I had been told by a couple of people familiar with Rosario that it was a nice city, about 4 hours away from BA. The girl at the hostel told us that it was nice, but there wasn’t anything touristy there. We changed our hostel reservation from 3 nights to 2 nights.
A good idea, in fact, because as nice as Rosario seems to live, you can really see almost everything there is to see in two days. Even their toursim touts “Rosario en 48 horas…”
We get to Rosario Sunday night, about 7 pm. The hostel is 9 blocks from the bus station, but we opt for the cab ride. It was hard finding a hostel, as there really is no tourism here, but I managed to find one on hostelworld.com that claimed to have WiFi, showers in the rooms.
We are the ONLY people at this hostel.
Literally.
The hostel is one of the most threadbare hostels I have ever been in. The walls have holes in it. The beds are sinking in the middle, which is shocking because it seems like no one has ever been here. The door handles are helt together with pins. And by pins, I mean pins, sticking out in a rudimentary way.
I ask where the shower is, as the room has a small room with a toilet. Mark pokes me and points… THE SHOWER HEAD IS RIGHT OPPOSITE THE TOILET. That’s right. There is no bathtub, there is a shower head, no curtain to separate where you shower from where you answer nature’s call. You shower and squeegee the floor when you’re done.
Oh, and the shower is dripping. There is a bucket under the shower head, and there’s a dirty towel on the floor underneath it.
Mark is horrified. He’s never had an experience like this, and although I have, it was quite a step down from the BA hostel. I gave him the option of leaving, but he decided to tough it out. He took it a lot better than I though he would.
It’s also colder in the hostel than it is outside. And it’s COLD outside.
I’m not sure how many layers of clothes I slept in. and I’m not sure how I was brave enough to shower in that bathroom, but the water was very hot and had good pressure. The floor wasn’t dirty at all, and even though I’m kicking myself for leaving my flip-flops in BA, it wasn’t bad at all. I showered in steaming-hot water, and when I wanted to wash my face, I used the cool water from the sink. Kind of surreal. And not nearly as gross as I expected.
The next morning, the young guy working the desk, who looks just like Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High, made us a couple of cafés con leche, gave us a basket of croissants and dulce de leche for speading. The best breakfast we’d had, actually.
Eating in Rosario
La Huella: corner of Carlos Pellgrini and Entre Rios. Entre Rios 1702. There were not a lot of people there on a Sunday night, but it was a really nice-looking restaurant, lots of exposed brick. Clean as a whistel, good prices, and it’s parilla. Can’t mess up grilled meat THAT badly.
There is a room on the side, which we’re noticing a lot in these restaurants in Rosario, that’s a kid playroom. Fantastic idea! It’s staffed, and while the Rosarinos are indulging in wine and three-hour meals, the kids can play, make friends, and not bother the hell out of their parents and the other diners.
We chose a table right in the path of the playroom and this one particulr kid’s parents. He must have run back and forth about 10 times. The kid comes by the table and stares at me, and our breadsticks. I ask him if he wants one. He nod. I give him a breadstick and he runs to his mom and uses it as some kind of magic wand. The next time he ran by, he just took our breadstick. It was pretty cute, surprisingly.
Mark orders the “matambre” of veal in a roqufort sauce. Matambre is some kind of thin rolled, seasoned meat. I order the grilled lamb. “A punto,” this time. And an order of Canneloni a la Rossini, which a colleague of ours and some cabbie had previously told is divine. We are a bit saddened to discover that there are people in the restaurant eating SALAD and it’s actually not made of shitty iceberg lettuce and some sad-looking vegetables. Could’ve used that.
Mark’s veal comes, and it’t about two plates long, covered in Roquefort sauce. The sauce is divine, and the veal is tasty but not what we’re used to… they included the flavorful but very chewy layer of fat. My lamb is perfectly seasoned. The canneloni is not actually made from rolled pasta, but crepe dough, filled with escarole and DROWNING in bechamel. Wee’ve seen many people order many pasta dishes at many restaurants at this point, and it seems that’s how Italian is done in Argentina. Ick.
Overall, the food is great. The waiter is attentive, enjoying practicing his minimal English, smiling, polite, helpful. Mark ordered “panqueques con dulce de leche,” which isn’t pancakes at all, but perfectly done crepes, carmelized on top and filled with dulce de leche. I order the budin, but I’m quite happy when I realize our quite lovely waiter didn’t hear me order it. Sharing the crepes was decedence enough. Oof.
All that, and a couple of cups of coffee, set us back a grand total of US$25. Holy cow.
The best part? The waiter asked us where we were from, and he not only gave us all his Rosario recommendations, but he insisted we take his bus pass to we could get back to the hostel without taking a cab. He opened his wallet right up and insisted we have it.
I don’t remember the last time I got tipped by a waiter.
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