus we still had no money. So armed with our emergency traveller’s cheques, credit cards and most importantly, a Spanish-english dictionary we headed back to the parque where all the banks were clustered. And if that didn’t work Karina had told me that there was a bank machine just for foreigners up near the bus terminal. But we needed to take a bus there and I only had 25 centavos in my pocket after the market trip. Before we could worry about that we’d try all the bank machines. The first bank machine didn’t work. But at the second bank there was success. Yay, no crappy credit card accepting restaurant food for us tonight.

We rushed out excitedly to celebrate our new solvency by picking up some more groceries and a new notebook for Spanish class. Then we went out for dinner at Royal Paris – a restaurant and jazz bar up near the theatre. Of course there was no band that night but there was some really good food, almost as good as Karina’s Pepian.

And because I know you’ll ask, here’s a link to the recipe with a great instructional video. Give it a try and Buen Provecho. http://www.uncorneredmarket.com/2009/04/guatemalan-pepian-please-try-this-at-home/

Rain, rain go away, please! i'm begging you.

It's been 3 months since I returned from Vancouver and I still don't know what to say about it. Disappointed? Confused? Sad? Maybe all of the above. And then some. My lack of enthusiasm about the city could be the reason that I've not hurried to finish this post. 

I can't blame Vancouver wholy. I was there for work. I came straight from London - a city I love. And the weather was crap.

I left London at 3:30pm. I arrived in Toronto at 5:30pm. Adrian met me at the airport so I could hand over my dirty laundry, dry cleaning and trinkets that I wouldn't need in Vancouver. And so I could give him the black bin bag full of proper British goodies that had caused me so much grief to and at Gatwick. We had dinner at the Swiss Pigeon at the airport - ah romance. Then I boarded my 8:30pm WestJet flight to Vancouver com - 5 hours of a baby that didn't just cry it wailed, something seatback television can't fix. 

By the time I got to the Opus Hotel and checked in it was midnight and I had been awake for 24 hours. The room was lovely. The bathroom however was not for the faint of heart. It ran the width of the room overlooking the street and I do mean overlooking the street. One wall was floor to ceiling windows. Needless to say, I kept the shades down the entire stay. That wasn't the only odd thing about the Opus. On weekends, the lobby turned into a nightclub complete with bouncers who made us show our room keys to get into the hotel. But it wasn't a cool nightclub - instead it seemed full of suburbanites with too much money and not a lot of sense. And gang members. In fact one night while having a drink, my co-workers and I found ourselves surrounded by 7 police officers in windbreakers with "gang task force" written on the back. Soon they zeroed in on two guys and removed them from the bar. Weird, very weird.

Vancouver was full of oddities like that. Despite being surrounded by beautiful mountains and the sea, the city itself is downright ugly. Most of it seems to have popped up in the last 20 years. All concrete and glass condos devoid of any personality or redeeming features. When combined with the constant drizzle this did not make for a happy trip. 

I did some Lonely Planet walking tours that took me from Yaletown where I was staying to Chinatown and Gastown. Most of the downtown was more of the concrete and glass condos except for Granville with it's numerous neon theatre signs. And then I noticed that the streets went from retro to rundown. Dear old LP neglected to mention that they were taking me to Main & Hastings until I was at Main & Hastings. This is the poorest postal code in Canada and the New York City of heroin addicts. Although it was the weekend, the streets were heaving with junkies wandering aimlessly. Occasionally, men in a reflective vests would weave through the crowds sweeping up syringes from the sidewalk. I wish I could say I was exaggerating. Once I realized where I was I put the camera away - this wasn't a zoo and these people weren't attractions. 

I escaped from the blight in the Dr. Sun Yat Sen Chinese Garden  - a quiet classic garden and oasis downtown. I checked out Chinatown that seemed too orderly and not stinky enough to be real. I walked across Gastown in about two seconds and saw the steam clock that doesn't run on steam. 

Between the constant drizzle and the various disappointments on the tour, I was about to write Vancouver off when a co-worker texted me to meet up. When we met at the old train station, my sightseeing had put me in a foul mood leading the ever-cheerful Cheryl to dub me the crusty traveller. She'd spent the day driving around Stanley Park with a friend. She'd actually seen the mountains and some of the super-natural stuff that makes people think Vancouver is beautiful. When I told her where I'd been, she made it her mission to improve my impression of the city by taking me to Robson via the business district. Sure it was nicer than the boarded up east side but not enough to change my first impression. We walked to the Burrard Street Bridge and along the sea wall back to the hotel at which point our feet were numb. 

Unfortunately, the weather never improved while I was in Vancouver. Unfortunate not just because we were trying to shoot some sunny summer ads in the middle of daily downpours but also unfortunate because it thwarted Cheryl and I's plans to bike out around Stanley Park or go whale watching. Instead we settled for quick trips to Granville Market (meh, probably much cooler if you like shopping and aren't trying to save your money for The Big Trip™) and the Vancouver Art Gallery or what Cheryl insists I call the Vag. The Vag was actually my favourite site in the city. It's the perfect size for an afternoon and the exhibitions were really well thought out. Finally, something I could give thumbs up to in Vancouver.

Actually, there was something else I enjoyed about Vancouver. Thanks to an expense account and my production company, I did get to have some fantastic dinners. Vancouver is known for it's food. And while I wouldn't say it's a worth the flight, it was definitely a highlight.

One night we were taken to Zen - a chichi Chinese nouvelle cuisine restaurant in Richmond. It is supposedly the best Chinese restaurant outside of China. And our dinner consisted of a 9 course tasting menu - foie gras, curried whelk, shark's fin soup, lobster, shredded chicken, sea bass, pork cheek. Interesting and decadent but a little over the top. 

Another night we went to Glowbal. The food was good but the best part was the trick we played on our producer, Meghan, with the help of the great staff there. Producers are the accountants of a shoot (as well as den mothers, nurses, travel agents and all round asskickers) and this job was on a budget. And Meghan was feeling a bit of pressure to keep the spending low. When she called us just after we'd ordered to tell us she'd meet up with us, we decided to test her. With the help of a couple of waiters and a bus boy, we littered the table with empty champagne bottles, and carefully decorated the table cloth with wine glasses and water marks. So by the time we were done, it looked like Mel Gibson, Lindsay Lohan and the rest of Hollywood AA had just relapsed at our table.  When Meghan walked in, she eyed the debris took a deep breath but said nothing. The waiter handed her a wine list and we suggested more champagne. She cautiously said "okay" while she started counting the bottles and the bill. When she asked how much, the waiter casually threw out "It's just a buck fifty a bottle". It was about then that her mental tally finished totalling and the normally calm cool and collected and sweet Meghan lost it. The colour drained from her face before switching to a deep crimson. Screaming at the top of her lungs she let loose on us. "What the f*ck have you guys done?!? I told you, you had a budget! $100 per diem - that's it. What the f*ck have you done!?! Are you serious?!?!" She didn't notice the entire wait staff standing behind her doubled over in laughter and mistook the tears of laughter on our faces for drunkenness. It took a few minutes and a stiff drink to convince her it was a joke. The good sport even picked up the tab leaving a lovely tip for the awesome staff.

We had the biggest plates of Italian food ever at Cafe Luxy.

We had too much sangria at Lolita's. 

We enjoyed super service and japanese tapas at Guu. 

We went fancy for sea food at the Blue Water Cafe. 

We enjoyed doughnuts from Deep Cove.

And many other meals I didn't mean to forget. 

This almost made up for getting soaked to the bone while shooting in Lynn Valley - a park that quickly transitioned from beautiful to horror film when dense fog rolled in. The cast and crew were real troopers and made sure we got what we needed. But I wasn't sad when it was all over. Finally after 2.5 weeks, 8 time zones, 17,000 km, 10 days straight of rain and one lost umbrella, I was back home.