Have you heard the one about

the vacation destination that has unreliable internet service? We have been unable to successfully upload many photos at the moment. We will be returning to Montevideo on Friday and will most likely have better success there. Meanwhile we will continue the struggle, brothers and sisters…..

We woke this morning to rain. It started as a slight drizzle before dawn and by the time we were admitting that we were awake it was a heavy downpour. It was raining harder than I have seen it since…… well, last week. As I lay in bed imagining what a day of rain would be like I remembered that I had hung my beach clothes to dry on the patio last night. I jumped up to check on them and saw they were gone. I wondered if we had been hit by the bandits we’d been warned about or if the wind had blown them into the mud. It was the later, of course.

About the time we finished coffee the rain had stopped, so I retrieved my clothes from the mud, washed them and put them out to dry. The sun came out and baked the clothes long enough to dry before the light clouds came in and gave us a wonderful day for the beach.

One of the amenities in our cabana is a set of beach chairs and an umbrella. We had a five minute walk to the beach and hung out there listening to the waves, people watching. Paula had a number of dips into the waves and had an unfortunate encounter with a jelly fish resulting in an uncomfortable rash on the back of her leg. It will not keep her out of the water for a second.

The beach was not at all crowded. We understand that this is high tourist season but it seems the capacities are seriously underutilized. Perhaps it is because it is mid week. It was really nice to miss the turmoil on crowded beaches. There were no jet skis, motorboats, para-sailing, loud music and endless buskers that we associate with beaches in Mexico and California. We enjoyed watching the surfers. We saw a lot of that invention that can cause both envy and despair.

We returned to the cabana for showers and headed out for an early dinner. Likely story, you say, since there are no such thing as an early dinner is Punta de Diablo. We had scoped out a restaurant last night that has a good view of the ocean and appeared to be upscale but not swanky. The restaurant was scheduled to open at 8:00. It was only 6:45, so we headed off for a drink and a snack while we waited for “Cero Stress” to open.

We found a little cafe overlooking the beach and away from traffic, where we watched the colors of the setting sun. We had been asking ourselves to explain why we travel. This interlude was the answer, and moments like it.

The proprietor selects music for his customers, not his staff, and the selections were perfect for the evening. As it got closer to eight we noticed there were hardly any customers remaining since the cafe was closing for dinner. Here is a view from the cafe.

We returned to Cero Stress and got a table facing the ocean. The restaurant specializes in local seafood prepared in the tradition of northern Uruguay. I had a seafood mix prepared in a sauce with coconut milk and palm oil. It was fabulous. We are considering returning there tonight.

I neglected to get photos our the restaurant, but here are some from the nearby coast.

I cannot tell if these photos uploaded properly. If not I’ll repost then when we get to Montevideo tomorrow evening.


I’m just going to launch into now. Charlie wrote a remarkable post on the past few days. And his photos are great! I recommend that you read his post for catch-up and visuals. I got a new phone, Samsung J7Star, or something close to that, before leaving without doing my do diligence on the piece. It’s fine as a phone, but nowadays I expect so much more. The beef I have with it is the camera. It just doesn’t have the chops of the Samsung 5, even. I’ll continue to take photos, but they generally don’t’ have the sharpness and clarity of my old phone. So, check out Charlie’s posts for the better views.

Back to the beach! How my heart soars at first vista of the expanse of blue water. My smile grows wide. I approach the sea with delight and reverence. As I take the first plunge into a wave, I awake up to the tingling sensation of salt, water, and the liquid movement and bouyancy of my body within the ocean body. The image of a fetus floating in utero comes to mind.

The sea here is three bears perfect, neither too warm nor too cold. It’s easy to get into and stay in for awhile to play with the waves. The surf is easier here to ride up the crest of the wave than to ride it in to shore. Waves crest and break short and hard. It’s less of a ride into shore than a bit of a pummeling as the water pounds and churns.

I went in yesterday afternoon, waiting until around 5 as I needed a break from the sun after our walk from the bus station to our cabin. We arrived perspiring in rivulets, our clothes a sodden mess of sweat. Lovely, yes? We immediately stripped – dryer clothes for Charlie and a bikini for me. (True confession – my bikini is really patagonia underwear and a bikini top.) I walked to the beach with nothing more than by blue scarf with the white polka dots (brought to me from Paris – thank you Elizabeth!) worn as a pareo, sandals, a pink hat and my glasses. This made a tidy little bundle upon the beach to serve as my visual should the currents take me too far in either direction.

I did the same thing this morning, after coffee and before breakfast. The water was just as rica in the early morning as the late afternoon. It’s a perfect day to be on the beach and read a book. The breeze is cooling, the sun is shelterd by clouds, and the cabin does have beach chairs. Will be heading there again shortly.

I have to remark upon the dragonflies. The skim the sand in droves, seemingly flying with me as I walk along. I look ahead to see if they are actually accompnaying me or if they are everywhere. They are everywhere. I stop. They whizz about my legs and ankles; a few hover and flit, then find a landing spot. I notice that when resting, their wings come slightly forward at an angle.

Sometimes there are so, so many dragonflies that it feels menacing. Or like it could turn menacing. Alfred Hitchcock’s, The Dragonflies. They fly in en mass and cover the beautiful actress from head to foot in layers so thick they are able to lift her up, fly her out over the ocean, and the drop her.

In reality of course, nothing so untoward even comes close to happening. They don’t even land on me when I stand stock still. Nor do they fly into the cabin although there are plenty of them maneuvering just off the porch. In fact, they don’t even approach the porch. Meanwhile, the flies make themselves at home, as usual.

For all its shortcomings, size, potential thievery, a bed so high you need a small step stool to climb into it, we are comfortable. The mattress is comfortable and as the third bed in which we have slept since being in South America, is the first that has a mattress pad and sheets that fit. So that’s something. The things we get used to.

Awoke this morning to the patter of rain. Fell asleep again to that rhythm. Awoke a bit later to a full fledged storm with pounding rain, thunder, and wind. Fell asleep to that. Awoke for good to a fresh morning, overcast skies and put on my bikini.

“Find what feels good.” That’s from my on-line yoga instructor, Adriene Mishler. Did yoga on the porch this morning without her. Wifi here is weak and doesn’t reach around the corner of the house. Fortunately, my tool box has what I need to take myself through a sequence. I do miss her coaching; then again, it’s good to coach myself.

Heading off to FWFG. You could, too. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, find what feels good.



Musings on Travel

I have been diligently practicing yoga. I’ve been paying attention to the messages sent along with the daily guided practice. I’ve been mulling over this trip. Being here. Going there. What does it all mean? Do I need a greater purpose? Why did we elect to spend two weeks in this big city of Buenos Aires? What is the point? Does there need to be a point?

I had a shift between yesterday’s message of “find what makes you feel alive in your own body” and today’s message of “drop it” I dropped in to not questioning and not doubting. I’ve become aware of trusting that while I don’t know what drives this desire to travel, to be in other places, or what lessons, if any, I’m “supposed” to be getting, I can let that go. I can simply be and accept that this is what I am doing now. This is where I am now.

Charlie and I were talking one day about drive and scheduling; about the pace of the trip.  We haven’t been gonzo about seeing things, but we did some things that we clearly wanted to do and see. Then a few others popped up as we met and talked with people. I’ve been thinking about this trip and comparing it to my trips to Guatemala and living there for 4-5 months at a time. Or staying on the beach in Tulum, Mexico for a month. There was relatively little sight seeing on those trips. There was simply living. Cooking and swimming and walking and reading and writing and visiting.

I digress. The point I’m trying to get to is that I used to be so much better at being. Then the work world came. Home ownership came along. Suddenly, life became a series of schedules. Of requirements and musts. And that was what was called for at the time. That period of life is what has made this period possible.

The camino also had a definite trajectory. A beginning and an end with all of the walking and sightseeing along the way. In a sense, my schedule wasn’t quite mine to create then either, aside from deciding how many miles to walk in a day. After the camino we did take time to visit other places, take in the local sites, get a sense of what life is like – and was like as we walked among ancient places.

Do I digress again? I guess I do. So, back in Albuquerque, after that European sojourn, I got lost again in scheduling, in things that needed to be done, in things I thought I needed to do. And some of that has carried over in to this trip. However, as we’ve talked about this and as we’ve settled into BsAs, we are slowing down. It will be interesting to see how we maneuver the next seven weeks.

I’m torn between just wanting to live in another country – find a spot and settle in for months – and seeing more of a country while I’m there. We’ll be on the move quite a bit.

So, I’m circle round to where I began this post. Don’t question. Don’t make this trip into something else. Don’t compare it to other periods of my life. Drop it. Find what makes my body feel alive.

I wrote this a few days ago and edited it some today. I’ll continue with more recents events in the next post.

Love you, Paula

Here we are (wherever that is).

I think it has been a while since either of us posted about our travels or our whereabouts.

We are in Punta del Diablo in Uruguay, having arrived in mid afternoon yesterday. We left Buenos Aires on Monday afternoon, taking the direct ferry to Montevideo where we spent the night in a hotel near the ferry terminal. We caught a morning bus to Punta del Diablo and four hours later arrived in this small beach community on the Atlantic coast.

We are housed in a cabana with a view of the ocean. I would classify the accommodations as sub-optimal, but it is only for a few days, so we’ll make the most of it. Here is a view from the deck in front of the unit.

The bus station is about a mile from where we are staying, and since there were no taxis waiting, we decided to walk. Our camino experience last year has permanently changed our definition of walking distance. We headed out in the bright sun oblivious to the fact that Airbnb gave us the wrong direction in a town that has no street signs and house numbers. We also found that google maps directions do not account for the roads that had been reclaimed by the environment and no longer passable.

To make a long story shorter, by the time we got to our unit it was much more than a mile, and we were hot. Really hot. I was particularly hot in my short tempered way, angry with Airbnb, the property owner, the sun, the air, and anything else that exposed itself to my conciousness. Paula put on her swimming gear and went to the beach while I fumed.

In particular I was put off by our host’s insistance that we barricade ourselves inside at night, raising the spector of roaming bands of crimnals breaking into cabanas while people slept and stealing their valuables. Even at that they assured us the town is safe for walking, so we should just carry everyting we value with us if we left the cabin.

I don’t know. Maybe they’ve been burglarized and are just telling us that as a precaution, but since it was at least 90 degrees inside the unit and no breeze to speak of, I could only imagine laying in a pool of perspiration all night wile we fought off home invaders like it was the onset of the zombie apocalypse.

Paula returned from the beach with a couple liters of beer and a cheerful attittude, and I took a shower to cool off and things began to look a bit better to me. As sunset approached we went for a walk to the playa de pescadors. The beach was alive and vibrant, with families strolling through the area, shopping, eating, drinking, and watching street entertainers of various sorts: clowns, jugglers, magicians, and story tellers.

After a night of rain we are setting out for our first full day in this town. Paula hs been to the beach, and I have been relaxing on the porch, guarding our property and wondering what sort of insect has been chewing on my extemities since I’ve been here.

I’ll be catching up on our last two days in BsAs later.

A Rainy Day in Buenos Aires

We made a day trip to San Isidro yesterday, expecting to meet our friend Elena for the day, but her work schedule changed and she could not make it. She let us know of the conflict about the time we arrived there, and we made arrangements to meet her today at 2:30. We left this morning open for laundry, writing, reading, and just lazing about, which ended up being perfect, since the 0% chance of rain on the Weather Channel was only 100% wrong. We had steady rain the likes of which we do not experience often in Albuquerque, so we kept to our plan and enjoyed the cool breeze through the window and being dry on a mostly raining day.

It was a contrast to yesterday, which was hot and sunny. Yesterday was the kind of summer day I remember from my childhood in Missouri, the kind where your clothes stick to your skin and a slight breeze in the shade is as refreshing as lemonade or ice cream. We walked through some really nice neighborhoods where the folks with the means hire security guards to watch their walls and monitor the comings and goings. We were neither comers nor goers in a few areas since guards or gates prohibited entry.

We walked to the coast to look at the river and searched for the mirador that was shown on the map. There was a bar at the spot where the mirador was supposed to be, that had an outside covered deck overlooking the river. We stopped there and had a leisurely liquid lunch. That is a particular turn of phrase that we could not repeat after lunch for some reason.

Along the way we stopped into the city Cathedral. I find it amazing that we seldom pass up a cathedral, church or chapel when we travel to other countries, but we don’t even notice their existence when we are at home.

As we walked back to the train station we happened upon a museum which was the home of General Pueyrredon, who was a leader in the struggle for independence against Spain.

Since we were not meeting Elena, we caught an early train back to Buenos Aires and took in a tango performance at the Borges Cultural Center. We had gone there a couple days before (where we reported on the exhibit of photographs from North Korea) and discovered the tickets were quite reasonable. Ticket prices were a fraction of what is charged for the dinner shows. The performance is in a very comfortable theater, has a live “orchestra” with piano, accordion and bass, a passionate baritone singer, and very talented dancers. The songs and musical interludes created a seamless performance as the dancers undertook costume changes including tawdry denizens of a bordello, elegant gentlemen and ladies, gauchos and country women. The costumes were really well done and the dancers were quite athletic. I was beginning to suspect in some of the performance that tango is a substitute for having sex in public. Photography was prohibited and I am unable to share any of the wonderful visual experience.

Afterwards we walked through BsAs on our way to Palacio Barolo. When we toured that building we learned that the search light was operated from 10:00 to 10:30 every night, so we went to check it out. We could not get photos of the light, but along the way I got this shot of the Obelisk on Avenida 25 de Julio at Corrientes.

Well, that was yesterday, and the heading of this post is about a day of rain, so I should say a bit about today.

It rained. I checked the weather forecast at 10 AM and it said it was dry. I checked at 11 and it said the rain would stop at 11:15. At 12 it said 12:15. When we left the apartment at 2 it was still raining, though not heavily. We met Elena at the Retiro station at 2:30 and boarded the train to San Isidro, arriving at 3:10 and it was raining. We walked to the one place we intended tour, arriving about 4 and it was still raining.

Let me point out that I am not complaining about the rain. I stayed mostly dry since I had my one time miracle umbrella. I just bring it up because every hour prior to any specific time that day the weather forecast was for 0% chance of rain. I remembered how my old mentor Tito Montano would always say when I would mention the weather forecast, “Charlie, you can’t believe those Gringos.” Even in this country, which is the beating heart of Latin America, you really can’t believe those Gringos.

Our tour today, Villa Ocampo, was the estate of Victoria Ocompo, who was a benefactor and philanthropist, magazine editor, and champion for diversity and women’s rights in the early twentieth century. The estate was originally about 10 hectares, and is much reduced in size now. It is an interesting building and well maintained grounds. I find that after a career working in many facility management organizations that I look at buildings with a critical eye, and find it hard not to focus on the water damaged parquet tiles below the obviously water damaged ceilings, the broken door hardware, and other signs of entropy at work. On the other hand, if I look as good as this building, when I’m 200 years old, I certainly won’t complain.

Upon returning to Buenos Aires we decided to go to a nearby craft brew place that had up to a few years ago been a neighborhood pharmacy.

We have two days left in BsAs before heading off to Uruguay for a week and then to western Argentina and Chile. We’ve done most of what we had planned to do, though there are still areas we want to explore. We have made no specific plans, but probably should start looking at where we will be staying in Uruguay.

Until later.



As our stay in Buenos Aires lengthens we have been venturing further from our local neighborhoods. Thus, we have been spending more time on the subway and in trains. As in most subways and trains in large cities around the world, there is a variety of artwork and a variety of ways for citizens to hustle for a living. Immediately following are some photos of tile work.

floral-subway-tile.jpgsubway tile scene


As for the ways in which people find ways to make money, we have experienced very little outright begging for money. In the train stations and on the trains people sell: coffee out of thermoses; alfajores, the very popular sandwich cookie (similar to, but better than a moon pie); electronic gadgets; a variety of breads… Some of the entertainment has been quite good – a three piece band and singing; a young woman impersonating Michael Jackson. Riders are most appreciative, applauding each performance and some putting money in the hat. I was impressed with the young woman as Michael Jackson. She had a powerful speaker for the music and her dance moves were spot on. For each of the three songs I saw her perform she had something different to wear.

Overall, I’m stirred by what it takes to make a little bit of money. By the hutzpah and drive and necessity. I have had to hustle in my life; have worked more than one job at a time. But thankfully, due to a combination of good fortune and hard work, have not had to endure the daily grind and struggle for existence. We get to live a life of abundance. Even traveling as we are, modestly, our life style is beyond the means for so many in this world. Again, I give thanks daily, and sometimes moment to moment.

For my early childhood friends I include the following photo of the most minimilist playground I have ever seen. That’s it. Two swings and a climbing structure. I actually kind of like it for the use of natural wood. There have been families and children in every park I’ve seen, except this one. Of course, they have been in the city and this one is in San Isidro, away from the city center, but near the Rio de la Plata. There were relatively few people in general.

minimal playground

Enjoyed a rainy morning here and heard the loudest boom of thunder I’d heard in a while. My heart! Wishing you all peaceful and awakening moments. Paula




Tuesday, January 22, 2019

I’d heard that Uruguay citizens had the highest consumption of hierba mate in the world.  What was surprising was just what that entailed. Apparently, you must carry a thermos of water at all times, along with the bomba in which the mate is brewed, as illustrated by this young man. I’m sure there must be a mate elbow syndrome. After reading about the preparation of mate, Charlie and I have decided that life is too short, especially at this age, to learn the intricacies of mate. Besides, we don’t want to engage in cultural appropriation.


We took the ferry to Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay yesterday. I love being on a ferry, watching land recede, the wake the boat leaves, and feeling the cleansing wind. Bye, bye Buenos Aires.20190122_092139

Hello, Colonia, with your diminutive Centro Historico. You were a refreshing change from city streets. We arrived around 10:30 and stayed until the last ferry at 9 in order to see sunset, as I’d heard it was spectacular. In the meantime we did what we do. Walk.

Initially we walked to find a place for breakfast. As I can get pretty selective about where to eat – I want atmosphere and ambiance – we walked a while. This ramble took us into the historic center and to the lighthouse which you can enter for a climb up and a view. That’s an option I always take for a different perspective. And for the breezes.


Brunch at Buenos Vientos on the water provided the longed for nourishment after a long morning fueled only by coffee before we left the apartment.


My ham, cheese, and tumaco sandwhich was one of the best I’ve ever had. It was reminiscent of our days on the Caminho. Tumaco is not a typo, it’s a tomato, garlic, olive oil spread which we first encountered in Spain and which I made a habit preparing long after. Accompanied by an atomic IPA, we had a long relaxing settle in. No through traffic has such a salubrious effect on the dining experience.


After a late night, an early morning, and a beer at brunch we found our way to the park you see across the water with the ram horn. We plopped down on the grass, under a tree, and immediately took a nap.


That ram horn is an art piece made of planks of wood. This area is the Centro Cultural Bastion del Carmen and was part of the cities early fortifications. It now houses art exhibitions inside.

I awoke from my nap just in time to see some young men disappear into the earth. When Charlie woke up we followed suit. A short stairway led us down to a cistern.


The rest of the day was spent in visiting the historic center and sitting in a park by a fountain. It was a good change of pace to sit on a park bench; to chat or be silent and listen to the water; to be entertained by children amusing themselves by running about, climbing on walls, and chasing pigeons. One little girl sounded like a pigeon herself as she chased them on her chubby little legs.

Sunset was too late to be viewed waterside as we had to be at the terminal one hour before departure – aduana and all that. But we did see it from the window, a brillant red glow that set sky and water afire.

More sky extravagances followed on the ferry back. Somewhere over some part of Buenos Aires an electric storm was jamming in the sky with jagged red lines of light and illuminating the clouds in a rosy glow. I’ve never seen anything like it and watched until it burned itself out. Not long after, a red moon rose above the horizon. The majority of riders were inside, probably glued to their phones. It pays to be outside.

To finish off the day we popped into Todo Mundo for dinner and salsa music. Arriving home after one in the morning, I crashed immediately and slept til 10.


Wednesday, January 23, 2019

More height! Today we visited Palacio Barolo which was recommeded by a woman we met on the subway. The architect, Mario Palenti, had the astounding idea to design the floor plan based on the cosmology of Dante’s Divine Comedy. You begin the tour in hell on the ground floor, ascend to purgatory, and finally climb up several flights of stairs to work your way into heaven at the uppermost level of the lighthouse. That’s up 22 floors, plus. The architecture starts off robust and ornate, then becomes more and more plain as the soul is purged. And now I feel compelled to read that darn Divine Comedy. Or maybe the Cliff Notes version. Have any of you read it? What say you?


That’s all. Paula


Palacio Barolo

We decided to have a light day today, get home early and catch up on our rea\nding/writing.

When coming back from Tigre on Sunday we met a woman and her son who were on vacation from Brazil. They recommended we tour the Palacio Barolo, which was built in the early twentieth century by an immigrant from Italy. The building was the tallest building in Latin America when it was built, at 100 meters in height. It was designed to be a monument to Dante’s Divine Comedy, and contains many architectural features incorporating arcane references to the seven deadly sins and the many levels of purgatory and paradise. The young lady giving the tour switched between Spanish, English and French to ensure all of the people on the tour could understand. There were lots of references to freemasonry and hermetic philosophy. I could understand the words, but the little I remembered from reading Dante over forty years ago did not help me understand the more esoteric points. It was an interesting tour, none the less.

A highlight of the tour was the view from the fourteenth floor and the dome of the beacon lamp on the roof top.

An Uruguay test run

Paula has pointed out to me that folks in Uruguay are at risk of sustaining cumulative trauma injuries that are perhaps unique to the culture here. Throughout our day trip to Colonia del Sacramento we saw scores of men and women exhibiting the same behaviors. The left arm is bent at the elbow, and the forearm is pressing sideways, holding a thermos bottle against the chest, and the left hand encircles a “bomba”, which is a special cup for drinking mate (my keyboard will not type diacriticals so I’ll need to explain that is pronounced “mahtay”). Mate is a caffeinated herbal drink that appears to be an essential aspect of daily life, and the accoutrement for making and drinking is a critical fashion accessory.

We searched on-line for instructions to prepare Mate, hoping we could try it out in our apartment instead of coffee. However, the process appears to be so complex and subject to error we decided to leave it to professionals.

We started our day trip to Uruguay by walking about twenty blocks to the ferry terminal, weaving through construction detours and crossing wide streets filled with rush hour traffic. The ferry was scheduled to leave at 9 AM and we had to be there an hour early, which was a bit of a challenge since we had forgotten to go to bed at a reasonable hour the night before. We ended up getting to the station a bit late, but there were no crowds and we were able to clear immigration and customs quite quickly. They have it set up so you can get your exit stamp from Argentina at one booth and then the entry stamp for Uruguay at the next one.

The ferry crosses the Rio de la Plata in about an hour. There were a few clouds to break the direct sunlight, and the shadows cast on the brown water made interesting patterns on the surface. We watched the skyline of Buenos Aires sink slowly below the horizon as we moved closer to Uruguay. By the time we arrived we could only see the tops of some of the taller buildings.

Colonia had not come fully to life for the day by the time the ferry arrived. Although some of the restaurants were open, very few of he shops were ready for business. We hd noticed a light house near the shore when we arrived and headed in that direction.

As we approached we saw that many tourists were already on the observation decks and determined we should do that sooner rather than later and paid the 60 peso admission (about 1.8 USD) for the two of us. The view from the top gave us a good orientation to the municipality.

We then began our search for breakfast, ultimately settling on a small cafe near the water. We were unaware when we ordered that Uruguay has a 22% IVA, which is refunded if you pay with an international credit card. We chose a cafe that did not take credit cards. Apparently the Uruguay government is trying to remove obstacles to tourism, and has implemented a number of processes to lower the taxes tourists pay. I guess use of an international credit card is a fairly straightforward way to distinguish visitors from residents. In a way, it seems unfair to their citizens, unless they have a way of discounting prices to relieve some of the extra tax burden for supporting the recreation of relatively wealthy foreigners.

Following breakfast, which we supplemented with a good IPA, we went for a walk to a nearby cultural center where we immediately fell asleep on the grass. That was really refreshing. I could really get into siestas.

The cultural center was in the ruins of an ancient bastion.

We then took a long walk to a park that showed up on Google Maps, and when we got there we found it to be a forest that was not really a park. The cobblestones on some of the streets had been replaced by random sized and shaped rocks, some of which were clearly petrified wood.

We returned to the old part of the city and searched for a plaza we had seen earlier in the day. It has a fountain, and so far is the only fountain we have seen on our journey. That is really strange. Given the large numbers of Italian immigrants to South America in the 19th and 20th centuries we’d expect to see fountains every couple blocks. (Yes, that’s an ethnic joke. Please don’t get offended.)

Here are a few random photos of Colonia

We had hoped to watch the sunset from the beach, but needed to get to the ferry terminal for our return trip and ended up in the terminal as the sun set. We could see it was very colorful, but our view was blocked by the departure ramps.

During the crossing back to Buenos Aires we watched a lightning storm over Argentina. Each flash of lighting illuminated the cloud on the horizon with a reddish glow.

After arriving in BsAs we found a fairly direct walk back to our neighborhood. As we passed under a highway overpass, we saw an open excavation behind a fence that we had figured was a construction site but then noticed it was something of a memorial. It apparently was the excavation of a mass grave and a memorial to the “desaparecidos” from the dirty war. The monument contained photographs of the persons whose bodies were recovered there, a stark reminder of the ugly past of the dictatorship.

Seeing the mass grave was something of a “buzz kill”.

We stopped in a neighborhood restaurant for dinner and was treated to some excellent Salsa music.