Mr. Waffle

Mid Week Break

12 October, 2023
Posted in: Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Travel

Mr. Waffle and I found a blue book voucher on the bookshelves and decided to go away mid-week. The excitement. If you gave us the blue book voucher, I am really sorry because we have no idea who gave it to us.

We went to Hunter’s Hotel where we last stayed in January 2003 just before we moved to Brussels. The hotel is nice but the food was terrible then. My sister-in-law who I normally find very reliable on these matters said, “But it’s really improved in the intervening 20 years”. I regret to inform you that it has not. Still a lovely setting though and a good spot for afternoon tea or breakfast but definitely not for dinner.

And we went for a walk in Glendalough. All of the pines on the way up to the Spinc – which is a walk we sometimes do – have been cut down and replaced by native trees. I am sure it will be lovely in 20 years but at the moment the walk up is the abomination of desolation.

You win some you lose some. Still nice views from the monastic site:

and from the top.

And I am very excited about the mid-week break as a concept. I suppose this will dissipate when I return to the salt mines in the near future.

Driving Lessons

8 October, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess

We missed the boat with herself and, due to Covid, she went to England without ever learning to drive. I was determined to get the boys sorted. It took a lot more bureaucracy than I expected.

Firstly they needed to get public service cards. As they were under 18 at the the time, I had to go with them to the centre where you get your public service card. I was confused by the queuing system in the centre. I asked another person waiting whether we needed a ticket and she responded in Ukrainian, that she didn’t understand. Well, this was the opportunity I had been waiting for. My lessons, my duolingo and my time spent listening to Ukrainian in the cesspit that is YouTube shorts were about to pay off. I repeated my question in Ukrainian. She looked baffled. Her teenage sons sniggered unhelpfully. My teacher said that part of the difficulty might be in the way I pronounce “ticket”; apparently, it sounds like “flower”. Alas.

Anyway, eventually, we sorted Dan’s card and Michael was the beneficiary of the scoping exercise I had carried out with Dan the previous day. The next day Michael and I were in and out in 10 minutes. One of the officials was the mother of a friend of his from school and while this made no difference to the speediness of the operation, it made us feel very well connected to the corridors of bureaucratic power.

Later, I was appalled to see that the cards ran out on their 18th birthday in September. The idea of going through it all again was very distressing. I am, however, pleased to report that following their birthday, new cards arrived automatically in the post. The relief.

Once they got PS cards they were able to do the driver theory test. If you have just done your Leaving Certificate, prepping for the driver theory test presents precisely zero difficulties. They sailed through it unlike their mother who failed the mock test they made her do online. In my defence, I would say that I answered some questions with what I thought they would like you to do rather than what I would actually do and, it turns out, what I was doing was actually right. Who knew? It was ironic that I shortly afterwards received a notification that my own licence was due to expire. However renewal is, in fairness to the driving licence people, extremely easy, if you have a licence already. Crucially, no resitting of any tests is required. I mean, maybe it should be?

Once they had their theory tests and PS cards, the boys could apply for provisional licences. Daniel, as a glasses wearer, needed a piece of paper from the optician following an eye test. We did it. Then I realised that everyone who wants a driving licence has to do an eye test, not just people who wear glasses. On balance, a good thing but back to the optician with Michael, of course, on the morning of our flight to Argentina. The optician’s credit card machine was broken. Extra trip back. Sigh. Anyhow, Michael’s form in and everything in order. Hurrah.

Then we got a message about Daniel’s form. Due to his eye condition, he needed a medical form as well within ten days or the application would not be progressed, his fee would be forfeit and he would have to start again. I rang the helpdesk, they were helpful. “We’re going on holidays today, we won’t make the 10 day deadline,” I said. “You can go to any GP at all,” said the nice man at the other end of the line. “We’re going to Argentina,” I said. A pause. “Look,” he said, “I will flag it on the application and maybe they will wait but it might be rejected.”

When we returned from Argentina, Michael’s provisional licence was there waiting for him. We went to the GP with Dan as soon as we could get an appointment (she got to look at his injured shoulder as well, so a win as it is €70 for a GP visit and it is nice to get more than a quick once over and a form filled in) and put in the form and, hallelujah, it was accepted and he too got a provisional licence. Though the physio said that he couldn’t actually drive for at least a month so no urgency really then.

Michael had his first actual lesson on the road at the start of September and was genuinely horrified by the power of fourth gear. He has to have a number of lessons with an instructor before he can be put on our insurance and drive with a parent (something that will be possible at the end of the month and, quite frankly, something we’re all dreading).

It’s funny that Michael is the most advanced in his progress towards actually having a driving licence because he has zero interest in it really, it’s just something useful to have. The other two are much keener. The physio has finally cleared Dan to have lessons and I actually think he will quite enjoy it. This will make a pleasant contrast with Michael who heads out to lessons with the demeanour of a condemned man and comes back a shadow of his former self. When these lessons are costing you a fortune, it is hard to take this with equanimity.

A friend of Mr. Waffle’s points out, most unhelpfully, that it is hardly worth their while to learn on a manual gear stick as they will be phased out for all cars by the end of the decade. However, our current car, on which they will be learning to drive, is a manual car so I really don’t think we had a lot of choice. It’s much harder, of course, but it will make them mentally strong, I am sure.

They’ll both be on our car insurance in the next month or so. That’s two 18 year olds. I shudder to contemplate what the cost will be. Good job I’m planning to go back to work. I don’t at all remember learning to drive being so administratively challenging when I learnt. Although, I did nearly send my mother to an early grave with my near misses (favourite expression deployed on my rounding a bend too quickly in the city centre, “What would you have done, if there had been a cow lying in the middle of the road?”). I vividly remember her clutching the door handle and pumping an invisible brake with her foot. At the time, I thought she exaggerated but I did notice that as I became a more experienced driver those behaviours disappeared. I suppose it is all ahead of me.

London

7 October, 2023
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Saturday, August 26, 2023

We went back to the airport AGAIN. I’ll tell you this, I feel rather differently now about a flight of a mere 50 minutes.

We were travelling to London for our friends’ 25th wedding anniversary. Very generously they were putting us up at the Caledonian club which is where they were having their party. It is in a very salubrious part of London. We went out for a slightly pricey lunch and were pretty excited to see a statute of San Martín on the way.

Not to mention the Argentinian embassy or possibly residence. We pressed on and I bought a signed copy of the new Kate Atkinson book of short stories in Hatchard’s (which it turns out is now Waterstone’s, who knew?) – spoiler alert, a bit disappointing.

Thrillingly, on the way back, we passed the house of Chips Channon. I had read volume I of his diaries earlier in the year and bored everyone about it. He has a lot of content about 5 Belgrave Square and the Amalienburg dining room he installed at truly staggering expense.

I posted these pictures to the family group chat and they got the level of enthusiastic response you might expect. Herself did offer the information that that she was staying around the corner from us. Our paths did not in fact cross in London as we went to our assorted parties for different ages.

At our party, each anniversary guest had got a personalised letter from our hosts, welcoming us and saying how glad they were that we could come. They are setting a pretty high bar for future celebrations.

My expectations for dinner were quite low (club, big group) but the food was excellent. The evening was fantastic also. The guests were all about the same age, and it turned out, shared a lot of interests. Both Mr. Waffle and I knew loads of people there (always a formula for a good night out) but met loads of interesting new people as well. Our hosts had a quiz which was surprising but such good fun. There were a lot of academics present and one round was about who had written various books and articles. My favourite moment was the man who had forgotten that he had written some article and whose table hadn’t got the question right. I might just mention that my table won the quiz. Just saying.

Sunday, August 27, 2023

The following morning we had a sustaining breakfast at the club. Our hosts had arranged for anyone who was interested to go on a tour of Buckingham Palace which was nearby. I was interested (more grist to the mill for my children who say I have bootlicker tendencies) and Mr. Waffle tagged along as well. One of our hosts led the group to the Palace holding the tickets above his head and we all dutifully followed in his wake. I was quite impressed by the power of holding tickets in the air. People just let us through as a group and a policeman even cleared a path for the stragglers in the group to catch up. There was an unnerving moment when it looked like we might miss our slot due to the press of people admiring the changing of the guard, but a policewoman from Northern Ireland chivvied us through a gap.

Buckingham Palace was heaving but there is an audio guide and it’s all very well managed. They have an absolutely stunning art collection.

I enjoyed the trip very much and we had lunch in the garden café afterwards. What’s not to love? Mmm, lovely shoe leather, so tasty, so delicious.

Mr. Waffle said to me later in tones of horror, “Did you see how much the tickets were?” £33 apparently. I suppose King Charles needs the money. You could convert your day ticket into a season pass at the exit but since it’s only open for a month, you’d need to live in London to get value for it. It seems an odd way to manage things.

After lunch, Mr. Waffle and I peeled off to go to Hazlitt’s hotel where we had booked ourselves an extra night. Very nice.

I was quite struck by how clean the streets of Soho were. I mean, how can Soho be cleaner than Dublin? The receptionist in the hotel was Italian and we had a little chat in Italian which I enjoyed. I was still in “io parlo Italiano” mode.

Monday, August 28, 2023

We went out for breakfast to a nice café. “Why are there so many people here when they should be at work?” I asked indignantly. Ah, it was a bank holiday in England. This makes the spotless streets of Soho even more impressive.

We had a very relaxed trip out to the airport and passed peacefully to our gate. There was a huge crowd from the last flight. “Poor souls,” I thought blithely, “there’s obviously some problem with their flight.” As time marched on, there was no sign of our flight being called. “I’m just going to ask someone at the gate what’s going on,” I said to Mr. Waffle.

I nabbed a man at the gate. “Your flight’s cancelled and it won’t be leaving today,” he said. “Nothing is leaving today, air traffic control is down all over the UK. Go back to arrivals and pick up your luggage.”

I scurried back to Mr. Waffle and told him the news, urging him to speed along so we could beat the inevitable queue at the Aer Lingus desk. “But there’s nothing on the monitor,” he quibbled. This was the greatest test of our marriage. “Do you trust me?” I asked. Notwithstanding his belief that I might well have misunderstood and that there were no notifications on the monitor or anywhere else, he got up and followed me. Ladies and gentlemen, a triumph for trust.

He went into baggage reclaim to get our luggage back and I pressed on back to departures to see whether I could rebook our flight or find out what was going on. It was beginning to get a bit chaotic; people were in big queues trying to check in; no sign of anyone on an Aer Lingus desk. Eventually a woman in Aer Lingus kit, stood up and addressed the milling hordes. “Go home, nothing is flying out today, Aer Lingus will contact you by text with alternative arrangements.” I managed to re-book us in to Hazlitt’s, it’s an ill wind etc.

Meanwhile, Mr. Waffle was trying and failing to find our luggage. “Ask someone,” I said firmly on the phone. “But there’s no point,” said he. I insisted, he did and he was pointed to a big pile of luggage in the corner including ours. It was my day of triumph.

We went back into Hazlitt’s and then contacted Mr. Waffle’s sister.

One of the things I like about her is that she is a very calm person and never seems to get annoyed; she reminds me a lot of my mother-in-law. We had told her that we would be in London but our schedule was too busy to see her but now we wanted to spend the afternoon with her. “Come round,” she said cheerfully. And we had a very pleasant afternoon in the sunny suburbs of North London. And they made us cake.

She and her husband gave us two excellent recommendations as well: go to Zedel’s for dinner and take the Elizabeth line to Heathrow in the morning. Zedel’s was great (unprepossessing at street level with an amazing dining room underground) and the Elizabeth Line (around the corner from our hotel) was the business.

By late that evening, however, we had received no word from Aer Lingus. I rang the help desk after dinner and didn’t really expect to get through at 10 on a Monday night but I did eventually and they stuck us on a flight at 10 in the morning.

Tuesday, August 29, 2023

Can I again recommend the Elizabeth line? So shiny, so new, so handy. We had breakfast at the Perfectionist cafe in Heathrow. Quite a hard name to live up to, particularly in an airport, but actually, in fairness, pretty good, though pricey.

The flight home was painless and that was that.

I put in a claim to Aer Lingus subsequently and to my absolute amazement and with a minimum of paperwork they paid for Hazlitt’s (not cheap), Zedel’s (only cheap if you go for the prix fixe menu, we did not) and even the Perfectionist café. Chapeau. Delighted with Aer Lingus. Will I fly Aer Lingus again? You betcha. Just, ideally, not anytime soon. I’d like to stay home for a while.

Results Day

6 October, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess

So, you will recall that we got back from Argentina on Wednesday August 23?

On Friday 25 we had Leaving Cert results for the boys. This is, obviously, the most important examination they will ever do in their lives. Sometimes I find that it is hard to convey tone in writing but, for clarity, this remark is dripping in sarcasm. It is, however, a very, very important Irish rite of passage and the main gateway to third level. God, we were all delighted. They did super well. We all went out to breakfast to celebrate and even though Michael ate nothing and had fortified himself with cornflakes prior to departure, the crowd was in very good form.

I am so glad for them both. It has just been a horrendous year with teacher supply shortages and after school classes or video classes or no classes. Their results made it a practical certainty that they would get their first choice in college (and to spare you the weekend of very mild suspense that we enjoyed, I can confirm that that is in fact what happened when first round offers came out the following week). They’ve both started their courses now – in two different universities in Dublin, one arts student, one science student, but both living at home (which is pretty standard in Ireland and pleasing for me) and, fingers crossed, it all seems to be going pretty well.

There were various rites of passage to follow results day, including a breakfast at school and the graduation dance which is known as the “debs” though, I think it’s fair to say, the students don’t really think of themselves as debutantes. This event is big business and a bus load of teenagers was taken to the midlands (you would think there would be venues in Dublin) at five in the evening; they partied all night and were deposited back in Dublin at five the following morning. When I went to my debs, neither today nor yesterday, you had to bring a partner but this seems to be strictly optional now which is all to the good, I think. Neither of my guys brought a partner but I did get to admire some of the other students’ dresses in the car park where they were waiting for the bus to take them away to their swanky destination. Notwithstanding the considerable stamina required, a good time seems to have been had by all.

But back to Friday 25, where did I have to go that afternoon? That’s right, the airport again. Herself was off to a friend’s party in London. Honestly, if I never saw another airport again, it would probably be too soon. This was unfortunate because, in a piece of poor timing, Mr. Waffle and I were off to London on the following day. Stay tuned for more details.

Argentina- Part 8 – Are we there yet?

30 September, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Saturday 19 August, 2023

The kids refused to come on a tour of the suburbs of BA. Their loss as San Isidro is an absolutely beautiful suburb.

We then went on a boat ride on the delta which I loved. Mr. Waffle thought it was a bit like a tour for the elderly and was unconvinced, but I am clearly leaning in to what, I suppose, I will have to call late middle age. The only negative element was the loud commentary in English, Spanish and Portuguese (there was a large, blingy Brazilian group onboard clearly driving the Argentinians bananas).

The delta is enormous and very attractive with its own infrastructure including water boats which pick up from your own jetty on the side of the water by your house and a supermarket boat that delivers your groceries.

There were numerous rowing clubs including “the Jewish”. It turns out Argentina has a big Jewish population of about 250,000. Who knew? A lot of these clubs were built in the early 20th century when Argentina was really rich and the world was keen on very elaborate club houses.

There was a museum to Sarmiento who was a 19th century president. The whole house is preserved in a special glass case. You heard me.

This upmarket area is the political base of Massa the economy minister. I asked our guide why she thought people were voting for Massa as the economy is, well, in some difficulty. Until that moment she had seemed very like me: same kind of age, children in college, husband in nice professional job, cousin who was an engineer who had emigrated to the south side of Dublin (small world – she gave us some alfajores to bring back to Ireland for him), similar slightly wishy washy views, appalled by hearing that some of her children’s friends had voted for Milei. This question, however, unleashed her inner fascist. “All the people getting social welfare money vote for him,” she said indignantly. “I know that in Europe, these people can’t vote in elections, but here they can.” We hastened to clarify that absolutely, in Europe, people in receipt of benefits from the State can vote and Mr. Waffle began talking about economic versus social and political rights but she was having none of it. “I am sure that this is the case in Norway anyhow,” she said firmly. We were absolutely baffled. Why would she think this about Norway of all places?

And then, she told us, the universities, which are free and apparently very good are “overrun with foreigners”. “What percentage of students are foreigners?” I asked. 4% apparently. It all made me feel a bit nervous about Argentina’s squeezed middle.

I tried to draw her out a bit on the relationship with Spain. It was like I was speaking a third language that she was incapable of understanding. “We are Spanish,” she explained. “But you got independence from Spain, you had a revolution, how does this affect the relationship?” I asked. I tried to draw parallels with the complexity of the Irish-English relationship but she was having none of it. She explained that one of the Argentine revolutionaries was Spanish “from Spain” she clarified. Yes, I understood but that doesn’t mean that there would be no Argentine bad feeling towards Spain. She looked at me, nonplussed. I was pretty baffled myself. I gave up. They love the Spanish.

When we got back on shore we had a look at some local markets which specialised in wicker; very attractive but, sadly, nobody was going to be bringing baskets back to Ireland.

On the way back into town our guide pointed out thousands slum buildings right against the motorway built there, quite obviously, in breach of all regulations. A bit depressing.

We got back at lunch time to an empty apartment. Very alarming. Mr.Waffle reckoned the children had gone to lunch and we should too. We went around the corner to the Pain Quotidien and, to our amusement, herself and Michael were ensconced. But where was Daniel? There was a slightly Jesus in the temple moment (I thought he was with you). Then I sprinted back round to the apartment where he was, in fact, still in bed. The relief.

That afternoon, herself had expressed an interest in going to the Malba art gallery. I would totally recommend. We taxied there and back (living like oligarchs approximately €2 each way – little “Las Malvinas son Argentinas” posters on the back of the headrests).

It’s a modern art gallery which I thought I didn’t love but after here and the Met in New York, I am beginning to reconsider. I quite enjoyed pointing out to Michael that he and this character have similar eyebrow action.

I was quite taken with this large work.

Corinne had suggested booking us a nice dinner towards the end of our stay and this was the night. It was a steak restaurant called Don Julio. When we arrived there were queues round the block but, at this point, you will be as unsurprised as we were that we were speedily accommodated leaving those whose lives were not organised by Corinne to weep and gnash their teeth in the outer darkness. Dinner was, hands down, the nicest meal we had in Argentina. We mostly like our steak rare and had learnt the word “jugosa”. This was the first time it was really as desired. The chimichurri (arguably Argentina’s greatest food invention) was excellent but so, more surprisingly, were the vegetables. We reminisced a bit about our trip and just had a lovely time. We were under heaters outside. It was quite pleasant but there were blankets. Mr. Waffle drew a comparison between me and Queen Maeve on the old Irish pound note. He is still alive, you will be pleased to hear.

Sunday, 20 August, 2023

Up again at 6 am to get the ferry to Uruguay which is only across the river. The ferry port was like the airport with security, passport, immigration and, most excitingly, passport stamps. Speaking of stamps Mr. Waffle was muttering anxiously about stamps and said, “Uruguay is a functioning country, I’ll get stamps there.” On a Sunday? I think not.

Herself stayed behind and initially, I thought this was a huge mistake. Spoiler alert: it was not a huge mistake. On the ferry, a nice purser let me go and have a look around first class. It was a bit underwhelming but I remain surprised that Corinne countenanced coach class for her charges. It was quite a short ferry trip – only just over an hour.

When we arrived, there were many ads encouraging Argentinians to buy property in Uruguay which seems to be a thing.

Our guide and driver picked us up and gave us a tour of Colonia del Sacramento which is a cute small town fought over by the Spanish and Portuguese and with architecture from both. Observe the Spanish v Portuguese streets.

Its big business is entertaining tourists from BA. It has a bit of a seaside village feel.

Then we had a lovely lunch and a couple of hours to wander on our own. All very pleasant.

We were dropped back to the ferry port for 3.30 and then to our absolute horror, our ferry was delayed by two hours. Honestly we had seen absolutely everything Colonia had to offer. We went for a desultory look at a local market but our hearts weren’t in it. We had tea and looked at the internet a bit. Inter alia, I logged on to the library app to see if the book I’d ordered had arrived. It had. The library app also managed to tell me that I was very far from home.

It was hours before we got back and then there were very long passport queues. Our driver was dutifully waiting for us in BA but it was 9.30 before we got home. Our saintly firstborn had dinner ready for the weary voyagers which was a highlight.

Monday, August 21, 2023

It was our last day. To celebrate, nobody got up before 10 am. In a signature move, we went to the Pain Quotidien for breakfast.

While Mr. Waffle snorted in disdain, on the way home I asked the man in the kiosk selling papers whether he had stamps. He only had the ones we had from the private courier company. “Where on earth do you post those?” I asked. He indicated a small discreet cardboard box at knee height. So, we posted our postcards, and if you got one, you’d better be grateful because it wasn’t easy.

We went to La Biela for lunch which was nearby and was a famous spot where all of the motor racing greats hung out back in the day (Argentina is big in the motor racing world). Crucially, from our point of view, we were all able to get something we liked for lunch.

That afternoon, Corinne came to our Airbnb to meet us. I was a bit dubious but, in person, I found her very warm and really lovely; and also the person most likely to be interested in our Argentinian adventures. She had only that morning flown in from Yerevan (but of course) where she and her son had been participating in the world Armenian games (who knew?), but was not to be deterred in her plan to see us. She presented us with a cactus and silver framed family photo of us up in the mountains near Salta. I was genuinely thrilled. What a nice gift. What a service! If you or someone you know is going to Argentina, let me know, I will pass on her details, you will not be disappointed but possibly plan for more downtime.

Then it was time for the airbnb checkout which was very thorough. I felt our host (who did not come himself but sent two young women to inspect) was not really psychologically ready to let out on Airbnb; he loved his (admittedly beautiful) apartment too much. I had thought he must be an architect because there were loads of architectural books about but the young women said no, he was a footballers’ agent. Honestly, he seemed much too sensitive and worried to be anyone’s agent for anything.

And then, our driver picked us up for the last time and we arrived at the airport. Daniel was very excited to see a Hard Rock Café but herself couldn’t face it and he said, quite bitterly, “I suppose it will be Ron’s Kale again.” They have different tastes, though herself introduced us to her airport motto “Always be Grazing” and stocked up to ensure that she could live that particular dream. Unrelated, but she had spent the summer unsuccessfully trying to read a tome on Spinoza and was disturbed to recognise his face on the front of some Spanish book in the airport; a sign, she felt, that they had spent too much time together.

We left BA to fly to Miami at about 9 in the evening BA time. It’s a nine-hour flight to Miami, yes nine hours, you read that right; you will remember Argentina is very far away. Mr. Waffle had sprung for seats together (let us not speak of the cost) which was a considerable improvement on the way out but still it was grim.

Tuesday August 22, 2023

We arrived in Miami at the crack of dawn US time, maybe 6 in the morning. My concerns about US immigration were misplaced and we flew through in about 45 minutes. Some profiling occurred as people took one look at us and tried to put us through the US citizens’ channel but we were steadfast in refusing and they shook their heads at our idiocy.

Breakfast in Miami was pretty grim. I mean actual breakfast was fine but we were all flattened and the kids dozed in their seats. We left for Philadelphia at about 8.30. You have questions? Do you know how much it costs to fly five people half way around the world? Well, anyway, this was the cheapest route but I would be lying if I didn’t say I was really regretting it.

We got into Philadelphia about midday. We booked ourselves into one of those airport shower things and all came out cleaner and marginally more cheerful.

I had a Philadelphia cheesesteak for lunch and, I’ll tell you what, nicer than you might think but I noticed that all the people pictured on the walls enjoying their cheesesteaks were pretty large. I have to say that dinner in BA breakfast in Miami and lunch in Philadelphia is not at all as glamorous as I would have thought. In fairness to Philadelphia, it’s a nice airport but it’s not somewhere I would necessarily choose to spend six hours.

We got on our six hour hop to Ireland that evening. There was a time, late July, when I would have thought six hours was a very long flight but not anymore.

I was sitting beside some nice older Americans who were going to Ireland for a week. Their first stop was Cork. “When are you going to Cork?” I asked innocently. “Oh,” said the enthusiastic Texan lady, we’ve got a car booked and we’re going to drive there when we arrive in Dublin. It’s only three hours. Maybe we will go to this Kinsale place you were recommending this afternoon. Honest to God, it’s no wonder they’re a superpower.

Wednesday August 23, 2023

We got home at 5am. As we were in the taxi from the airport, Dan got a message inviting him to a GAA match that very evening. Incredibly, he was keen.

We had a quiet day, we slept, we unpacked. I had some mate at home – still revolting.

That evening Dan cycled up to his match. I got a call from one of the trainers about an hour later. “We think Dan has dislocated his shoulder.” The GAA continues in its mission to ruin our lives. We brought him to the clinic, he was sore but not too bad and he was also starving. I went to a burger place across the road called the “Hog and Heifer” to ask if they did take away. Their gimmick as you cross the threshold is that an alarming moo sounds. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I think anyone would concede that I was fragile and not up to being loudly mooed at. However, they did do takeaway. I told the man that I was in the clinic across the road and would come back but shortly afterwards he turned up at the door of the clinic, burger in hand. A very gratifying touch. Dan had his x-ray. Not dislocated but not quite right either – endless physio to follow but at least we could go home.

My sister called, “I didn’t want to tell you before but you are Aunty Pat’s executor.” My cup runneth over.

Argentina Part 7 – Back to BA

29 September, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Wednesday, August 16, 2023

We had half a morning at leisure! I went with herself for some emergency underwear shopping – some of mine seemed to have disappeared in the various laundry stops in the hotels. We went to this old-fashioned place with many assistants. After some discussion, they went into the back and found some large enough for me; it’s hard not to take this as some kind of insult.

We had been trying to send post-cards for some time. We bought extremely expensive stamps in Palermo Soho early on in the trip and it appears they were for a private courier company and the Argentinian postal service refused to deal with them – understandable enough, I suppose but Mr. Waffle found this out the hard way in the post office in Salta. Though he did see a combined pet shop and butcher which he really enjoyed. “A service from cradle to grave,” he observed.

As we were leaving our hotel there was a big gang of Italian pensioners leaving also. They had questions and I finally had a chance to speak Italian – “Ma come mai parla così bene Italiano?” Come mai indeed. I was delighted with myself after all my false starts with Spanish speakers. Even the family felt I deserved this.

Then R came to take us for a last mild walk in the woods and lunch. He was funny about his relations in Mendoza (his family tree is complex). He says he doesn’t go any more because it’s a sign of status to have European relatives in Argentina and he was paraded around like a show pony.

The walk in the woods was very pleasant and we managed to restrain R from taking us into the jungle. “The north of Argentina is a land of contrasts,” he liked to say and having shown us a lot of desert, he wanted us to see jungle. We, however, were steadfast in resisting as we had a flight to make.

We were quite sad to say goodbye to R and our lovely local driver. Still off we went to the airport where our flight was delayed for the guts of two hours. Corinne, of course, was on top of it and when we got to BA our Venezuelan driver was there to pick us up from the airport and drive us to the hotel where we were overnighting.

I saw these at the airport. Baffled.

Our hotel was in Palermo to give us a chance to explore the area, as Corinne put it. Even if our flight had been on time, I am not sure that we would have been up for an exploration. The hotel was a bit underwhelming, I mean good location and quite flash but the big city staff were not as friendly as up north. When we asked about overnight laundry we were told coldly that it was not possible. Just as well really as it would probably have beggared us. Was there a pool? There was. Did I get to swim in it? You jest.

Mr. Waffle had tired of complaints about accommodation and booked an extra room for the kids. Michael got to have the room to himself – he was delighted. I can’t remember whether I mentioned this before but at one stage Michael was so desperate to get away from us all that he checked fight costs to fly home the following day and found he could afford it from his savings. Herself was outraged when she heard this, as she had done the same thing and would have been unable to afford flights until the following week. I think Daniel enjoyed the trip the most? Did I say that when the kids were asked what was their favourite hotel, they said the Renaissance Heathrow airport because they all got their own room. This was the hotel they compared to a prison. I digress.

BA seemed huge after Salta and we plunged into the city where we found a very nice pasta place with, by Argentinian standards, lightning fast service.

Thursday, 17 August 2023

It was lashing rain and quite wintry for our 8.30 pick up.

We were going out of town to San Antonio de Areco in BA province and then spending the night on a guacho ranch. What, what? We were in Argentina, why not?

Our guide in San Antonio had a name as Irish as mine and when she heard that I had been to the Convent of Mercy gave me a big hug as she had too. She was a retired lady and despite her Irish name, entirely Argentinian. She was a bit polo fan and used to play a lot before they had to sell the farm in one of the many economic crises with which Argentine history is littered.

She had been an English teacher and knew everyone in town. The town is full of artisan workshops. They have the workshops in the back and sell stuff in the front. We bought some jewellery (lovely and very cheap); a heavy leather bag for carrying around your mate kit (lovely but has sat in the utility room since we got home as how much do we need to carry around mate?) and some artisanal chocolate.

The local church was imported stone by stone from Europe as there were no building materials in Argentina. Mr. Waffle and I both find this a bit baffling. Irish emigrants were big in this town and this list of parish priests in the church certainly proves it.

Our guide said that all the houses were only one storey as they were built without foundations, which explains something I had been curious about. We fled from the bucketing rain which had followed us from BA and had a nice lunch.

Afterwards, our guide got them to open up a local museum for us (unsurprising for those of us travelling Corinne airlines). It was run by some past pupil of hers and it was dedicated to an Argentine artist from the first half of the twentieth century who painted funny pictures of guacho life, Florencio Molina Campos. I had never heard of him before but I really enjoyed his work and one of my favourite Argentine purchases is a fridge magnet with one of his drawings of a horse on it.

Then we said goodbye to our guide. She was going on the trip of a lifetime to Ireland and Scotland the following week. We were terrified it would beggar her. Mr. Waffle had some sterling (I dunno, my husband the travelling bank?) and I was glad that he could give it to her but honestly it wasn’t likely it would go far. It also felt a bit like tipping one of my mother’s friends from the golf club, so quite weird. I imagine she quite enjoys the guiding work but that also she needs to do it to supplement her pension. Depressing enough.

We then were taken to our ranch experience in a place called El Ombú. Our driver dropped us to the side of the road and we were picked up by jeeps to take us to the estancia. It was a lovely place. I think all round for everyone, the best place we went to.

It was quite chilly and each room had a wood burning stove. Mr. Waffle had, yet again, sprung for another room and this time herself won the toss (poor Daniel). I’ll say this much for her, she couldn’t have been more grateful.

We handed over our enormous laundry bag to the staff and set about relaxing. There was an outdoor pool (of course) but it really wasn’t the weather for it.

There was a large drawing room with a pool table. We enjoyed playing but as Mr. Waffle said, “The only winner was sport and to be honest sport didn’t do too well either.”

There was table football which we all enjoyed. It was nice to just hang out and walk around the grounds and have nowhere to go other than to the other building for dinner. Herself found an enormous spider in her room so that gave us some mild excitement.

Our host was a descendant of the original German man who came to Argentina to make his fortune and who bought the estancia (in the 1920s, the relief). He was a genial man and chatted away with us. He had a great story about losing the top of his finger in a dog fight. The full details elude me now but they included the startling element that he had to extract his finger from the dog’s mouth and then drive with his finger to the hospital. To no avail anyhow because he lost it. He seemed pretty sanguine about it.

I talked to my sister on the phone. She was gloomy because, as she put it, she had taken a week off work to clear out one piece of furniture and it still wasn’t done. She bought my parents’ house and has been slightly lumped with clearing it out (I’m sorry but I’m grateful) and this enormous bookcase which my Nana bought from the canon in Killmallock nearly 100 years ago and was filled with stuff had to be emptied before her works on subsidence started (spoiler alert, the builders now say that they don’t need access to that room so her work was, if not unnecessary, certainly less urgent than she thought).

I had built up the fire in the bedroom in the afternoon and when we got back after dinner, I thought I would die from the fiery heat. I made Mr. Waffle sleep nearest the fire because I am kind that way. Motto: winter is not as cold as you might think in BA province.

Friday 18 August, 2023

The dawn chorus was deafening. I went out with Merlin and identified nearly a dozen birds. The most muscular cat I have ever seen in my life was sitting on the veranda outside our bedroom door looking grumpy and when I opened the door strolled in for a look around.

The kids loved the place and herself and Daniel both said separately that it reminded them of Ballyknocken where we have had very nice overnight breaks with Mr. Waffle’s family. It was similar in vibes rather than looks they explained and I knew what they meant.

We went horse riding around the estate. Honestly, it could have been a damp day in Kildare. I got Pancho, a very quiet horse that likes to eat grass (classic) and I really enjoyed it. So did herself but the others were, at best, more ambivalent.

When we got back, we had empanadas by the fire (lest we had got hungry since breakfast two hours previously) and hung out in the drawing room. Our host had arranged for us to keep our bedrooms for the day, which was a godsend, so we were able to lounge around very comfortably.

We had our asado lunch which was a lot of meat but fine. The young men who had accompanied us on our ride that morning were serving lunch. They had very much impressed me with their horse riding abilities and it was a bit surprising to find them handing out chops. Multitaskers, clearly.

Then we had some folk music and a truly impressive demonstration of horse training where our demonstrator seemed, if you ask me, to risk death.

Before we left, I went to pay for any extras – mostly laundry, I thought. And they said no. But what about the laundry, and so much of it, washed, ironed and folded overnight? “On the house,” they said. Honestly, would return in a heartbeat.

We were then driven back to BA. When we arrived the Airbnb was v nice but I found the explanations over-elaborate and the owner a bit over-anxious. We were all exhausted – I hadn’t thought it but maybe horse riding is tiring.

I made dinner for the first time on this holiday. I mean, it was pasta and packet pasta sauce so not a huge effort. The sauce, alas, had the consistency of soup. Unsatisfactory.

Will my next entry be the end of the Argentine odyssey? Stay tuned for further excitements.