Yesterday Coston and I rode the Train at the End of the World, which I suspect is also the coldest and slowest moving train in the world. But it was fun and my love of trains wasn't dampened. We shopped at a little craft fair down by the harbor and found some really cool, handmade local stuff. Some of you will be receiving said stuff. Some of you will not.
Afterward we went to the Prison Museum, which was a lot weirder and more interesting than I expected. It had a lot of old, nautical maps and stories of shipwrecks, prison uniforms, naked indigenous people. Being there, one can instantly understand why so many ships met their doom in those waters. Rough, cold and unpredictable, Cape Horn and the surrounding areas are death traps for ships. Even today, with all our technology, sometimes it isn't enough to save them.
The museum was part museum and part weird-as-fuck art gallery. We went up one flight of stairs where there was a screen showing a movie taking place in the same room we were standing in. There was a hole in the ceiling with a knotted rope hanging from it. In the movie, someone in a creepy, American Horror Story-style body suit was trapped in the room. A knocking began, and the hole opened and a rope dropped. He climbed up the rope. The video repeats. I rope-burned my hands trying to climb it, Coston got to the top and said there was nothing up there. Point? I think not.
There was an exhibit with test tubes filled with different colors of liquid hanging at varying lengths from the ceiling, and some naked woman thrashing around in a pool with a red piece of fabric. Again, questionable as to the point. While climbing another set of stairs I told Coston about my amazing art exhibit idea, where people walk into a room and the black, padded walls close in on them. The only way out is to fight your way out. Earn your freedom! I told him I liked interactive art, he said he liked finger paining.
Lo and behold at the top of the stairs was an art exhibit with a bunch of paper stuck to the walls of rooms and finger paints for you to play with. Seriously, what are the odds of that? Later, we ate a whole crab. It was awesome.
Today, as I checked into my new hostel for the night, the guy behind the counter asked me how long I'd been in Buenos Aires. I told him this was my last night and he asked me if I'd seen any tango. I realized tonight would be my last chance, so I asked him where I should go. He pulled out a brochure for a big, touristy show and dinner. "But," he said, "I'm going to a small milonga (a dance hall, usually used for tango) tonight. You are welcome to come."
We took the bus over at 9. It was just a small building, a house really, with a bar and tiny room with a dance floor. We sat and watched the couples gracefully weave in and out to soft tango music. Later, a man with guitar came and played mellow, acoustic music, singing along in a soft voice. He called a friend of his up, and even without speaking the language I could tell she was nervous. When she started to sing, the audience yelled "muy bueno!" and the like. Whatever the song, it must have been a classic because when she seemed to be loosing her nerve the entire audience started singing along with her. In the next song, she lost her place and faltered, got embarrassed and stopped in the middle. Everyone clapped and cheered her on until she finished it.
It was a wonderful night, in a wonderful city filled with wonderful people. Tomorrow I take a 5 hour bus ride to Mar del Plata and hope the hostel will let me stay. I'm addicted to this travel thing, there is really nothing better.
No comments:
Post a Comment