The Last Supper...La Cabrera

         
         After an unplanned 7 day detour through Patagonia I found myself purchasing a ticket for a flight back to Buenos Aires for two final nights before heading to Mendoza and then on to Chile.  After buying the ticket I realized that this was probably going to be my last chance to do the one thing that I regretted not doing the other 4 times I had been in BA - eating dinner at La Cabrera.  So I immediately went to their website and booked a table for Thursday night.
          You don't need a guidebook (or to be an avid reader of this blog) to find the not so hidden secret that is La Cabrera.  It's probably the most well known (and highly touristy) steak restaurant in all of Buenos Aires.  But it deserves the hype!  I guess it's comparable to Peter Luger's in NY, but really think it's on a different level (as there are no competitors on its level.  i.e. The Palm, Striphouse, Wolfgang's, etc).
          My Wednesday afternoon flight took off from Calafaté airport on time at 1:45 but after 20 minutes the pilot realized he could only bank to the right and made an announcement that we'd have to return to the airport (See? that's what I was talking about in my last post.  Don't hesitate to let us know if there's some pertinent info.  Otherwise, keep it to yourself.  Dale Capitan).   We weren't sure if the flight would end up going that night or not until the morning.  But, I had faith.  The stars had aligned and I was going to eat at La Cabrera, damn it!  Finally after a 9 hour delay, the flight took off and I arrived in BA around 1 AM. 
          Anyways, back to La Cabrera.  Reservations were for 8:30 and the restaurant was only about a 5 minute walk from our hostel so after a quick drink on the hostel terrace my dining partner and I made our way out at around 8:20.  Approaching the corner of Thames and JA Cabrera we found a disorganized mass of tourists and locals alike (some with reservations, some without) trying to figure out what was going on and who was in charge.  Once we became part of this mass, the anxiety in the air was very apparent.  There isn't really a line and everybody is on edge hoping that either their reservation has been confirmed and acknowledged or that they might slip through on the waiting list.  The fact that reservations are taken under first names only doesn't add any sense of order or comfort to the situation and since my parents didn't have the foresight to give me a slightly more original name for such circumstances I quickly learned that I was not the only "John" with a reservation for 2 at 8:30 (don't worry little D'Brickeshaw Carter, this is something you'll never have to deal with once you're in the world).  Luckily my Spanish charm and New York elbows got us to the front of the line where I learned that our reservation was, in fact, confirmed but was at La Cabrera Norte (across the street, about 50 yards away).  So we made our way there and found a much quieter, more controlled, less anxious crowd waiting to be let in for the first seating.
        I gave my name and we were promplty seated in the half empty room and presented with menus and a wine list.  After a quick scan of the meat section I decided on the ojo de bife (rib-eye) and my dining partner chose the lomito (tenderloin/filet).  We also agreed to share a caprese salad to start and order a few sides and a bottle of wine.  While taking our order our waiter, a sweet old man in a seemingly authentic gaucho's cap, informed us that ordering sides would not be necessary as an array of dishes were included with our steaks.  He also let me in on the fact that my rib eye would probably be big enough to sink a cruise ship.  I told him to bring it on.  The wine, water, and caprese arrived.  While delicious, the capreses isn't really even worth mentioning here (not sure why just I did).
          Then came the steaks.  Mine, the size of a leather briefcase, and Sarah's, 4 big cuts of filet mignon, each one of which could have been a meal on its own.  They were served on long wooden boards, accompanied by 6 small dishes of various sides and sauces.  Our waiter quickly started re-arranging all of the sides and sauces and informed us that he had to make room for the platter of guarniciones calientes (hot sides) that were on their way.  Sure enough, a minute later, a round platter with 6 small dishes containing mashed potatoes, squash puré, warm chick pea salad, confit onions, etc. arrived on our table. 

Guarniciones Calientes.

Ojo de Bife

      The meal progressed.  We ate, drank, and were merry.  Happy to be at "the other La Cabrera" which was definitely less crowded and less hectic than the original, and less than a stone's throw away. 

"Listo"

      I usually try to avoid the most hyped, extremely touristy/popular places.  Moral of this story: sometimes the people are right.  We should listen to them.

The steak looked so delicious that even this self-proclaimed "crunchy hippie" broke her vegan vow and ordered a filet.

Happy eating!

- Tres

Argentina's Buses....The Only Way to Fly

At first I was a little apprehensive about sitting on a bus for 18 hours from Buenos Aires to Iguazu Falls, but all you hear from anybody travelling down here is how great the buses are so I signed up for a supercama seat and gave it a shot.  As my bus experience is minimal I took the proper precautions and made sure I had all the essentials: plenty of water, gum, hand sanitizer, books, iPods fully charged, toilet paper, and enough food to sustain a band of separatist guerillas for a month.  Shortly after boarding I realized that everything they say is true. On my seat I found a nicely wrapped blanket and pillow and in front of it Bose headphones hanging on my personal TV screen.  All seemed good and I ate one of my sandwiches, then laid back in my 180 degree fully reclining seat and started watching the first movie "As Good As It Gets" (fitting, and in English).

 

Twenty minutes later with a belly full of sandwiches and apples I smelled what turned out to be a delicous dinner of beef, vegetables, and rice complete with wine, chapagne, and coffee.  Nothing like a good steak to wash down a few sandwiches.  I conked out for a bit and woke up in complete comfort.  It was only then that I realized how much better this was than flying.  Sure this bus ride was 18 hours and the flight would've been a mere 2, but the bus cost less than a third of the cost of a flight.  Aside from the money saved what was even more satisfying to me was all of the annoyances of flying that I avoided by taking the bus.  Below is a short list of reasons why bus > plane:

1) No arriving 2 hours early and sitting in the terminal so you can pay $4.50 for a bottle of water and $3.50 for 5 pieces of Trident.
2) It's ok to pack more than 1 day's worth of shampoo in your carry-on, hell, they even let you bring your scissors.
3) No sketchy security guard with a foot fetish telling you it's required that he x-ray your Havianas just so he can watch you walk barefoot across the gross floor.
4) Keep your iPod on, use your laptop, make calls, do whatever you like with whatever electronic devices you want, the entire trip.  Come to think of it, how reassuring is it that my compulsion to break my high score in Brickbreaker apparently has the potential to bring down a state of the art airliner?  You'd think the good people at Boeing could figure how to take care of that small detail.
5) No safety video (but no lifejacket either.  So, you win some you lose some).
6) And the best aspect of a bus ride in my mind is that the busdriver doesn't feel the need to update you on his every move.  He just puts the pedal down, shuts up, and drives.  No "This is Captain Travolta speaking.  We'd like to thank you for choosing to fly with Hubbard Airlines - your first choice Aeronautical Spiritual Engineering.  Tonight we'll reach a cruising altitude of about 30,000 feet.  In about an hour if you look out over our right wing (and have x-ray vision) you'll be able to make out the faces on  Mt. Rushmore.  Later, as we cross over Mackinaw Island you should be able to make out my lake house."  Look buddy, I don't fill you in on everything that's going on in my world "Well Captain, first I was thinking that I'd listen to every Radiohead album in chronological order. Then maybe, hit shuffle?  What do you think?" and later "This is John in 31A again.  Now I'm thinking about eating this entire family sized bag of extra spicy jalapeño Doritos.  I know I might pay for it later but I'm really bored." Do me a favor, unless you're about to put us down in a river (kudos to Sully on that one) leave the microphone on the hook and let me watch the movie.  Nobody cares how high we we're going or that we're crossing over Nova Scotia. We just want to know when we're gonna get there and how many free drinks we get. 

Now that I've got one longhaul bus ride under my belt I look forward to many more to come.  Tomorrow is 18 hours down south to Bariloche and I can't wait.

- Happy Trails

And.....we're back

Sorry, we'd gone radio silent for a while here at The Run Around but now we're back up and running, literally.  What I'd neglected to mention in my prison tale was the fact that my running shoes were stolen from outside my hostel room that very morning, and while I'm all for the barefoot revolution, sometimes when running in unfamiliar places in foreign countries you just plain need shoes...at least while looking for a good route.  So, without shoes for a week my runs were limited and consisted of just a few short jogs along the beach in Brazil.  Great scenery, but not much too write about.  Now I'm back in Buenos Aires working on a top secret project for a few days before hopefully heading down to Bariloche to do some running/trekking in the hills. 
Upon returning to BA the first order of business was to find a place where I could pick up a watch, camera, running shoes, and some havianas to replace my prison sandals.  Not knowing the word for 'mall' in Spanish I had to ask around for a bit and explain to a few people what I was looking for, but when I finally got my point across I was delighted to not only learn that the mall was just a few blocks away but also to find out what the word was.  Having spent a good amount of time in Spain I'm fully accustomed to, appreciative of, and often amused by the Spanish's habit of adopting variations of English words to depict deifferent things.  For example:  campground = el camping; parking lot = el parking.  And mall?  You guess it - el shopping.  Thanks Spain (and Argentina) for making things so easy for us gringos.  Following this logic you'd think bar would be 'el drinking', but they've made that one even easier...it's just 'bar'. 
While I've got pictures to share and things to write about, right now the aforementioned project is commanding most of my attention.  But stay tuned as there's lots of great fresh content to come.

- Ciao

Total Immersion

Looking to improve your Spanish?  Think your verb conjugation could use some fine tuning?  Try spending a night in an Argentine prison (let me preface this by saying that I´m nowhere near creative enough to make something like this up).  Last night after having a great barbecue with good friends and good wine a big group of us decided to take in the night life at Puerto Iguazu´s club Cubra Libre.  Below follows a list of what to/not do:
Upon exiting the free shuttle from the hostel the thumping base of the reggaeton beats consume the surrounding area.  Grab your ticket and wait in line to enter.  Once inside proceed straight to the bar to collect your complimentary rum and coke.  Hit the dance floor in the main room for a bit and sweat it out with the locals.  Then around 2 or 3 make sure you´re in the front of the queue of people heading into the airconditioned back room.  In there you´ll hear a broader mix of house, techno, and trance.  Dance, drink, do as you please.  Once you´ve had enough revelry for the night abandon your partying hostel mates on the dance floor and head out to grab a quick taxi back to your room.  But keep your wits about you...space out for a second and you might stumble across the wrong corner where 3 Argentinian policemen happen to be shaking down a few local vagabonds and your night is in for a dramatic turn.  If you´re lucky you´ll spot them and pull a quick u-turn before they even know you´re there.....or so you think.  Next thing you know you you´re the most important student in AP Spanish at a really, really shitty public school.  Once the smell of piss and shit has brought you fully into reality and your cell mate informs you that you are, indeed, in an Argentine prison and will definitely be spending the night, and possibly the weekend, start working through those verb tenses in your head otherwise you´re in for a long night.  First order of businesss: become good friends with Antonio and Gonzalo, the two guys you´ll share your 10 foot by 10 foot cell with for the next 13 hours.  Step two: in your broken Spanish belligerently plead with the guards to take your watch, camera, and/or 700 pesos if they´ll please just let you go back to your hostel and go to bed.  Why not....you haven´t done anything illegal anyways, have you?  Step 3: give up on all your other futile efforts and just try to get comfortable, you´re in this for the long haul.  Spend the next 10 hours or so really practicing your Spanish with your cell mates (to this day this was definitely the most important and useful day of Spanish speaking I´ve ever experienced in my 28 years). 
Finally, after about 13 hours you´ll be lucky enough to get a visit from the "doctor".  He doesn´t bother to actually enter your cell but instead just asks your name, age, any pertinent health info, and requsts that you remove your shirt and pull up your shorts to show any tattoos and/or scars.  Being that he is the first semi-sympathetic figure you´ve seen in the last half day make sure you impress upon him the importance of the fact that you have a bus to Brazil at 1 this afternoon (it´s really at 8 but you´re already in jail, lying probably isn´t going to make this situation any worse) and would be really disappointed if you missed your trip. 
After hearing conflicting stories about your possible release being in anywhere from a few hours to Monday afternoon rejoice when you hear the words "Yon Carrterr" coming from the head guard´s mouth.  Proceed with 2 other young guys who had the pleasure of spending the night at Forte Iguazu to 2 or 3 processing rooms.  Stand quietly with your arms at your side and your head while waiting for them to do whatever the hell they´re doing.  Don´t react when the new guard (likely still drunk from the night before) replaces one of the other guards and for no reason punches the guy 2 people away from you first in the balls and then in the face for trying to re-lace his Converse sneakers.  After an hour of standing quietly at attention for an hour or so get released - sans camera, belt, watch, and the 700 pesos you came in with, and wearing a different pair of sandals than the ones in which you entered.  For some asinine reason make a huge deal about getting your belt (which was a gift from an old friend) back.  If you´re lucky they´ll happen to find it in the draw under the TV.  Just your luck though, your money, camera, watch and hostel key are nowhere to be found. 
Quietly ask the seemingly nicest of all the policemen if there´s any possible way you can be provided with 1.50 pesos for the bus ride back to your hostel and get told by the ball puncher (in English) to "get the fuck out of the estation anow".  Walk out dejected, in your prison sandals, and wait half an hour for the bus.  When it gets there plead with the driver for a free ride.  Get denied.  Ask how far you hostel is from the station.  6 kilometers, huh?  Aren´t you a runner?  Isn´t this what you do?  Don´t you claim to be passionate about this sport?  Unbutton your shirt, kick off your prison sandals, and make like Forrest Gump.  Enjoy one of the most amazing, important, introspective, and weird runs of your life.  Upon arrival at the hostel proceed directly to your room to grab some money to buy eggs for breakfast.  When the guy at the counter refuses to give you change for your 100 peso bill tell him you just ran home barefoot from jail and threaten his life if he doesn´t let you have some goddamned scrambled eggs.  Win the argument.  Eat said eggs.  Go borrow change from friends and pay the guy back (thanks for understanding, amigo). 
Maybe it wasn´t what you´d planned on for your last night in Iguazu Falls but hey, you wanted to work on your Spanish, right? 
Fuck, I think I have some glass in my toe.

Talk to you guys in Brazil...

It's Official - The Run Around is going to Brazil!!!

After an 18 hour bus ride over Wednesday night into Thursday instead of just relaxing by the pool with a beer and a good book I did the responsible thing and spent my first few hours getting myself organized.  The first item of business was thoroughly washing everything in my toiletry bag (and the bag itself) because my shampoo bottled exploded while in the luggage compartment of the bus.  Once that situation was taken care of I took it upon myself to go through the process of booking travel and accomodation in Brazil.  First stop is Florianopolis then probably a couple of places I don´t know how to pronounce and most certainly can´t spell.  While Brazil was never in consideration as a stop on this journey I´ve met too many extraordinarly nice Brazilians who´ve told me so much about their country that I decided I had to give it a shot.  While I probably won´t make it to the pristine beaches of the north, the beaches on Ihla De Santa Catarina, of which Flori is the main city, are apparently very impressive.  The twelve hour bus ride starts tomorrow evening.  Stay tuned for further updates.  I had intended on putting up a few pics of Iguazu Falls today but am having technical difficulties with the computer.  While picture could never even begin to do the Falls justice any post about them without pictures would be insane. 

See you in Brazil...

Heart On My Arm - Great New Running Product

Running a marathon, half-marathon, a 5K or doing a walkathon for charity?  Looking for an extra source of motivation during your training and during the race?  Check out these new wristbands: Heart On My Arm.  As an avid runner who´s been heavily involved in charitable work for years, Ryan Bennett, a good friend of mine, developed a product that provides anybody running/walking/cycling for a cause with something to give them that extra boost of motivation while also providing functionality.  The Heart On My Arm wristbands are made from sweatwicking material and have a 3.5 X 2.5 inch window perfect for displaying a photo of the person you´re honoring by running, or a motivational image or quote that will help you accomplish your goals.  Aside from added motivation the wristbands also provide functionality in the form of a small zipper pocket perfect for storing keys, money, or an MP3 player.  I really could´ve used one of these around mile 42 of the 50 mile day of the Gobi March in 2009, and now I never leave for a run without one.  In addition to producing a great product the Heart On My Arm company also donates 5% of its profits to non-profits.  This aspect is very important to Ryan who aside from being an avid marathoner, the sole proprietor of Heart On My Arm, and working a full time corporate job, also runs his own non-profit organization that provides scholarships to graduating special education high school students: FAB For Life Foundation.  Get one before the first batch is sold out!

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil...errr....Roses.

Disclaimer:  The below does not actually refer to goings on at midnight, more like 8 to 11.

 If you ever find yourself staying in the Palermo section of Buenos Aires (or any part of BA for that matter) consider yourself lucky.  But if you´re a runner looking to get out and stretch your legs consider yourself extra lucky.
After a long day of taking in the sights of Microcentro, windowshopping in upscale Recoleta, or just chilling out at the cafés along Puerto Madero put on your running shoes and head for the Rosedal (Rose Garden) in Palermo.  With a beautiful pond, kioscos where you can buy water and other drinks, and lots of open space to sit, stretch, do sit-ups, or whatever, the Rosedal is the place to be for runners on weeknights.  To get there take El Subte (the subway) line D to Plaza Italia.  Exit the subway and head northeast on Avenida Sarmiento.  The Jardín Zoológico (the zoo) will be on you´re right (you´ll smell it).  When you reach Avenida del Libertador head northwest across the massive intersection.  Once you´ve crossed the intersection the park will be on your right.  As stop signs, headlights, and picking up after your dog are apparently optional in BA, getting to the park can be a bit dicey (comparable to running the gauntlet on a Japanese gameshow) so stay alert and keep your eyes open.  Once you get there you´ll realize the trip was worth your while.

Upon entering the park you´re likely to hear bagpipes - that´s your cue to jump in and start running (counter clockwise).  While running the loop you´ll pass plush grass fields, the serene pond in the middle, and the beautiful footbridge (pictured) that leads to the actual rose garden.  But the real scenery is the hundreds of porteños out for their nightly exercise.  Keeping your eyes open here won´t be a problem - your head is likely to be on a proverbial swivel!  While the loop is only about a mile long it´s easy to do 7 or 8 laps while checking out the gorgeous porteños (girls and guys alike - we here at The Run Around are equal opportunity chauvinists).  You´ll also see numerous running teams out training for various races, marathons, and triathlons (be careful - these groups run against traffic and don´t stop for gringos that stray into their path).

After your workout leave the park the way you came in (this time on the opposite side of Avenida Sarmiento) and stop to stretch while watching the skateboarders "shred" the half pipe at the small skate park.  Once cooled down and stretched take the money you brought to buy a post-run water and spend it on beer (let´s maximize the benefit of our exchange rate, people).  Head to Plaza Serrano (see pic right) in all your sweatiness to have a drink at one of the many outdoor bars packed with people (to get there, pass by the Plaza Italia subway stop and continue southwest on Avenida Jorge Luis Borges for about 10 blocks and you´ll come across the plaza).  After a few beers you might actually stop sweating.  Once loose and ready for dinner head back to your hotel/hostel to shower (or don´t) and make your way to Caracas Bar on the corner of Jorge Luis Borges and Guatemala.  The "Ensalada Caracas" is a great post run meal consisting of mixed greens, sundried tomatoes, higos (a sweet South American fruit), grated cheese, sliced almonds (none for me, soy alérgico), and loads of jamón crudo (similar to prosciutto).  It´s how the say in Argentina - freakin´ delicious.  The salad with a beer and bottle of water will run you about 40 pesos (10 bucks).

Now that you´re fed and lubricated go back to Plaza Serrano to drink outdoors until the wee hours, or to the Las Canitas area, or make your way downtown with your Brazilian hostel mates to club Bahrein and drink overpriced cans of beer while dancing to crappy music with a bunch of sweaty, wasted, 19 year old Aussies and Brits on their "gap year" (don´t do this). 

If you do end up going to club Bahrein until 7 in the morning it´s doubtful that the hostel breakfast (i.e. staled untoasted bread, and a coffee-esque liquid) is gonna cut it in the morning.  For something more substantial try Tonno on the corner of Thames and Charcas and get the "Desayuno Americano" - scrambled eggs, bacon, toast with cheese spread, orange juice, and a cortado (coffee with milk).  Add a water and the damage will be 22 pesos.  Go back to bed...