But before we could fully indulge in the pleasures the city has to offer, we each needed to see a doctor, me to have another test done on my blood coagulation level as a follow-up to my hospital stay in Peru and James to determine the cause of his stomach troubles. On the advice of the hostel, we hopped a bus north to the Suiss Medical Group, and after a bit of bungling, we went to the emergency room, as directed, despite neither situation being emergent. We each saw a doctor, my consultation taking place in Spanish and James and his doctor cobbling his together in broken English. His appointment concluded sooner and more simply than mine and during which my doctor stipulated that I see a hematologist, with whom he made an appointment two hours later.
We decided to have lunch and see Recoleta cemetery in the meantime, since we were in the area.
Recoleta is essentially a miniature walled city of outlandishly ornate mausoleums in which the wealthiest porteno (Buenos Aires) families house their dead.
These elaborate, often gargantuan structures form a labyrinth, which literally requires a map to navigate.
Ironically, Eva Peron's remains rests here as well, despite the fact that she championed the poor, despised the aristocracy, and had made a particular request to be buried elsewhere. The placement of her body here, after it was stolen from its original entombment, mutilated, and rediscovered in Italy, is considered by many to be a victory on the part of her detractors. Yet her tomb is the only one in the entire cemetery covered in flowers at all times.
After that, I returned to Suiss Medical to consult with the Hematologist while James sat in the waiting room and chatted with a nice Argentinian guy we'd met in the ER. The doctor spoke no English, but we made it by. He gave me a referral to have another test and set me up for another appointment with him for that Friday to review the results. After a lot of red tape and following an administrative assistant seemingly all over the hospital in order to pay, I go the blood test, and we were on our way. We walked back to the hostel, stopping to pick up wine, chocolate, and groceries for dinner later that week.
After tidying ourselves up and making reservations for La Cabrera, one of the best steakhouses in BA, for Christmas, we then headed out for the night. We wandered down Avenida de Mayo, past some major landmarks, and then down to the San Telmo district. Along the way, we passed a fully armored vehicle of the federal police with its doors open, only to see the armed policemen inside playing Super Mario brothers on an old Nintendo 64. Priceless.
Once in San Telmo, we sat in the Plaza Dorrego to have drinks and watch one of the dinnertime tango shows, complete with live music sung by a very talented woman with a voice as low as mine. ;)
At 10pm, standard dinnertime for the late-night-loving portenos, we headed to Desnivel, a parilla (steakhouse) recommended by the owner of our hostel, and it did not disappoint. The steak was excellent and the mashed potatoes were the best I have had oustide of my grandmother's house.
In fact, we enjoyed ourselves so greatly, ate so much, and had such a wide-ranging conversation that we closed the place down, unaware that it had begun to rain in earnest during our meal. We hopped a cab back to the hostel, bellies full and happy.
The next morning, we enjoyed the best free hostel breakfast of the trip so far: tea, coffee, oranges with a squeezer for fresh juice, cereal, eggs made to order, many jams and dolce de leche, and, best of all, fresh-baked glazed croissants. I never got sick of this breakfast during my whole stay and made sure to get up for it each day. Each day one of us squeezed the orange juice and the other would wash the dishes. Lovely way to start the day.
Later that morning, I had to return to the hospital in order to pick up the results of my blood test, only to find that they weren't ready and I would have to return yet again the following morning. I had arranged to meet James back at the hostel later that afternoon, so I spent the meantime shopping for his Christmas present in Galerias Pacificos.
Upon my return to the hostel, James and I left it immediately to meet up with his former travel buddy Lisa and her boyfriend Tarl and take a private tour of the Argentinian equivalent of the White House, La Casa Rosada (the pink house), provided by Nacho, a friend James and Lisa had made while in Cuzco.
Taking a break from his workday within the famous governmental building, the very sweet and accommodating Nacho took us through its majestic interior.
We even got to take turns standing behind the podium used by the president during her press conferences, although we were shortly ushered out, as Nacho hadn't realized that cameras were prohibited. Luckily, they didn't take our cameras, and we left, awesome illicit photos in tact.
At the end of the tour, Nacho escorted us to the exit, and we arranged to meet him and his girlfriend for dinner later that night. The four of us then got tea and coffee at a local cafe where James and I also sampled alfajores for the first time. We both became instant fans of the delicious traditional cookies. And I became quite a fan of Lisa and Tarl, who I'll tell you more about later.
Back at the hostel, James began making arrangements for the next part of his trip while I took a nap. Then it was back out again for dinner with Lisa, Tarl, Nacho, and his lovely girlfriend Consue at Miranda in the hip neighborhood of Palermo. After we'd all tucked into a bottle of wine, the boys fell into a rather intense debate over Brit indy rock, and soon we had rearranged the chairs so that the girls clustered on one end of the table and the boys on the other. Now, I am not someone who always gets along well within groups of women, but I just adored these two. The lively conversation, held in both English and Spanish, swept easily over topics as diverse as South American economic policies, traveling, modern print journalism, and the ever-important and oddly ubiquitous debate on the relative beauty of Argentinians versus Brazilians-- motivating Consue to assert that Brazilian women are incapable of forming cellulite.
And then there was the food. James got a lomo (filet mignon) on his own, but the rest of us split a number of appetizers and pooled our entrees in such a way that we each got to sample everything on the table. Lisa and Tarl, who had both worked in an upscale Argentinian restaurant in London, proved to have excellent taste and ordered for all five of us. And thank goodness! Had they not, I might never have known the mouth-watering pleasures of provoleta (a salty fried cheese), morcilla (a savory black pudding), or entranas (long thin cut of meat). And to finish it all off, the girls split a delicious banana cream concoction. I went home happy.
The following day passed simply. James, who felt poorly yet again, spent the morning and afternoon on the terrace, while I ran a few errands, picked up my test results, and had my follow-up appointment with the hematologist. The results confirmed that my blood coagulation level had returned to normal, but that I would need to remain on blood thinners for another three months. My doctor was congenial and thorough, and I wished him Feliz Navidad as I said goodbye. That evening, I made dinner-- a simple pasta with onions, peppers, and garlic in a red sauce; we drank our wine, and we stayed in, reading and listening to music.
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