rosario
Although it wasn't orginally in my plans I had wanted to see Rosario for one reason. It is the birth place of the iconic revolutionary Ernesto Che Guevara. Jacky extended her time with me by a week so I figured we would see a couple more places.
Rosario is about 5 hours inland from Buenos Aires and is situated on the river Parana. It is compact and quaint. There aren't a tremendous amount of things to see. Notable perhaps is the monument erected on the spot where General Belgrano erected the newly creted Argentine flag. It is an impressive structure but to my eye designed in a style not unlike that favoured by the nazi's. They commemorate the Generals death each year by carrying the worlds largest flag. I'd like to see it, it is over 10km long!
The buildings and churches are equally impressive. But as said I wanted to see something of Che. I was disappointed. I thought he would have received a little more rememberance but given Argentina's past record on smashing lefties I shouldn't have been so surprised. Even with Jacky's enquiries with taxi drivers all there is are two signs. One outside the apartment block where he was born. Ironically the ground floor is now occupied by a bank. And another sign outside the Che park. The park itself is small, rather bland and undistinguished. They only thing worthy to see is a wall mural of the great man. It is a shame that there is little else in the town. Especially if one thinks that his is possibly the most recognisable Argentine face of all time. Although few would know he's Argentine! Oh, and his grandparent was Irish.
Speaking of Irish, Rosario was the destination of many Irish emigrants. While we were in Rosario there was a festival given by schoolchildren. It was very well done. Each stand represented a different country, about a dozen in all (I was impressed to see an Iran exhibit!) with explanations of the country, its music and its food. On each stage they had dancing but it was all to clear that they were very alike across the nations. Of course, they had an Irish stand and the Irish dancing was quite amusing. That said, it was particularly pleasing to watch all those incredibly beautiful Argentine damsels without feeling like a perv.
I ordered a guinness (very original) and someone asked me where I am from. With my response he dashed off and soon some old geezer rushed up to me with a notebook. It turned out he wanted my name for his annual Irish society book. I struggled to understand him but I got the gist. Every year he organises the Irish stand and arranges trips to see the old sod. He explained a little of the Irish connection and its impact on rugby in the area. For a little while I was a celebrated visitor being introduced to the local Irish hobnobs. He even gave me the name of an Irish bozer in the town.
So off we went. I got pretty drunk and even fell off my chair much to everyones delight. The pub itself isn't Irish owned but the owner spent time in Ireland. I asked him where in Ireland he liked most and to my astonishment he siad Kilkee. My mothers home. The paper plate mats had a little story about the ficitious Irish man who came over to Argentina from Kilkee. Well that's something to tell the auld one!
Oh, I nearly got into a fight with two big Argys when I overheard them call Jacky a 'puta' which is spanish for wh*re! I spat out a whole series of invective before promptly jumping in a taxi before there was time to engage in combat.
Hehehe!
Rosario is about 5 hours inland from Buenos Aires and is situated on the river Parana. It is compact and quaint. There aren't a tremendous amount of things to see. Notable perhaps is the monument erected on the spot where General Belgrano erected the newly creted Argentine flag. It is an impressive structure but to my eye designed in a style not unlike that favoured by the nazi's. They commemorate the Generals death each year by carrying the worlds largest flag. I'd like to see it, it is over 10km long!
The buildings and churches are equally impressive. But as said I wanted to see something of Che. I was disappointed. I thought he would have received a little more rememberance but given Argentina's past record on smashing lefties I shouldn't have been so surprised. Even with Jacky's enquiries with taxi drivers all there is are two signs. One outside the apartment block where he was born. Ironically the ground floor is now occupied by a bank. And another sign outside the Che park. The park itself is small, rather bland and undistinguished. They only thing worthy to see is a wall mural of the great man. It is a shame that there is little else in the town. Especially if one thinks that his is possibly the most recognisable Argentine face of all time. Although few would know he's Argentine! Oh, and his grandparent was Irish.
Speaking of Irish, Rosario was the destination of many Irish emigrants. While we were in Rosario there was a festival given by schoolchildren. It was very well done. Each stand represented a different country, about a dozen in all (I was impressed to see an Iran exhibit!) with explanations of the country, its music and its food. On each stage they had dancing but it was all to clear that they were very alike across the nations. Of course, they had an Irish stand and the Irish dancing was quite amusing. That said, it was particularly pleasing to watch all those incredibly beautiful Argentine damsels without feeling like a perv.
I ordered a guinness (very original) and someone asked me where I am from. With my response he dashed off and soon some old geezer rushed up to me with a notebook. It turned out he wanted my name for his annual Irish society book. I struggled to understand him but I got the gist. Every year he organises the Irish stand and arranges trips to see the old sod. He explained a little of the Irish connection and its impact on rugby in the area. For a little while I was a celebrated visitor being introduced to the local Irish hobnobs. He even gave me the name of an Irish bozer in the town.
So off we went. I got pretty drunk and even fell off my chair much to everyones delight. The pub itself isn't Irish owned but the owner spent time in Ireland. I asked him where in Ireland he liked most and to my astonishment he siad Kilkee. My mothers home. The paper plate mats had a little story about the ficitious Irish man who came over to Argentina from Kilkee. Well that's something to tell the auld one!
Oh, I nearly got into a fight with two big Argys when I overheard them call Jacky a 'puta' which is spanish for wh*re! I spat out a whole series of invective before promptly jumping in a taxi before there was time to engage in combat.
Hehehe!
posted by Ciarán at 5:08 p.m.
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