Uruguayan Fried Fish
It's a thirty-five minute flight from Buenos Aires to Montevideo, which I believe is the shortest flight I've ever taken in my life.
Montevideo on a Sunday evening in early January is an overwhelming horde of people lounging, wading, eating, sunning, swimming, biking, and walking along the 20Km stretch of beach that makes up much of the city's border.
Our cab driver probably cheated us by taking the long route (along the coast) from the airport to our hotel, but it was very helpful in helping us decide between the beaches of Punta del Este or the historic town of Colonia. The masses on the beach made it clear -- we were going to head for the sleepier northern town on the river rather than the crowds of the beaches.
We walked to dinner at El Fogon. E's pulpo a la gallega was amazing. My order of merluza a la marinera came as a lightly fried filet without tomatoes or any kind of sauce.
Assuming I knew what I'd ordered (to some degree, expecting at a minimum some tomatoes) I told the waiter that my dish was not what I had ordered.
After a look of confusion, he apologized profusely. He took the dish away and returned, triumphant, 5 minutes later, with the same fish, obviously much more elaborately battered and fried.
At this point, I remembered that a la napolitana was what I wanted, and E laughed hysterically at the likely conversation in the kitchen, because clearly, in this restaurant, a la marinera just meant *fried*:
Those Americans sent this marinera back because it isn't fried to their standards. You know Americans. They invented KFC. Could you please fry it some more for them?
January 11, 2011
Happy
The greatest thing about this trip is the uninterrupted time with my best friend. In hindsight, I remember saying the same thing about our Asia trip in 2008. And, historically, we've left the country together at least once every 12 months, so the last 20 months have been something of an anomaly. But still, the wonderful togetherness and sharing of things that haven't been shared with anyone else -- they are the happiest and most unique glue in our relationship.
I'm not sure what I did to deserve such a wonderful husband who feels that travel in my style is good (e.g. with partial-planning of the big things but with lots of seat-of-the-pants adventures). But, I hope to keep it up.
Traveling the world with someone who shares my values is an amazing gift. I am grateful. We've been to two Catholic churches this trip, and in both I've left an offering and taken the time to kneel and give thanks for many things (you may note, I feel free to worship in pretty much any sacred place). My wonderful husband, best friend, supporter, and fun travel friend -- this has been the object of the first of my thanks in each case.
In many touchy-feely events and classes I've attended throughout my life, I've been asked to define what "success" means to me. I've never really known how to answer. Generally, my feeling has been, "I'll let you know if I get there."
Yesterday, I thought of those events and smiled. We were sitting outside under a metal awning in a restaurant that looked like a 50's drive-in but had table service, in Montevideo, on the corner of Ejido and 18 de Julio (the main street of the capital of Uruguay). I was enjoying a chivito sandwich (with a fried egg!), while E was eating mushroom raviolli, and, of course, both of us sipped on agua mineral con gas y vino while sharing a salad of palmitos. For more than 2 hours, we watched the world go by in the city with the highest literacy rate in South America, and leisurely felt at home in the pace of life and language of our 5th continent and 13th country together.
I don't think I've never smiled when thinking about my own definition of "success" before. So, I guess that's something kind of big.
The greatest thing about this trip is the uninterrupted time with my best friend. In hindsight, I remember saying the same thing about our Asia trip in 2008. And, historically, we've left the country together at least once every 12 months, so the last 20 months have been something of an anomaly. But still, the wonderful togetherness and sharing of things that haven't been shared with anyone else -- they are the happiest and most unique glue in our relationship.
I'm not sure what I did to deserve such a wonderful husband who feels that travel in my style is good (e.g. with partial-planning of the big things but with lots of seat-of-the-pants adventures). But, I hope to keep it up.
Traveling the world with someone who shares my values is an amazing gift. I am grateful. We've been to two Catholic churches this trip, and in both I've left an offering and taken the time to kneel and give thanks for many things (you may note, I feel free to worship in pretty much any sacred place). My wonderful husband, best friend, supporter, and fun travel friend -- this has been the object of the first of my thanks in each case.
In many touchy-feely events and classes I've attended throughout my life, I've been asked to define what "success" means to me. I've never really known how to answer. Generally, my feeling has been, "I'll let you know if I get there."
Yesterday, I thought of those events and smiled. We were sitting outside under a metal awning in a restaurant that looked like a 50's drive-in but had table service, in Montevideo, on the corner of Ejido and 18 de Julio (the main street of the capital of Uruguay). I was enjoying a chivito sandwich (with a fried egg!), while E was eating mushroom raviolli, and, of course, both of us sipped on agua mineral con gas y vino while sharing a salad of palmitos. For more than 2 hours, we watched the world go by in the city with the highest literacy rate in South America, and leisurely felt at home in the pace of life and language of our 5th continent and 13th country together.
I don't think I've never smiled when thinking about my own definition of "success" before. So, I guess that's something kind of big.
January 10, 2011
Bariloche
We splurged on a fancy-pants resort for our 3 night stay in Bariloche. We checked in to gorgeous views of the lake on a uniquely calm day.
The first night, our buddy Ivan at the front desk recommended the best (and best priced) parilla experience of our trip: El Boliche de Alberto. It was a nice 1.5 Km walk, each way, which was a good thing because we opted for provoleta, salad, and huge Entraña in addition to wine and water. This may have been my favorite meal of the trip.
The next day we walked to Teleferico de Cerro Otto and took the old-school two-cable gondola to the top of the mountain for an awesome lunch of local specialties (smoked venison, wild boar, fish and cheeses) and salad while we rotated through the 360 degrees of views in the rotating restaurant. After 2 hours of rotating, we hiked to the nearest peak and enjoyed the views.
From there, we headed downtown and walked until we'd worked up an appetite for gelato at Jauja heladeria (mmmm... thanks for the recommedation ALV). We walked around town, watched a windsurfing race, toured the cathedral and eventually figured out how to catch a bus to somewhere near our hotel.
We liked our first night's recommendation for dinner so much that we asked Ivan for advice on night two. He recommended El Patacon (check out the picture of Bill on the homepage!). Upon entrance, they pour you rosehip pulp mixed with white wine -- a bit odd, but quite delicious, actually, and it makes their guerrilla jewelry salon sales efforts more tolerable (thanks to their efforts, I bought a handmade necklace of leather and metal, so perhaps they know what they are doing). The fire with the splayed lambs in the lobby won E over on first sight, and, fittingly, after smoked venison and glazed mushrooms starter and an empanada, they served him his favorite meal of the trip -- an amazing medallones de lomo preparation with mashed potatoes (my trout was bright pink and flavorful in a light acidic break from the red meat orgy).
The last day, after a false start with the bus system and waiting "ten minutes" (aka 40 minutes) for a cab, we headed out to the much fancier than our digs resort of Llao Llao, where we were unable to take the hike we'd scheduled, but were mistaken as guests of a wedding (American daughter of ex-pats who live in Bariloche marrying a Central American man, I believe) and, so, they allowed us to sit for lunch in the fully reserved lobby bar. (Score!) Food was good, but the views, eavesdropping, and people-watching were phenomenal.
Perhaps this is why the port for our boat tour out to a peninsula and an island in the middle of the lake left from their driveway. You know what they say: Location, Location, Location. The entire boat ride, E and I couldn't help but gape in awe at the majority of the lake's edges and their pristine state of undeveloped nature. Thank you Perito Moreno (think the John Muir of Argentina).
Upon return to our hotel (we made the bus system work for us on the way back), we learned we'd been upgraded to a suite with an in-room sauna for our last night (double score!).
For dinner, we walked to the finest meal of our trip at Butterfly. With only 7 tables and two seatings, reservations are very difficult, but ALV had given us the head's up so we'd made it a priority ahead of time. Wow! Assuming I can find the time, there will be a whole separate post to rave in particularity with pictures. Regardless of my schedule, suffice it to say that this group of folks is on the rise. In an amusing coincidence, the Irish chef, Edward (from Cork) had attended the wedding at Llao Llao the night before and he, like the Llao Llao staff, mistook us for guests he'd met there. He was embarrassed and apologized profusely, but we were very amused. Apparently, the parents of the bride are very good customers and fans of his restaurant, so he was invited to the wedding -- this explains the unexpected cancellation of our original reservation and their request to reschedule. A nearby table during our dinner was 4 obvious guests on the American side, as well, all currently living in New York.
This was one of those times that travel really makes you think -- events that have nothing to do with your life prior to arrival can become extremely relevant during your stay. To travel well is to be aware of your own frame of reference and your life's state of relativity.
Speaking of frames of reference. While it occasionally annoyed us (buses, dry dirty roads -- or choking dust, as E liked to call it), for the most part, Bariloche spoiled us.
We splurged on a fancy-pants resort for our 3 night stay in Bariloche. We checked in to gorgeous views of the lake on a uniquely calm day.
The first night, our buddy Ivan at the front desk recommended the best (and best priced) parilla experience of our trip: El Boliche de Alberto. It was a nice 1.5 Km walk, each way, which was a good thing because we opted for provoleta, salad, and huge Entraña in addition to wine and water. This may have been my favorite meal of the trip.
The next day we walked to Teleferico de Cerro Otto and took the old-school two-cable gondola to the top of the mountain for an awesome lunch of local specialties (smoked venison, wild boar, fish and cheeses) and salad while we rotated through the 360 degrees of views in the rotating restaurant. After 2 hours of rotating, we hiked to the nearest peak and enjoyed the views.
From there, we headed downtown and walked until we'd worked up an appetite for gelato at Jauja heladeria (mmmm... thanks for the recommedation ALV). We walked around town, watched a windsurfing race, toured the cathedral and eventually figured out how to catch a bus to somewhere near our hotel.
We liked our first night's recommendation for dinner so much that we asked Ivan for advice on night two. He recommended El Patacon (check out the picture of Bill on the homepage!). Upon entrance, they pour you rosehip pulp mixed with white wine -- a bit odd, but quite delicious, actually, and it makes their guerrilla jewelry salon sales efforts more tolerable (thanks to their efforts, I bought a handmade necklace of leather and metal, so perhaps they know what they are doing). The fire with the splayed lambs in the lobby won E over on first sight, and, fittingly, after smoked venison and glazed mushrooms starter and an empanada, they served him his favorite meal of the trip -- an amazing medallones de lomo preparation with mashed potatoes (my trout was bright pink and flavorful in a light acidic break from the red meat orgy).
The last day, after a false start with the bus system and waiting "ten minutes" (aka 40 minutes) for a cab, we headed out to the much fancier than our digs resort of Llao Llao, where we were unable to take the hike we'd scheduled, but were mistaken as guests of a wedding (American daughter of ex-pats who live in Bariloche marrying a Central American man, I believe) and, so, they allowed us to sit for lunch in the fully reserved lobby bar. (Score!) Food was good, but the views, eavesdropping, and people-watching were phenomenal.
Perhaps this is why the port for our boat tour out to a peninsula and an island in the middle of the lake left from their driveway. You know what they say: Location, Location, Location. The entire boat ride, E and I couldn't help but gape in awe at the majority of the lake's edges and their pristine state of undeveloped nature. Thank you Perito Moreno (think the John Muir of Argentina).
Upon return to our hotel (we made the bus system work for us on the way back), we learned we'd been upgraded to a suite with an in-room sauna for our last night (double score!).
For dinner, we walked to the finest meal of our trip at Butterfly. With only 7 tables and two seatings, reservations are very difficult, but ALV had given us the head's up so we'd made it a priority ahead of time. Wow! Assuming I can find the time, there will be a whole separate post to rave in particularity with pictures. Regardless of my schedule, suffice it to say that this group of folks is on the rise. In an amusing coincidence, the Irish chef, Edward (from Cork) had attended the wedding at Llao Llao the night before and he, like the Llao Llao staff, mistook us for guests he'd met there. He was embarrassed and apologized profusely, but we were very amused. Apparently, the parents of the bride are very good customers and fans of his restaurant, so he was invited to the wedding -- this explains the unexpected cancellation of our original reservation and their request to reschedule. A nearby table during our dinner was 4 obvious guests on the American side, as well, all currently living in New York.
This was one of those times that travel really makes you think -- events that have nothing to do with your life prior to arrival can become extremely relevant during your stay. To travel well is to be aware of your own frame of reference and your life's state of relativity.
Speaking of frames of reference. While it occasionally annoyed us (buses, dry dirty roads -- or choking dust, as E liked to call it), for the most part, Bariloche spoiled us.
Mendoza
Wine. Food. Wine. Food.
I felt like I was living a fairly healthy tourist lifestyle in Buenos Aires. Lots of walking. Working out. No bread or pastas except for the occasional empanada. Sharing delicous portions of meat on the side of full portions of vegetables. With a few modifications, we followed this pattern in Iguazu as well.
With no scales to be had, I convinced myself I must be getting healthier and losing weight on this Atkin's diet of sorts.
And now, I'll never know if it was true. Thanks Mendoza.
We flew from Iguazu back to Buenos Aires and, despite the chaos and confusion of the Mitre Omnibus Terminal, we managed to board our bus for the overnight ride to Mendoza. Apparently, this is the standard mode of transportation in Argentina. So, while our trip was too short to do it for every leg of transport between cities, we figured we'd give it a try at least once.
Pros: it's less expensive than flying and much more comfortable than 13 hours on a plane in economy class. Also, there's a dedicated attendant, and since we opted to pay the extra $25 US or so to get leather seats that fully reclined, our seats came with sparkling wine and our dinner came with wine.
Cons: The flight would have been about an hour and forty minutes. More importantly for me, a rocking bus in traffic is much louder than a plane. So, I spent much of the night almost dozing off to be woken by a horn, a jostle, cross traffic, or my fellow passengers. While awake, I cursed my stupidity for leaving my earplugs in my checked luggage.
Eventually, we arrived in Mendoza unshowered and sleepy. Thankfully, we were immediately checked in, and after a shower, we sat for a 2 hour Italian lunch including a meat and cheese plate, salad, beet and squash gnocchi with lamb in a tomato sauce, and pounded veal cutlets for E in a white wine olive sauce. You know, a light lunch.
Siesta.
A flight of wines at Vines of Mendoza Tasting Room (highly recommended).
Dinner at the hotel and sleep. Glorious sleep.
A weak excuse for a workout. Wait for the driver, who is 30 minutes after the rescheduled late arrival. Coffee. Of course, the driver arrives once the coffee has been ordered.
A gluttonous day of wine tasting and food including the lunch of infinite awkwardness. Suffice it to say that we are not wine buyers, but we were the guests of a winemaking family who had come under this impression for some reason. They were not thrilled with our honest questions, like "Rioja? As in Spain?" (Note: we have since learned that there is a wine region known as Rioja in Argentina as well)
Thankfully, despite the mix-up, we had a superlative day of fabulous wines and great food, which makes everything wonderful.
For dinner, we followed the advice of the amazing Carolyn of Uncorked Argentina and enjoyed a deliciously multi-regional meal at Siete Cocinas (Note: best scallop ceviche I've ever had. Order it.)
On our walk home, we stopped to buy water. We re-hydrated until sleep.
The last morning in Mendoza, I rose to work out, guiltily. Restraint of any sort had not been in effect for several days and the workout felt as you'd imagine.
From there, we were to fly to Bariloche, the land of chocolate.
(pictures and more details to come)
Wine. Food. Wine. Food.
I felt like I was living a fairly healthy tourist lifestyle in Buenos Aires. Lots of walking. Working out. No bread or pastas except for the occasional empanada. Sharing delicous portions of meat on the side of full portions of vegetables. With a few modifications, we followed this pattern in Iguazu as well.
With no scales to be had, I convinced myself I must be getting healthier and losing weight on this Atkin's diet of sorts.
And now, I'll never know if it was true. Thanks Mendoza.
We flew from Iguazu back to Buenos Aires and, despite the chaos and confusion of the Mitre Omnibus Terminal, we managed to board our bus for the overnight ride to Mendoza. Apparently, this is the standard mode of transportation in Argentina. So, while our trip was too short to do it for every leg of transport between cities, we figured we'd give it a try at least once.
Pros: it's less expensive than flying and much more comfortable than 13 hours on a plane in economy class. Also, there's a dedicated attendant, and since we opted to pay the extra $25 US or so to get leather seats that fully reclined, our seats came with sparkling wine and our dinner came with wine.
Cons: The flight would have been about an hour and forty minutes. More importantly for me, a rocking bus in traffic is much louder than a plane. So, I spent much of the night almost dozing off to be woken by a horn, a jostle, cross traffic, or my fellow passengers. While awake, I cursed my stupidity for leaving my earplugs in my checked luggage.
Eventually, we arrived in Mendoza unshowered and sleepy. Thankfully, we were immediately checked in, and after a shower, we sat for a 2 hour Italian lunch including a meat and cheese plate, salad, beet and squash gnocchi with lamb in a tomato sauce, and pounded veal cutlets for E in a white wine olive sauce. You know, a light lunch.
Siesta.
A flight of wines at Vines of Mendoza Tasting Room (highly recommended).
Dinner at the hotel and sleep. Glorious sleep.
A weak excuse for a workout. Wait for the driver, who is 30 minutes after the rescheduled late arrival. Coffee. Of course, the driver arrives once the coffee has been ordered.
A gluttonous day of wine tasting and food including the lunch of infinite awkwardness. Suffice it to say that we are not wine buyers, but we were the guests of a winemaking family who had come under this impression for some reason. They were not thrilled with our honest questions, like "Rioja? As in Spain?" (Note: we have since learned that there is a wine region known as Rioja in Argentina as well)
Thankfully, despite the mix-up, we had a superlative day of fabulous wines and great food, which makes everything wonderful.
For dinner, we followed the advice of the amazing Carolyn of Uncorked Argentina and enjoyed a deliciously multi-regional meal at Siete Cocinas (Note: best scallop ceviche I've ever had. Order it.)
On our walk home, we stopped to buy water. We re-hydrated until sleep.
The last morning in Mendoza, I rose to work out, guiltily. Restraint of any sort had not been in effect for several days and the workout felt as you'd imagine.
From there, we were to fly to Bariloche, the land of chocolate.
(pictures and more details to come)
January 9, 2011
Argentina Tidbits
Sadly, we're almost done with Argentina. More details and photos to come. But, since we've stamped out of Argentina except for our last visit before our return flight from EZE, and we now have Uruguayan Pesos in our wallets, I need to take a moment to remember the small things about Argentina before I forget them.
Amazing coffee. Oh, how I will miss thee. In some ways, Argentina takes the coffee ritual even more seriously than Italy or France. I never saw a single person walk up and order a shot (or double or triple) of espresso just to shoot it, pay, and leave. Always, there was a pause. A seat, even if just on a bar stool. Sipping and Savoring. And of course, a longer pause that is entirely outside of the consumer's control for the server to return and collect payment. The way we saw it, unless you find yourself in a Restaurante Auto-Servicio (which is a cafeteria monster with lines and trays you slide along like school), Servers control access to the change and receipts, not the person running the cash register.
Agua con gas, you are easy to find at home. I already stock it in our fridge, but I'm thinking I will try to continue its part in my daily routine (thereby replacing many diet cokes).
Palmitos. Oh dear. I can't believe this vegetable has been missing from my life for so long. After its discovery, I tried to eat it at least once a day, always just with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Apparently, according to the server I asked, they farm them in Argentina, which is why they are ubiquitous (i.e. they grow sustainable multi-stemmed plants and selectively harvest instead of killing wild palms by harvesting the single stem). Yay! Guilt free deliciousness. Too bad the only state in the US where they are farmed is Hawaii. More investigation will occur.
Roxette. They are huge here. Unlike most Americans, I was a big fan back in the day, and I listened to their cassette tape incessantly. So, in Argentina, I often find myself singing along in taxis, on the overnight buses, etc. I blend.
80s revival. Clothes. Music. Everywhere. Is this true in the US as well?
Hoarding of change and small bills. Metamatt warned us, but it's still shocking. So let's say you are lucky enough to find an ATM with cash, but you don't get small denominations. Well, merchants will refuse to do business if they think the bills presented are too large for the transaction. Vendors sell stacks of change at the bus terminal in Buenos Aires and call it out as you walk by Hay Moneda! Hay Moneda!. On several occasions I have walked away from a purchase in surprise due to the rejection of my 100 peso or 50 peso bill. The economic forces at play are mind-boggling.
General inefficiency. Yesterday I shocked myself by thinking that the municpial bus system in Bariloche was less efficient than *BOTH* the Italian and the Mexican solutions to the same problem. I can honestly say I'm unaware of thinking that about anything else. Ever.
Airport trade-offs. After this trip, I will have taken more flights in close succession from Aeroparque than from any other airport in the world. This is not by choice, it's just that most flights within the country are on spokes of a wheel that centers on Aeroparque. As promised, the security line is usually super-speedy and reasonable. For example, I watched them let a teacher with a collection of rounded-tipped scissors through after a brief questioning, although I did get a 5 minute questioning on my facial powder on one occasion -- rather than upset me, it made me smile -- good point! Why aren't they looking for large amounts of contained powders? (Now I've done it...) No matter what I'd been told, however, the time saved in security was easily replaced by other inconveniences. Instead of jetways or good old fashioned walking on the tarmac, on multiple occasions, we have exited airport gates, to wait for a bus to slowly load and spasticly transport about half of the passengers (and their luggage) 50 meters so we can slowly disembark and walk the last 20 meters to the stairs (while the other half load the plane in front of us or the bus behind us). On one occasion, a driver revved the engine multiple times but failed to move until the exasperated driver in the bus behind him exited, tapped on his window and explained how to put it in first and release the clutch while all of us passengers looked on. Often the airport bus does not start, it does not have air conditioning, or the bus doors do not open properly. On one flight, after disembarking the bus, passengers were simultaneously told to board the front stairs and the rear stairs of our MD-88 -- no thought was given to which entrance should be used by passengers assigned to which seats, so, after E and I took the rear stairs to our seats in the rear of the plane, we got to enjoy the show for 15 minutes while folks fought their way past each other for access to their seats and luggage space.
10 minutes means the same thing as 15 minutes or 20 minutes. AKA, "sometime in the next hour."
Baked empanadas. (Read: not fried). E tried to eat these every day.
Provoleta -- or, let's take some local provolone cheese and brush it with olive oil, top it with herbs and grill it. Or better yet, let's add some tomatoes and onions and make provoleta a la napoletana. In honor of which genius should I build an altar?
And steak. Great steak. Oh, how I have loved thee. E is of the opinion that either brochette de lomo or bife de lomo is best. Me? I'm a simple girl. I just love me a good Entraña (jugoso, por favor).
Argentina, we're missing you already.
Sadly, we're almost done with Argentina. More details and photos to come. But, since we've stamped out of Argentina except for our last visit before our return flight from EZE, and we now have Uruguayan Pesos in our wallets, I need to take a moment to remember the small things about Argentina before I forget them.
Amazing coffee. Oh, how I will miss thee. In some ways, Argentina takes the coffee ritual even more seriously than Italy or France. I never saw a single person walk up and order a shot (or double or triple) of espresso just to shoot it, pay, and leave. Always, there was a pause. A seat, even if just on a bar stool. Sipping and Savoring. And of course, a longer pause that is entirely outside of the consumer's control for the server to return and collect payment. The way we saw it, unless you find yourself in a Restaurante Auto-Servicio (which is a cafeteria monster with lines and trays you slide along like school), Servers control access to the change and receipts, not the person running the cash register.
Agua con gas, you are easy to find at home. I already stock it in our fridge, but I'm thinking I will try to continue its part in my daily routine (thereby replacing many diet cokes).
Palmitos. Oh dear. I can't believe this vegetable has been missing from my life for so long. After its discovery, I tried to eat it at least once a day, always just with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Apparently, according to the server I asked, they farm them in Argentina, which is why they are ubiquitous (i.e. they grow sustainable multi-stemmed plants and selectively harvest instead of killing wild palms by harvesting the single stem). Yay! Guilt free deliciousness. Too bad the only state in the US where they are farmed is Hawaii. More investigation will occur.
Roxette. They are huge here. Unlike most Americans, I was a big fan back in the day, and I listened to their cassette tape incessantly. So, in Argentina, I often find myself singing along in taxis, on the overnight buses, etc. I blend.
80s revival. Clothes. Music. Everywhere. Is this true in the US as well?
Hoarding of change and small bills. Metamatt warned us, but it's still shocking. So let's say you are lucky enough to find an ATM with cash, but you don't get small denominations. Well, merchants will refuse to do business if they think the bills presented are too large for the transaction. Vendors sell stacks of change at the bus terminal in Buenos Aires and call it out as you walk by Hay Moneda! Hay Moneda!. On several occasions I have walked away from a purchase in surprise due to the rejection of my 100 peso or 50 peso bill. The economic forces at play are mind-boggling.
General inefficiency. Yesterday I shocked myself by thinking that the municpial bus system in Bariloche was less efficient than *BOTH* the Italian and the Mexican solutions to the same problem. I can honestly say I'm unaware of thinking that about anything else. Ever.
Airport trade-offs. After this trip, I will have taken more flights in close succession from Aeroparque than from any other airport in the world. This is not by choice, it's just that most flights within the country are on spokes of a wheel that centers on Aeroparque. As promised, the security line is usually super-speedy and reasonable. For example, I watched them let a teacher with a collection of rounded-tipped scissors through after a brief questioning, although I did get a 5 minute questioning on my facial powder on one occasion -- rather than upset me, it made me smile -- good point! Why aren't they looking for large amounts of contained powders? (Now I've done it...) No matter what I'd been told, however, the time saved in security was easily replaced by other inconveniences. Instead of jetways or good old fashioned walking on the tarmac, on multiple occasions, we have exited airport gates, to wait for a bus to slowly load and spasticly transport about half of the passengers (and their luggage) 50 meters so we can slowly disembark and walk the last 20 meters to the stairs (while the other half load the plane in front of us or the bus behind us). On one occasion, a driver revved the engine multiple times but failed to move until the exasperated driver in the bus behind him exited, tapped on his window and explained how to put it in first and release the clutch while all of us passengers looked on. Often the airport bus does not start, it does not have air conditioning, or the bus doors do not open properly. On one flight, after disembarking the bus, passengers were simultaneously told to board the front stairs and the rear stairs of our MD-88 -- no thought was given to which entrance should be used by passengers assigned to which seats, so, after E and I took the rear stairs to our seats in the rear of the plane, we got to enjoy the show for 15 minutes while folks fought their way past each other for access to their seats and luggage space.
10 minutes means the same thing as 15 minutes or 20 minutes. AKA, "sometime in the next hour."
Baked empanadas. (Read: not fried). E tried to eat these every day.
Provoleta -- or, let's take some local provolone cheese and brush it with olive oil, top it with herbs and grill it. Or better yet, let's add some tomatoes and onions and make provoleta a la napoletana. In honor of which genius should I build an altar?
And steak. Great steak. Oh, how I have loved thee. E is of the opinion that either brochette de lomo or bife de lomo is best. Me? I'm a simple girl. I just love me a good Entraña (jugoso, por favor).
Argentina, we're missing you already.
January 4, 2011
A Quick Adventure in Brazil
E very much wanted to tour the Itaipu Binacional dam. The second largest hydro-electric dam in the world is not to be missed, in his opinion (and, I was excited to see it as well, plus I love to add countries to my visited list).
The dam is half in Brazil, half in Paraguay, and the extensive tours are offered in English from the Brazilian side. I had researched the issue several times, but could not find a straight answer on whether a Brazilian visa was necessary for a single day trip by land. Most of the reports of people who had actually DONE the trip indicated that a visa was not necessary. And yet, the official line appeared to say the opposite without explaining how to acquire a land visa, and it does seem a bit odd that you could enter a country that requires a visa without some sort of documentation. Bravely (or foolishly) E and I decided to try to make it work according to the reports of folks who claimed it was not required.
So, we walked to the bus station near the Sheraton and took the bus to the Puerto Iguazu station (15 pesos for 2). From there, we took the inter-city bus to Foz do Iguacu (14 pesos for 2). Everyone disembarked at the Argentina immigration station and stamped out of the country. I explained that we were just leaving for a few hours and the immigration agent looked at me blankly, as if to say, "Lady, why do you Americans always think we care about your travel plans? You're leaving. I'm stamping. Enough."
So there we were, stamped out of Argentina, on our way to Brazil. And, what do you know? The bus stopped in Brazil, but it was optional to go through immigration, and about 3/4 of our bus chose not to do so.
The next thing you know, the signs were in Portuguese.
From the bus station in Foz do Iguacu, we found our way to the bus to Itaipu (14 Argentinian pesos for 2, which was nice since we really didn't want to go to an ATM for Reales -- their bus terminal appeared to accept USD, Arg pesos, Paraguayan Guarani, and Brazilian Reales, which was quite the opposite of our experiences in Argentina where everyone wants Argentinian Pesos even though there aren't any in the ATMs).
Upon arrival, we tried to book a "special" tour, which means we'd get to see the insides of the power plant. We were informed it was booked. So, we stood in line to by the "simple" tour. Having spent almost a week in Latin America, I'd learned to ask again, so I asked our attendant if there were open spots on the "special tour" and he turned off the speaker and went to go speak with a supervisor. He came back and informed us that, "Yes. There is room. But no flip flops. And you must have your knees covered."
"Ummmm... is this okay?" I asked, backing up so he could see my full attire including running shoes and pulling down my sundress to show how long it was (or could be, when pulled) and then up to show my running shorts underneath.
The speaker was turned off again. A second supervisor was called. I was motioned to step back and turn around, you know, model my outfit.
The female supervisor did not approve.
E, crestfallen at the idea that we'd crossed international boundaries and my clothes were going to stop us, did not look happy. Uncharacteristically, I recognized that this was not a good time to make a scene about the sexism of the no-short skirts rule (literally, the below the knees rule was only stated to apply to skirts). So, I offered to buy pants.
This would explain my new 3/4 length long white shorts with the Itaipu Binancional logo embroidered in them. They are actually quite flattering when not worn beneath a sundress. And, of course, they make a great story.
Also, the dam tour was super cool. One of the best experiences of the trip so far -- the guides were very knowledgeable and we were able to see the penstocks, turbines, the floor capping the 20 generators, the architectural structures, plus the control room split into two identical sides (where the Brazilian engineer appeared to be working and the Paraguayan engineer was blatently looking at pictures of women).
And, bonus, we made it back into Argentina without incident. The bus stopped at Brazilian immigration on the way back and many international English-speaking back-packers got off the bus. I asked if it was required for us to disembark and the driver looked at me like I was an idiot, saying,
Solo, si tiene entrada de brasil. La Tiene? when I said, No, solo tenemos Visas de Argentina, he shook his head, half in amusement, half in annoyance and told me to sit back down with the half of the bus who were skipping the Brazilian immigration experience.
6 bus rides and two countries later, we stamped back into Argentina with a sigh of relief and made our way back to the hotel.
E very much wanted to tour the Itaipu Binacional dam. The second largest hydro-electric dam in the world is not to be missed, in his opinion (and, I was excited to see it as well, plus I love to add countries to my visited list).
The dam is half in Brazil, half in Paraguay, and the extensive tours are offered in English from the Brazilian side. I had researched the issue several times, but could not find a straight answer on whether a Brazilian visa was necessary for a single day trip by land. Most of the reports of people who had actually DONE the trip indicated that a visa was not necessary. And yet, the official line appeared to say the opposite without explaining how to acquire a land visa, and it does seem a bit odd that you could enter a country that requires a visa without some sort of documentation. Bravely (or foolishly) E and I decided to try to make it work according to the reports of folks who claimed it was not required.
So, we walked to the bus station near the Sheraton and took the bus to the Puerto Iguazu station (15 pesos for 2). From there, we took the inter-city bus to Foz do Iguacu (14 pesos for 2). Everyone disembarked at the Argentina immigration station and stamped out of the country. I explained that we were just leaving for a few hours and the immigration agent looked at me blankly, as if to say, "Lady, why do you Americans always think we care about your travel plans? You're leaving. I'm stamping. Enough."
So there we were, stamped out of Argentina, on our way to Brazil. And, what do you know? The bus stopped in Brazil, but it was optional to go through immigration, and about 3/4 of our bus chose not to do so.
The next thing you know, the signs were in Portuguese.
From the bus station in Foz do Iguacu, we found our way to the bus to Itaipu (14 Argentinian pesos for 2, which was nice since we really didn't want to go to an ATM for Reales -- their bus terminal appeared to accept USD, Arg pesos, Paraguayan Guarani, and Brazilian Reales, which was quite the opposite of our experiences in Argentina where everyone wants Argentinian Pesos even though there aren't any in the ATMs).
Upon arrival, we tried to book a "special" tour, which means we'd get to see the insides of the power plant. We were informed it was booked. So, we stood in line to by the "simple" tour. Having spent almost a week in Latin America, I'd learned to ask again, so I asked our attendant if there were open spots on the "special tour" and he turned off the speaker and went to go speak with a supervisor. He came back and informed us that, "Yes. There is room. But no flip flops. And you must have your knees covered."
"Ummmm... is this okay?" I asked, backing up so he could see my full attire including running shoes and pulling down my sundress to show how long it was (or could be, when pulled) and then up to show my running shorts underneath.
The speaker was turned off again. A second supervisor was called. I was motioned to step back and turn around, you know, model my outfit.
The female supervisor did not approve.
E, crestfallen at the idea that we'd crossed international boundaries and my clothes were going to stop us, did not look happy. Uncharacteristically, I recognized that this was not a good time to make a scene about the sexism of the no-short skirts rule (literally, the below the knees rule was only stated to apply to skirts). So, I offered to buy pants.
This would explain my new 3/4 length long white shorts with the Itaipu Binancional logo embroidered in them. They are actually quite flattering when not worn beneath a sundress. And, of course, they make a great story.
Also, the dam tour was super cool. One of the best experiences of the trip so far -- the guides were very knowledgeable and we were able to see the penstocks, turbines, the floor capping the 20 generators, the architectural structures, plus the control room split into two identical sides (where the Brazilian engineer appeared to be working and the Paraguayan engineer was blatently looking at pictures of women).
And, bonus, we made it back into Argentina without incident. The bus stopped at Brazilian immigration on the way back and many international English-speaking back-packers got off the bus. I asked if it was required for us to disembark and the driver looked at me like I was an idiot, saying,
Solo, si tiene entrada de brasil. La Tiene? when I said, No, solo tenemos Visas de Argentina, he shook his head, half in amusement, half in annoyance and told me to sit back down with the half of the bus who were skipping the Brazilian immigration experience.
6 bus rides and two countries later, we stamped back into Argentina with a sigh of relief and made our way back to the hotel.
Iguazu
The Iguazu falls truly are as gorgeous in person as everyone says they are.
We walked the Upper Circuit on our first day and found ourselves about a mile into the Argentinian National park when it started to rain. Not a light rain, mind you. A torrential downpour fitting for a *rainforest* or a *jungle* because, oddly enough, that was where we were.
We ran where we could, but much of the path was on elevated metal grates that were slippery enough before the rain. So, we walked most of the trip back and smiled sheepish drenched hellos at the much more prepared folks walking into the park in their full rain gear.
Something about being caught in a heavy rain while it's warm is immensely joyful. I couldn't help laughing and smiling the entire time.
We were staying at the Sheraton hotel in the National Park, so we could walk up from the trail and enter the hotel without navigating the bus system as drowned rats. The staff met us at the back entrance with towels and we retired to our room, where we safely watched the storm. At points of high humidity (for example during a 4 hour downpour), the falls instantly create clouds as the fine mist created from the impact of the falling water rises into the atmosphere. This creates the image of smoke from a huge non-stop fire, both from land and from the airplane.
(Pictures to come)
The Iguazu falls truly are as gorgeous in person as everyone says they are.
We walked the Upper Circuit on our first day and found ourselves about a mile into the Argentinian National park when it started to rain. Not a light rain, mind you. A torrential downpour fitting for a *rainforest* or a *jungle* because, oddly enough, that was where we were.
We ran where we could, but much of the path was on elevated metal grates that were slippery enough before the rain. So, we walked most of the trip back and smiled sheepish drenched hellos at the much more prepared folks walking into the park in their full rain gear.
Something about being caught in a heavy rain while it's warm is immensely joyful. I couldn't help laughing and smiling the entire time.
We were staying at the Sheraton hotel in the National Park, so we could walk up from the trail and enter the hotel without navigating the bus system as drowned rats. The staff met us at the back entrance with towels and we retired to our room, where we safely watched the storm. At points of high humidity (for example during a 4 hour downpour), the falls instantly create clouds as the fine mist created from the impact of the falling water rises into the atmosphere. This creates the image of smoke from a huge non-stop fire, both from land and from the airplane.
(Pictures to come)
Cohetes!
New Year's Eve in Buenos Aires is unlike anything I've ever seen. 13 million people and it looks like at least one out of every 100 had access to commercial grade fireworks and a desire to set them off.
So, our relatively quiet evening on the balcony ended with over an hour of fireworks viewing with new friends on the top floor of our apartment building.
Not a bad way to end one year and start the next one.
New Year's Eve in Buenos Aires is unlike anything I've ever seen. 13 million people and it looks like at least one out of every 100 had access to commercial grade fireworks and a desire to set them off.
So, our relatively quiet evening on the balcony ended with over an hour of fireworks viewing with new friends on the top floor of our apartment building.
Not a bad way to end one year and start the next one.
December 31, 2010
El Ultimo Dia del Año 2010
Wake. Snooze. Snooze again. Drag self to the gym on the 31st floor of our apartment and enjoy the amazing views. Why haven't I come here before? Oh, right. Too busy vacationing.
Relax, read, shower. Wait for return of security deposit, which was clearly an exercise in formality. Pablo rings the doorbell and walks in to hand back an envelope full of the cash we handed him several days ago. The exact same bills (or amazing reproductions :-)). This time, unlike at check-in, he avoids even the pretense of purpose, no counting towels, glasses, etc. Instead, he explained how no one else had to work due to the holiday today and he was sorry he couldn't come tomorrow, but, it's a *real* holiday, even people in tourism get it off, if they can. He was also helpful in explaining that it may be somewhat impossible tomorrow AM to get a taxi to Aeroparque -- dia de ferria and all. Wish us luck!
Finally, around 1:15 PM, we entered the Subte and headed to the ridiculously huge bus station in the hopes of booking our overnight bus trip between Buenos Aires and Mendoza next week before the bus trip counters closed for the holiday. Success! But, like all good travel adventures, there was much confusion. You need to give documentation or ID to book a bus ticket, unless you book it on the internet, in which case you can email ID photocopies later, but the Internet convenience fees (not to mention wacky cuota requirements) make in person booking preferable. Eventually, just before leaving, we somehow mentioned that we had ID from the government of *CALIFORNIA* and, it turns out, you can use your driver's license as sufficient ID to book the bus ticket even if your passport is back in the safe. Phew. Also, the Omnibus terminal is after the train station if you are walking from the Subte. It's not right there, but just keep walking, eventually, it's impossible to miss -- it looks like hundreds of buses.
We walked a bit downtown before grabbing a taxi, coming back to the apartment to put our washed laundry on the drying rack, and heading out for a very late meal. 3 PM deliciously stereotypically Argentine lunch of empanadas, lomo, and salads. Of course, another Cafe Americano for me (mystery #1 -- Americano is cut with water, Cortado is cut with milk, when you ask for Americano, they understand that it should be cut with water, but often confirm with "cortado? si?").
Walk.
Ice cream!!! Finally. It had been highly recommended by many who'd sent their travel recommendations, so I was thrilled to join the fun.
Buy agua con gas and 200g of spicy Fiambres to add to our light dinner plans for cheese, wine, bread and Cohetes.
Nap.
Read.
Spanish TV footage of New Year's fireworks in Sydney, Taiwan, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Dubai, and Munich.
Simpsons in spanish. Oddly, an hour long presentation of multiple episodes cut together. E identified each splice with amusement (this episode doesn't have anything to do with the last story except there's a boat and police...)
Loud local intermittent fireworks enjoyed from the balcony with queso, fiambres y vino accompanied by the bounced voices of local high rises -- singing, yelling, cheering.
And now. we're off to the gym to enjoy the midnight fireworks from the 360 degree view from the top of the building.
Happy New Years!
Wake. Snooze. Snooze again. Drag self to the gym on the 31st floor of our apartment and enjoy the amazing views. Why haven't I come here before? Oh, right. Too busy vacationing.
Relax, read, shower. Wait for return of security deposit, which was clearly an exercise in formality. Pablo rings the doorbell and walks in to hand back an envelope full of the cash we handed him several days ago. The exact same bills (or amazing reproductions :-)). This time, unlike at check-in, he avoids even the pretense of purpose, no counting towels, glasses, etc. Instead, he explained how no one else had to work due to the holiday today and he was sorry he couldn't come tomorrow, but, it's a *real* holiday, even people in tourism get it off, if they can. He was also helpful in explaining that it may be somewhat impossible tomorrow AM to get a taxi to Aeroparque -- dia de ferria and all. Wish us luck!
Finally, around 1:15 PM, we entered the Subte and headed to the ridiculously huge bus station in the hopes of booking our overnight bus trip between Buenos Aires and Mendoza next week before the bus trip counters closed for the holiday. Success! But, like all good travel adventures, there was much confusion. You need to give documentation or ID to book a bus ticket, unless you book it on the internet, in which case you can email ID photocopies later, but the Internet convenience fees (not to mention wacky cuota requirements) make in person booking preferable. Eventually, just before leaving, we somehow mentioned that we had ID from the government of *CALIFORNIA* and, it turns out, you can use your driver's license as sufficient ID to book the bus ticket even if your passport is back in the safe. Phew. Also, the Omnibus terminal is after the train station if you are walking from the Subte. It's not right there, but just keep walking, eventually, it's impossible to miss -- it looks like hundreds of buses.
We walked a bit downtown before grabbing a taxi, coming back to the apartment to put our washed laundry on the drying rack, and heading out for a very late meal. 3 PM deliciously stereotypically Argentine lunch of empanadas, lomo, and salads. Of course, another Cafe Americano for me (mystery #1 -- Americano is cut with water, Cortado is cut with milk, when you ask for Americano, they understand that it should be cut with water, but often confirm with "cortado? si?").
Walk.
Ice cream!!! Finally. It had been highly recommended by many who'd sent their travel recommendations, so I was thrilled to join the fun.
Buy agua con gas and 200g of spicy Fiambres to add to our light dinner plans for cheese, wine, bread and Cohetes.
Nap.
Read.
Spanish TV footage of New Year's fireworks in Sydney, Taiwan, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Dubai, and Munich.
Simpsons in spanish. Oddly, an hour long presentation of multiple episodes cut together. E identified each splice with amusement (this episode doesn't have anything to do with the last story except there's a boat and police...)
Loud local intermittent fireworks enjoyed from the balcony with queso, fiambres y vino accompanied by the bounced voices of local high rises -- singing, yelling, cheering.
And now. we're off to the gym to enjoy the midnight fireworks from the 360 degree view from the top of the building.
Happy New Years!
A Relaxing Day on the River
(Pictures to come upon return home)
Yesterday, we walked to the nearest train station and took the train to Tigre.
We watched the world boat by and enjoyed the slow pace, and the amusing differences brought by life on a river without roads between islands and shores.
Lunch was a leisurely 3 course meal of caprese salad, roast vegetables and sorrentinos (stuffed circular pasta pockets). With wine, of course. Haven't had a bad glass here, and it's dirt cheap, often, a glass of house wine is the same price as bottled water or a soda. Always, it's less than beer.
Upon our return, after an hour of relaxation at the apartment, we took a taxi to Cabaña Las Lilas to enjoy E's birthday present from his folks. Delicious provoleta, salad, and Caribbean Kobe Rib Eye.
Oh, if you want to confuse the wait staff at an Argentinian Steak House, be sure to ask in mangled Spanish for them to pick a bottle of wine for you that is *NOT* from Mendoza. Apparently, this is not a common request. But, we're going to Mendoza, so I wanted to taste something from another region. Eventually, the somellier understood and we ended up with a lovely bottle of Malbec, called Malma. It's from the Neuquen region of Patagonia and it was worth the funny looks.
After dinner, we walked around Puerto Madero and across the Puente Mujer, enjoying the balmy weather, beautiful lights, and crowds of people out for an 11 PM stroll.
A harrowing cab ride, a walk in Palermo, a stop for a drink and we were in bed at the ridiculously early hour (by Porteño standards) of 1 AM.
(Pictures to come upon return home)
Yesterday, we walked to the nearest train station and took the train to Tigre.
We watched the world boat by and enjoyed the slow pace, and the amusing differences brought by life on a river without roads between islands and shores.
Lunch was a leisurely 3 course meal of caprese salad, roast vegetables and sorrentinos (stuffed circular pasta pockets). With wine, of course. Haven't had a bad glass here, and it's dirt cheap, often, a glass of house wine is the same price as bottled water or a soda. Always, it's less than beer.
Upon our return, after an hour of relaxation at the apartment, we took a taxi to Cabaña Las Lilas to enjoy E's birthday present from his folks. Delicious provoleta, salad, and Caribbean Kobe Rib Eye.
Oh, if you want to confuse the wait staff at an Argentinian Steak House, be sure to ask in mangled Spanish for them to pick a bottle of wine for you that is *NOT* from Mendoza. Apparently, this is not a common request. But, we're going to Mendoza, so I wanted to taste something from another region. Eventually, the somellier understood and we ended up with a lovely bottle of Malbec, called Malma. It's from the Neuquen region of Patagonia and it was worth the funny looks.
After dinner, we walked around Puerto Madero and across the Puente Mujer, enjoying the balmy weather, beautiful lights, and crowds of people out for an 11 PM stroll.
A harrowing cab ride, a walk in Palermo, a stop for a drink and we were in bed at the ridiculously early hour (by Porteño standards) of 1 AM.
December 29, 2010
40 Hours in Argentina
We arrived in Buenos Aires at 7:40 AM. The bonus of renting an apartment vs. staying in a hotel is that you can check in whenever you arrive, then take a nap, then a shower, and finally head out to sight see right around the time when you'd finally be checking in to your hotel.
The first meal: walk to build up an appetite and view local plazas. Finally sit down to 2 hours of sparkling water, wine, bread, pickled grilled eggplant, a huge grilled serving of skirt steak and a salad (you pick each ingredient and the size of your salad -- a brilliant approach) at Minga.
As an aside, I almost cried at the deliciousness of my Cafe Americano -- the best coffee I'd had in years. I've had 3 since we arrived: no sugar, no milk, just deliciousness. Anyways, big shock -- the meat was juicy, delicious, and flavorful, as promised. The chimichurri was different than anything I've ever had -- it seemed like a mixture of oil, dried oregano, vinegar and salt (delicious, but very different). The pace was slow, the servers were amazingly friendly, and overall, we decided we were in love with this Country within 8 hours of arrival. E even went so far as to compare it to Australia, "I'd love to move here if it wasn't so damn far from everything..."
We walked about 7 miles between the nap and sleep that first day, exploring Palermo, getting lost, grocery shopping, and getting our Argentinian Spanish bearings.
And, today, the next day, was a whirlwind tourist day typical of folks who are over-eager to make the most of their vacation. Upon arrival back at the apartment, we gmap'd it, and it looks like E did his first half marathon today!
After sleeping in and some brief work efforts on both our parts, we walked from our apartment to 5 banks (count 'em). Finally, we found an ATM with cash. I am now quite proficient at the Spanish necessary to figure out if someone who is leaving an ATM has actually received cash or is leaving in dejection -- oddly, this is a set of figurative phrases I'm not sure I could translate as I've never had the opportunity to experience this situation in English (much less 5 times!). E's theory was an early morning run on the banks before the Portenos woke up. Or, he pointed to their history of poor currency management. Me, I was just totally confused, most of all by the looks of understanding and expected failure by locals who realized there was no cash to be had at a particular bank (as in NONE of the ATMS had any left).
Thankfully, we found a bank with money and acquired enough for a noon stop at a cafe (mmm... Cafe Cortado, or whatever they say when I order my Americano, I thought Cortado had 1/3 milk, but ordering an Americano gets me what I expect even when they correct me). An hour later, after sipping our coffees and nibbling the pastries they served alongside, we marched on.
The Floris Generica.
Lots of plazas and gardens.
The Recoleta Cemetary and Evita's tomb.
An amazing lunch of empanaditos gratis, Provoleta a la Napoletana served over a piece of wood charcoal, brochette de lomo, bookended by 1-inch thick pieces of bacon, intermingled with red pepper slices and onions, and served over its own piece of wood charcoal, at the table, and, of course the salad you compose from the menu (did I mention tomatoes are in season here? YAY!). Amazingly, we eventually roused ourselves from the table (post-Americano for me), fueled for the remainder of our half-marathon.
The Teatro Colon (closed for holiday, but gorgeous from the outside).
The Plaza de la Republica.
The Widest Street in the World (three light cycles to cross).
The Casa Rosada.
Half the trip to San Telmo, and then a stop at a cafe for water, and then, defeat. Maybe we'll fit it in before we move on, but if not, we're still in love with BA. So, rather than press on to the historic district, we took our exhuasted selves in a cab to a square that's a mile from our rented apartment and we walked home from there.
Relaxation.
Walk to dinner at Ceviche. Watch the electricity go out on the block where we are to eat. Enjoy a candelit dinner of amazing ceviche and sushi while patrons sing and play violin by candlelight (why did he bring a violin?). When it is time to leave, laugh with the server about needing to pay in dollars since the credit card machine won't work. Leave a generous tip since the majority of the reservations opted not to show up due to the dark restaurant.
Walk almost home. Get lost. Get un-lost.
Sigh in contentment to realize your apartment building is not without power, which means glorious air conditioning.
Yay Argentinian half marathon!
(Photos to come)
We arrived in Buenos Aires at 7:40 AM. The bonus of renting an apartment vs. staying in a hotel is that you can check in whenever you arrive, then take a nap, then a shower, and finally head out to sight see right around the time when you'd finally be checking in to your hotel.
The first meal: walk to build up an appetite and view local plazas. Finally sit down to 2 hours of sparkling water, wine, bread, pickled grilled eggplant, a huge grilled serving of skirt steak and a salad (you pick each ingredient and the size of your salad -- a brilliant approach) at Minga.
As an aside, I almost cried at the deliciousness of my Cafe Americano -- the best coffee I'd had in years. I've had 3 since we arrived: no sugar, no milk, just deliciousness. Anyways, big shock -- the meat was juicy, delicious, and flavorful, as promised. The chimichurri was different than anything I've ever had -- it seemed like a mixture of oil, dried oregano, vinegar and salt (delicious, but very different). The pace was slow, the servers were amazingly friendly, and overall, we decided we were in love with this Country within 8 hours of arrival. E even went so far as to compare it to Australia, "I'd love to move here if it wasn't so damn far from everything..."
We walked about 7 miles between the nap and sleep that first day, exploring Palermo, getting lost, grocery shopping, and getting our Argentinian Spanish bearings.
And, today, the next day, was a whirlwind tourist day typical of folks who are over-eager to make the most of their vacation. Upon arrival back at the apartment, we gmap'd it, and it looks like E did his first half marathon today!
After sleeping in and some brief work efforts on both our parts, we walked from our apartment to 5 banks (count 'em). Finally, we found an ATM with cash. I am now quite proficient at the Spanish necessary to figure out if someone who is leaving an ATM has actually received cash or is leaving in dejection -- oddly, this is a set of figurative phrases I'm not sure I could translate as I've never had the opportunity to experience this situation in English (much less 5 times!). E's theory was an early morning run on the banks before the Portenos woke up. Or, he pointed to their history of poor currency management. Me, I was just totally confused, most of all by the looks of understanding and expected failure by locals who realized there was no cash to be had at a particular bank (as in NONE of the ATMS had any left).
Thankfully, we found a bank with money and acquired enough for a noon stop at a cafe (mmm... Cafe Cortado, or whatever they say when I order my Americano, I thought Cortado had 1/3 milk, but ordering an Americano gets me what I expect even when they correct me). An hour later, after sipping our coffees and nibbling the pastries they served alongside, we marched on.
The Floris Generica.
Lots of plazas and gardens.
The Recoleta Cemetary and Evita's tomb.
An amazing lunch of empanaditos gratis, Provoleta a la Napoletana served over a piece of wood charcoal, brochette de lomo, bookended by 1-inch thick pieces of bacon, intermingled with red pepper slices and onions, and served over its own piece of wood charcoal, at the table, and, of course the salad you compose from the menu (did I mention tomatoes are in season here? YAY!). Amazingly, we eventually roused ourselves from the table (post-Americano for me), fueled for the remainder of our half-marathon.
The Teatro Colon (closed for holiday, but gorgeous from the outside).
The Plaza de la Republica.
The Widest Street in the World (three light cycles to cross).
The Casa Rosada.
Half the trip to San Telmo, and then a stop at a cafe for water, and then, defeat. Maybe we'll fit it in before we move on, but if not, we're still in love with BA. So, rather than press on to the historic district, we took our exhuasted selves in a cab to a square that's a mile from our rented apartment and we walked home from there.
Relaxation.
Walk to dinner at Ceviche. Watch the electricity go out on the block where we are to eat. Enjoy a candelit dinner of amazing ceviche and sushi while patrons sing and play violin by candlelight (why did he bring a violin?). When it is time to leave, laugh with the server about needing to pay in dollars since the credit card machine won't work. Leave a generous tip since the majority of the reservations opted not to show up due to the dark restaurant.
Walk almost home. Get lost. Get un-lost.
Sigh in contentment to realize your apartment building is not without power, which means glorious air conditioning.
Yay Argentinian half marathon!
(Photos to come)
December 26, 2010
Merry Christmas!
For the first time since 1882, Atlanta had a white Christmas.
Santa brought us an awesome new camera, so I spent much of Christmas dinner playing with it. On one setting I was able to capture snowflakes as they fell:
E's mom cooked for three days and prepared a very festive Christmas celebration for 14.
Mmmm... beef wellington, artichoke hearts and spinach casserole, slow roasted tomatoes, cheesy mashed potatoes, and an arugula, parmigiano, and pine nut salad. Delicious!
I hope your winter holidays were warm, social, and full of good cheer!
For the first time since 1882, Atlanta had a white Christmas.
Santa brought us an awesome new camera, so I spent much of Christmas dinner playing with it. On one setting I was able to capture snowflakes as they fell:
E's mom cooked for three days and prepared a very festive Christmas celebration for 14.
Mmmm... beef wellington, artichoke hearts and spinach casserole, slow roasted tomatoes, cheesy mashed potatoes, and an arugula, parmigiano, and pine nut salad. Delicious!
I hope your winter holidays were warm, social, and full of good cheer!
December 25, 2010
The South Beat Me
I pride myself on my stomach of steel.
I can eat just about anything without becoming ill.
Yesterday, however, I learned that I was no match for the Atlanta institution of The Varsity.
We've gone in the past (it's a tradition of E's extended family to lunch there on Christmas Eve) and I've enjoyed the entire experience.
But, apparently, on our other occasions I hadn't had a snack of bacon beforehand, and I definitely didn't munch my way through a cheeseburger, a serving of the world's greasiest onion wings, and half a serving of French Fries.
Just to let me know that I was out of line, my body revolted yesterday afternoon.
I was fine in time for Christmas Eve dinner (mmmm... leg of lamb, slow roasted on the Primo over indirect heat and bacon (of course) lentil salad.)
But next time at the Varsity, I'm going for the cole slaw dogs and will skip the sides.
Also, Merry Christmas, Happy Belated Solstice, and Happy almost New Year!
I pride myself on my stomach of steel.
I can eat just about anything without becoming ill.
Yesterday, however, I learned that I was no match for the Atlanta institution of The Varsity.
We've gone in the past (it's a tradition of E's extended family to lunch there on Christmas Eve) and I've enjoyed the entire experience.
But, apparently, on our other occasions I hadn't had a snack of bacon beforehand, and I definitely didn't munch my way through a cheeseburger, a serving of the world's greasiest onion wings, and half a serving of French Fries.
Just to let me know that I was out of line, my body revolted yesterday afternoon.
I was fine in time for Christmas Eve dinner (mmmm... leg of lamb, slow roasted on the Primo over indirect heat and bacon (of course) lentil salad.)
But next time at the Varsity, I'm going for the cole slaw dogs and will skip the sides.
Also, Merry Christmas, Happy Belated Solstice, and Happy almost New Year!
December 21, 2010
Tech Support
So, my (new, under warranty) laptop died last night. Continuous Blue Screen Of Death loop from 1 AM 'til 2 AM or so when I finally called it quits and hard-powered-down.
I'm on the East Coast with E's family for the Holidays, but I still need to work. Ideally, I need to be able to work so seamlessly that it doesn't occur to my clients that I have a physical location, much less one that's changed since the last time I was helping them.
Today, after confirming via phone emails that I only had a couple of hours of work that needed to be finished by COB PST, I bailed on my workout and tried to drop my laptop off at the only Lenovo Service Center in downtown Atlanta. The friendly folks at the glass store in its place informed me that it moved to the burbs 3 years ago. (Interestingly, once I gave up on physical repair and dedicated myself to the toll-free solution, I learned that the call center is just down the street from us in Atlanta (Dunwoody), but that I couldn't drop off my computer with them because repairs are done in Memphis.)
Frustrated with the lack of an immediate Lenovo solution (meaning I would be without-computer for at least 1 day, and likely many more) I cried uncle, returned to Nolan's folks for lunch involving bacon, and went for the solution of least conflict.
A Netbook. On sale for Christmas. The perfect back-up machine. Today, I got the last $250 Asus 1005HB that was in stock from the closest Best Buy.
And, I'm up and running. I've got a disaster recovery plan. Today's work is done and I'm blogging from it, even.
Prior to today, I'd backed up through last week on one of E's servers in the cloud, so I only had 1 week of potential loss which E was able to pull off via a SATA enclosure despite the slow clicking protests of my hard-drive.
In short, if all goes well, my Lenovo will be safely in the hands of tech support while they diagnose the problem, and I will be freely using my super-light, super-small netbook until they figure it out.
Between regular self-done back-ups and hosted email/calendaring/tasks/notes via a hosted Exchange provider, it took me all of 5 hours to research repairs on my existing machine, locate and buy a new computer, get it up and running with my current situation and voila -- back in business.
Next time I won't even have to go shopping.
It is indeed a brave new world.
Now, please, keep your fingers crossed for a useful response from the diagnostics -- this is the second time in 3 months that my Lenovo has BSOD'd repeatedly on me. Last time it just miraculously recovered with no explanation, which is, of course, absolutely no comfort. This time, since it clicked and slowed and struggled through the SATA drive recovery, we thought we'd figured it out.
Yet, here I am, running my second hard drive diagnostic (since the first one passed with flying colors) and wondering what other surprises the computer Gods might throw my way.
Here's to figuring out problems...
So, my (new, under warranty) laptop died last night. Continuous Blue Screen Of Death loop from 1 AM 'til 2 AM or so when I finally called it quits and hard-powered-down.
I'm on the East Coast with E's family for the Holidays, but I still need to work. Ideally, I need to be able to work so seamlessly that it doesn't occur to my clients that I have a physical location, much less one that's changed since the last time I was helping them.
Today, after confirming via phone emails that I only had a couple of hours of work that needed to be finished by COB PST, I bailed on my workout and tried to drop my laptop off at the only Lenovo Service Center in downtown Atlanta. The friendly folks at the glass store in its place informed me that it moved to the burbs 3 years ago. (Interestingly, once I gave up on physical repair and dedicated myself to the toll-free solution, I learned that the call center is just down the street from us in Atlanta (Dunwoody), but that I couldn't drop off my computer with them because repairs are done in Memphis.)
Frustrated with the lack of an immediate Lenovo solution (meaning I would be without-computer for at least 1 day, and likely many more) I cried uncle, returned to Nolan's folks for lunch involving bacon, and went for the solution of least conflict.
A Netbook. On sale for Christmas. The perfect back-up machine. Today, I got the last $250 Asus 1005HB that was in stock from the closest Best Buy.
And, I'm up and running. I've got a disaster recovery plan. Today's work is done and I'm blogging from it, even.
Prior to today, I'd backed up through last week on one of E's servers in the cloud, so I only had 1 week of potential loss which E was able to pull off via a SATA enclosure despite the slow clicking protests of my hard-drive.
In short, if all goes well, my Lenovo will be safely in the hands of tech support while they diagnose the problem, and I will be freely using my super-light, super-small netbook until they figure it out.
Between regular self-done back-ups and hosted email/calendaring/tasks/notes via a hosted Exchange provider, it took me all of 5 hours to research repairs on my existing machine, locate and buy a new computer, get it up and running with my current situation and voila -- back in business.
Next time I won't even have to go shopping.
It is indeed a brave new world.
Now, please, keep your fingers crossed for a useful response from the diagnostics -- this is the second time in 3 months that my Lenovo has BSOD'd repeatedly on me. Last time it just miraculously recovered with no explanation, which is, of course, absolutely no comfort. This time, since it clicked and slowed and struggled through the SATA drive recovery, we thought we'd figured it out.
Yet, here I am, running my second hard drive diagnostic (since the first one passed with flying colors) and wondering what other surprises the computer Gods might throw my way.
Here's to figuring out problems...
December 16, 2010
Holiday Stuffing
Last night, a client and his wife took E and me to The Plumed Horse.
The tasting menu was excellent as was the wine pairing. There was an amuse bouche with black truffles, AND a white truffle risotto. The truffle lover that I am was in heaven.
In the next couple of weeks, we've got 4 parties to attend, 2 nights with guests for dinner, dinner reservations at at least one more fancy restaurant and at least two food-filled days of holiday celebration with the family.
The holiday stuffing season has officially begun.
Last night, a client and his wife took E and me to The Plumed Horse.
The tasting menu was excellent as was the wine pairing. There was an amuse bouche with black truffles, AND a white truffle risotto. The truffle lover that I am was in heaven.
In the next couple of weeks, we've got 4 parties to attend, 2 nights with guests for dinner, dinner reservations at at least one more fancy restaurant and at least two food-filled days of holiday celebration with the family.
The holiday stuffing season has officially begun.
December 14, 2010
Facebook Map of the World
This map is very cool.
This visual representation of the connectedness of the world as viewed through a subset of Facebook friendships looks surprisingly like the international flight route maps found in in-flight magazines.
The great circle representation of the connections certainly contributes to this impression, but I'm guessing the strength of the signal for connections at air travel hubs is at least somehow related to the in-person connections that have been formed via air-travel.
His blog post explains his methodology.
This map is very cool.
This visual representation of the connectedness of the world as viewed through a subset of Facebook friendships looks surprisingly like the international flight route maps found in in-flight magazines.
The great circle representation of the connections certainly contributes to this impression, but I'm guessing the strength of the signal for connections at air travel hubs is at least somehow related to the in-person connections that have been formed via air-travel.
His blog post explains his methodology.
December 11, 2010
The Halibut Chronicles
C sent us 8 HUGE filets of halibut from her fishing expedition in Homer, Alaska. It's the gift that keeps on giving -- every time we make a halibut recipe, she comes to visit and we make a meal and hang out.
On her first visit, we pan fried it and served it with tomato, caper, olive sauce. Mmmm....
The second dinner was poached over a spicy soba salad with a mustard cream sauce. Mmmm...
And this week, we went with Alton Brown's Chips and Fish Recipe.
You know, fry the chips once:
Fry 'em again at a hotter temperature for good measure and then spread them on a roasting pan and keep them warm in a 200F oven.
Dredge the fish in cornstarch:
Then coat with beer batter:
Put the oil to use, yet again for the third frying of the evening:
And enjoy a meal of nothing but brown (except for the homemade tartar sauce, thanks for the splash of color, C!).
C sent us 8 HUGE filets of halibut from her fishing expedition in Homer, Alaska. It's the gift that keeps on giving -- every time we make a halibut recipe, she comes to visit and we make a meal and hang out.
On her first visit, we pan fried it and served it with tomato, caper, olive sauce. Mmmm....
The second dinner was poached over a spicy soba salad with a mustard cream sauce. Mmmm...
And this week, we went with Alton Brown's Chips and Fish Recipe.
You know, fry the chips once:
Fry 'em again at a hotter temperature for good measure and then spread them on a roasting pan and keep them warm in a 200F oven.
Dredge the fish in cornstarch:
Then coat with beer batter:
Put the oil to use, yet again for the third frying of the evening:
And enjoy a meal of nothing but brown (except for the homemade tartar sauce, thanks for the splash of color, C!).
Winter Food
You know what's one of the great things about Winter in California?
Brussel Sprouts!
You know what makes brussel sprouts even better?
Pork Chops!
You know what makes pork chops even better?
BACON!
E, our two guests, and I were quite happy and full!
You know what's one of the great things about Winter in California?
Brussel Sprouts!
You know what makes brussel sprouts even better?
Pork Chops!
You know what makes pork chops even better?
BACON!
E, our two guests, and I were quite happy and full!
December 5, 2010
Happy Holidays
This weekend, E and I headed to San Francisco to attend the annual holiday party hosted by my first professional employer.
This employer, showing excellent judgment, refused to hire me at my first interview. I showed up at their offices in the Financial District dressed in head-to-toe spandex on rollerblades (I had come straight from diving practice). They had just moved to San Francisco from Boston, and, while they were looking for a Californian college student to do library research, they weren't quite prepared for my oh-so-Californian attire.
They hired a guy who showed up in a suit. He was terrible. They fired him. I re-faxed my resume a year later and showed up for my second interview in a suit. I got the job and worked through my last year of school and into my first full-time professional job. I loved working there -- they were excellent employers, and I tried to leave on very good terms to follow the dot-com boom.
I guess I succeeded because I was hired back as a consultant when I became inevitably unemployed as a result of the dot-com bust. Happily, I've been invited to every holiday party they've hosted since.
Over the years, we've been their guests at some of the city's best bars and steakhouses (and one year, they flew us to Vegas!). This year's party was during Santarchy, which added an extra festive note to our drinks at the Comstock Saloon and the delicious multi-course private room meal at 5A5. Bonus, I was able to give a toast thanking them for introducing me the beauty of small business ownership and for being one of the inspirations for starting my own law practice.
Every year, E and I look forward to this event for great conversation during a big night out on the town and a stay at a hotel. It's become one of our favorite holiday events. Last year we enjoyed Union Square in all of its holiday splendor with the lights, Christmas trees, Macy's wreaths, ice-skating rink, and more.
This year, we stayed at the the Hyatt Regency and enjoyed the spectacle of the approximately 1500 hanging columns of light (E counted). Sadly, we missed the falling snow effects of the lights, but we were joined with gleeful children on every elevator ride, so that they, too, could enjoy the spectacle of lights and the view of the decorated atrium below. The hotel clearly knows that the hundreds of children riding the glass elevators are not guests, but employees pointedly ignore the transgressions in the name of holiday fun.
Today, I looked at the list of events our hotel was hosting in addition to the immense effort they've put into decorations (Photo opportunities with Santa, holiday dinners and brunches, and more), and I was impressed. There's obviously a pride and a desire to contribute to the communal holiday festivities that many of the larger businesses, as well as the smaller businesses and individuals in San Francisco feel. It warms my heart to be part of it.
Happy Holidays.
This weekend, E and I headed to San Francisco to attend the annual holiday party hosted by my first professional employer.
This employer, showing excellent judgment, refused to hire me at my first interview. I showed up at their offices in the Financial District dressed in head-to-toe spandex on rollerblades (I had come straight from diving practice). They had just moved to San Francisco from Boston, and, while they were looking for a Californian college student to do library research, they weren't quite prepared for my oh-so-Californian attire.
They hired a guy who showed up in a suit. He was terrible. They fired him. I re-faxed my resume a year later and showed up for my second interview in a suit. I got the job and worked through my last year of school and into my first full-time professional job. I loved working there -- they were excellent employers, and I tried to leave on very good terms to follow the dot-com boom.
I guess I succeeded because I was hired back as a consultant when I became inevitably unemployed as a result of the dot-com bust. Happily, I've been invited to every holiday party they've hosted since.
Over the years, we've been their guests at some of the city's best bars and steakhouses (and one year, they flew us to Vegas!). This year's party was during Santarchy, which added an extra festive note to our drinks at the Comstock Saloon and the delicious multi-course private room meal at 5A5. Bonus, I was able to give a toast thanking them for introducing me the beauty of small business ownership and for being one of the inspirations for starting my own law practice.
Every year, E and I look forward to this event for great conversation during a big night out on the town and a stay at a hotel. It's become one of our favorite holiday events. Last year we enjoyed Union Square in all of its holiday splendor with the lights, Christmas trees, Macy's wreaths, ice-skating rink, and more.
This year, we stayed at the the Hyatt Regency and enjoyed the spectacle of the approximately 1500 hanging columns of light (E counted). Sadly, we missed the falling snow effects of the lights, but we were joined with gleeful children on every elevator ride, so that they, too, could enjoy the spectacle of lights and the view of the decorated atrium below. The hotel clearly knows that the hundreds of children riding the glass elevators are not guests, but employees pointedly ignore the transgressions in the name of holiday fun.
Today, I looked at the list of events our hotel was hosting in addition to the immense effort they've put into decorations (Photo opportunities with Santa, holiday dinners and brunches, and more), and I was impressed. There's obviously a pride and a desire to contribute to the communal holiday festivities that many of the larger businesses, as well as the smaller businesses and individuals in San Francisco feel. It warms my heart to be part of it.
Happy Holidays.
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