"Why Did You Punch Me In The Face With My Own Fist?" : Buenos Aires Day 4 : Fri 24th Jan

Our last day in the Big Smoke sees us woken early by our roommate leaving, and leaving the door open. Brrrrrr. What a change in the weather. The ground is wet outside and the weather report says we ought to expect further rain and wind and whatever later on. After several days of walking the legs off ourselves, we realise there is only one thing to do: go out, walk as far as we can, then get a taxi back. We mosey around our neighbourhood looking for a curry house, but discover it is a little farther away than expected. Sarah's daily craving for Spag Bol has not diminished, and we hunt for a decent pasta place instead.

You would think this would be easy. In Latin America, it is easy to get caught up in the idea that, firstly, everyone on this entire continent knows everyone else, are friends, and that their countries have good relations with each other. Obviously this is mad. Cross a border and you will notice instantly the differences, both ethnically and culturally. Secondly, the assumption is that, because the continent (more or less) speaks Spanish, they are all like españoles. That is a very risky assumption. In Argentina, the European countries I have been most reminded of have been Italy and Germany.

Clearly immigration has played a big part of this. Italian cuisine (or some interpretation of it) is first and foremost here. Occasionally you will find a restaurant with traditional Iberian dishes (often regional; Galicia features heavily here), but mostly you will find pizza and pasta.

This would not be any sort of a problem if it was good. It isn't. Most pizzas are heaving with cheese, local muzzarella, and very unlike what we would know of as a pizza (often the toppings are under the cheese). All the folk beside me right now are having meatballs with spaghetti (except it isn't spaghetti, because spaghetti is impossible to find anywhere. No clear idea why that would be the case either).

The pasta is mostly pretty limp. I don't think its made with the same flour we use at home. The sauces seem to be made with ketchup. The mince is really lacking in something. Ravioli is everywhere and not really very exciting. There are varieties of pasta you can buy in the supermarket that I have never seen before, and some are very very small indeed.

With all this in mind, we wander back towards the San Telmo neighbourhood, to complete our search. We find some interesting things on the way.

On the edge of San Telmo we find this little place. Three course lunch (including undrinkable house wine, which was replaced by very drinkable house wine) for about £3. As expected, nothing like Spag Bol on the menu (is it just some sort of British invention, like curry? We had a chicken tikka masala back in the Gibraltar pub on Tuesday night and it was just a huge barbecued chicken fillet on a skewer, plus a blob of sauce on the side. Weird!). My little pasta pies were fine, spinach and ricotta I think, but the sauce on the top was a bit of a travesty. I need to go to Italy and compare these 'interpretations' with the real thing.

After that? More walking. We found some graffiti for the first time in this city, close to the border with the La Boca neighbourhood, so maybe that explains it.

Not sure about King Billy being in Argentina, given that they birthed the new Pope here.

Spot the cleverly painted bin.

Faculty of Engineering. A bit grand. A bit run down.

This trip has done nothing to foster good relations between me and pigeons. I HATE THEM.

This green door is the entrance to the narrowest house in Buenos Aires.

Here we have the mausoleum holding the remains of General Belgrano, Argentine Hero and all round good egg, apparently.

In my pocket I have a spare token for a game of pool at The Gibraltar pub. Nothing to do but go back there and use it, and have a nice pint whilst we're at it.