Christmas AND Summer
by Will Wattles

(Click here or here for some pictures without the words. Use the space bar or right click to move through. )

  As a child, summer was always my favorite season but I sure loved Christmas.  This year I enjoyed both at the same time as I bicycled in Uruguay and Argentina. I flew for 19 hours, with half that was sitting in airports, and arrived at the Buenos Aires airport about 11:30 a.m. local time. I felt gratitude when my bike and luggage arrived intact and when I was able to get pesos from the ATM. Now, I faced the challenge that had been looming before me since I made my reservations three months ago: would I be able to pedal from the airport to the city? Any maps I could find on the web only cover the main part of the city and show the airport vaguely 20 miles out. I had found a bicycle organization and e-mailed them. They wrote back and said I should take a taxi. I had hoped to locate tourist information at the airport but had no success so simply got on the bike and pedaled off as if I had done it many times. I went around a curve and there was a toll booth for a freeway. A police officer was directing traffic so I went up and asked him how to pedal to Buenos Aires. He pointed to the freeway and said “derecho” or straight ahead. 

So I rode around the toll booth and headed east. A strong tail wind made the riding fast and easy and I had it made.  I’d gone about a mile when I saw a prominent no bicycles sign. That worried me because I have absolutely no interest in experiencing the judicial system in a foreign country. I pulled off the road into a grove of huge sycamore trees where some bus drivers were waiting. I asked them and received the same answer “derecho” and ”no problema” so off I went. After each exit I would see another no bikes sign. Then I began seeing bikes on the other side of the road many of them road bikers in the fancy clothes out for a spin. Things went well but after a while the freeway started to get huge with three and four lane exits. I decided  I was close enough to be able to find surface streets so exited and basically went the direction the wind was blowing because I remained too far out for my maps. Eventually as I got closer a fellow gave me some directions to Avenida Mayo where I had reservations at the Hotel Hispano for $19 US per night. 

Having found the hotel I now needed to worry what I might have gotten myself into at that price. Well, it was just a delightful place, the best possible location and charming in design. Shiny brass plates flanked the grand wooden doors that fronted the busy, tree-lined street. The hotel actually began on the third floor which was a long hike up the stairs with the bike: it couldn’t quite squeeze in the quaint, European-style elevator. My room though small had a private bath with soap, shampoo and towels. You appreciate things like that traveling at the low end. The Hotel Hispano was three floors with an open atrium covered by a glass, retractable sky light. Italian tiles decorated the walls and the place had a warm, inviting atmosphere. 

After a nap and shower I left the bike and went for a walk. It was only a few short blocks down to Plaza de Mayo a popular area surrounded by elegant buildings including the president’s residence. Protestors filled the park this day and I was to see them frequently there and marching. Avenida Mayo seemed one of their favorites. People generally ignored the protestors and they themselves seemed like people out for a stroll more than anything else. The city reminded me of Paris, and , of course, there are always protests in the French capital. I had a meal at a sidewalk café, they abound.  

The next morning I got and early start and found my way, after several plazas and lots of statues, to a series of diques. I don’t know exactly what that word means but they were areas that must have once been some kind of port facility. Some very old cranes sat on the edge apparently left as reminders of what had been. Restaurants, including one in a sailing ship, and luxury housing had been built along a pedestrian way of cobblestones. I stopped for a sandwich and coffee under an umbrella on the sidewalk, of course. Every meal I’ve had has been either outside on the sidewalk or inside on the other side of the glass with a good view of the action. 

I then found my way to La Reserva Costanera, a nature preserve, right  on the edge of one of the world’s largest cities. The reserve sits in a wet area on the waterfront south of the current port area. The water seems like the ocean, and in fact it is clear sailing from here to Africa. However, they call it the Rio de La Plata because the water is a mix of salt and fresh with lots of brown in it as the land of South America gradually wears down and is carried away by a huge river system. Miles of gravel paths wound through the preserve and I saw and abundance of birds and wildflowers. How great it felt to be back in spring again after weeks of bike riding and watching everything die. I spent most of the morning there. Most of the plants and birds were new to me and I could not identify them but did succeed with the Ceibo tree whose bright red blossom is the national flower of both Uruguay and Argentina. I encountered two varieties of thistles that I had never seen before but would see constantly on my journey. Some people may not like thistles but they have fragrant blooms and birds love them. I was only able to get a blurry picture of the emerald green hummingbird on a thistle bloom.

 I met a friendly couple running a juice stand on the sidewalk in front of the entrance to the reserve. They made me a tall glass of juice of orange, grapefruit and something else cut and squeezed as I watched. I saw bicycles everywhere. They came in all types with all types of riders. From senior citizens in regular clothes to roadies looking ready for the Tour de France they seemed everywhere. The couple selling juice described themselves as avid bike riders who got around entirely that way. I spent a long time there and even found a scenic spot to fix a flat tire. I found it interesting that so many porteños utilize the park with joggers in abundance. Women seemed to be comfortable traveling alone. I saw a pair of large distinctly colored birds feeding in a grassy area. They had young with them which seemed comic with oversized heads, baby feathers and spots on their heads. This colorful, noisy bird, tero común, (Vanellus chilensis) was to become a very common sight throughout the two countries. Only reluctantly I left the reserve to see other parts of the city. I rode past the ferry terminal where I got information for my trip to Uruguay. I continued through the port area and along the coast. I like the bustle of the port and the combination of space utility with everything cramped and space wasted by abandoned junk. In this picture a disused crane sits in the foreground while a presumably surplus church sits surrounded by shipping containers. As I traveled up the coast I was cut off from the city by the domestic airport. 

Eventually I worked my way over to the city and explored some parks. At one I began to see dog walkers, a common sight in Buenos Aires. After all my hard work it seemed only appropriate to stop for an ice cream. On my way back I was cruising down a street  called Libertador that purported to go to the center and my hotel. Instead I encountered a tunnel which banned bicycles and a side street blocked by a truck. When I finally got around the truck the street ended anyway. Eventually I found my way back to Libertador which eventually became 12 lanes n one direction. I never rode on such a wide street.  Porteños seem to love the outside. On Saturday every spot of grass seemed to attract sun lovers. Conversely, they love the shade as well. One of my first sights of the city was cars parked under trees along the sides of the freeway. These buses provide a good example of the search for shade. 

The next  morning I took an early detour down a mostly unused road off to the side of a portion of the port. Many of the buildings were abandoned warehouses and a military base. Cobblestones made me glad to be pedaling a mountain bike. At one point I passed a dirt parking lot full of trucks and surrounded by a chain link fence and tall shade trees. I saw a fellow doing his laundry in a bucket and hanging it on a rope tied between two trucks. I stopped to chat and could see right away that he was friendly. He said he wanted to keep his clothes from smelling and I told him I had the same problem. He is from Chile and has been driving a truck for over twenty years. He mostly hauls fruit with his refrigerated truck.  He agreed and said that he had been in Buenos Aires for a week awaiting a load. He drives all over the region and has a wife from Brazil suggesting he brought more than cargo home on one trip. His most recent cargo was bananas from Ecuador that had been shipped to Chile and carried over here to avoid either Tierra del Fuego or the Panama canal. Economics leads to interesting activities. His truck was a Mack and he was proud of its ability to climb the mountains to Chile. I told him my brother has three Macks and lives in Maine only 60 miles from the border with Canada. That seems like a long way from here. He said the trip was pretty easy now in the summer but that it was tough in the winter when he had to put chains on his tires. I got up my nerve to ask if I could take a picture and was rewarded with a big smile and agreement. Then he took my picture. I told him my name was Will or Guillermo in Spanish and he said he was he thought Yonny in English or Juan. We said our goodbyes and as I left I heard him say “ciao, amigo my friend.” Events like that are why I travel.

After another visit to the reserve I rode up to the train station, a grand old building past its prime but still impressive. I took off down a road beside the station that was soon completely deserted despite being in the middle of the city. I felt slightly nervous in this location but an occasional truck went by so I pedaled on. The tract of land ran between rail tracks, mostly commuter as long distance rail is less popular. The road dropped off next to some abandoned buildings and a one-way cobblestone street that went the wrong way. I followed it anyway and was surprised to look past some hedges and see bicycle racers. It turned out to be Parque Begrano, a park devoted mostly to bicycling but also to tennis, soccer and other activities. It cost only 66 cents to enter so I did and soon found my way to a track about a mile in length with lots of bicycles on it. The track consisted of different lanes for different speeds and attracted riders of all types and abilities. On the inside track racers dressed like the Tour de France spun along often in pace lines and on expensive bikes. I took a few spins around the track and enjoyed the experience but decided to stop for lunch at the tables in the middle. There lots of riders sat around in the glow that you feel after a good bout of exercise, chatting and eating. Leaving there I experienced some of the variety of Buenos Aires riding through parks that included boating, horses, basketball, soccer, and even a fellow removing weeds from a park pond.  An abandoned velodrome and a big outdoor crafts fair sort of provided bookends as the former had no people and the latter swarmed with shoppers.

I had a snack at a restaurant that sat along with three other restaurants and a park sat under a grand old rubber tree. This tree was to grand and big to show in pictures. The shade that it provided was so valuable that the restaurant had two sets of prices, one for inside and a higher one for outside. People sat on benches around the outside of the tree and one man even sold souvenirs out of a portable stand. I parked my bike and took a seat next to it enjoying the break from the heat. A hand made plaque claimed that two brothers planted it in 1800. Just across a small park from the tree sits the famous Recoleta Cemetery, final resting place of the porteños with the wealth and connections for this most prestigious burial spot. Despite its solemn purpose tourists make it one of the biggest attractions. Burial places show great creativity and art. I suppose when one has the wherewithal to get in there to begin with paying for an architect seems only logical.  After a super beginning in Argentina, my trip moved on to Uruguay.  

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