Our Journal

Formosa

This entrance to Argentina is nothing like the Iguazu area.  The dividing line between countries is not as clear and the towns are more depressed in poverty.  At a police check outside of Formosa we got grilled on paperwork again and they asked for the same insurance paper.  I had called the Argentinean embassy back in Brasilia asking if this was necessary and had inquired at the border and was told that it wasn’t.  The police outlined our options, leave the bikes with them while we went into town to get insurance which they didn’t think was available for foreigners, or pay them $100 a bike for a fine.  By some loophole in the law, they explained, you can’t be fined for the same infraction in 30 day period so we would have 30 days to drive through the country.  We stalled and complained and after a while they agreed to let us drive into Formosa and resolve our problem, but that we wouldn’t be allowed to get out of the city past the police checks. 

Formosa is on the river separating Paraguay and Argentina.  Driving into town it didn’t look like much, a poor border town but we found a nice central plaza with where four main tree covered esplanades meet.  The river has a nice walk with cafes and restaurants where we found a hotel and planted until we could resolve our insurance problem.  We soon learned that Argentina has very different rules and times for doing things.  Siesta lasts from around noon to around five.  Dinner is late.  At nine everything is empty, by 11 restaurants are packed. 

We ate at a street café and saw that some kind of music concert was going on next door.  It was definitely the “society” of town and they allowed us to come in without a reservation or ticket.  The concert hall was packed with almost all women around tables listening to romantic songs being belted out on stage.  Feeling silly but not wanted to walk out we stayed until the end.  Three women next to us struck up conversation after they had downed a good amount of wine.  They took us to the casino next door afterward where we played slot machines until late.  Matt had a machine that flowed out change that made up for what the rest of us lost.  One of the girls took to slots like a crack addict and we had to pry her away to leave.  We said our goodbyes and made plans to hang out later in the week.  What we didn’t know was that they all worked reception at our hotel and were so embarrassed the next day we all hardly spoke. 

We visited insurance offices the next day but no one wanted to sell us insurance on our bikes.  That night, the girls directed us to Bambu where they said we would meet many locals.  It was this night that our stay in Formosa changed.  We walked in, ordered beers, and I started talking to a bearded buy next to me, Carli.  He turned out to be a bike mechanic and he took us into his circle.  After dancing all night with his girls (we later labeled “Carli’s Angels”) we all went out afterward.  His car, an old classic chevy, had been in his family for 36 years and had been patched together just enough to keep running.  Carli sat low rider style at we cruised town all packed in.  The night ended in a café at dawn.  Carli had to go help his brother open the garage and left us with the phrase that would summarize the coming week, “sleep when you die.”  We slept most of the next day and made it outdoors to look for insurance. 

We found an office we hadn’t tried and inside found Ofelia who smiled as if she had been waiting for us, dressed for the disco.  Of course she wanted to sell us insurance and even finagled a policy that would look like we had bought the obligatory six month time period but we only had to pay two months.  She flirted and doted on us and had us like putty in her hands.  If we had been Chinamen, she could have sold us rice.  After printing all the official papers she walked us through each line pausing at our names which she loved repeating… “Aqui dice tu nombre, Christopher Eric Davis, un nombre espectacular!”  We sat around the office talking to her and the boss, all as nice as could be.  

That night we decided to stay in and catch up on missed sleep.  But, for some reason I woke up at 2 am, restless.  I sat on the balcony overlooking a disco called “Z”, the Friday night spot.  Carli pulled up and parked in front.  I knew it was his ride because of the one headlight, splotched paint job, Che Guevara sticker in the window, and posse of girls that got out.  I woke up Matt and we walked over to meet the clan, just to say hello I told him.  We walked in and Carli immediately grabbed us and pulled us into the VIP who’s who of Formosa section.  Carli wanted to make sure we met everyone, the owner, ex-president Menem’s son (a bastard relation), and of course anyone with a motorcycle.  More dancing until late and hanging out in cafes talking until near dawn. 

We slept until afternoon and that night walked in zombie like state to a street restaurant.  Before we could finish eating Carli’s ride appeared and he sat wit us while we finished.  We had ordered a cheap bottle of wine, good stuff by our standards, but Carli insisted we come with him to learn something about Argentinean wines.  We pulled up to a closed wine and cigar store at 1 am, but Carli made a quick call and the owner, Gustavo, appeared in the doorway and led us in.  He pulled out bottle after bottle and basically led us a through a crash course in Argentinian cabernets, syrahs, and malbecs, all sampled through a large communal glass that got nastier as the night stretched on due the residue left from the coca leaves they were both chewing.  We walked out around 4 am.  Carli’s cell phone had been going off all night, the angels wondering where we were, and we drove over to the Saturday night disco.  More Argentineans crammed into a small space not really dancing just standing around, then cruising in Carli’s car, and talking in cafes until dawn.  And this became our life for a couple of weeks.  We saw less and less of the day, more of the night, and everyone started taking on vampire-like qualities.  Hanging out take precedence over everything.  We were no longer in control of our own lives and settled in feeling complacent and taken care of.

I started to notice that Carli almost never slept, drove around town constantly in his low rider or on a moped.  Everyone in his circle seemed to be a misfit or from a broken home.  He seemed to take care of everyone.  The doctor who had difficulty communicating from a speech impediment, single mothers, unemployed, Menem’s son after a motorcycle accident, and of course, two lost gringos.  He has a big bike ready for travel but says he’s not quite ready yet.  He and his brother both have degrees in design but work as mechanics.  Their shop is really just an excuse to hang out and drink matte or beer after hours.  I never actually saw any money change hands and they absolutely refused payment after about 5 hours on my bike.

About Matte - a hot herbal tea, or in cold form, Terere, is passed around everywhere.  Old women carry their thermos under their arm like some kind of life-support system.  And everything always out of the communal cup be it wine, beer, or matte.  Matte drinking is everywhere, except you won’t see it sold in cafes or restaurants.  We’re told you’ve done well if you’ve been invited into a matte circle.  In Formosa they drink it cold adding herbs, mango leaves or some other secret house recipe.  Further south it is all hot matte out of the communal cup and weird metal straw that looks like some kind of opium pipe.  They don’t worry about shared germs and just laugh when we mention it.  

One morning, after a night of going out, the girls decided they wanted to cook an asado (barbecue) for us.  We took it as drunk talk but at noon the next day Carli was sent to pick us up and we drove out to a house where the same clan had stayed up all night, all morning, to cook a big spread of salads and meats.  They don’t sleep! 

The next day I brought my bike over to Carli’s garage and gave it a good bath.  He showed me how to get the carburetor off and took it apart to clean it.  We met Alejandro from Buenos Aires who travels the whole country distributing motorcycle parts.  We went over maps and routes with him and got our route more or less planned out.  The distances and places to go are endless.  He yelled, “Argentina es grande, Flaco!”  Alejando is “porteno”, from Buenos Aires and the difference in personality and speech contrasted with the Formosa folk.  As we later learned, Formosa is not typically Argentinean, quite poor comparatively, lots of influence from across the river, and some the nicest Argentineans to be met. 

More midnight dinners and nights out, endless hang-out time.  After two weeks of this the lines under my eyes were indicating that we had to leave, immediately!  The lifestyle was too nice, the social life getting more absorbing.  Stay forever or move on.  We said goodbyes with Carli and friends over lunch and drove on to Corrientes.

un abrazo, Chris

contact us:  chris@isabm.com   matt@isabm.com