My next stop across Argentina was the college town of Rosario. Supposedly the third largest city in Argy and situated nicely on the banks of the Rio Parana, the city seemed like a nice place to crash for a few days. The bus took five hours to get there, so leaving earlyish in the morning from BA, I still had the afternoon there to explore only this time, complete with my new haircut courtesy of the barbers in the bus station. Mother wasn't impressed when I told her that! I'd never do it in Bus Áras even if they had one, but it seemed fine to do it there. So in I went for a shnip, shnip! The journey to Rosario, plonked right in seat number one, on top, at the front, the views again reminded me of home. The double lane highway under the Argentinian sun looked exactly like the N4 heading into Moate on a Friday afternoon after leaving early from work. A balmy 15 degrees outside, and the air con hopping, bypass Athlone, dying for a rhoast! Green grass being the real similarity here and cows and Tarmac and road barriers and the general flattish land.
Settled into my latest hostel as was recommended to be by a fellow traveller, my bags dropped and shades on, it was time to explore. The city isn't as popular a stop on the gringo trail but it was on the way (to Cordoba) and I'd be damned if I was going to pass up on something that had potential gems to see. As I said, it's a nice city, but it's a two day city in terms of exploration. The walk along the Rio Parana, the Costaneto, is well maintained that provides places for gentle strolls, places for 13 year olds busting out some grabs on their skate boards or for people of the more cardiovascular inclined that really want to break a sweat. I lite up a fag, put me tunes on an passed remarks about them to myself instead.
In terms of sightseeing, Rosario has a monument dedicated to the Argentinian flag of all things called Monument de la Bandera. It's a huge place built on the edge of the older part of town, looking somewhat like a Grecian Pantheon complete with artificial flames burning 24hrs. Skipping through the hoards of youngsters loitering about the monument, wearing the faces off each other after only just meeting, I went to the 'lift' that brought me to the top of the monument for a pano view of Rosario. Once in the lift, I had to 'ahem, ahem' to the overweight elevator assistant who was fast out asleep on his little chair, the wireless beside him blaring loudly, to push the button for me to go up.... Yeah, I know, but feck it, I'm on holidays! The view was nice, views of the river, though it wouldn't hold a patch on the beauty of the Shannon. Views of the city, mostly the sides of higher residential buildings and their TV antennas and then below, the view over the shifting soirée. Something that the guide books don't tell you and that isn't mentioned at the entrance to the monument is that there's toilets at the top where the viewpoints are. Well at least that what it smelled like anyways, though I didn't see any toilets.
Rosario is also home to where Che Guevara lived until he was two years of age. I went to see the house on a busy city centre street which was now turned into offices with only a plaque adorning the wall outside to mention his past residency. It was nice to see it, as I had now seen both where Che lived as a young child to where he was laid to rest in his mausoleum in Santa Clara, Cuba. From farm to fork.
Rosario is also home to the football team, Newell Old Boys, where Lional Messi honed his skills and where the new Barca coach has come from in recent weeks. The stadium where they play is on the edge of Parque de la Independencia where I went for a wander one afternoon. It's huge, the park, one of argy's largest green spaces, smaller than that of Phoenix park, but it'll give you an idea of what it's like. In the middle they have a man made pond where you can get paddle boats in the shape of giant swans to kill a few hours, whilst listening to music being blared out of hidden speakers in the trees that shouldn't be there in the first place.
So there I was, sitting on a park bench in front of the lake, licking on a choc ice, paying close attention that none of it drips on my shorts in the afternoon heat. To my right, there's a family of locals out for the afternoon with all the childer, both young and old, and all they wanted was a photo of them beside the lake. One of the girls, in her 20's, was a tad over eager to get in the best position for the snap beside the lake with a birthday present in her clutch, for more effect I suppose. Now, there was a gentle concrete slope leading from the path into the lake that
no one but me noticed, easy for the ducks to get out but then again very greasy or so we found out. With a lot of twisting of the hips and the head, hoping that this would trick the camera into thinking that she's more beautiful than she actually is, her foot went back and she a 'slip'd'. SPLOSH!! Well, I nearly choked on the stick for the choc ice I was chewing on, closely following by a huge "bahahaha" by yours truly. She was absolutely drowned, flipping submerged she was, so much so I'd say thar tearing the wet jeans off her must have been like pulling a pair of skinny jeans off a sumo wrestler! It was absolutely hilarious! However, it seemed that I was the only one laughing, with a few tut tuts sent my way. A smile crossed my face as I got up and left, humorously satisfied for the day, looking back as a giant paddle swan moved slowly to pick up a floating birthday present.
As you get out of the hustle and bustle of BA, you get to pay attention to a lot more of the subtler things in Argentina and one of them is maté. Maté is the drink that all the Argy's and Uruguayans drink day in, day out. A type of tea that has a huge amount of caffeine content, its drank out of uniquely shaped cups that are carved from a vine plant and the drinking lf it usually has specific rituals attached to it also, such as slurping towards the end means you want more to be poured by the owner of the round, rather than asking for some, which is a real
No No. So when you put the maté into your vessel, you can reuse the tea for a few drinks and so for this reason you need to have some hot water available. The people who drink maté are so addicted to it that they always, and I mean always, have a flask of hot scald under their arm whilst holding the vessel in their other arm. I've even seen a woman lighting a fire with the flask under her oxter. She wouldn't put it down, saying that she was so used to it, it was second nature to her now. Barrys and Lyons are good, but o dont know if I'd be carrying the kettle around with me everywhere I go. Each to their own I suppose, yet fascinating how one hot drink can encapsulate a lifestyle.
The rest of my time in Rosario was quiet. My hostel hadn't any gringos as such, just long term Argy's who were at college there so at night I kept to myself.
My next destination was the city of Cordoba, some 7 hours west of Rosario going there on another overnight bus. Hoping for some human, English speaking interaction, I went with good intentions that dark, warm night.