Well, folks, we are 5 weeks into this 9 week trek. It feels quite different from the 2 months we spent in Europe. We have talked quite a bit about why this might be so. For me there are a few differences.

One – There is a big difference between hiking every day for a month and then touring, as we did last spring, and just touring, as we are doing now. We were both ready to head home after a month of visiting various locales in Spain and Portugal, after completing the Caminho Portugues. Yet, neither of us were ready to leave after the completion of the Caminho.

Two – We have been in big cities so far: Buenos Aires, Mendoza, Santiago, and to a lesser extent Montevideo. And while we have not been walking city streets from morning until late into the evening, we still have been surrounded by tall buildings, bus, car and truck traffic, and highly peopled streets when we are out. That is, excepting our few days in Punta del Diablo.

Three – After our days of hiking and staying in smaller Portuguese towns and cities, and with the exception of a few days in Barcelona and Madrid, we were in smaller, lower density places: Evora, Obidos, Viana del Castelo.

It catches me by surprise, this feeling that maybe 2 months is too long. I wonder, “Is this enough – to travel, see, and experience other places? Or, is there a way to travel that includes something more? Something more fulfilling; a way to contribute to the places and people we are visiting.”

Or maybe it’s just that 2 months in Argentina is too long. Last night, I was almost paniced with the realization that “we have to be here for another 4 weeks.” Maybe it was due to the long day we had spent traveling to and from Cacheuta for the thermal water and natural cold spring park. Maybe it was sitting at the bus station on a sweltering evening at 10 pm waiting for the 11 pm bus that would take us to Cordoba. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t been able to shower after spending a day in said waters.

Travel can be wearing, taxing, disorienting as evidenced by the above ruminations. I hadn’t had the energy to post the past few days. Curious, as that wasn’t my experience on the Caminho.

Travel can be  a wonder of sights, learning and renewal; a recognition that a feeling of the moment does not define the entire experience. That is what kept the panic at bay. So that even after a night on a bus, I awoke with a new attitude in a new locale.

I am now sitting on the patio of our brick cabin overlooking verdant hills, birds calling in their variety of languages, a cool breeze wafting by. We are in the small community of Colanchanga, outside of Rio Ceballos, which is an hour by bus from Cordoba. It is just what I need at this point in the journey. Quietude, abundant plant life, and a hammock for afternoon naps under the roof of the quincho.

Our host for this leg has been generous with her time. She picked us up at the Rio Ceballos bus terminal; took us for provisions to a market, a green grocery, and a panaderia. She gave us a short tour of their extensive lands, pointing out trails and destinations: to a spring fed pond for bathing, a waterfall, and places with benches just for sitting and gazing.

I started writing this last night, the 16th of febrero. Today, our first full day in this rural paradise, I conclude this post. Next, I plan to write about a quintessential Argentinian day out in Cacheuta.

As internet is about non-existant here, all my posts may become available on the same day.

Abrazos fuertes, Paula

Valparaíso

That’s where we were yesterday and that’s what I’ll address today, though I didn’t write about the day before. Maybe I’ll write about today later.

Valparaíso is a port city. Which means that it’s a big city. But within that big city is a small Unesco World Heritage site up on a hill part of the city that has charm and old and new world sensibilities. That is where we spent part of the day. But before we get to that we had to get there. Here is the Santiago Bus station at 8 am. Lots of people on the move. Lots of buses moving them. All of them full. And this part of the bus station is just the turbos bus company. There are several others: Pullman, Andesmar, El Rapido, Flecha…

The ride was a pretty quick 1.5 hours spying vineyards along the highway, as well as some urban sprawl in terms of what looked like bedroom communities. For a while, we went through some dense fog.

Arrival in Valparaíso was strange. It was cold, for one thing. It was rather ugly.

Nothing charming about that area of town. Except for the open air market. There is no shortage of food, I’ll tell you that. I was wishing I could go shopping and go home and cook. It’s one of the better fruit and vegetable markets we’ve seen here and the prices were less than we’d seen other places.

We made the mistake of not stopping into the Info center at the bus station, instead walking toward Plaza Sotomayor. It was a fer piece, but easy to get to. Again, not lovely to walk to and with a derth of the cosy cafes we are used to seeing. Plaza Sotomayer had a few utilitarian cafes and we pooped out in one of them. This gave us the pep we needed to begin afresh. A tourist info center was close by; availing ourselves of the friendly help within, we were soon on our way up, via funicular to artsy old Valparaíso, which is known for its street art as well as its architecture. Following are some pics, starting with a view from the funicular, which got us up a very steep hill.

This is the Museo de Bellas Artes. Unfortunately, as this was a Monday, it was closed.

Street Art

Charlie has such a good sense of direction and so loves to read maps that I find myself being rather lazy in that regard. It’s relaxing to allow him to do the work. But sometimes, these old cities are confusing in their layout and it takes both of our eyes and minds to decipher our whereabouts on the map and then to determine where we’re going. When I travel on my own or when my mom and I traveled together, I am quite capable of getting around and about.

More architecture – and loving these colors!

As we walked up the street, I noticed ant stencils placed at fairly regular intervals. How clever the the proprietors of this establishment are!

From the next few photos, you can see just how densely populated it is and get a sense of the verticality of the place.

I just don’t know how the world can sustain this population. It’s just explosive. When I’m in a big city like this, my mind reels with the sheer numbers of apartment buildings, the number of apartments within those buildings, the fact that they all have running water and plumbing. How does it get there and where does it all go?! Multiply this one city of Santiago, population of 5.6 million in 2017, by the tens of thousands of other big cities, and it could drive me to drink. Which reminds me – time to take a break and go out to try a Pisco Sour, info following in case you’re interested.

I’m back. Slightly the better for the wear to take an old saying and update it. Much like life for those of us of a certain age. We’re slightly better for the wear – in some circumstances, anyway.

Viña del Mar

Since we got an early start (unusual for us!), we decided we had time to take in Viña Del Mar, just 20 minutes away by local bus. Of course we had several bus number possibilities that we should take to get us there. At a bus stop I asked a driver of a bus, with a different number than any of the 5 given to us, if we could get a bus to Viña Del Mar from that stop. He said, “I’m going to Viña.” A passenger piped up, “Shopping?” I said, “to the beach.” We were motioned on. Now we had to figure out where to get off. Ask one person and several are happy to help you. I love that! In fact, we got off at a better place than tourist office guy said. Bigger beach, fewer people.

The waves don’t look like much in the photo, but they had a very strong undertow and came crashing down close to shore. In fact, the red flags were flying and the signs said not to swim. Yeah, right. The water was grand; cold, but not too.

Other than the beach and the water, I don’t have much to say about V del M and don’t know that I would recommend it for more than a few days. But, we might have missed a critical area. We met a couple from Canada who went on a 3 hour  and said it was the best ever. They were effusive. We’ll never know.

Sometimes in travel, things work out – like getting to a better beach. Sometimes they don’t – like it being a Monday and the museum’s closed or timing is off. Still, here you are in another country and it’s beautiful.

To end today’s post, I’m going to put a plug in for Charlie. On Sunday we went to the Museo de Memoria y Derechos Humanos. It was not a lighthearted romp. I won’t be writing about it. Charlie has done so – and beautifully; I recommend you read his post.

I think it’s interesting that this city is titled as it is: Santiago de Chile. It struck me today that in less than one year we have been in Santiago de Compostela and Santiago de Chile.  And they couldn’t be more different. Well, I guess they could be more different, but the point is that they are different. In fact, I was ruminating on the differences among cities. I can’t necessarily pinpoint the exact differences, but they are there. I wouldn’t mistake Barcelona for Montevideo or Buenos Aires for either of the Santiagos or Santiago for Mendoza or Oaxaca. Each has it’s own particular feel, rhythm, layout, qualities. The sidewalks are pretty much shit in any of them. Actually, there’s less dog shit on the sidewalks of Santiago de Chile than other cities. That’s something.

We did’t get out of the apartment today until around noon. I had a late night, up posting until 1:30 in the morning. And as it was a Friday night, there were lots of festive gatherings in the apartments in our building. And as it was a Friday night, and this is Latin America, we expected parties until the wee hours. Plus, it was pretty hot and the apartment is without air conditioning, so sleep was a little challenging. But, that’s the beauty of travel and being out of the habitual. We didn’t have anywhere specific to be and where we wanted to go was there at cualquier hora.

So, where did we want to go? Cerro de Santa Lucia for one, which is right down the block form our place. It’s a rocky promontory in the middle of the city. Charles Darwin has a memorial with his words inscribed on a rock face.

Of course, being on a high point of land, a fort is located here. The gates were closed and we couldn’t tour it. So different from forts in Portugal. Then, it’s a history unique to the region.

This photo gives an idea of the rocky promontory upon which the fort was built. The rock formations are like columnar cubes. You can see that they were formed horizontally, then some cataclysmic earth movement pulled them up and out and sideways. Then Mother Nature added her own beauty to the scene.

As Chile sits on the Ring of Fire, this type of geophysical activity is to be expected. The last big erthquake was in January of this year at 6.5. Prior to that, the last major quake to hit wa in 1960 and it was recorded at 9.7 – the strongest ever.

I love the juxtaposition of old and new buildings that can be found in cities. So, what I wonder is, how did the old buildings withstand the earthquakes and how are new glass buildings being constucted to be able to withstand the earth’s upheavals? I know there’s an answer to that; and I know that it’s probably far more technological and complicated than I can handle.

Here is something that I just love about this city. Children are allowed to play and swim in the fountains! The carabinieri were right there. I was surprised that there weren’t more children in the water. It was a hot day. And this is a big city.

Hey. We went shopping in Paris today. That’s a big department store. I decided I needed a new t-shirt to replace the dingy white one. Ed/Charlie needed new swim trunks.

On a more sober note, here are a few pics from the Museo de Bomberos. I’ve noted that in each major city we’ve been in here in South America there is a museum to firemen. Generally the old trucks are restored by volunteers. That both impresses and humbles me.

Check this out. This mall type structure consisted of salons – hair, nail, depilatory, barbers, all on three floors. The lower floor is an arcade. Wild.

And this shop sells dolls and figurines. Who is buying this stuff? Find Piglet for extra points. And is that Bud Lightyear?!

One thing I do love about latin countries is the predominance of small shops catering to specific needs: paint, underwear (ropa interior – how I love that phrase), cell phone needs, household items, chicken take-out… There are all of these small businesses that somehow make a go of it. I assume they make a go of it – there they are, after all.

Today at lunch Charlie thwarted a would-be thief. This guy came and sat at a table next to us. My back pack was on the ground at my feet. Boom! Next thing you know, Charlie grabs the pack, the guy non-chalantly gets up and leaves. Charlie saw him bending over and finagling his own bag, saw my pack moving and grabbed it. So, now the pack goes between my feet. Of course, I don’t keep anything of value in my pack. I carry it for water, hats, and in case we buy something. Argentina and Chile are both countries that charge for providing a bag, whether at a department store or a grocery store. Uruguay still provides plastic bags at no cost. Curious.

Once again, the hour grows late. And I am off to bed. I wish you all sweet dreams and pleasant days – wherever you are in the cycle of time in the world.

Love, Paula

 

Biking

Yesterday, as promised to ourselves, we made the bike and wine self guided tour, arriving at the shop by 10 am. Nico welcomed us warmly in perfect English and perfect Spanish. He grew up in Maryland, son of a US dad and Argentine mom. Because he sees so few tourists from the US, he gave us a discount on the bike rental.

The bikes were comfortable, for me anyway. Charlie has tender nalgas. No comment about mine. It’s always when I’m writing that I think, I should have gotten a photo! In this case, of the bikes lined up; of Nico; of Charlie on the bicycle. This is something I must improve.

It was interesting to ride bikes on the same street we walked the day before. This is the street with the opulent homes – photos I posted earlier. Kind of a deja vu moment, only without the mystery.

The roads we traveled for the wine tour were pretty well trafficked. Not in line with my vision of bucolic, quiet and breezy country roads. Didn’t matter. It felt good to be rolling along instead of walking for a change.

Our first stop was to an olive oil producing facility, Pasrai. Argentina is the largest producer of olive oil in the Americas and the eighth largest in the world. Most of it is virgin or extra virgin. Our guide informed us that the virgen, EVOO, or just plain olive oil versions have to do with acidity and therefore taste. The lower the acidity, the better the olive oil. Look for between .01 and .08. If that is even listed on the label.

Did you know that you can become certified as an Olive Oil Sommerlier? The International Culinary Center has a course this May 13-18 in New York. The January 20-25 course in London sold out. How much might this cost, I wondered. Level 1: May 13-15 from 9 am to 4 pm: $1400. Level 2: May 16-18 from 9 am to 4 pm: $1400. Wow. ~ $466.00 per day. I believe it would be interesting. Probably worthwhile for professionals in high end restaurants and retail. And life changing if you care about food. So they say.

It was an in depth tasting. In addition to olive oil on bread cubes, we were treated to tastes of their own hummus, black bean, and green olive dips, as well as some of their green and black olives. Yes, we bought some and are looking forward to enjoying it before we get home.

Murals from Pasrai:

The granite stones used to grind the olives on the right. On the left, I don’t remember. But up front, that round tray is called an esportine and will hold ~ 4k of olive mash which will then be pressed. The esportine was orginally made of horse hair.

The golden olive oil you see below is from the ripe, black olive.

Onward to Cecchin Winery! This is a smallish, family owned organic vineyard.

The bike ride in to this vineyard lived up to my expectations.

The aroma of ripening grapes under this arbor was sweet!

Our guide, Cecile is from the Bordeaux region of France. She is passionate and knowledgable, taking the time to really teach us and talk with us about the wines: how to first hold it to the light or against a white paper or your palm. That the first sniff of wine is just to ensure that it has not turned. Then you swirl and sniff again. I was amazed at how the aroma changed with the introduction of oxygen. When you take a sip for a tasting, do so with an intake of air. It’s a little noisy; a little slurpy. But that’s how you get the full mouth feel and flavor. We bought a bottle.

At Trevento, the next winery, the experience was completely different. Well, for one thing, we didn’t take the tour, opting for the tasting only. It is a modern complex. Where at Cecchin we walked into a building from 1878, stone and adobe and latillas, Trevento was glass and steel and leather. We sat. Three bottles were brought to us; a short introduction to each was given. We were left alone with our tasting. At least they were generous pours. We didn’t buy.

Our serious consideration of the wines was brought up short when we were joined by Gerhardt from Vienna, Austria who sought companionship and conversation. We obliged and had a thoughtful conversation ranging from travel to politics to language and history.

We had planned on visiting a third winery after lunch at a local spot recommended by Nico. We didn’t find it. By this point, we were wine high, hungry, and hot, so headed back to turn in the bikes and return to Mendoza for dinner. I was so wiped out when we returned to the hotel, the most I could manage was a cool shower and a crash into bed.

Busing

A bus ride through the Andes took the better part of the day (Thursday, 8 feb.). We left Mendoza at 9 am and arrived in Santiago, Chile around 4:30. What a ride! The Andes, from a distance don’t seem like much. But, oh, in the midst of them! I’m just going to post a bunch of photos and hope you get the idea.

I look at the photos and I don’t think they really do get at the height and grandeur. They do give a glimpse into the varying geographic land forms, though, at times reminiscent of New Mexico.

Time to call it a day. Big hugs, Paula

Sometimes I wonder if I’m losing my mind; going mad. I wonder if it’s due to all of the changes that are inherent to travel. So many numbers to keep track of – dates, times, Uruguay pesos, Argentine pesos, where were we when, and where and when we are going. Buying tickets in advance and keeping track of where they live in my bag or backpack and which backpack. Here is an instance of when I truly felt like a dolt: this morning I ran the cold water faucet in the shower waiting and waiting for hot water. I lost track of whether it’s the left or the right spigot!

We arrived in Mendoza yesterday morning around 10 am after an overnight bus ride from Buenos Aires which we arrived in from Montevideo around 2, I think. Our bus left BA for Mendoza at 8:40 pm so we had some time to fritter away. We knew that the first thing we wanted to do was to return to Cafe Negro for an extra special filtrado coffee. We had stopped in there on the 28th January on our way to the ferry to Montevideo. We sat at the counter. I watched the barista prepare a coffee with such care and attention. She ground a bit of coffee; swirled it; inspected it; tossed it. Then she ground a bit more and performed the same ritual. The third grind proved to be just what she wanted. Next steps: slowly pour water over the filter; add ground coffee; diligently pour water over the coffee, wafting steam to nose to assure proper aroma is being created.

I mentioned to her that I was impressed with the care she took. She proudly proclaimed that she was a proper barista, studied coffee, and as this was her job, she was going to do it right.

So, into Cafe Negro for a properly prepared filtrado. And yes, it was the smoothest, richest cup of black coffee I’ve ever had.

The bus ride passed uneventfully and pretty quickly for a 13 hour trip. Overnight helped. 180 degree reclining seats with pillow and blanket helped. Wine with dinner helped. It felt like being on an international flight, right down to the pork and potato hot dinner in a tinfoil try, only more comfortable.

We’ve had a couple of days of wandering without accomplishing much, being thwarted in our intentions. Yesterday, our walk to Cerro de la Glorieta in General San Martin park to watch sunset from that high point was a bust. We thought we had plenty of time to meander through that beautiful park and make it to the top, but no. And we were hoofing it. It’s a lot further than google let on – trickster google. The park is enormous with trails and roads and water and grassy areas. Hordes were out en masse running. Families sat in the grass. Bicyclists zoomed up and down the road to the Cerro, as did buses and cars. I had thought the hike would be on a trail. Maybe we took a wrong turn.  Here’s a few pics of the park.The above tree is a sauce (sa-u-say), weeping willow, the national tree of Argentina.

We walked so much yesterday that I developed heat rash on my legs. This is a new and unwelcome part of being in my sixties I think. I got it a few times hiking the camino, too. Madenning – Madning – Maddening … How do you spell that word?

Today. Oof. A lost afternoon in Maipu. Lessons learned on travel and not trusting blog post data. Go to this road. Hop on this bus number. Get off and rent bikes. It sounded so straight forward. That bus number never came. A bus saying Maipu did come so on we jumped. It took forever. We got off in this desolate mad town of Maipu. Stores closed up. No cafes around. Any small shops that were open would only talk to you through a small opening. After finally getting some info as to where the tourist office was located we headed there. More info on where to go, what bus to take to the Gutierrez train station to rent bikes. Listening intently to rapid Spanish; getting clarification – trying to. Make it to the bus stop and all the buses going by do not have the numbers we were given. Nor do they match any of the numbers listed at the bus stop. Finally, a bus comes round with a Gutierrez sign, but not the number. In we go. By now it’s way to late to think about renting bikes. It’s 3 and the wineries close at 6 and they are about 5 miles away. So, back to Mendoza where we immediately headed to a gelato shop to soothe our cranky selves.

We did see some stately old buildings on our mad Maipu jaunt, former homes of wine barons.

I have to say that Charlie and I maneuvered through this rather difficult stretch with aplomb. I mean, the outing was a bust. And that’s why people sign up for tours. Yet, there’s something about finding – and losing – and finding your own way. There’s something about stopping and talking to people to get help in finding your way. There’s something about being in partnership and finding patience and understanding in a messed up marathon of trying to get somewhere. It was like a bad dream, when you need to run, but your legs are leaden.

And now we know exactly what to do, where to go, and the best time. Tomorrow we try again! We are akin to the Argentine symbol: hands clasped in unity; sun rising over a new day; the Phrygian cap of the liberated upon our heads. Okay, we don’t have Phrygian caps.

Mendoza is an oasis of green and water in an arid climate. Acequias run throughout the city providing water to the parks, the trees, the fountains. I read that it’s glacial run off from the Andes.

The next two photos were taken from the 14th floor of a hotel terrace. Way better than the Cerro de la Glorieta. Easier to get to and cocktails!

Since when does “playa” mean parking garage? And how did avocados become “paltos”? Squid rings are “rabas.” There’s a whole new vocabulary to enrich my store.

As the sun sets behind the Andes, the clouds light up.

Are you wondering about Phrygian caps? Here’s the wikipedia entry:

The Phrygian cap or liberty cap is a soft conical cap with the apex bent over, associated in antiquity with several peoples in Eastern Europe and Anatolia, including Phrygia, Dacia, and the Balkans. In early modern Europe it came to signify freedom and the pursuit of liberty through a confusion with the pileus, the felt cap of manumitted (emancipated) slaves of ancient Rome. In artistic representations it signifies freedom and the pursuit of liberty.

It is used in the coat of arms of certain republics or of republican state institutions in the place where otherwise a crown would be used (in the heraldry of monarchies). It thus came to be identified as a symbol of the republican form of government. A number of national personifications, in particular France’s Marianne, are commonly depicted wearing the Phrygian cap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It reminds me of the beanies that are so popular with young people nowadays.

And by the way – the Smurfs are wearing Phrygian caps! 

 

Three nights and two days passed quickly here. Weekends are quiet. Except for the two kids next door who have been at it all afternoon and into the evening. It got so bad I had to put in my earbuds and watch Frankie and Grace on my computer. Ed had his head phones on and slept through it. So, this is what apartment living is like. Pour me some more wine.

Ah. Sorry. Nothing like starting off a post with my own whining.

We went out for breakfast yesterday for the first time since being on this trip. By the time we made it to the grocery store Friday night, it was closed. Anyway, I had a plan for going to Cafe Brasiliero, which I’d read about. It is the city’s oldest cafe, founded in 1877. In the past, you might have found the literati sitting at a table discussing the political front or drafting a new novel. Now, you’ll find tourists. Actually, there were a couple of locals. I could tell because it was about 11 in the morning and they were drinking Fernet.

Fernet – it’s another of those cultural drinks, like mate that I’ve yet to try. I think it’s a bit like Aperol or Campari, from what I’ve read. Slightly bitter and medicinal tasting. I just read that the making of Fernet uses an enormous amount of saffron! So, it must be expensive.

Cafe Brasilero:

We wandered Ciudad Vieja yesterday. A lot of stores were closed. This one wasn’t and now I’m sorry I didn’t take advantage of their sale.

Antiques are big business down here in Buenos Aires and Montevideo. Well, I don’t know  if they are big business, but there are a lot of them, sold in stores and street markets.

One of these days I’m going to re-outfit my dinnerware with mis-matched, but coordinating dinnerware. I’ll pick up a few lamps too.

The day turned quite chilly, cloudy, and windy yesterday. The Rio de la Plata was whipped into a frenzy. It was exhilarating.

We popped into a cafe for a warming glass of wine. After sitting there for quite a while, we began chatting with another couple who were enjoying a warming hot chocolate and churros. They live in Santiago, Chile – our next destination. We got on quite well and exchanged names and contact information. Tom is from York, England; Cristina is Chilean. They met while she was studying for her master’s in piano in York. They’re here for a few more days, but since we extended our trip in Santiago, we should be able to connect.

As mentioned in another post regarding cathedrals and churches and churches and their lack of prevalence in Argentina, the same seems to be true in Uruguay. But we did pop into the Metropolitan Cathedral. I apologize for the lack of crispness in the following photo, but I just loved this dancing angel.

While Buenos Aires is known as having more bookstores per capita than any other country, Montevideo must be a close second. We did read that Uruguay has the highest literacy rate of any South American country. And we have seen many bookstores in our wanderings. They all have their own charm, inside and out.

Another thing we appreciate about Montevideo are the leafy, tree-lined streets. The sidewalks, however, are another matter.  They are often crumbling, broken trip hazards. Sometimes they have creative coverings. It certainly keeps you aware.

And they don’t usually have the tape to warn you. Part of the problem is that those shade providing trees break up the tiles, small pieces are left strewn about, and the sidewalks are all wonky with trees roots undermining man’s attempt to level the surface. Go, tree roots!

Today we experienced the crush of the open air market. Goods for sale aside from fresh fruits and vegetables: costume jewelry, underwear, kitchen ware, cell phone accoutrements, clothing, beer on tap, batteries, fresh squeezed oj, (I had some yesterday – oh, so sweet! Oranges here are a wonder of taste and juiciness.) tools… And I don’t know what this man was selling, but I think it’s foraged. He had a customer, so I reckon it’s legit.

Sunday. Today. A stroll to the barrio Pocitos. Great for the playa and that’s about it. On a Sunday, anyway. I read in another blog that it’s THE place to stay, to be. We prefer our barrio of Parque Rodó. I did love swimming in the Rio de la Plata today and sunning myself in the sand. Charlie has that photo on his post. He called me a crusty old lady. Pig.

Here are the beach and the Rambla along the river in barrio Pocitos.

And I leave you wtih this bit of advice:

Con mucho amor, Paula

 

Waiting on the bus to leave Punta for Montevideo I spotted these two young women saying goodbye. They held on to one another for a long time, saying endearments to one another (I imagine). Just before breaking off contact they jumped up and down and tightened their hug.

Have you ever seen the movie, Love Actually? It opens at an airport with arrivals, friends and family rushing into one another’s arms, all smiles and tears, and children’s squealing delight. Just thining about it brings tears to me. The rest of the movie is good too.

South Americans are demonstrative. Women walk hand-in-hand. Men unabashedly kiss one another on the cheek in greeting and hug. New acquaintances reach for you, pull you in, and plant a kiss on your cheek.

Now we are in Montevideo, arriving yesterday afternoon around 4:45, around a half hour later than scheduled. No problem for us, but our host expected us earlier and seemed really rushed to orient us to the apartment. Aaaah. This apartment. It is new and clean and airy and spacious; and has reliable and fast wifi. What a pleasure – and a pearl. This is a place that makes you wonder if maybe you shouldn’t stay just a little bit longer. Or aplace that makes you wonder if maybe you shouldn’t have spent just a little bit more in BsAs.

Our first evening here couldn’t have gone any better. A stroll through Parque Rodó and then to the Ramblas before heading off to find dinner.

A view of the Rio de la Plata that illustrates just how wide it is. Widest in the world – have probably mentioned that. It doesn’t fail to invoke wonder each time I see it, though. Argentina is across that expanse.

Not sure what to do about dinner, I suggested heading to Escaramuza, a bookstore and café. BTW, doesn’t the name Escaramuza remind you of Queen and Bohemian Rhapsody?   “Scaramouche, scaramouch, will you do the fandango?” I’d read about it and our host mentioned that it was in the neighborhood. I figured there would likely be other restaurants in the neighborhood if it turned out to be pastries and coffee.

Well, it was another pearl. We sat outside under the canopy of a wildly tangled vine. Bife de ojo (ribeye) was on the menu as well as my mind and soon ended up in my belly. The sweet note that ended dinner – flan de dulce de leche. Swoon. So creamy, so delicate of caramel flavor, so dense and smooth on the tongue. Yes, you want some. And the coffee – a cortado – the best yet in terms of ripe, round satisfaction.

I didn’t get any good photos of the place, except for one of the many collages.

Strolling back to the apartment we heard drumbeats and were inexorably pulled toward them. We came upon a large group, drummers and dancers, taking up the width of the street. They moved slowly, the drummers with faces of serious concentration; the dancers with smiles of ecstasy. Beer was passed around among friends. Friends met friends on the sidewalk and danced over for a kiss. As I dancingly joined the group, I was pulled into the middle by a lovely woman who gave me a lesson in the particular step they were using. Charlie got a few photos and a video.

We stayed with them as they got to the corner and headed up the next block. Not knowing how far they were going, we almost abandoned the desfile. But something tugged at me and so we stayed. It broke up at the end of the next block. If I understood my dance instructor correctly, this takes place year round, every other night in all the barrios. What I’m not sure of is, every other night all week or just on the weekend? I know I’ll be listening for it on Sunday evening.

Time to start making a move to hit the town. Yoga first.

Loves you. Paula

 

 

Aguaviva – that’s what they call jelly fish around these parts. These parts being Punta del Diablo, Uruguay. Agua eléctrica is more like it. These critters ply the ocean, hidden, invisible, known to be there only once you feel a sting. Moments later, red welts appear. It looks worse than it really is. The stinging continues for a short while. But within about a half hour to an hour it’s pretty much cleared. Still, after experiencing this three times in the past day and a half, I find myself being a little leery about the ocean. I’ve been stung behind both knees and on the left wrist. When I say stung, it’s not like a bee sting localized to one spot. And it looks a bit different each time. Behind my right knee, it looked like a scrape or a burn. Behind my left knee, more on my upper calf, there was a large area of small red welts. And on my wrist, it looked like rope burn with welts.

I did an internet search and found a couple of images for aguaviva, but very different from one another. So, I don’t know. I imagine it to have tentacles from the results left behind. One image had tentacles, the other didn’t. I wonder if the stinging is meant to keep other creatures at bay – a defense – or to numb prey for easier consumption. Wait. What do jelly fish eat? How do they eat?

Windy and sunny at the beach earlier today. Stayed for a while before returning to the cabin for a break. It’s a bit more overcast now, so I will return. And the aguaviva will not keep me from riding the water!

Update following the above. I did not get stung and I was relieved! The waves were great and I took a snooze on the beach. Below are a few photos.

Here is our little cabin which was just a five minute walk to above beach. We had terrible wifi at the cabin so I couldn’t upload any photos while we were there.

Yes, it was tiny. What you see is what we got. Just beyond the fridge is the bathroom. And just to the right is the countertop, sink, and stove. Thank goodness for the porch. It was comfortable enough for a short stay. But, oh, the day we arrived – well, I wrote about that already and so did Ed.

Punta is charming in a bohemian kind of way. The homes and cabins are colorful and quirky in design, many having grass roofs. Lots of young people backpacking (and two old farts), and while Uruguay has legalized marijuana, we didn’t see many smoking or smell it that much. There were just a few dispensaries. Mate seems to be the drug of choice.

More tomorrow.

Paula

 

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.

Paula

 

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