Underappreciating History

As I mentioned earlier, Lisa's computer malfunctioned shortly before my arrival, so we had been without technology for a few days. On the one hand, this was great for me. I tend to spend too much time in front of the computer at home and welcomed the break. On the other hand, it made it a little difficult for me to get around autonomously if Lisa was working. It's amazing how much we rely on technology for maps, bus schedules, hours of operation and general information. All I had was my tour book with its incomplete maps and the best directions other people could give. This usually sufficed, but not always. 

We weren't sure what the computer's problem was. It just seemed to have died. We tried charging it at various outlets with different chargers but to no avail. It simply wouldn't turn on. So that morning we went to a computer repair shop that one of Lisa's friend's had recommended. The young men working there were very friendly and chatted with us a bit. Lisa presented her computer to one of them and told him it simply would not turn on. He pressed the power button and within a couple of seconds we heard the glorious "Ahh!" tone that signals a Mac's start-up. Lisa looked at me, eyes wide, horrified. We couldn't believe it. The tech guys stifled their laughter as we explained how we had tried everything to get it to charge and turn on. Apparently, it just wanted the magic touch of a professional (and to humiliate us). We never had an issue with it again.

We left the repair shop and walked to the nearest metro that would take us downtown to Lisa's job, chatting on the way about how stupid we felt about the computer. Neither of us are dummies when it comes to technology, so it was particularly embarrassing. Our train arrived downtown and we parted ways. I was hungry for breakfast so I stopped into a Starbucks (strike two!) on Calle Florida where I had a thoroughly depressing sandwich. Then I walked north to the cybercafe that I had visited before. Again it was blasting tango hits and remixes thereof. I chatted with Charlie online for a bit and then continued on. My mission that day was to secure props for the next episode of Smoking in the Park, which I was nervous to attempt alone due to my novice palate for tobacco.

I walked along Calle Reconquista, looking for an inconspicuous La Casa del Habano tobacco shop. As I wandered up and down between the couple of blocks where the store supposedly was, I noticed everyone wore business attire. This was the ritziest street I had seen in the city so far and I felt very underdressed and out of place. Finally I found the shop, the sign for which was not obvious because it was a joint cigar/wine store with an emphasis on the wine. The place was classy, all intimately lit and cloaked in shiny, dark wood. A mere two steps inside the door I was approached by a salesman in a suit and half expected to be thrown out for my own shabby attire. I told him I was looking for cigars and he humbly waved me toward the humidor. He stood by at attention, hands behind his back, ready to assist me. I browsed the shelves for a couple of minutes but didn't have my glasses on so I couldn't really see the names on the boxes. Charlie had advised me on a couple that I might like to try, so I asked for them. The salesman took a couple of boxes off the shelf and presented them to me. I selected one cigar out of each box ones that were a manageable size for my scant smoking habit, not paying attention to what type of cigar they even were. I lightly squeezed them and inspected the wrapper for dryness or imperfections. I bought two and then asked myself why the hell I did; the task of smoking both before I left seemed daunting (I have a cigar about twice a year, max). I think I was just trying to show off that I knew something, even if just a little, about cigars. I'm sure the attendant knew I was completely full of shit. Oh well. Mission accomplished.

I walked up to Plaza San Martín to visit the Museo de Armas de la Nación (National Weaponry Museum). As I approached, I noticed an interesting building on the other side of the small park near the plaza. I walked over to it and found that it was the Basílica del Santísimo Sacramento, built in 1916.

I'm surprised I didn't go in. Maybe it was closed.

I walked back around the park and into the weapons museum's domed entryway, decorated with a cannon and a couple suits of armor. On the other side I was greeted by a friendly, white-haired man who flirted with me and smiled suggestively as he issued my entry to the museum. He expressed disbelief that such a pretty girl could be wandering around so alone. He probably would have escorted me wherever I wanted to go if I had asked.

The museum contained several very interesting and odd pieces and the building housing it was lovely. I don't know much about weapons so I'm sure I didn't look as closely as someone with more knowledge might have, but there were a few highlights for me:

Never mess with someone with a cane. It might be a sword.

Rocket

Horse gas mask

Explody things

South Americaaa, FUCK YEAH!

Unusual pistols

An Argentine collector had donated an impressive array of Asian weaponry, including several pieces of Japanese armor.

Next I tried to go to the Museo de la Policía Federal (Federal Police Museum), which boasted a gory forensics exhibit that sounded fascinating to me. Again, there were no obvious signs for the place so I had to ask the man who seemed to be overseeing the entrance of the building I thought it was in. He told me that I was in the right place but that it was closed for reasons I didn't understand at the time due to the noise from the street stifling his quick Argentine speech. Later when I looked in my tour book I realized that it was just because it was closed on Mondays.

Instead, I went across the street to Museo Mitre, the former palace of Bartolomé Mitre, president of Argentina from 1862-1868. The museum mainly contained his possessions, but also a few other pieces of historical significance. Unfortunately, the majority of it was poorly displayed behind highly reflective or cloudy plexiglass and there were few rooms you could actually enter. After I paid at the entrance, the elderly fellow manning the desk informed me that I would have to leave my purse in a secured locker. Even if I wanted to steal something it would have been impossible because there were two or three people lurking nearby and watching my every move at all times. I was the only person in the museum.

"Gold metal pocket sextant from the mid-19th century. Hinged case, 24-hour interior circle completely engraved with the cardinal points, names of cities and numbers, in German.
Used during the Paraguayan War".

Courtyard

Dining room

Library

Interesting collection

The archives. It would have been nice if you could actually get close enough to see the titles on these volumes instead of peering through a window at the end of the room.

I left the disappointing museum and found Lisa. We went home to Chacarita and took a nap (as usual). Rain began to pour during the afternoon so we were less-than-inclined to venture out in search of food, despite our hunger. This was a warm, semi-tropical rain unlike anything you see in Seattle. A wall of water barreled down from the sky and made swimming pools of everything it touched. Newly endowed with a working computer, we used it to order Chinese takeout and made some poor sap deliver it to us during the deluge. I didn't have high hopes for Chinese cuisine in Argentina, so I was pleasantly surprised to find that my pork chow mein was delicious.