"Well I am disappointed we didn't see Peru. I'd have liked to went to Peru. Is it far from here?" asked Candy from Atlanta.
"Hahaha," laughed Bud from Whynot, nearby Ham Lake, Minnesota, who for a living was employed to care of lost canines, so if you find one just contact him on facebook. He should set up an office-kennel here and round up the wild yet friendly street mutts of Latin America. When he'd stopped laughing, he said, "Get some of that Peruvian marching powder up your nose, Candy, and you can walk it."
"Oh yeah?" said Candy, perking up.
An elderly lady, and former LA stripper, who dressed like an 18 year old and had found God so she'd quit the striptease lark to preach the word of the Lord because He on High pays regular and better, asked "Do they do good steak here?" which inspired me to go out for a slab of sirloin too. I also needed to buy another Che Guevara t-shirt as the first one had been mislaid somewhere along the road, either that or a chambermaid had nicked it.
Ten minutes later it was a short walk further on to Obelisco where I sat and skinned up, watching native Indian families sit drinking everyone's friend Mate, kids chasing each other up and over a grass verge, round and around, oblivious to all else but the game, whatever that was, their energy dispersing the gloom I'd previously felt in this city, world famous for its tango music and accompanying dance, which I stumbled upon al fresco as I strolled back to the hotel.
The very poor - entire families - are out on the pavement huddling under plastic sheets in cold wind and rain, vermin everywhere, while the businessmen and politicians who have engineered this latest economic collapse go entirely unaffected, as if nothing had happened, and as my head hit the pillow in the retro 1970s bedroom of the fine two star Hotel Tucuman, my final thought was 'what they really need is another Che Guevara.'
Viva la revolucion!
When I arrived at the very military looking airport there was a scrum of photographers and TV cameraman from which emerged this small chap in green shirt (see photo below right) pulling his suitcase, and it was none other than Ezequiel Lavezzi, a footballer who had been playing for his country and was now heading back on Air France, first class of course, to resume duties with his club side Paris Saint-Germain. As he went by he looked me straight in the eye with a big smile on his face. For some reason he has been nicknamed 'el Pocho' or 'the Chubby One' by the Argentinian press, but he looked pretty trim to me.