The One Where I Try the Miranda Chicken Salad

My first weekend post-marathon is all about exploring and relaxing, safe in the knowledge that I don't have to run anywhere if I don't want to. So of course, after last night's party, I began the weekend with a long lie-in.

My neighbour has told me about a great indoor organic market so I head there to buy farm-fresh organic eggs, mushrooms, tomato sauce and wine. I store the lot in my fridge because there's somewhere else I want to be.

I go back to Miranda, a restaurant one block from my place, on Costa Rica and Fitz Roy. It's a beautiful day so I take a seat outside in one of the comfy director's chairs with a little wooden table. We're on the street corner so it's a little noisy with traffic, but perfect for people-watching. 

People-watching at Miranda is people-watching the rich. The type of people who come here are American and British ex-pats, Brazilian tourists and fairly rich locals with beautiful clothes, high heels and designer sunglasses. But the atmosphere is so friendly and I feel relaxed even sitting by myself.

Although the restaurant is a parrilla, famous for steak and other meat, I have my eye on the chicken salad, which my British landlord has told me is to die for. I can't imagine what can be so amazing about a chicken salad, but I order the Ensalada Jacinta anyway. And when it comes, I understand perfectly. 

The Ensalada Jacinta

At the risk of sounding like a Marks & Spencers advert, the Miranda chicken salad is not just any chicken salad. Theirs is a veritable mouthwatering feast fit for a family of four. It includes an enormous bed of lettuce topped with grilled chicken breasts, red peppers, two large grilled wheels of pumpkin, parmesan cheese, sundried tomatoes, sunflower seeds and an incredibly sumptuous mustard vinaigrette. I am literally salivating just looking at this picture. Miranda, I will be coming back often. 

Carbing Up for the Big Day

Because Argentina is a bit backward compared with the rest of the world, they don't have a very good system for picking up marathon race packs. Instead of sending out t-shirts and race numbers to people's homes, they make us go to an exhibition centre between certain hours of the day. Obviously I couldn't go yesterday because I was at work, so I decide to run from the Bosques de Palermo and get to know the city a little on my way. A short jog the day before the marathon can't hurt too much - providing I don't get too lost.

I am a little concerned they won't let me pick up my race pack because I need ID to do so, and I've already handed my passport to the visa company so they can crack on with sorting out my papers. If they turn me away, this will all have been one long, expensive, rushed journey to come to Buenos Aires in time for the marathon! 

Thankfully, I get to the exhibition centre and they don't even check my photocopied ID. There are dozens of stalls selling running-related paraphernalia, and there are tons of would-be marathon runners from all over the world. I hear Brazilians, Chileans, Venezuelans... people from pretty much everywhere in Latin America, but I don't hear any fellow Brits. I pick up a couple of energy gel sachets for tomorrow and I take up the free offer to get my name printed on the back of my bright yellow Adidas running vest.

All set.

I find my way back to my flat, shower and head to nearby restaurant Trastevere, on the corner of Fitzroy and Costa Rica, one block from my place. I need to do some serious carbing up, so I order a simple tomatoey pasta dish. The restaurant is very cool and hip, with the waiters and waitresses sporting a very Argentine grungey look, but I feel out of place here sitting by myself. I lap up my pasta and head for a wander around the neighbourhood.

Cool mural inside Trastevere

After an afternoon of shopping and catching up on a few emails, I retire back to my flat and order a pizza - a few more carbs before the big day can't hurt. The pizza, from Pizza y Espuma on the corner of El Salvador with Fitzroy, is just OK. But I can settle for that, as long as I get my carbs.

Lost in Buenos Aires

Oh god, what a loooong day.

I finally touch down at Ezeiza airport in Buenos Aires at 13:30 this afternoon and get the taxi straight to Palermo Hollywood - the name of my über-cool new neighbourhood, don't you know. I had very jammily managed to find myself an amazing-looking flat here when I was back in England, through a friend of a friend. Jammy, I say, because it turns out the flat is even better than it looks in the pictures - two huge double bedrooms, two living rooms, a lovely bathroom with bathtub, a gorgeous kitchen full of all the amenities I could possibly ever require and, best of all, original wood flooring and super-high ceilings throughout. 

I love it.

The British landlord, who just happens to live in Spain, has arranged for his American neighbour to let me in and hand over the keys, which she does with utmost efficiency. (I had been slightly concerned that I would arrive here at 3pm and it would all be one terrible hoax and I'd be left homeless on the mean streets of Buenos Aires...) 

Anyway, no time for messing about. I spend a little time unpacking, have a Skype chat with The Irishman and send a couple of emails, and then of course it is time to go for a run. Lest we forget, I have a marathon to run on Sunday and I haven't been able to train for about five days with all the mayhem of packing and moving. My neighbour tells me there's a huge park called the Bosques de Palermo about 15 minutes' walk from the flat, so I set off walking that way at 6pm to try and go for my run before the sun sets.

Sadly, the ability to look at a map and memorise a few directions successfully has never been my forté. Arriving at the big main road that she told me to cross, I realise there are several options I can take. 

Cross and go right? 

Cross and go left? 

Cross and go straight on, as she has directed me, is not an option, as there is a big gated park in front, and I don't think that's the park she was talking about, for some reason...

Cross and go left it is then.

Wrong.

I end up getting completely lost around some back streets of Buenos Aires and, after asking several people where I can find the Bosques de Palermo, I'm met with responses ranging from "Oh, it can't be far, just walk five minutes that way" to "Oh, you're waaaaay far away from that, you'll have to get a taxi" to completely blank looks indicating "I really have no idea, and you appear to be foreign..."

About an hour later, I make it to the park, just as the sun is setting. There's a beautiful running track around a lake - this has to be where she meant. I run about 5 kilometres using my Garmin tracker and I'm pretty impressed I can even run in 30-degree-C heat with jetlag. Funnily enough, I manage to run quite well in the heat and I eventually find my way back to the flat, sweating and having really earned my first shower.

After all that adventure, it's time for bed. My first day at work tomorrow looms...

Girl About Buenos Aires

Seven months ago, I decided to move from London to Buenos Aires. I have been in love with Latin America ever since I went to live in Brazil in August 2000, and I’ve been back to the region many times since. I worked in São Paulo for a couple of years in 2007-8 and, though I loved it, it was a lonely experience for a young twenty-something female. I went back to live in London and vowed that if I ever moved back to Latin America, I would go as part of a family, where I could enjoy the sunshine, lavish living arrangements and incredible food and drink opportunities with my husband and children. I also vowed that if I ever went back to live, it would be to Buenos Aires, a city I simply fell in love with when I visited in 2007 and 2008.

Alas, after two and a half years back in London, I found myself 28 years old, still single and in a bit of a career rut. I’d been working as a journalist covering Brazilian financial news for three years, and there comes a point where there isn’t much more original material you can produce about a country 5,000 miles away. My employer – a large, global financial media company – had people in South America just begging me to move back to the region, while their European counterparts seemed a little indifferent to me. Moving to Buenos Aires, Mexico City or São Paulo could do wonders for my career and I desperately wanted to continue working with the region. So when the lovely, British editor out in Argentina mentioned there was an opportunity coming up for a commodities and energy correspondent in Argentine, I didn’t need long to think about it.

To Marry an Argentine Stallion? 

The only question was my love life. I’d always reasoned that I didn’t want to settle down with a Latin American man – let’s just say I’d been there, done that and, though I have always been very attracted to the Latino type, I figured I’d be happier with a nice, down-to-earth Yorkshire man, or at least someone who knew a bit more about my childhood, background and culture. But, after three years of crappy dates, men who didn’t call and, well, let’s just say a withering talent pool, I figured I wasn’t getting anywhere in England and, anyway, love only comes when you’re least expecting it. What difference would a few years in Buenos Aires make? And maybe I would meet a nice, charming Argentine stallion along the way…

So, that was the decision made. I would move all my belongings to Argentina and make a proper life of it. I was desperately excited. Little did I know it would take an interminable seven months to get my business visa, and in that time I would meet the love of my life, a dashing Irish man, back on home territory. Typical – men are like buses! But I knew I’d be crazy to give up my big Argie opportunity for a man I’d only known for a couple of months, so I decided to move there for a shorter period before moving to Ireland for my man.

Marathon Training

I also decided a few months ago to run the Buenos Aires marathon. Running the 26 miles has always been on my list of things to do before I’m 30 and, since I’m 29 already and will probably be away for the London marathon next April, I figured I better start soon. The marathon is October 9. 

So, today, when I finally got my visa, I booked my flight to Buenos Aires straight away. I’ll be arriving on October 5, just in time to settle in for a few days before the big run. So… exactly one week to go. Buenos Aires, here I come!