On the Road to Find Out

For some reason, Juan decided I was the best person to be in charge of the cows. He was off to plant wheat in some nearby farm all day and needed someone to take care of them. You would have thought he would have chosen someone who actually knew what the hell he was talking about. But no, he chose me.

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I think I’ve had a glimpse into my future. It involves basing myself next to a dairy, with a constant supply of cheese pumping through the window. If anyone knows how this can happen please let me know.

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The time has come to roll up my sleeves, grab a hoe and get to work, which is exactly what I have been doing. After 3 weeks in Uruguay, I headed to Buenos Aires for the weekend before hitting the farm; Granja Las Ondinas to be exact. This past week has brought with it the best and worst of meat eating.

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After 4 weeks in Buenos Aires my initial writing habit has begun to whither. There are a number of reasons for this:

• the appearance of Paynod & Rach

Okay, there’s just one reason for this, but it’s a good reason. Time has been occupied by parillas, football and and a wide variety of housemates. Most notable impact has to go to this fella:

Choripan

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Just a quick update.

Mario, the portero, asked me if I wanted to go to a gay club with him tonight. At first I thought he was joking, but after asking me 5 or 6 times I had to take him seriously. I feel our relationship could be heading to the next level! I have brushed him off for now though. I told him next week would be better. I hope he doesn’t realise that I’m moving out on Thursday!

I’m currently staying in an apartment in Palermo Hollywood (this is it’s official name but someone had a go at me yesterday for saying it. Apparently it’s a bit pompous. He much prefers Palermo Viejo. Maybe that’s what I should go with) in Buenos Aires.

My roommate is a guy called Alaric. He’s from the US (though if you ask him where he’s from he’ll say New Mexico. I think he’s trying to hide his roots!). He spends all day in bed. Although to be fair I should write; he spends all day in his bed, with his girlfriend. Normally they have the door open so I get to see into their world. He works away on his laptop while she lies there. Sometime they close the door. I can only imagine what they get up to then. Scrabble maybe. It’s normally followed by a shower so they must be pretty heated games.

The best thing about living in an apartment here though is the portero, which is basically a janitor. It’s taken me a while to get used to kissing him every time I see him, but other than that this guy is an absolute gem. Every question I have he has an answer. He knows everything. And he fixes everything double quick. Only two days ago did we have a leaky tap. Problem was solved in about 10 minutes. He does keep insisting I need to strengthen up though, mainly through buying polenta. I think maybe he’s on the polenta marketing board or something.

It’s impossible to ignore the portero’s advice though and so I have bought polenta. No immediate effect yet but I am hopeful.

(Oh yeah, and days of grapes and honey. This is the Spanish version of Days of Milk and Honey. I think maybe they’re forgetting the versatility of milk. Although thinking about this you can make wine out of grapes. You can’t make alcohol out of milk and it does go a bit funny after a few days (unless you have a magical Ecoworks fridge) so I might have to rethink this. Umm…)

I feel a little like Bobby Brown first thing in the morning; bewildered, confused, wondering what´s taking Whitney so long with those bleeding eggs.

I´m not sure I was ready for the city just yet. Wishing I could get out of bed, make my way to the porch, lie in a hammock and listen to the trees while occasional cats come by to say hello, with Daniela making some amazing lunch in the kitchen which she is about to tell me is ready.

I think I had it pretty cushy in that house of the forest. I may just have to go back there at some point.