Nov-2015

We have changed our minds a bit about moving.  A tall new flat with a lift and easy access would give me independent access with my buggy.  Amber would not have the requirement to accompany me, nor to lift the buggy in/out (approx. once a day), nor to carry the battery up to the flat for recharging (approx. twice a week).  All that is good.  But a new flat would be very character-less, and would not be in the “casco historico”, an area 1 block south, 3 blocks north, 2 blocks east and 4 blocks west, which is the essential San Telmo and within which there are strict (and adhered to) restrictions on new building.  I don’t very much mind the lack of independent mobility, and Amber gets around rather a lot (tennis 3/week, yoga 3/week, errands once or twice per day).  The stairs are a chore, but only yesterday I boasted to Amber that a just-completed climb was my easiest and most energetic climb since my stroke.  Doom must come eventually, but it is certainly not impending.  And we like our flat – it is remarkably light and airy, comfortable, suits us, has character, and is in an A1 location.  We sit here and feel “in” BA, whereas in a new high-up flat we could be anywhere.  Those of you who have visited the flat will know what I mean.  It is something like comparing a pretty cottage on the village green with a high-rise on the outskirts.  So I think we’ll just look around San Telmo in case anything (Yes!  This is IT!] turns up.  (This is self-indulgent verbiage, but writing it down does help to clear the mind)    

We are trying to get tickets for a Stones concert in La Plata.  They are on on 10, 13 and 17 of Feb.  But also doing concerts in Argentina round then are Sting, Morrisey, David Gilmour, UB40, etc.  They can’t all need the money.  What would it take to get Charlie Watts etc to come away from home with a comfortable and idyllic lifestyle for a couple of weeks?   You would have to work really hard to come up with a clinching entertainment package to entice people who have had every whim catered for several times over during their lives.

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I got my DNI (Documento Nacional de Identidad) last week, after much bureaucracy.  All my original Argentine documents were time-expired.  I am now as Argentine as President Cristina de Kirchner.  Or as the pope!  Among other things, it allows me to stay indefinitely in the country (there is a 90-day limit for people without a DNI).  I’ll get an Argentine passport soon, and Amber is also applying for her DNI.  She will be a full resident, but not a full Argie.

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More on Stones: the tickets are about us$1,000 each!  Furggeddarbahrdit!  Perhaps they are doing it for the money after all.

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Sally and Steve came on their way back, after their wine tour of Chile.  On the same day Anna arrived for a 3-4 week stay.  We just sat around all day in the flat, it was so rainy.  Went out in the evening for a good asado with malbec at El Desnivel a couple of blocks away.  

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And it has been cold, too, in the low 20s.  I remember previously at this time of year floating in the swimming pool at midnight with a gin and tonic.  Anyway, a day later, and it is fine again.

Anna has been teaching me how people pair up as if by magic to dance in a crowded milonga (tango dance).  A man will come from the other side of the room, hold out his hand to a woman, who then stands, and they start dancing – no fuss, how did they manage that?  What happens is that you look intently at someone you want to dance with, to catch their eye.  Once eye contact is made, the recipient can nod to agree, or look away if not.  No embarrassment, no hurt feelings.  I can think of quite a few other life situations where such an agreed system would work well.

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We are so delighted that the Anthony Gormley exhibition, where about 30 identical life size man sculptures are placed on the edge of tall buildings in the city, has finally opened in Hong Kong.  Cass has been working so hard to make it happen for the last three years, through various ups and downs (including a banker throwing himself off one of the proposed sites).  So it is a real feather in his cap.  And Oak was there as the official photographer.