If I liked Bogota, Cartagena astounded me. It was a Technicolor odyssey of architectural sights, set inside a fairy-tale-like wall that surrounded the city like a fort. Well, it WAS a fortress once upon a time ago. Cartagena is a port city, so of course, it was the sight of many a battle for occupation. Those Spanish, always trying to take over South America, one city at a time… The now-rusty canons that once fired at such Spanish proudly stand tall against the backdrop of a Caribbean Sea; the Colombian flags wave at intervals along the dated stone walkway (you can walk atop the wall surrounding the city – at sunset it makes for the beginning of a great night); the watchtowers still loom, nowadays filled with school kids peering out or lovers making out, and the skyline of a more modern side of Cartagena is outlined in the distance. It’s unlike any city I’ve been to in South America, and in keeping with my Colombian theme, it’s another favorite.
My stay in Cartagena was semi-quiet but amazing...
As most of you know, I like my beach time solitary, I’m not a big fan of sand-side chatter and nonsense; too much fuss in creating a relaxing environment negates the whole experience. I need an uncluttered space, and like a bit of solitude when I find myself near the water. Plus, this trip was ending and at each trip’s end, I get a little anxious. Cartagena provided beautifully. I stayed, as instructed, inside the walled city. I filled my mornings lazily taking breakfast poolside, spent afternoons on the beach, and evenings strolling through the narrow cobblestone streets of Cartagena. The vivid colors of the buildings; the people dancing in the streets at sunset; the horse-drawn carriages that transported people from place to place; the little cafes with dancing couples inside – heads of ladies on shoulders of men, hips in unison; the seafood menus that make me hungry just thinking about the coconut or cilantro based incarnations of fish stews, ceviches, and grilled filets; the beautifully lit churches that demanded attention against the night sky; the people, infused with a little bit of South America and little bit of Caribbean, as colorful as their city, and as hospitable. I took a trip to the Islas del Rosario, ecological islands that reminded me a little bit of the Galapagos because of their seclusion and their natural beauty. The boat-ride to Islas del Rosario showed Colombia to be a country of such diversity when comparing the hills of Bogota to the old city of Cartagena to the untouched jungles of the coast. The blue of the sky, meeting the green of the landscape, meeting the turquoise of the water. I feel almost as if I’m romanticizing Colombia, but really, I was just overcome by how surprised I was by this place, this country, these people. All of it.
I could tell you a hundred ridiculous stories about how I had to change my hotel room three times and after that everyone in the hotel knew me by name (“Aaaah, si, si…Senorita Martinez…” not, I’m pretty sure, in a good way), how I got into a scuffle with a church usher who wanted to take me into the church museum (I didn’t want to go) and he asked why I was being such a “scared American?” I could tell you how my Australian pop-star from Vietnam resurfaced and is now looking for ME to be HER friend or how I saw the legendary Gabriel Garcia Marquez going into his house (around the corner from my hotel), but I was too terrified (and way too sweaty, it’s about 100 degrees everyday here) to approach him and try to talk to a WRITER in Spanish (god, talk about grammatical pressure…). I can tell you how I seemingly had a stain on the back of my white skirt the day I went scuba diving that looked like blood, rendering me completely mortified in front of the Islas del Rosario tour group when I was the first out of the boat. I quickly became “that poor girl.” The kicker was that it was chocolate, not blood, but WHO would believe that if you saw what it looked like (and try explaining THAT to a boatload of vacationing Colombians). I can tell you how everyone gets searched, thoroughly and repeatedly, when flying anywhere in Colombia, and the guard, upon opening my bag and seeing the order, the effort, the anality with which I packed, looked up sheepishly, and said: “I’m going to ruin all of your very hard work,” and removed EVERY piece of clothing from the bag. I had to sit on my hands to actually allow it to happen – don’t even ask about HOW he repacked it all. I tried not to watch. Instead, I’ll just leave you with all the amazing feelings and images that Colombia inspired. I cannot wait to return, hopefully with someone who I know will be as awed and surprised as I was during their first trip. It’ll be a pleasure to experience that. There are only a few places where I’ve thought that: I MUST return with someone else to appreciate what I’m seeing. Both Bogota and Cartagena are two such places.
My trip finished as it started, in reverse. I found myself sitting in the airport in Panama City, awaiting a flight connection that would deposit me into NYC in the middle of night, instead of South America. Waiting with me were two precious little girls and their mother, in Ecuador World Cup shirts, going to New York from Quito for their second time, to visit some new friends. How apropos…life's little coincidences.
More soon from Europe…a very different trip with many different stories, I’m sure.
xoxo
Showing posts with label South America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label South America. Show all posts
Friday, June 30, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Horace Mann happens...in Bogota!
Like most people, I had my ideas about Colombia. I knew of the horror stories dealing with drug cartels, burning coca fields, drug “mules”, Pablo Escobar and his empire in Medellin, political kidnappings. I knew of pop culture references like coffee man Juan Valdez, Shakira and her fabulous hips (I’d love to be able to shake like that!), and writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude and Love in the Time of Cholera (both books I devoured). I’d always heard it was “dangerous” to visit (as many of you reminded me on hearing I planned to come). However, having traveled around South America last year, I met many Colombians and other South Americans talking about this country; how beautiful it was, the mountains of Bogota, the beaches of Cartagena, how little it was visited by tourists, and I was intrigued. So now, having spent the last week here, I can say without hesitation, I’m fascinated. I will return; it’s easily my favorite country in South America, after Argentina. Everyone else should stop fretting and visit too, it’s amazing…
It’s funny, when I went to Bangkok I had been warned that I’d want to get in, get out; that the seedy underside of Bangkok outweighed its positives. I couldn’t have disagreed more. I loved Bangkok, in all of its seedy splendor and returned three times during my trip to SE Asia. I was given the same warnings about Bogota. And again, found myself enamored by a city that I didn’t expect to be taken with. (What’s with those B capitals…?) Bogota, set high above sea level, is about 60 degrees year-round, and has so much to offer. It’s at once modern and historic, trendy and old-fashioned, immaculate and filthy. Fabulously sleek tapas lounges sit next to old Colombian standbys. Chic little boutiques neighbor artisans souvenir shops. Beautiful red brick high-rises of the tree-lined northern districts are offset by the red-roofed colonial houses of the more southern Centro, or La Candelaria. The cobblestone streets rise and fall in sync with the altitude, and spending a day winding through them, -- the museums, the cafes, the plazas, the people-watching -- I found myself smiling a lot.
Part of my day in Bogota was spent in the Botero museum (the easiest way to describe his work is: he paints fat people – sounds mean, but you’d know his subjects if you saw his work), easily the best modern art museum, the most comprehensive I’ve seen on my trips yet. The art is both his own work AND his private collection of Picassos, Chagalls, Monets, Miros, and de Kooenings. The other part of my day was spent with a friend of China’s, the cute, funky Adriana, who sat outside in Usaquen (a northern plaza) for hours with me lazily drinking wine and talking shop: dating in Bogota vs dating in the NY, men in Colombia vs. men in the States. I found it’s all the same, we just speak different literal languages. Then, we went back to Adriana’s (their apartments are SO much more fantastic than ours!!!) to meet her friends. She was having a reunion of her four girlfriends from high-school. They hadn’t seen each other in ten years. All, except Adriana, are married. Two lived in the States, one in rural Colombia. One of the States-side girls lived in NYC . . .
The two girls that arrived first were the Colombian and one of the States girls who lives with her husband in Mississippi (Why, right? He’s Army.). They’re so sweet, unassuming, wouldn’t know a Blahnik or Choo if it him ‘em on the head. We’re chatting away in Spanish, they’re asking me about my trip, having wine, quietly…when the New York Colombian walked in. WELL…it was so scary how familiar it all became. She is stunning, hair just fresh-from-a-blow-out, with ends so perfectly flipped up, I could lick them. Camel pointy-toe boots, skinny leg jeans, blazer, blinding cushion-cut-rock on her finger, $2000 bag, and she talks faster than the wind. In BOTH Spanish and English. And, from that moment on, ONLY SHE TALKED. Everyone just listened to her fancy NYC life. She lives on Riverside, in the 90s, with her husband, “but they’re moving to Miami because it’s just too much money in New York and her two kids are both under four, but they’ve been in private school since they were 2, and they were at a point where they were starting to think about Horace-Mann and other schools that are competitive and does she want that for her children, for her life with her husband?” Going in and out the subway (and she mimes walking a stroller down the subway steps, in heels, with her bag...), not having a grassy place for them to play besides Central Park, and "the process of getting me, my husband, two kids, a nanny and TOYS to the park! Aye, Mammi!" They contemplated only having one child to stay in New York, “but she’s Latin and wants a big family like her own,” and blah blah blah…. And, I burst out laughing! Like, unable to help myself burst out! Because this WHOLE conversation, every hair-flip’s worth, is in staccato-Spanish BUT IT’S EXACTLY THE SAME AS oh-so-MANY I’VE OVERHEARD (or had with some of you…yes!) at home. I almost died…. Thankfully, she understood. Like I said, same shit, different language.
I didn’t continue onto dinner with them.
While I loved Adriana, there was only so much Horace Mann and hair-flips I wanted to take…in Bogota!
Onto Cartagena, the Caribbean city where, YES, Romancing the Stone was set.
I didn’t know that, but everyone else seemingly did…
More soon.
xoxo
It’s funny, when I went to Bangkok I had been warned that I’d want to get in, get out; that the seedy underside of Bangkok outweighed its positives. I couldn’t have disagreed more. I loved Bangkok, in all of its seedy splendor and returned three times during my trip to SE Asia. I was given the same warnings about Bogota. And again, found myself enamored by a city that I didn’t expect to be taken with. (What’s with those B capitals…?) Bogota, set high above sea level, is about 60 degrees year-round, and has so much to offer. It’s at once modern and historic, trendy and old-fashioned, immaculate and filthy. Fabulously sleek tapas lounges sit next to old Colombian standbys. Chic little boutiques neighbor artisans souvenir shops. Beautiful red brick high-rises of the tree-lined northern districts are offset by the red-roofed colonial houses of the more southern Centro, or La Candelaria. The cobblestone streets rise and fall in sync with the altitude, and spending a day winding through them, -- the museums, the cafes, the plazas, the people-watching -- I found myself smiling a lot.
Part of my day in Bogota was spent in the Botero museum (the easiest way to describe his work is: he paints fat people – sounds mean, but you’d know his subjects if you saw his work), easily the best modern art museum, the most comprehensive I’ve seen on my trips yet. The art is both his own work AND his private collection of Picassos, Chagalls, Monets, Miros, and de Kooenings. The other part of my day was spent with a friend of China’s, the cute, funky Adriana, who sat outside in Usaquen (a northern plaza) for hours with me lazily drinking wine and talking shop: dating in Bogota vs dating in the NY, men in Colombia vs. men in the States. I found it’s all the same, we just speak different literal languages. Then, we went back to Adriana’s (their apartments are SO much more fantastic than ours!!!) to meet her friends. She was having a reunion of her four girlfriends from high-school. They hadn’t seen each other in ten years. All, except Adriana, are married. Two lived in the States, one in rural Colombia. One of the States-side girls lived in NYC . . .
The two girls that arrived first were the Colombian and one of the States girls who lives with her husband in Mississippi (Why, right? He’s Army.). They’re so sweet, unassuming, wouldn’t know a Blahnik or Choo if it him ‘em on the head. We’re chatting away in Spanish, they’re asking me about my trip, having wine, quietly…when the New York Colombian walked in. WELL…it was so scary how familiar it all became. She is stunning, hair just fresh-from-a-blow-out, with ends so perfectly flipped up, I could lick them. Camel pointy-toe boots, skinny leg jeans, blazer, blinding cushion-cut-rock on her finger, $2000 bag, and she talks faster than the wind. In BOTH Spanish and English. And, from that moment on, ONLY SHE TALKED. Everyone just listened to her fancy NYC life. She lives on Riverside, in the 90s, with her husband, “but they’re moving to Miami because it’s just too much money in New York and her two kids are both under four, but they’ve been in private school since they were 2, and they were at a point where they were starting to think about Horace-Mann and other schools that are competitive and does she want that for her children, for her life with her husband?” Going in and out the subway (and she mimes walking a stroller down the subway steps, in heels, with her bag...), not having a grassy place for them to play besides Central Park, and "the process of getting me, my husband, two kids, a nanny and TOYS to the park! Aye, Mammi!" They contemplated only having one child to stay in New York, “but she’s Latin and wants a big family like her own,” and blah blah blah…. And, I burst out laughing! Like, unable to help myself burst out! Because this WHOLE conversation, every hair-flip’s worth, is in staccato-Spanish BUT IT’S EXACTLY THE SAME AS oh-so-MANY I’VE OVERHEARD (or had with some of you…yes!) at home. I almost died…. Thankfully, she understood. Like I said, same shit, different language.
I didn’t continue onto dinner with them.
While I loved Adriana, there was only so much Horace Mann and hair-flips I wanted to take…in Bogota!
Onto Cartagena, the Caribbean city where, YES, Romancing the Stone was set.
I didn’t know that, but everyone else seemingly did…
More soon.
xoxo
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Ecuador, Round 2
The past week is a total blur…
Living life, Ecuadorian style, takes stamina. At least the way I was living it!
This was Ecuador, Round 2.
From the plane, I was whisked to Sake, a restaurant ala Bond Street that Jose Luis owns. A dozen rolls, sakes, and catching-up stories later, we rest up for a long day of sightseeing. Teleferico, Statue de Libertidad, Historic Quito, churches, and a quick manicure, one day has gone, and we’re on a plane bound to Cuenca, the colonial city of Ecuador. Me, I LOVE colonial cities. Seemingly, there are four in the Americas that bear resemblance to each other. After this trip, I’ll have hit all four: Cusco (Peru), Antigua (Guatemala), Cuenca (Ecuador), and Cartagena (Colombia). The first I visited was Cusco, a city I wound up helplessly, but happily, stuck in for over a week. Then, when I visited Antigua, I was eerily reminded of Cusco. The buildings in all of these cities are brightly colored, with various iron balconies, stone pillars, and tile work dotting the facades; fabulous gardens lie within each building and cobblestone streets connect one adorable alleyway to the next. They blend both old and new civilizations: ruins of churches stand next to brand-spankin-new white-washed government offices stand next to crumbling poorhouses stand next to restored private villas. Each Plaza Mayor is reminiscent, in both size and feel, to the one before it. So, Antigua reminded me of Cusco, Cuenca now reminded me of Antigua. (I’m told Cartagena is the best of the them all, I can’t wait!). So now, here in Cuenca, I am enamored once again.
Dashing from the charming boutique hotel to dinner with fantastic friends, who are of course, cousins of other friends (everyone is related here in Ecuador), we are served wedding-worthy platters of skewers, cheeses, sushi rolls, cured meats, hummus/pita combinations, olives, and guac/chips. 1-2, 4-5, 9-10 bottles of Veuve are brought out, popped, poured, and overturned back into their waiting chillers. Fruit platters replace the apps, Perrier-Jouet replaces the Veuve (that we’ve gone through a whole bar of….), tipsy replaces sober. The next day brings more long, lingering meals with friends (this time, the brother of another family). 2 PM-4-course lunches become 5 PM-snacks-and-cocktails; same company, easy conversation. Everyone owns magazines; for younger, for older, for the rich, for the traveled, for the gay, the straight, the conservative, the liberal. By the time I left Cuenca, I met all of my Galapagos friend Antonio’s extended family (cousin JD, brother Andres, girlfriend of other brother Yona, Yona’s brother and friend who works at the magazine, blah blah blah….). I have a hit-list of to-dos (restaurants, bars, hotel spas) for the rest of my South American itinerary and about ten new emails to add to the list of people to play with (en Espanol, of course…)
In Cuenca, we walked the town, photo-op here, Ecuadorian sweet there. Then, caught an evening plane to Guayaquil. Next apartment, next unpack, next waiting chauffeured car to whisk us to the next destination. China’s (Galapagos dive partner) birthday! First to have a drink with Roberto and Antonio (kiss, kiss, I love your cousin, brother, future sister-in-law), then onto the Mediterranean tapas place to meet apprehensively-turning-30-year old China and Priscilla, my Miami girl who lives in Ecuador. The girls! I was in serious need of some girl talk about all the faces and places I’ve seen. Drinks, apps, MORE photo-shoots. Back for sleep before the World Cup game (Ecuador-Costa Rica) in the AM. 7 AM wake-up, very early, grrr…. Have you been able to tell, I have YET to sleep? Thursday brings an amazing win for the underdog, Ecuador moves to the next round. The whole country declares holiday, wearing their yellow Ecuador T-shirts, and waving their flags, celebrating their country, the win, in the streets, restaurants, bars, residences, and offices. I feel lucky to be here, to witness. World Cup, something us Americans are JUST becoming hip to, is infectious. Ecuador proves that to me. This isn’t a Super Bowl, this isn’t the World Series, or the U.S. Open, this IS World Cup - completely different animal. Amazing…. Parties all day, parties all night. More drinks, more friends, more festivities. And then, alas….it’s over. And fast as it came, as quick as it passed, it’s over. A week in Ecuador, a week of new friends who feel like old friends, a week of fun. I can DEFINITELY get used to this…
So, now the only think that’s got me riled is:
Shit, will Panama compare?
~M
Living life, Ecuadorian style, takes stamina. At least the way I was living it!
This was Ecuador, Round 2.
From the plane, I was whisked to Sake, a restaurant ala Bond Street that Jose Luis owns. A dozen rolls, sakes, and catching-up stories later, we rest up for a long day of sightseeing. Teleferico, Statue de Libertidad, Historic Quito, churches, and a quick manicure, one day has gone, and we’re on a plane bound to Cuenca, the colonial city of Ecuador. Me, I LOVE colonial cities. Seemingly, there are four in the Americas that bear resemblance to each other. After this trip, I’ll have hit all four: Cusco (Peru), Antigua (Guatemala), Cuenca (Ecuador), and Cartagena (Colombia). The first I visited was Cusco, a city I wound up helplessly, but happily, stuck in for over a week. Then, when I visited Antigua, I was eerily reminded of Cusco. The buildings in all of these cities are brightly colored, with various iron balconies, stone pillars, and tile work dotting the facades; fabulous gardens lie within each building and cobblestone streets connect one adorable alleyway to the next. They blend both old and new civilizations: ruins of churches stand next to brand-spankin-new white-washed government offices stand next to crumbling poorhouses stand next to restored private villas. Each Plaza Mayor is reminiscent, in both size and feel, to the one before it. So, Antigua reminded me of Cusco, Cuenca now reminded me of Antigua. (I’m told Cartagena is the best of the them all, I can’t wait!). So now, here in Cuenca, I am enamored once again.
Dashing from the charming boutique hotel to dinner with fantastic friends, who are of course, cousins of other friends (everyone is related here in Ecuador), we are served wedding-worthy platters of skewers, cheeses, sushi rolls, cured meats, hummus/pita combinations, olives, and guac/chips. 1-2, 4-5, 9-10 bottles of Veuve are brought out, popped, poured, and overturned back into their waiting chillers. Fruit platters replace the apps, Perrier-Jouet replaces the Veuve (that we’ve gone through a whole bar of….), tipsy replaces sober. The next day brings more long, lingering meals with friends (this time, the brother of another family). 2 PM-4-course lunches become 5 PM-snacks-and-cocktails; same company, easy conversation. Everyone owns magazines; for younger, for older, for the rich, for the traveled, for the gay, the straight, the conservative, the liberal. By the time I left Cuenca, I met all of my Galapagos friend Antonio’s extended family (cousin JD, brother Andres, girlfriend of other brother Yona, Yona’s brother and friend who works at the magazine, blah blah blah….). I have a hit-list of to-dos (restaurants, bars, hotel spas) for the rest of my South American itinerary and about ten new emails to add to the list of people to play with (en Espanol, of course…)
In Cuenca, we walked the town, photo-op here, Ecuadorian sweet there. Then, caught an evening plane to Guayaquil. Next apartment, next unpack, next waiting chauffeured car to whisk us to the next destination. China’s (Galapagos dive partner) birthday! First to have a drink with Roberto and Antonio (kiss, kiss, I love your cousin, brother, future sister-in-law), then onto the Mediterranean tapas place to meet apprehensively-turning-30-year old China and Priscilla, my Miami girl who lives in Ecuador. The girls! I was in serious need of some girl talk about all the faces and places I’ve seen. Drinks, apps, MORE photo-shoots. Back for sleep before the World Cup game (Ecuador-Costa Rica) in the AM. 7 AM wake-up, very early, grrr…. Have you been able to tell, I have YET to sleep? Thursday brings an amazing win for the underdog, Ecuador moves to the next round. The whole country declares holiday, wearing their yellow Ecuador T-shirts, and waving their flags, celebrating their country, the win, in the streets, restaurants, bars, residences, and offices. I feel lucky to be here, to witness. World Cup, something us Americans are JUST becoming hip to, is infectious. Ecuador proves that to me. This isn’t a Super Bowl, this isn’t the World Series, or the U.S. Open, this IS World Cup - completely different animal. Amazing…. Parties all day, parties all night. More drinks, more friends, more festivities. And then, alas….it’s over. And fast as it came, as quick as it passed, it’s over. A week in Ecuador, a week of new friends who feel like old friends, a week of fun. I can DEFINITELY get used to this…
So, now the only think that’s got me riled is:
Shit, will Panama compare?
~M
Thursday, June 15, 2006
"Marie Elena...Como Estas?"
After a month plus of New York City, wherein I came to find that manicuring, lunching, gyming and gossiping with people you run into who ALSO don’t work on the Upper East Side wasn’t doing it for me, I decided to head back out for a quick June trip. Itchy feet, right, Sar? I debated on the possible wheres over and over again in my head; it needed to be somewhere close because I needed to be home over July 4th, it needed to be stimulating both culturally and intellectually (Belize just left a bad taste in my mouth), and it needed to be Latin (b/c as you all know, I’m pretty Latin obsessed these days). So, after settling on Panama and Colombia, I found myself back in touch with Ecuadorian legend, Jose Luis, and after much prompting, decided to make a quick first stop in Ecuador for five days to see him and the Galapagos friends who helped me start this whole adventure eight months ago.
I was able to book my flights on miles, thrilled that they only space left open on the flights were in first class. So after a night without sleep, I headed onto my five hour flight to Panama where I was completely ready to doze for the duration. But, alas, the first class mantra on Copa Airlines (Panama based) isn’t at all what one might expect. That being, leave the passengers alone, keep the noise to a minimum, and do not encourage inter-passenger friendships. Yeah well, I guess I have to remember that the Latinos are a bit different. First of all, the stewardesses (stewardi?) had a practical convention in the galley of first class. They were rat-tat-chatting like a Telemundo soap opera about the misdeeds of their muchachos the entire trip. Dish your dirt in the coach galley, senoritas. Not here, chicas, not here. Add to that, a rapper (who I cannot place) who had his ‘wo-man’ (as he referred to her) sit in the row in front of him with his child who screamed and cried the whole time, giving the rapper-I-can’t-place the pass to lean over the seats every few minutes (did I mention he was as big as a house and when he moved, the whole plane moved?) to try to get the wo-man to quiet the kid. Why are children allowed in first class, mind you? All people traveling with kids, the rich and rap moguls included, should NOT be allowed to purchase a first class ticket. It should be coach all the way. You have a kid, you’re in coach. I mean, fancy boutique hotels in fabulous places don’t allow children under 12, why not first class on the airlines. I didn’t sleep a wink, I was irritated the whole time
Now, the upside to my first class Copa ticket was the VIP lounge in Panama where I got to spend my 10 HOUR layover to Quito, happily ensconced in their overstuffed chairs, using their internet to plan my next legs, watching the World Cup, eating their muffins (AM) and crackers and cheese (PM), and loading up on their excellent Panamanian coffee. Had I not had the first class ticket, I would’ve been stuck in either the crappy “Lo Siento Por La Construccion” war zone of a terminal or spent the day schlepping around Panama, possibly a Canal Zone tour, lugging my overstuffed backpack and sweating my ass off in an outfit suitable for the 60 degree Quito climate, rather than the 99 degree Panama climate. Yeah. All of this would NOT make for a pretty sight when greeting Jose Luis upon exit from the plane. Thank god for Copa first class. Funny how fast it all changes, right?
Arriving in Quito, I found myself smiling out the window. This was where my whole trip began last year. Here was where it all started. I remember feeling unsure, apprehensive, elated and anxious at the same time when the plane touched down last October. I remember my first hours in Quito, in my little hotel room in a strange South American city, sleeping off the anxiety of what I had embarked upon. My phone rang while I feigned slumber, it was Cohen calling, making sure I landed alright, wishing me luck and love one last time. The relief of seeing a familiar number, name at that moment had me immediately emotional. I remember staring at the stucco ceiling for hours afterward, paralyzed by the decision I had made, semi-scared to leave the cocoon of the room, Quito beckoned but I had absolutely no idea what to do with it. I remember wondering how I’d make each day count, how I would achieve a sense of place, culture and education in each new surrounding, how I would be received by people, both natives and other travelers, how I would survive feeling lonely. And yet, by the time I arrived in the Galapagos, I had realized I would succeed in my adventures, I would make new friends, I would accomplish all I set out to do.
Ecuador holds a special place in my heart for that reason. It was in Ecuador, in Galapagos specifically, that I started my trip. I made friends who I am so excited to see this week, who are excited to see me. Over the past eight months, we’ve been in touch, we’ve kept up. They helped me understand how strong I was, how anything is possible once you set your mind to it. They embraced me in a way that I hadn’t expected, especially that early in the game, and helped set the tone for the future travels. Sometimes it’s that initial tone that can make or break a situation. And, I truly feel that my first experience in Ecuador helped me to experience the rest of the world. All of the fears I had that first day in Quito never resurfaced, and it’s been smooth sailing since. So, now, landing in Quito, I’m ecstatic. It’s just fitting to be starting the second half of my travels back here. It feels right. Going through customs, getting my baggage, walking out of the doorway to a sea of Ecuadorian faces greeting their loved ones. And there, off to the right, pokes a familiar face from the beginning, eyes welcoming me back to Quito….
“Marie Elena... Como estas?”
I was able to book my flights on miles, thrilled that they only space left open on the flights were in first class. So after a night without sleep, I headed onto my five hour flight to Panama where I was completely ready to doze for the duration. But, alas, the first class mantra on Copa Airlines (Panama based) isn’t at all what one might expect. That being, leave the passengers alone, keep the noise to a minimum, and do not encourage inter-passenger friendships. Yeah well, I guess I have to remember that the Latinos are a bit different. First of all, the stewardesses (stewardi?) had a practical convention in the galley of first class. They were rat-tat-chatting like a Telemundo soap opera about the misdeeds of their muchachos the entire trip. Dish your dirt in the coach galley, senoritas. Not here, chicas, not here. Add to that, a rapper (who I cannot place) who had his ‘wo-man’ (as he referred to her) sit in the row in front of him with his child who screamed and cried the whole time, giving the rapper-I-can’t-place the pass to lean over the seats every few minutes (did I mention he was as big as a house and when he moved, the whole plane moved?) to try to get the wo-man to quiet the kid. Why are children allowed in first class, mind you? All people traveling with kids, the rich and rap moguls included, should NOT be allowed to purchase a first class ticket. It should be coach all the way. You have a kid, you’re in coach. I mean, fancy boutique hotels in fabulous places don’t allow children under 12, why not first class on the airlines. I didn’t sleep a wink, I was irritated the whole time
Now, the upside to my first class Copa ticket was the VIP lounge in Panama where I got to spend my 10 HOUR layover to Quito, happily ensconced in their overstuffed chairs, using their internet to plan my next legs, watching the World Cup, eating their muffins (AM) and crackers and cheese (PM), and loading up on their excellent Panamanian coffee. Had I not had the first class ticket, I would’ve been stuck in either the crappy “Lo Siento Por La Construccion” war zone of a terminal or spent the day schlepping around Panama, possibly a Canal Zone tour, lugging my overstuffed backpack and sweating my ass off in an outfit suitable for the 60 degree Quito climate, rather than the 99 degree Panama climate. Yeah. All of this would NOT make for a pretty sight when greeting Jose Luis upon exit from the plane. Thank god for Copa first class. Funny how fast it all changes, right?
Arriving in Quito, I found myself smiling out the window. This was where my whole trip began last year. Here was where it all started. I remember feeling unsure, apprehensive, elated and anxious at the same time when the plane touched down last October. I remember my first hours in Quito, in my little hotel room in a strange South American city, sleeping off the anxiety of what I had embarked upon. My phone rang while I feigned slumber, it was Cohen calling, making sure I landed alright, wishing me luck and love one last time. The relief of seeing a familiar number, name at that moment had me immediately emotional. I remember staring at the stucco ceiling for hours afterward, paralyzed by the decision I had made, semi-scared to leave the cocoon of the room, Quito beckoned but I had absolutely no idea what to do with it. I remember wondering how I’d make each day count, how I would achieve a sense of place, culture and education in each new surrounding, how I would be received by people, both natives and other travelers, how I would survive feeling lonely. And yet, by the time I arrived in the Galapagos, I had realized I would succeed in my adventures, I would make new friends, I would accomplish all I set out to do.
Ecuador holds a special place in my heart for that reason. It was in Ecuador, in Galapagos specifically, that I started my trip. I made friends who I am so excited to see this week, who are excited to see me. Over the past eight months, we’ve been in touch, we’ve kept up. They helped me understand how strong I was, how anything is possible once you set your mind to it. They embraced me in a way that I hadn’t expected, especially that early in the game, and helped set the tone for the future travels. Sometimes it’s that initial tone that can make or break a situation. And, I truly feel that my first experience in Ecuador helped me to experience the rest of the world. All of the fears I had that first day in Quito never resurfaced, and it’s been smooth sailing since. So, now, landing in Quito, I’m ecstatic. It’s just fitting to be starting the second half of my travels back here. It feels right. Going through customs, getting my baggage, walking out of the doorway to a sea of Ecuadorian faces greeting their loved ones. And there, off to the right, pokes a familiar face from the beginning, eyes welcoming me back to Quito….
“Marie Elena... Como estas?”
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Notes on a Continent….
Right now, I’m on a plane to Tokyo. Ready to begin the next leg of my trip, SouthEast Asia. I’ve dreamed about visiting places like Vietnam, Thailand, and Bali since college and today is the first day of that journey. But, before I rush off to immerse myself in Asian cultures, I want to pay a little mind to the most fantastic two months of my life.
As most of you know, South America was a most surprising trip for me. When I planned to take this year-long odyssey, it was South East Asia that was the crux of my wanderlust. South America got tacked on the beginning of the trip because I was getting antsy and thought that two months in South America -- not too far away, I could speak the language, I could use it as a test case, etc… I thought it would be fun, but didn’t really know what to expect. I didn’t know myself as a solo traveler, I didn’t know myself as the person I was going to be out on my own without my New York support system. It was the surprise of a lifetime. In so many ways.
I remember starting in Quito, feeling apprehensive and courageous at the same time. Wondering if I would do everything “right,” if I would make the most of my travel experience. I remember feeling amazed with where I had come to in my life to be able to do this. It felt good. Then I got to the Galapagos, and I made new friends that transcended culture and environment. Seeing that people who have no ties to me, no history with me, could take to me, appreciate me….so great. Doing the same thing in New York for so long, you forget what you bring to the table, sometimes. And, by traveling, meeting new people, making new friends that don’t come from “your world” and have nothing to gain by befriending you, except well, meeting YOU is such an invigorating feeling. I remember feeling melancholy in Valparaiso, adventurous in Cusco, disappointed by Santiago, awed by nature at Iguazu. I remember feeling challenged by Brazil, enamored with Buenos Aires, peaceful in Punta del Este. I felt overwhelmed by history but small in the world seeing the width and breadth of Macchu Picchu, I felt community and assuredness of self in Argentina.
I can’t wait to go back to South America. And, I feel like my time in New York was short and chaotic (it was really really good to see all of you, though!!) and I hadn’t gotten to properly digest my experiences in South America. Changing gears so fast is good because it keeps you moving, on schedule, sure. There’s so much out there I still have to see, so many places I still want to go. But, there’s so much to cherish about where I’ve been and I don’t want to lose sight of that. I’m so eager to see the next parts of my trip, but I’m also wistful they’re not back there.
So now, with five hours left of my 15 hour flight (I’ve come so far, only 5 hours left. . . .) to Tokyo, then another 7 to Ho Chi Minh City, I can open my SEAsia chapter. I just wanted to make sure I did it AFTER closing (well….for now) the one that just ended and made me feel so invigorated.
Ciao!
See ya on the other side of the world in a few days . . .
xo
As most of you know, South America was a most surprising trip for me. When I planned to take this year-long odyssey, it was South East Asia that was the crux of my wanderlust. South America got tacked on the beginning of the trip because I was getting antsy and thought that two months in South America -- not too far away, I could speak the language, I could use it as a test case, etc… I thought it would be fun, but didn’t really know what to expect. I didn’t know myself as a solo traveler, I didn’t know myself as the person I was going to be out on my own without my New York support system. It was the surprise of a lifetime. In so many ways.
I remember starting in Quito, feeling apprehensive and courageous at the same time. Wondering if I would do everything “right,” if I would make the most of my travel experience. I remember feeling amazed with where I had come to in my life to be able to do this. It felt good. Then I got to the Galapagos, and I made new friends that transcended culture and environment. Seeing that people who have no ties to me, no history with me, could take to me, appreciate me….so great. Doing the same thing in New York for so long, you forget what you bring to the table, sometimes. And, by traveling, meeting new people, making new friends that don’t come from “your world” and have nothing to gain by befriending you, except well, meeting YOU is such an invigorating feeling. I remember feeling melancholy in Valparaiso, adventurous in Cusco, disappointed by Santiago, awed by nature at Iguazu. I remember feeling challenged by Brazil, enamored with Buenos Aires, peaceful in Punta del Este. I felt overwhelmed by history but small in the world seeing the width and breadth of Macchu Picchu, I felt community and assuredness of self in Argentina.
I can’t wait to go back to South America. And, I feel like my time in New York was short and chaotic (it was really really good to see all of you, though!!) and I hadn’t gotten to properly digest my experiences in South America. Changing gears so fast is good because it keeps you moving, on schedule, sure. There’s so much out there I still have to see, so many places I still want to go. But, there’s so much to cherish about where I’ve been and I don’t want to lose sight of that. I’m so eager to see the next parts of my trip, but I’m also wistful they’re not back there.
So now, with five hours left of my 15 hour flight (I’ve come so far, only 5 hours left. . . .) to Tokyo, then another 7 to Ho Chi Minh City, I can open my SEAsia chapter. I just wanted to make sure I did it AFTER closing (well….for now) the one that just ended and made me feel so invigorated.
Ciao!
See ya on the other side of the world in a few days . . .
xo
Backtracking to Brazil...
My baby, My baby goes to RiO! Rio de JanierO! La la la la la la la……
Hugh Jackman, shaking what his momma gave him, always springs to mind when I think of Rio. But, now, having DONE Rio, that’s no longer the case. Rio, and well, Brazil, now have their own places in my memory. Carnaval is an aptly named holiday for such an outrageously colorful country.
So, the last stop in my journey through South America was Brazil. Of course, being the last country, the amount of time I got to spend in Brazil was short because of excess time I had logged in other places (read: Argentina). Which sucked, since Brazil is such a big country with so many varied regions. I had originally planned to go up the coast, hitting Florianopolis (beautiful beach city that everyone raves about) and Salvador (epicenter of afro-brazilian influences), but only made it to Rio and Buzios, two of my four planned stops. Fine by me, that just means I’m going back! ☺
How does one describe fabled Rio? God, I don’t even know where to begin.
Rio was different than any of the other South American cities I’ve been to. While most are poor, in Rio, “the city of dreams,” you actually feel the poverty in a more visceral way. The way Rio is laid out, the way the landscape sets Rio up, is that you have an enormously large population of poverty stricken Brazilians, set next to one of the biggest, wealthiest resort towns in the world. The beaches of Copacabana, Ipanema, and Leblon teem with tourists looking to spend money, to have a good time, to let loose. And nestled in the hills and mountains above the beaches (which is one of the most amazing landscapes to see from up top – lakes, mountains and ocean all in the same view – unreal), you have people who live by profit off of such tourists turning their head for a moment. When the sun goes down, the people come out of the mountains. And the air of the city changes. Wealth and poverty sit so close to each other in Rio, I can’t imagine crime NOT being a factor here. But, the difference is, in Rio, you feel it. I didn’t specifically feel nervous or unsafe, but you just know you’re being watched, your bags and your person are constantly in check by eyes all over the city waiting for you to let your guard down. Rio is a really fun, fun place, but unlike in most of the other cities I’d been to, you really have to be careful. This was the first time I was highly aware of that.
A friend of a friend who works for the US embassy set me up in Leblon, the restauranty, trendy, spot of town at the opposite end of Copacabana beach. A little less hectic in terms of beach, a little more busy in terms of nightlife. I had my own little apartment, set up shop for a week and set out to explore. But, of course, I was immediately frustrated. By…….Portugese!!!! After almost two months of perfecting my Spanish, I was now completely up shit’s creek. Even though Portuguese and Spanish derive many of the same words from the same bases, there’s a French inflection to it that throws off pronunciation and renders, at least MY, Spanish useless. So, the first few days of Rio, I was fighting with taxi drivers, having translators sneak up behind me in restaurants and help me out with ordering a salad. I felt USELESS and frustrated. If this was my tolerance of Portuguese, what would SEAsia bring in terms of language barriers?!?!?! I was miserable, and making it harder for myself by allowing myself to get rattled. I even had a taxi driver take me back to the hotel one night bc we were driving in circles, not understanding each other in the slightest. (Turns out I had written down an address that didn’t exist as my destination…OK, my fault. I know, I know…)
But, after a couple of days, it started to work out and I became used the to inability to communicate flawlessly and started to appreciate the Brazilian people, who are so warm and good humored, partying all the time. Day, night, beach, bars. It’s amazing how much these people are out and about, laughing and having the time of their lives. Talk about living. And, the beaches. The beaches are pretty unbelievable. They are a circus. An orgy of colors, smells, tastes, sights. The sand between water and street is PACKED, and I mean don’t-have-any-regard-for-personal-beach-blanket-walk-thru-space-PACKED with people. One on top of another, on top of another. The colors of towels, bathing suits, beach chairs, umbrellas, skin color, hair color, is candy on the eyes. The heat is sweltering, but you just get lost in people watching for hours. I don’t think, at any point on a Brazilian beach, I shut my eyes. There’s just TOO much to look at. Add to that, the vendors. Oh my god, the vendors. Just going near a beach is a test of impulse buying will. You can buy ANYTHING on the beaches of Brazil. Like, you can furnish a house, dress your kids and stock your fridge from the vendors. They are hawking EVERYTHING. For thirst, beers, sodas, coconut waters, mates (ice-tea lemonade ones were the best), water, mixed drinks. For hunger, peanuts, popcorn, fried cheese, empanadas, cotton candy, sandwiches (home made in tupperwear!!), watermelon (balanced in trays on their heads), ice cream, fried chicken, chips, salads, burgers, fries – you name your food. They sell it. For body, SPF lotions, hats, sarongs, bathing suits, tunics, skirts, tourist shirts in Brazilian colors, flip flops, towels, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, tattoos, piercings. For the home, wicker baskets, wooden jugs, sculptures, ashtrays, pillows, tablecloths (two people would walk by with it held spread out), CDs, DVDs….
Ok, you get the point, but all of the vendors are yelling for your attention and you get a cramp in your neck shaking your head NO every moment. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life. But, FASCINATING. I’ve never quite seen beach culture like that. Nor will I probably ever again. The nightlife in Brazil is a lot of late-night dining into clubbing. The food is unremarkable, lots of sushi, though I use the term loosely. After five days buying too much jewelry, too many pairs of Haviannas (5 in various colors – are you at all surprised?!?!) and too much ogling the beaches, I headed north to Buzios, which is a posh little beach town that is a step away from the chaos of Rio.
Buzios is a totally different Brazil. Calm, laid back, less frenetic, Buzios feels like a European little coastal getaway, with the marina, cobblestone stone streets that become pedestrian walkways after dark, stores open until well past midnight, people just sitting around at the restaurants and cafes all night, eating, drinking. Everyone becomes friends, you dine together at night and, of course, beach together by day. But such a modified version of the Rio beaches, that you are able to relax and drift off every now and again, knowing you’re in a very safe, comfortable and easy place. I LOVED Buzios. I stayed on Jose Fernandez Beach, my villa was high above the Spanish tiled roofs of the city, off the water. I was the only person staying at my villa, and treated like a princess. Every morning, Javier and the breakfast girls would come knock on my door to tell me breakfast was ready, and I would go down to an elaborately set table for one, overlooking the water with a FEAST of food to start my day. It was hands-down, the best way I could’ve ended my trip to South America. I appreciated Brazil, the people (who thought I was a Carioca, or typical Brazilian girl, which didn’t bother me in the SLIGHTEST), and the beaches. I can’t wait to head back to see more of Brazil, because I think there’s more Brazil that’s like this, rather than the jungle-fevered gentlemen’s city of Rio.
Boys, if you’re looking for action, head to Rio.
Me, I’m going back to Buzios….
~M
Hugh Jackman, shaking what his momma gave him, always springs to mind when I think of Rio. But, now, having DONE Rio, that’s no longer the case. Rio, and well, Brazil, now have their own places in my memory. Carnaval is an aptly named holiday for such an outrageously colorful country.
So, the last stop in my journey through South America was Brazil. Of course, being the last country, the amount of time I got to spend in Brazil was short because of excess time I had logged in other places (read: Argentina). Which sucked, since Brazil is such a big country with so many varied regions. I had originally planned to go up the coast, hitting Florianopolis (beautiful beach city that everyone raves about) and Salvador (epicenter of afro-brazilian influences), but only made it to Rio and Buzios, two of my four planned stops. Fine by me, that just means I’m going back! ☺
How does one describe fabled Rio? God, I don’t even know where to begin.
Rio was different than any of the other South American cities I’ve been to. While most are poor, in Rio, “the city of dreams,” you actually feel the poverty in a more visceral way. The way Rio is laid out, the way the landscape sets Rio up, is that you have an enormously large population of poverty stricken Brazilians, set next to one of the biggest, wealthiest resort towns in the world. The beaches of Copacabana, Ipanema, and Leblon teem with tourists looking to spend money, to have a good time, to let loose. And nestled in the hills and mountains above the beaches (which is one of the most amazing landscapes to see from up top – lakes, mountains and ocean all in the same view – unreal), you have people who live by profit off of such tourists turning their head for a moment. When the sun goes down, the people come out of the mountains. And the air of the city changes. Wealth and poverty sit so close to each other in Rio, I can’t imagine crime NOT being a factor here. But, the difference is, in Rio, you feel it. I didn’t specifically feel nervous or unsafe, but you just know you’re being watched, your bags and your person are constantly in check by eyes all over the city waiting for you to let your guard down. Rio is a really fun, fun place, but unlike in most of the other cities I’d been to, you really have to be careful. This was the first time I was highly aware of that.
A friend of a friend who works for the US embassy set me up in Leblon, the restauranty, trendy, spot of town at the opposite end of Copacabana beach. A little less hectic in terms of beach, a little more busy in terms of nightlife. I had my own little apartment, set up shop for a week and set out to explore. But, of course, I was immediately frustrated. By…….Portugese!!!! After almost two months of perfecting my Spanish, I was now completely up shit’s creek. Even though Portuguese and Spanish derive many of the same words from the same bases, there’s a French inflection to it that throws off pronunciation and renders, at least MY, Spanish useless. So, the first few days of Rio, I was fighting with taxi drivers, having translators sneak up behind me in restaurants and help me out with ordering a salad. I felt USELESS and frustrated. If this was my tolerance of Portuguese, what would SEAsia bring in terms of language barriers?!?!?! I was miserable, and making it harder for myself by allowing myself to get rattled. I even had a taxi driver take me back to the hotel one night bc we were driving in circles, not understanding each other in the slightest. (Turns out I had written down an address that didn’t exist as my destination…OK, my fault. I know, I know…)
But, after a couple of days, it started to work out and I became used the to inability to communicate flawlessly and started to appreciate the Brazilian people, who are so warm and good humored, partying all the time. Day, night, beach, bars. It’s amazing how much these people are out and about, laughing and having the time of their lives. Talk about living. And, the beaches. The beaches are pretty unbelievable. They are a circus. An orgy of colors, smells, tastes, sights. The sand between water and street is PACKED, and I mean don’t-have-any-regard-for-personal-beach-blanket-walk-thru-space-PACKED with people. One on top of another, on top of another. The colors of towels, bathing suits, beach chairs, umbrellas, skin color, hair color, is candy on the eyes. The heat is sweltering, but you just get lost in people watching for hours. I don’t think, at any point on a Brazilian beach, I shut my eyes. There’s just TOO much to look at. Add to that, the vendors. Oh my god, the vendors. Just going near a beach is a test of impulse buying will. You can buy ANYTHING on the beaches of Brazil. Like, you can furnish a house, dress your kids and stock your fridge from the vendors. They are hawking EVERYTHING. For thirst, beers, sodas, coconut waters, mates (ice-tea lemonade ones were the best), water, mixed drinks. For hunger, peanuts, popcorn, fried cheese, empanadas, cotton candy, sandwiches (home made in tupperwear!!), watermelon (balanced in trays on their heads), ice cream, fried chicken, chips, salads, burgers, fries – you name your food. They sell it. For body, SPF lotions, hats, sarongs, bathing suits, tunics, skirts, tourist shirts in Brazilian colors, flip flops, towels, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, tattoos, piercings. For the home, wicker baskets, wooden jugs, sculptures, ashtrays, pillows, tablecloths (two people would walk by with it held spread out), CDs, DVDs….
Ok, you get the point, but all of the vendors are yelling for your attention and you get a cramp in your neck shaking your head NO every moment. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life. But, FASCINATING. I’ve never quite seen beach culture like that. Nor will I probably ever again. The nightlife in Brazil is a lot of late-night dining into clubbing. The food is unremarkable, lots of sushi, though I use the term loosely. After five days buying too much jewelry, too many pairs of Haviannas (5 in various colors – are you at all surprised?!?!) and too much ogling the beaches, I headed north to Buzios, which is a posh little beach town that is a step away from the chaos of Rio.
Buzios is a totally different Brazil. Calm, laid back, less frenetic, Buzios feels like a European little coastal getaway, with the marina, cobblestone stone streets that become pedestrian walkways after dark, stores open until well past midnight, people just sitting around at the restaurants and cafes all night, eating, drinking. Everyone becomes friends, you dine together at night and, of course, beach together by day. But such a modified version of the Rio beaches, that you are able to relax and drift off every now and again, knowing you’re in a very safe, comfortable and easy place. I LOVED Buzios. I stayed on Jose Fernandez Beach, my villa was high above the Spanish tiled roofs of the city, off the water. I was the only person staying at my villa, and treated like a princess. Every morning, Javier and the breakfast girls would come knock on my door to tell me breakfast was ready, and I would go down to an elaborately set table for one, overlooking the water with a FEAST of food to start my day. It was hands-down, the best way I could’ve ended my trip to South America. I appreciated Brazil, the people (who thought I was a Carioca, or typical Brazilian girl, which didn’t bother me in the SLIGHTEST), and the beaches. I can’t wait to head back to see more of Brazil, because I think there’s more Brazil that’s like this, rather than the jungle-fevered gentlemen’s city of Rio.
Boys, if you’re looking for action, head to Rio.
Me, I’m going back to Buzios….
~M
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Niagara WHAT?
The road from Punta del Este led to Iguazu Falls, the 300+ waterfalls that border three countries: Brazil, Argentina, and Paraguay. I took the bus from the fantastic Punta to Montevideo, where I waited out my hour until flight in the cleanest, smallest and emptiest airport I´ve ever been in. I couldn´t fathom where all the people came from when it came time to board. You would´ve thought the airport was created only for me. Very odd.... But, after my Buquebus TO Punta, I was determined to fly just about anywhere to get to Iguazu.
I entered Iguazu on the Argentinian side, of course, staying true to my love of my future country of residence. :) As we flew into Puerto Iguazu, the pilot announced in both Spanish and English that if you moved to the right side of the plane, he´d be flying over the Falls. The whole plane shifted seats, it should´ve tilted. For good reason. Iguazu, from overhead, is mammoth. I couldn´t imagine standing underneath falls this huge. And from air, you can not only see the breathtaking Falls, you can see the triangle of all three countries, living in perfect harmony within such beauty. Pretty outrageous.
WITHIN the Falls of Iguazu, there is only one hotel on each the Brazilian and Argentinian sides. On the Argentinian side, it is the Sheraton, so I used AmEx points to book myself a room. There you can sit on the balcony, with a view of the Falls in the distance, bloody mary in hand, mariache band making the rounds singing songs in spanish in the background, and watch the sunset over the water. Not too shabby. Until you look around and realize that an elastic-banded-high-waisted-khaki-pant-wearing-over-50-convention EXPLODED at the Sheraton about four hours before I got there. And, add to that, they all have Chi-caaaa-go accents, singing the songs in mock-midwestern-espayyynowl accents, with sweaty-beet-red-drunken faces and shiny-wet-comb-overs to go with their fanny packs of various colors. Yeah....so, I guess I´ll be spending my nights in Iguazu solo. No worries.... Happy to separate from the group on this one. ;) I console my young self with a call to sweet Lukoff who´s bridal shower was today, likely the only regret I´ll have all trip, missing my best friend´s shower. But hearing her excited and enthusiastic voice across the miles, more than compensated for my lack of attendance at the party going on down below.
I woke at 8 AM for La Gran Aventura, a combination 4x4 expedition that takes you through the jungles of Iguazu to a boat ride which will take you straight through the Falls (why I´m capitalizing Falls, not sure...am I supposed to?). The jungles of Iguazu remind me a little of Costa Rica, a little of the Peruvian jungles, so it doesn´t seem THAT new to me, but the view once we got to the boat was worth the trip. OF COURSE, as we board the boat, I realize I was again left off the ´wear your bathing suit´ memo, as all of my fellow travelers undress down to their skivvies and bathing suits. I might´ve well have been dressed for winter in my baby yellow pants and wife beater that would make for a somewhat familiar sight of me during this trip. The sopping wet, see-through look, I´ll call it. Yeah, hi...what is with me and wearing the wrong thing around water, rendering me a walking fashion faux pas for hours to come. I mean....
However, as you approach the Falls, your breath is literally taken away. They are MASSIVE and omnipresent. Left, right, center, WATERFALLS. It´s amazing to see, it´s so absolutely beautiful, being there right under them, they stretch for miles and are populated by rainbows everywhere. It´s nature at it´s absolute best, anyone who has the opportunity to experience Iguazu in their lifetime, should. Looking around, you can´t help but take photo after photo (I´m still not sure which are best, I must´ve taken a hundred pictures) and stand in open-jawed awe at this sight in front of you. Thank goodness for me I had Olga and Anna on my boat. Two Spaniards who were OBSESSED with taking pictures. To the point, that they spent many hours trying to feign the nonchalant, candids...Olga pretending to be too obviously unaware of the camera, only to have Anna take four, five, six, photos, look at them together like schoolgirls, decide they sucked and Olga then would assume another "unknowing" pose again for Anna. But, they loved taking pictures for me, which was GREAT. After their session, Anna would go, "Marie Elena, poose for Olga," grab my camera, tell me how to hold my hand, head, leg, and then shoot about 10 pictures (many were discarded), turning my camera in various directions and making me "hoold poose" for too long. I felt ridiculous, but it was worth it!
Then, just as you´re content with the view, pondering questions like....
1) How do waterfalls occur in nature?
2) What makes rainbows?
3) Are Niagara Falls a joke? (On a side note, we´ve all been on teen tours, ridden the Maid of the Mist, have photos in the blue raincoats smiling like happy teenagers, which we were. Lemme tell you, it´s a sick joke that we call those WATERFALLS, Niagara Falls are, FACT, nothing more than the drippage when you don´t turn off the faucet properly...)
....you see yourself coming WAY too close to the Falls, and BAM! there you are, underneath them, hearing the wa-hoos of properly clad passengers, as water pours into the boat, a refreshing reprieve from the heat, yes. But, god I wish I was wearing my bathing suit!!!
The second day of Iguazu after much hiking around the Argentinian side in my see thrus, I went to the Brazilian side, Foz de Iguacu, as I was flying out of the Brazilian side to get to Rio. For anyone taking notes, the Brazilian side is better. If the views on the Argentinian side are breathtaking, the ones on the Brazilian side are heart-stopping. The "Devil´s Throat" or the largest, wildest waterfall is on the Brazilian side, and you walk out onto catwalks that take you right under it, mist spraying everywhere and really take in the views in a way that you can´t from the Argentinian side. I spent about 2 hours on the Brazilian side before my flight and it WASN´T ENOUGH! But, all in all, Iguazu was a fantastic, amazing experience, something I´ll likely never see again. And, I couldn´t be happier that I made my way there.
Now...onto fabled Rio de Janiero, Brazil.
My second to last stop. Which, even writing, makes me sad.
Alas, I will not focus on home, only where I am now (which is actually Buzios, Brazil -- a place I´m in love with, dreading departure...)
Until the next one...which will be soon because I´m coming home in a few days... Wait, really? NO!!!!!!
Ciao!
xoxo
I entered Iguazu on the Argentinian side, of course, staying true to my love of my future country of residence. :) As we flew into Puerto Iguazu, the pilot announced in both Spanish and English that if you moved to the right side of the plane, he´d be flying over the Falls. The whole plane shifted seats, it should´ve tilted. For good reason. Iguazu, from overhead, is mammoth. I couldn´t imagine standing underneath falls this huge. And from air, you can not only see the breathtaking Falls, you can see the triangle of all three countries, living in perfect harmony within such beauty. Pretty outrageous.
WITHIN the Falls of Iguazu, there is only one hotel on each the Brazilian and Argentinian sides. On the Argentinian side, it is the Sheraton, so I used AmEx points to book myself a room. There you can sit on the balcony, with a view of the Falls in the distance, bloody mary in hand, mariache band making the rounds singing songs in spanish in the background, and watch the sunset over the water. Not too shabby. Until you look around and realize that an elastic-banded-high-waisted-khaki-pant-wearing-over-50-convention EXPLODED at the Sheraton about four hours before I got there. And, add to that, they all have Chi-caaaa-go accents, singing the songs in mock-midwestern-espayyynowl accents, with sweaty-beet-red-drunken faces and shiny-wet-comb-overs to go with their fanny packs of various colors. Yeah....so, I guess I´ll be spending my nights in Iguazu solo. No worries.... Happy to separate from the group on this one. ;) I console my young self with a call to sweet Lukoff who´s bridal shower was today, likely the only regret I´ll have all trip, missing my best friend´s shower. But hearing her excited and enthusiastic voice across the miles, more than compensated for my lack of attendance at the party going on down below.
I woke at 8 AM for La Gran Aventura, a combination 4x4 expedition that takes you through the jungles of Iguazu to a boat ride which will take you straight through the Falls (why I´m capitalizing Falls, not sure...am I supposed to?). The jungles of Iguazu remind me a little of Costa Rica, a little of the Peruvian jungles, so it doesn´t seem THAT new to me, but the view once we got to the boat was worth the trip. OF COURSE, as we board the boat, I realize I was again left off the ´wear your bathing suit´ memo, as all of my fellow travelers undress down to their skivvies and bathing suits. I might´ve well have been dressed for winter in my baby yellow pants and wife beater that would make for a somewhat familiar sight of me during this trip. The sopping wet, see-through look, I´ll call it. Yeah, hi...what is with me and wearing the wrong thing around water, rendering me a walking fashion faux pas for hours to come. I mean....
However, as you approach the Falls, your breath is literally taken away. They are MASSIVE and omnipresent. Left, right, center, WATERFALLS. It´s amazing to see, it´s so absolutely beautiful, being there right under them, they stretch for miles and are populated by rainbows everywhere. It´s nature at it´s absolute best, anyone who has the opportunity to experience Iguazu in their lifetime, should. Looking around, you can´t help but take photo after photo (I´m still not sure which are best, I must´ve taken a hundred pictures) and stand in open-jawed awe at this sight in front of you. Thank goodness for me I had Olga and Anna on my boat. Two Spaniards who were OBSESSED with taking pictures. To the point, that they spent many hours trying to feign the nonchalant, candids...Olga pretending to be too obviously unaware of the camera, only to have Anna take four, five, six, photos, look at them together like schoolgirls, decide they sucked and Olga then would assume another "unknowing" pose again for Anna. But, they loved taking pictures for me, which was GREAT. After their session, Anna would go, "Marie Elena, poose for Olga," grab my camera, tell me how to hold my hand, head, leg, and then shoot about 10 pictures (many were discarded), turning my camera in various directions and making me "hoold poose" for too long. I felt ridiculous, but it was worth it!
Then, just as you´re content with the view, pondering questions like....
1) How do waterfalls occur in nature?
2) What makes rainbows?
3) Are Niagara Falls a joke? (On a side note, we´ve all been on teen tours, ridden the Maid of the Mist, have photos in the blue raincoats smiling like happy teenagers, which we were. Lemme tell you, it´s a sick joke that we call those WATERFALLS, Niagara Falls are, FACT, nothing more than the drippage when you don´t turn off the faucet properly...)
....you see yourself coming WAY too close to the Falls, and BAM! there you are, underneath them, hearing the wa-hoos of properly clad passengers, as water pours into the boat, a refreshing reprieve from the heat, yes. But, god I wish I was wearing my bathing suit!!!
The second day of Iguazu after much hiking around the Argentinian side in my see thrus, I went to the Brazilian side, Foz de Iguacu, as I was flying out of the Brazilian side to get to Rio. For anyone taking notes, the Brazilian side is better. If the views on the Argentinian side are breathtaking, the ones on the Brazilian side are heart-stopping. The "Devil´s Throat" or the largest, wildest waterfall is on the Brazilian side, and you walk out onto catwalks that take you right under it, mist spraying everywhere and really take in the views in a way that you can´t from the Argentinian side. I spent about 2 hours on the Brazilian side before my flight and it WASN´T ENOUGH! But, all in all, Iguazu was a fantastic, amazing experience, something I´ll likely never see again. And, I couldn´t be happier that I made my way there.
Now...onto fabled Rio de Janiero, Brazil.
My second to last stop. Which, even writing, makes me sad.
Alas, I will not focus on home, only where I am now (which is actually Buzios, Brazil -- a place I´m in love with, dreading departure...)
Until the next one...which will be soon because I´m coming home in a few days... Wait, really? NO!!!!!!
Ciao!
xoxo
Monday, December 12, 2005
Punta del Este, the destination worth the journey...
I know, I know....
I've been offline, doing my thing. In Punta del Este, no less. Not a bad place to do anything.....Trust me.
So, as mentioned, Tony called Bruno who called housekeeping to make up Apartment 0-1-1 for me in Punta del Este, Uruguay. From Buenos Aires, which has practically annexed Punta as their own vacation spot during the summer months of January and February, most people get there via Buquebus, which is a combination boat-bus situation. OK.... I've been all about the overnight bus, so...the boat is just background noise, right? WRONG. Buquebus is a very cheesy casino-style boat. By that, I mean, it's like a gambling boat, without the gambling. The christmas tree lights around the periphery, the dramatic staircases connecting upstairs with downstairs, the stores selling god-knows-what, the gracious staff. But, that's where it ends. Because at least on a gambling boat, you forget everything and concentrate on the stakes. Here, the stakes are...well....getting a good seat. And, by that I mean, a seat without a heavy coffee breathers exhaling their morning stench all around you, without wailing babies in your left ear, without passengers with bladder problems asking you to get-up-down forty times (did I mention there's about 60 across seats to a row and I was on the aisle), and a seat NOT behind a person who has little regard for crashing back onto your kneecaps every time they stretch like a giraffe. Add to that, I am sick, it's 7 AM, I didn't sleep (shocker...), I have three hours to go, have just taken meds and vitamins on an empty stomach and am cranky. Oh, and the guy next to me had hands that were a cross between Mark Smith's fingers with Plum's thumbs. Mesmerizing, but scary. Buquebus. NO.
I (thank the freakin Lord that I don't believe in...) get off the boat part, and get onto the bus to Punta. Salvation, you ask? Not yet. I sit next to a woman about sixty-five years old who must NOT have a sense of smell because her perfume intoxicated the whole country of Uruguay, easily. Let alone the seat next to me. (Maris, I totally understand how Curt feels about Petit Cherie when it catches in his throat and makes him itch...my reality on the bus...) She, meanwhile, is taking out a pocket-mirror every five minutes to put a Danny Zuko style 50's comb through her thinning dyed black hair all the while giggling like a schoolgirl and waving the guys half MY age boarding the bus. What, I wonder, does a woman like her do in Punta del Este. I stop pondering. Too frightening (and sad)...
But, when we get to Punta, it all vanishes. I jump in a cab that takes me to the apartment complex Terrazas de Mantaniales, which is a huge brick red complex of gorgeousness, right on the beach. Punta del Este is comprised of an enormous stretch of beach that encompasses Punta del Este peninsula (the hey day in the 90's that is pretty rundown and cheesy now, La Barra -- the hey day of today, and Jose Ignacio -- the hey day of tomorrow). The amount of real estate is unreal, construction everywhere, it's booming right now. Terrazas is in between La Barra, which is a cute, isolated strip of shops and restaurants that gets going in about two weeks (I'm in Punta about 2 weeks early for the "season" -- think Hamptons pre-Memorial Day with better weather), and Jose Ignacio, a quieter fishing village that is now drawing the likes of the rich and famous (Martin Amis owns a house there ) with a quieter, more affluent vibe.
Apartment 0-1-1 is wonderful. 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, kitchen, living room, terrace overlooking the beach. Thank you Tony and Bruno!! Since I'm still nursing my bronchitis, so this solitude couldn't be better. But, I don't even unpack (my usual protocol when I get to a place, even for a night...), I go straight to the beach with my book and just take in the ocean air and feel happy. This is the same feeling I get when I go out to the Hamptons alone, and sit with myself on the beach, at sunset. Pure bliss. I couldn't find a way to be happier than this. So, I decide, after constant occupation by Santiago, Bariloche, Buenos Aires, Punta will be my relaxtion. From there, I head to the supermarket, which I can guarantee that none of you would venture to entertain the thought of making purchases in because it's so minimal and dirty. But, there I buy tea, cookies, croissants for the mornings, milk, eggs, etc... and start to make my little Punta home for the next days.
My days in Punta took the following shape:
Wake up around 11-12 Noon. Make tea, breakfast.
Head out to the beach with my Ipod (Ilana, Gina - I think 'Constellations' by Jack Johnson is my new favorite song - thought of you guys) and book and Halls. Sit there, content, until about 5 PM.
Walk 5 miles to La Barra for coffee, midday snack, window shopping.
8 PM - go back to Terrazas, watch the sunset of outrageous hues of color and light (some of the best sunsets I've ever seen)
Either have soup for dinner, or go to the little Parilla on the corner for grilled cheese and soup and ogle the waiter I would've rather had for dinner had I felt well.
11 PM. Bed.
And, that was wonderful. Yes, yes...they say Punta is a party town. But, I couldn't have been bothered. (even though Jude Law was in town throwing soirees every night) Plus, I was early in the season, so...it was a non-issue. But, my obsession with Punta wasn't about partying, similar to how I've come to feel about the Hamptons, it was about just relaxing. Terrazas was like Amaghansett with it's dunes and sunsets and quiet friendliness, and local cafes. I fell in love with Punta for everything it's NOT reputed to be, a place for down-time. I've never actually lived on a beach before, so the wind and the sea at night - an amazing sound - took getting used to. But, by day 5, I was sleeping like a baby. Sea sounds, real ones, not machine generated ones in NYC apartments, are a wonderful thing....
I left Punta with a heavy heart, part because I only have two weeks left of this absolutely breathtaking South American adventure, part because Punta just made me smile. But, I know I'll be back. I just now....
Onto Iguazu Falls, the waterfalls bordering Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina. Then, Brazil. The last leg in THIS journey.
More soon.
Ciao!
xoxo
I've been offline, doing my thing. In Punta del Este, no less. Not a bad place to do anything.....Trust me.
So, as mentioned, Tony called Bruno who called housekeeping to make up Apartment 0-1-1 for me in Punta del Este, Uruguay. From Buenos Aires, which has practically annexed Punta as their own vacation spot during the summer months of January and February, most people get there via Buquebus, which is a combination boat-bus situation. OK.... I've been all about the overnight bus, so...the boat is just background noise, right? WRONG. Buquebus is a very cheesy casino-style boat. By that, I mean, it's like a gambling boat, without the gambling. The christmas tree lights around the periphery, the dramatic staircases connecting upstairs with downstairs, the stores selling god-knows-what, the gracious staff. But, that's where it ends. Because at least on a gambling boat, you forget everything and concentrate on the stakes. Here, the stakes are...well....getting a good seat. And, by that I mean, a seat without a heavy coffee breathers exhaling their morning stench all around you, without wailing babies in your left ear, without passengers with bladder problems asking you to get-up-down forty times (did I mention there's about 60 across seats to a row and I was on the aisle), and a seat NOT behind a person who has little regard for crashing back onto your kneecaps every time they stretch like a giraffe. Add to that, I am sick, it's 7 AM, I didn't sleep (shocker...), I have three hours to go, have just taken meds and vitamins on an empty stomach and am cranky. Oh, and the guy next to me had hands that were a cross between Mark Smith's fingers with Plum's thumbs. Mesmerizing, but scary. Buquebus. NO.
I (thank the freakin Lord that I don't believe in...) get off the boat part, and get onto the bus to Punta. Salvation, you ask? Not yet. I sit next to a woman about sixty-five years old who must NOT have a sense of smell because her perfume intoxicated the whole country of Uruguay, easily. Let alone the seat next to me. (Maris, I totally understand how Curt feels about Petit Cherie when it catches in his throat and makes him itch...my reality on the bus...) She, meanwhile, is taking out a pocket-mirror every five minutes to put a Danny Zuko style 50's comb through her thinning dyed black hair all the while giggling like a schoolgirl and waving the guys half MY age boarding the bus. What, I wonder, does a woman like her do in Punta del Este. I stop pondering. Too frightening (and sad)...
But, when we get to Punta, it all vanishes. I jump in a cab that takes me to the apartment complex Terrazas de Mantaniales, which is a huge brick red complex of gorgeousness, right on the beach. Punta del Este is comprised of an enormous stretch of beach that encompasses Punta del Este peninsula (the hey day in the 90's that is pretty rundown and cheesy now, La Barra -- the hey day of today, and Jose Ignacio -- the hey day of tomorrow). The amount of real estate is unreal, construction everywhere, it's booming right now. Terrazas is in between La Barra, which is a cute, isolated strip of shops and restaurants that gets going in about two weeks (I'm in Punta about 2 weeks early for the "season" -- think Hamptons pre-Memorial Day with better weather), and Jose Ignacio, a quieter fishing village that is now drawing the likes of the rich and famous (Martin Amis owns a house there ) with a quieter, more affluent vibe.
Apartment 0-1-1 is wonderful. 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, kitchen, living room, terrace overlooking the beach. Thank you Tony and Bruno!! Since I'm still nursing my bronchitis, so this solitude couldn't be better. But, I don't even unpack (my usual protocol when I get to a place, even for a night...), I go straight to the beach with my book and just take in the ocean air and feel happy. This is the same feeling I get when I go out to the Hamptons alone, and sit with myself on the beach, at sunset. Pure bliss. I couldn't find a way to be happier than this. So, I decide, after constant occupation by Santiago, Bariloche, Buenos Aires, Punta will be my relaxtion. From there, I head to the supermarket, which I can guarantee that none of you would venture to entertain the thought of making purchases in because it's so minimal and dirty. But, there I buy tea, cookies, croissants for the mornings, milk, eggs, etc... and start to make my little Punta home for the next days.
My days in Punta took the following shape:
Wake up around 11-12 Noon. Make tea, breakfast.
Head out to the beach with my Ipod (Ilana, Gina - I think 'Constellations' by Jack Johnson is my new favorite song - thought of you guys) and book and Halls. Sit there, content, until about 5 PM.
Walk 5 miles to La Barra for coffee, midday snack, window shopping.
8 PM - go back to Terrazas, watch the sunset of outrageous hues of color and light (some of the best sunsets I've ever seen)
Either have soup for dinner, or go to the little Parilla on the corner for grilled cheese and soup and ogle the waiter I would've rather had for dinner had I felt well.
11 PM. Bed.
And, that was wonderful. Yes, yes...they say Punta is a party town. But, I couldn't have been bothered. (even though Jude Law was in town throwing soirees every night) Plus, I was early in the season, so...it was a non-issue. But, my obsession with Punta wasn't about partying, similar to how I've come to feel about the Hamptons, it was about just relaxing. Terrazas was like Amaghansett with it's dunes and sunsets and quiet friendliness, and local cafes. I fell in love with Punta for everything it's NOT reputed to be, a place for down-time. I've never actually lived on a beach before, so the wind and the sea at night - an amazing sound - took getting used to. But, by day 5, I was sleeping like a baby. Sea sounds, real ones, not machine generated ones in NYC apartments, are a wonderful thing....
I left Punta with a heavy heart, part because I only have two weeks left of this absolutely breathtaking South American adventure, part because Punta just made me smile. But, I know I'll be back. I just now....
Onto Iguazu Falls, the waterfalls bordering Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina. Then, Brazil. The last leg in THIS journey.
More soon.
Ciao!
xoxo
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Calling Page Six...
Would you believe it....I'm still in Buenos Aires.
I cannot escape, I don't want to escape, I never want to leave.
But, alas, tomorrow I head off to Punta del Este in Uruguay to log some quality beach time. My friend Tony from Santiago (yes, the one I spilled margaritas all over in the poetry-reading-Chilean bar) decided to take pity on my traveling ass and hook me up with some beachfront property he owns in Punta. So, yeah kids, I'm checking myself into Apartment 011 (not sure why they need the 0 in front of the 11, but....) in some fabulous complex in Punta. Gratis....thanks to Tony (and Bruno, who put it all together with the Spanish email to the housekeeper to make up the apartment, Uh-huh...). I can't complain. But, that'll be my next adventure. For now, I'm still in BA.
And, very ill. For those of you who know me well, you know I'm a victim of a nasty spell of bronchitis every now and again. So, hi. Now. Couldn't have been worse timing, I've got a hack cough to rival an old bum in a Plaza with emphysema. But you'd think I just got back the annual physical of an Olympic gymnast. Slowed me down, no way. Put a damper on my smile, nah. Left me shackled to a hotel bed with meals of Halls, Vitamin C, Echinacea and OJ. Don't even think about it. I've been out, EVERY DAY, EVERY NIGHT. BA just does that to you.... Bronchitis? What's that you say?
So, since we last left off, I was pursued by a Brit from Calgary (what a blend, huh...I'm in freaking South America and get pursued by a Brit from Calgary!?!?!) with a penchant for sweet young thangs who eat a lot of carne (no pun...), and then, as if my illness couldn't get any worse, it rained. A LOT. On Sunday. After a lunch at Bar Uriarte in Palermo Soho where I learned that scrambled eggs (huevos revueltos) and sunnyside-up eggs (huevos estrelladas) are two different things and almost vomited when they brought me runny, eyes-wide open, drippy sunnyside ups, I took the opportunity to stop shopping (for just one little, itsy-bitsy moment) and take in some culture. I checked into MALBA. The modern art museum of Latin America. Pretty amazing stuff. I actually haven't seen such cutting-edge, modern art like this in a while, and I like to think myself pretty knowledgeable about the modern art scene. The two featured exhibits are worth mention. The first was by an artist named Fabian Marcaccio, who did an outdoor mural of a 1973 (pretty sure...) uprising at the airport when a former Argentinian president was returning from exile, turning into one of the bloodiest riots in Argentinian history. It's the length of a city block and he uses photographs of the actual incident, but blurs them with both lens and, then, paint on top of the photographs, to create an almost photographic orgy of colors, mixing violence, politics and life and sex. It's not pretty, it's intense, but it's absolutely riveting. The other was an exhibit that is going to be hard to describe, but I'm going to try. Two artists, created a sensory exhibit that is insanely weird, but effective. One, Heli Oiticaca, took iconic images associated with pop culture (Marilyn Monroe, Yoko Ono, Jimmy Hendrix) and lines famous images or album covers of their silhouettes in cocaine. And photgraphs a series of various stages of the usage, from completely coke-covered images to just a few lines left. Ok....I get the comment. Then, enter Neville D'Almeida, years later. Takes these photographs and creates unlit ROOMS, that projects huge, massive replicas of these photographs on the walls and ceilings of these darkened rooms, where you have to take off your shoes to enter. When you enter, your feet sink into either plastic covered sand, water mattresses, ball chambers, just something sensory under your feet, with music BLARING around you and pillows to sink into and chill on. And, YOU SWEAR, you are on the drugs in the images of Heli Oiticaca. It was almost unsettling how fucked up you feel, like out of your mind. And, I guess that's why I'm writing about this surreal experience at the MALBA, because regardless of liking or not liking it.....it works in provoking a visceral reaction.
Onto Bar Six in Palermo for an "early" dinner at 9ish, because I was invited to a dinner party from friends from Bariloche who have a friend who lives here. They were cooking a lamb feast. All of the restaurants here are very similar, they're very lofty spaces, industrial in their exposed concrete walls and silver ventilating systems lining the ceilings. Each has an upstairs with 4-5 tables overlooking the downstairs action, the difference is the decor, but all have a similar feel. After dinner, headed to the lamb party in Belgrano (another younger, up-and-coming neighborhood) where I met the Bariloche friends Josh (Aussie, been traveling for 2 years), Olly (Brit, traveling since summer and much much younger). They were staying at the apt of a friend, Noel, who lives here now from Ireland who wants to open a bar/restaurant here. The other two girls at dinner were from Chile, they were 20. I felt like I birthed them by C-Section. Dinner, though, was amazing. I learned a) I liked lamb, b) men can cook, and, c) I REALLY WAS OLD (and really sick) and had to go home when they decided to go to Club Pasha at 4:30 AM to start the night ... While Pasha is world-renowned for clubbing, and international DJS, I felt I could pass w/o regret. I lived the days of Limelight, I lived the Roxy, I need nothing more to feel club-satisfied in this lifetime.
I woke up the next day and, shocker, felt worse. But, onward ho! Today was Opera Day! I had purchased tickets to Teatro Colon, for a rendition of Cappricio (German, with Spanish subtitles) a few days earlier and couldn't wait. The only opera I've ever seen was in Mrs. Cleary's "extracurricular activities" class with Marisa called Die Fledermaus (she died like the day after, Sass!!) and it sucked. But, this one...what a completely fulfilling experience. I was all nervous I wasn't going to make it there b/c my Sodowickian waiter at Olsen in Palermo for brunch was like, filing his taxes after I asked him for the check. Hello, I have OPERA TICKETS, Sodowick! So, in the cab, I'm freaking out that I'm not going to make the Opera in time. I was all dressed up and having a NY heart-attack, trying to keep my South American cool, but having bronchial palpitations all the while. When I got there, all anxiety vanished though, because, excuse the cliche, I WAS Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, only with cotton on my bodice and plastic beads around my neck.
Teatro Colon is one of the foremost opera houses in the world. It rivals La Scala, and while I've never been to La Scala in Italy, I was wholly impressed by where I was. Sometimes solo travel works in your favor, b/c I was able to snag one seat in a right side box right above the stage. (See, Pretty Woman analogy applies, box and all!) As I was escorted to my seat my a white gloved usher, holding my arm, and all, I felt like the most fabulous girl on earth. The lights, the ornate gold intricacy of the theater, the red carpets, the painted ceilings, the orchestra right beneath my balcony playing the overture, the intensity of the song, the arias of the divas, the music, the words... What a phenomenal experience! I am, an opera convert. Possibly the setting helped, but lord, what a night!
And, it had only just begun. Heather from Santiago (not sure I blogged about her yet), had arrived in BA today. She was my angel in Santiago, when all I needed was girltalk. We found each other in the Hotel Orly late one long, Chilean night and became friends. She, on a 1 month vacation with all her older family (lots of wheelchairs involved in her entourage) and me, needing a FEMALE companion every now and again (for the record, not MANY women do what I'm doing...as if you need me to tell you this tidbit). She was my godsend, I was her godsend. So, after her cruise around the tip of Chile, she emailed for dinner plans. SURE! Why not? Believe it or not, I really have pretty much forgotten the definition of planning ahead. Don't get me wrong, when I arrive into a city, I know the restaurants, bars, beaches, barrios (neighborhoods), etc....I've read up (on the crossing to the next place, I KNOW?!?!!?) But it's ON THE DAY that my plans happen, and 90% of the time, I wind up with solid plans - go figure. Yes, yes...very un-Marie. Yes, yes...I'm usually booked until the next leap year, but, here it's just uncessary (to further clarify - Cherilyn started making plans for while I'm home over Xmas, and it was no big deal, really. Daddy's here this day, Mommy wants to do this, how about this... and I SWEAR I almost had a heart attack. And I love her for it, it's just so not part of my frame of reference here. I know NOTHING about tomorrow. What of it? Very funny to notice on myself).
So, Heather and I went to Sucre, another of the moment establishment, that, if I may say so myself, was an excellent selection. Atmosphere, low lights, crowd, menu....Black sleek tables - communal and individual - leather beds on entry lounge, bar stocked with colored bottles to the ceiling, catwalk across the top to the bathrooms. Bellisima.... After a debaucle getting "vodka and jugo de pina" recognized as something other than Chinese, we noticed Fergie, Dutchess of York, stumbling along to the table next to us. Yes, red hair, divorced from Andrew, has a kid named BEATRICE, Fergie. Heather, from Portland, almost fell off her chair. Me, well...Fergie's been on my mind. In Bariloche, at the Estancia where I spent the day riding, there was a "Wall of Fame" with signed photos from famous people and the lone celeb on the wall was Fergie from York. Odd, that's who they chose to headline their wall. Not a cowboy like Jack Palance, or a hottie who's been seen on a horse, Brad Pitt/Antonio Banderas, etc..., or even a soccer star from Britain like David Beckham. Fergie. From York. Now, at the table next to us, communal, Fergie is the belle of the ball. Doing tequila shots, then throwing her hands up in the air, and screaming "Wa-Hoo" like she's done a whirlwind tour on a mechanical bull and survived. I mean.... So, when Fergie, was ambling without direction around the restaurant, in a shearling coat (it's 80 degrees here in BA!!!) and smudged mascara, I saw my opening.
Me: "Um, Sarah....excuse me."
Sarah, Fergie, Dutchess of York (falling ever so slightly onto me, British accent kicking): "Yes, Hallo..."
Me: "I'm sorry to bother you, but I just HAVE to ask you a quick question."
Sarah: "Yes, sure..."
Me: "Were you just in Bariloche, because I came from an Estancia, and you're on the wall, like the only picture on the wall and so, you've been on my mind, and well...now you're here (Sarah, Fergie, Dutchess of York now takes my hand) and so, I was wondering, have you come from Bariloche, are we...dare I say, following each other?"
Sarah: "Oh, no no... I didn't just come from there (wobble, wobble), but I know what you mean, the place, and no I really haven't BEEN there, but....I know I'm on the wall and (wobble, wobble) ... you are?"
Me: Marie Elena, this is my friend Heather. (Still holding hands)
Sarah: "Very well, it's a pleasure to meet you, very much. But I will say, (wobble, wobble, lose balance, regains) it's a VERY VERY GOOD thing that you're thinking about me." And stumbles back into the abyss called WASTEDNESS.
I mean.....Do I know my 'hot spots' or what? I should call Page Six. Now. Paging Richard Johnson. Fergie's in BA, WASTED OFF HER ASS. I have more, I do...Good stuff from the past two night/days. But it's 3:30 AM+, and I SWORE tonight was going to be my early night, and it didn't turn out that way b/c after dinner I got suckered into drinks with a cute Buenos Aires guy who as I was walking out of the restaurant and he was walking IN with Americans (I knew b/c I overheard the "Dude, you wouldn't believe....") and we were doing the look-at-each-other-look-away-look-back-look-away thing... Then, he came to GET ME out of the cab I was getting into for my early night (at 1 AM) and so, I caved and had a drink with him and his two friends (girl-guy) from San Diego, and now I have to pack and go to sleep for 1 hour and did I mention....I have goddamn bronchitis.
Until Punta....Ciao, Ciao!
xo
I cannot escape, I don't want to escape, I never want to leave.
But, alas, tomorrow I head off to Punta del Este in Uruguay to log some quality beach time. My friend Tony from Santiago (yes, the one I spilled margaritas all over in the poetry-reading-Chilean bar) decided to take pity on my traveling ass and hook me up with some beachfront property he owns in Punta. So, yeah kids, I'm checking myself into Apartment 011 (not sure why they need the 0 in front of the 11, but....) in some fabulous complex in Punta. Gratis....thanks to Tony (and Bruno, who put it all together with the Spanish email to the housekeeper to make up the apartment, Uh-huh...). I can't complain. But, that'll be my next adventure. For now, I'm still in BA.
And, very ill. For those of you who know me well, you know I'm a victim of a nasty spell of bronchitis every now and again. So, hi. Now. Couldn't have been worse timing, I've got a hack cough to rival an old bum in a Plaza with emphysema. But you'd think I just got back the annual physical of an Olympic gymnast. Slowed me down, no way. Put a damper on my smile, nah. Left me shackled to a hotel bed with meals of Halls, Vitamin C, Echinacea and OJ. Don't even think about it. I've been out, EVERY DAY, EVERY NIGHT. BA just does that to you.... Bronchitis? What's that you say?
So, since we last left off, I was pursued by a Brit from Calgary (what a blend, huh...I'm in freaking South America and get pursued by a Brit from Calgary!?!?!) with a penchant for sweet young thangs who eat a lot of carne (no pun...), and then, as if my illness couldn't get any worse, it rained. A LOT. On Sunday. After a lunch at Bar Uriarte in Palermo Soho where I learned that scrambled eggs (huevos revueltos) and sunnyside-up eggs (huevos estrelladas) are two different things and almost vomited when they brought me runny, eyes-wide open, drippy sunnyside ups, I took the opportunity to stop shopping (for just one little, itsy-bitsy moment) and take in some culture. I checked into MALBA. The modern art museum of Latin America. Pretty amazing stuff. I actually haven't seen such cutting-edge, modern art like this in a while, and I like to think myself pretty knowledgeable about the modern art scene. The two featured exhibits are worth mention. The first was by an artist named Fabian Marcaccio, who did an outdoor mural of a 1973 (pretty sure...) uprising at the airport when a former Argentinian president was returning from exile, turning into one of the bloodiest riots in Argentinian history. It's the length of a city block and he uses photographs of the actual incident, but blurs them with both lens and, then, paint on top of the photographs, to create an almost photographic orgy of colors, mixing violence, politics and life and sex. It's not pretty, it's intense, but it's absolutely riveting. The other was an exhibit that is going to be hard to describe, but I'm going to try. Two artists, created a sensory exhibit that is insanely weird, but effective. One, Heli Oiticaca, took iconic images associated with pop culture (Marilyn Monroe, Yoko Ono, Jimmy Hendrix) and lines famous images or album covers of their silhouettes in cocaine. And photgraphs a series of various stages of the usage, from completely coke-covered images to just a few lines left. Ok....I get the comment. Then, enter Neville D'Almeida, years later. Takes these photographs and creates unlit ROOMS, that projects huge, massive replicas of these photographs on the walls and ceilings of these darkened rooms, where you have to take off your shoes to enter. When you enter, your feet sink into either plastic covered sand, water mattresses, ball chambers, just something sensory under your feet, with music BLARING around you and pillows to sink into and chill on. And, YOU SWEAR, you are on the drugs in the images of Heli Oiticaca. It was almost unsettling how fucked up you feel, like out of your mind. And, I guess that's why I'm writing about this surreal experience at the MALBA, because regardless of liking or not liking it.....it works in provoking a visceral reaction.
Onto Bar Six in Palermo for an "early" dinner at 9ish, because I was invited to a dinner party from friends from Bariloche who have a friend who lives here. They were cooking a lamb feast. All of the restaurants here are very similar, they're very lofty spaces, industrial in their exposed concrete walls and silver ventilating systems lining the ceilings. Each has an upstairs with 4-5 tables overlooking the downstairs action, the difference is the decor, but all have a similar feel. After dinner, headed to the lamb party in Belgrano (another younger, up-and-coming neighborhood) where I met the Bariloche friends Josh (Aussie, been traveling for 2 years), Olly (Brit, traveling since summer and much much younger). They were staying at the apt of a friend, Noel, who lives here now from Ireland who wants to open a bar/restaurant here. The other two girls at dinner were from Chile, they were 20. I felt like I birthed them by C-Section. Dinner, though, was amazing. I learned a) I liked lamb, b) men can cook, and, c) I REALLY WAS OLD (and really sick) and had to go home when they decided to go to Club Pasha at 4:30 AM to start the night ... While Pasha is world-renowned for clubbing, and international DJS, I felt I could pass w/o regret. I lived the days of Limelight, I lived the Roxy, I need nothing more to feel club-satisfied in this lifetime.
I woke up the next day and, shocker, felt worse. But, onward ho! Today was Opera Day! I had purchased tickets to Teatro Colon, for a rendition of Cappricio (German, with Spanish subtitles) a few days earlier and couldn't wait. The only opera I've ever seen was in Mrs. Cleary's "extracurricular activities" class with Marisa called Die Fledermaus (she died like the day after, Sass!!) and it sucked. But, this one...what a completely fulfilling experience. I was all nervous I wasn't going to make it there b/c my Sodowickian waiter at Olsen in Palermo for brunch was like, filing his taxes after I asked him for the check. Hello, I have OPERA TICKETS, Sodowick! So, in the cab, I'm freaking out that I'm not going to make the Opera in time. I was all dressed up and having a NY heart-attack, trying to keep my South American cool, but having bronchial palpitations all the while. When I got there, all anxiety vanished though, because, excuse the cliche, I WAS Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, only with cotton on my bodice and plastic beads around my neck.
Teatro Colon is one of the foremost opera houses in the world. It rivals La Scala, and while I've never been to La Scala in Italy, I was wholly impressed by where I was. Sometimes solo travel works in your favor, b/c I was able to snag one seat in a right side box right above the stage. (See, Pretty Woman analogy applies, box and all!) As I was escorted to my seat my a white gloved usher, holding my arm, and all, I felt like the most fabulous girl on earth. The lights, the ornate gold intricacy of the theater, the red carpets, the painted ceilings, the orchestra right beneath my balcony playing the overture, the intensity of the song, the arias of the divas, the music, the words... What a phenomenal experience! I am, an opera convert. Possibly the setting helped, but lord, what a night!
And, it had only just begun. Heather from Santiago (not sure I blogged about her yet), had arrived in BA today. She was my angel in Santiago, when all I needed was girltalk. We found each other in the Hotel Orly late one long, Chilean night and became friends. She, on a 1 month vacation with all her older family (lots of wheelchairs involved in her entourage) and me, needing a FEMALE companion every now and again (for the record, not MANY women do what I'm doing...as if you need me to tell you this tidbit). She was my godsend, I was her godsend. So, after her cruise around the tip of Chile, she emailed for dinner plans. SURE! Why not? Believe it or not, I really have pretty much forgotten the definition of planning ahead. Don't get me wrong, when I arrive into a city, I know the restaurants, bars, beaches, barrios (neighborhoods), etc....I've read up (on the crossing to the next place, I KNOW?!?!!?) But it's ON THE DAY that my plans happen, and 90% of the time, I wind up with solid plans - go figure. Yes, yes...very un-Marie. Yes, yes...I'm usually booked until the next leap year, but, here it's just uncessary (to further clarify - Cherilyn started making plans for while I'm home over Xmas, and it was no big deal, really. Daddy's here this day, Mommy wants to do this, how about this... and I SWEAR I almost had a heart attack. And I love her for it, it's just so not part of my frame of reference here. I know NOTHING about tomorrow. What of it? Very funny to notice on myself).
So, Heather and I went to Sucre, another of the moment establishment, that, if I may say so myself, was an excellent selection. Atmosphere, low lights, crowd, menu....Black sleek tables - communal and individual - leather beds on entry lounge, bar stocked with colored bottles to the ceiling, catwalk across the top to the bathrooms. Bellisima.... After a debaucle getting "vodka and jugo de pina" recognized as something other than Chinese, we noticed Fergie, Dutchess of York, stumbling along to the table next to us. Yes, red hair, divorced from Andrew, has a kid named BEATRICE, Fergie. Heather, from Portland, almost fell off her chair. Me, well...Fergie's been on my mind. In Bariloche, at the Estancia where I spent the day riding, there was a "Wall of Fame" with signed photos from famous people and the lone celeb on the wall was Fergie from York. Odd, that's who they chose to headline their wall. Not a cowboy like Jack Palance, or a hottie who's been seen on a horse, Brad Pitt/Antonio Banderas, etc..., or even a soccer star from Britain like David Beckham. Fergie. From York. Now, at the table next to us, communal, Fergie is the belle of the ball. Doing tequila shots, then throwing her hands up in the air, and screaming "Wa-Hoo" like she's done a whirlwind tour on a mechanical bull and survived. I mean.... So, when Fergie, was ambling without direction around the restaurant, in a shearling coat (it's 80 degrees here in BA!!!) and smudged mascara, I saw my opening.
Me: "Um, Sarah....excuse me."
Sarah, Fergie, Dutchess of York (falling ever so slightly onto me, British accent kicking): "Yes, Hallo..."
Me: "I'm sorry to bother you, but I just HAVE to ask you a quick question."
Sarah: "Yes, sure..."
Me: "Were you just in Bariloche, because I came from an Estancia, and you're on the wall, like the only picture on the wall and so, you've been on my mind, and well...now you're here (Sarah, Fergie, Dutchess of York now takes my hand) and so, I was wondering, have you come from Bariloche, are we...dare I say, following each other?"
Sarah: "Oh, no no... I didn't just come from there (wobble, wobble), but I know what you mean, the place, and no I really haven't BEEN there, but....I know I'm on the wall and (wobble, wobble) ... you are?"
Me: Marie Elena, this is my friend Heather. (Still holding hands)
Sarah: "Very well, it's a pleasure to meet you, very much. But I will say, (wobble, wobble, lose balance, regains) it's a VERY VERY GOOD thing that you're thinking about me." And stumbles back into the abyss called WASTEDNESS.
I mean.....Do I know my 'hot spots' or what? I should call Page Six. Now. Paging Richard Johnson. Fergie's in BA, WASTED OFF HER ASS. I have more, I do...Good stuff from the past two night/days. But it's 3:30 AM+, and I SWORE tonight was going to be my early night, and it didn't turn out that way b/c after dinner I got suckered into drinks with a cute Buenos Aires guy who as I was walking out of the restaurant and he was walking IN with Americans (I knew b/c I overheard the "Dude, you wouldn't believe....") and we were doing the look-at-each-other-look-away-look-back-look-away thing... Then, he came to GET ME out of the cab I was getting into for my early night (at 1 AM) and so, I caved and had a drink with him and his two friends (girl-guy) from San Diego, and now I have to pack and go to sleep for 1 hour and did I mention....I have goddamn bronchitis.
Until Punta....Ciao, Ciao!
xo
Friday, December 02, 2005
I'm a ham and cheese whore named Evita...
I am 100% convinced that, in my past life, I WAS Evita Peron....
Buenos Aires. Love it. I'm easily obsessed with this country, more so now that I'm in Buenos Aires.
The 20 hour bus ride was uneventful, 3 meals of...you guessed it....ham and cheese sandwiches in some incarnation.
Breakfast: ham and cheese with a crossaint and coffee.
Lunch: "Lunchable" type ham and cheese white bread with the crusts cut off packages sandwiches.
Dinner: Ham and cheese with melba toast, olive oil and bread to make...um, yeah...sandwiches. But, I'm into it. Forget turkey on seven grain with tomato and honey mustard. I'm ALL about jamon y queso. Any way you want to give it to me, I'm all over it. (Cher, I know I've always given you shit about your pork chop fetish. Yeah, well...I take it back. B/c I'm SO blue-collar-in-a-lunchbox ham and cheese, it's SCARY.)
Anyway....I'm in BA now. And love it. LOVE IT. If Bariloche was great, this is super fantastic.
How can I explain Buenos Aires?
A little bit of Paris (a million plazas and parks and open spaces, an obsession with fashion and being posh), a little bit of NYC (the restaurants, the shopping, the fast-paced atmosphere, the cityness of it, the clubs and lounges) and a little bit of Barcelona (the ports, the water, the bar/restaurant area that is always happening right on the port) and a little bit of South America thrown in for good measure. That's about right, but not exactly. You have to come here to experience it. And, I highly advise it. It's my favorite place, so far. Buenos Aires is full of life, energy, passion. Buenos Aires is full of itself. Buenos Aires is an eclectic mix of people, cultures, politics and classes. It's heaven on earth. I've been here for 3 full days, and I can't imagine EVER wanting to leave.
My friend Leslie, from Harper was here with her husband, Josh for the last few days. And it was SOOO nice to see them. They are the first Americans I've seen yet! Do you believe that? THE FIRST. And it was bliss. Of course, after getting here on Wednesday, I set out to conquer Recoleta, where many of the tourists stay (including me), full of fancy shops (Fendi, YSL, Louis Vuitton), hotels (Four Seasons, Sofitel, Alvaer), etc.... The city is peppered with plazas of grass, interspersed with shops, always teeming with people. That night, Leslie and Josh took me to Palermo, another neighborhood, north of Recoleta that is divided into Palermo Soho and Palermo Hollywood. The easiest way to explain it is -- East and West Villages. Young, hip types live here, lots of restaurants and boutique shopping. I think, initially, when Josh and Leslie got to my hotel and I pounced on Leslie, Josh might've been a little taken aback. While I LOVE every minute of my time, meeting people...it was SO nice NOT to have to talk about why I decided to take this trip, where I'm going, where my boyfriend is, what my old job used to be, how old I am, etc.. etc.. etc... BLISS. We went to Casa Cruz, a wonderful trendy restaurant in Palermo Hollywood that reeked 'of-the-moment' and I embraced every ounce of it wholeheartedly. When I saw tuna tartar on the menu (though I didn't order it) I knew Leslie loved me a lot and knew JUST WHAT I needed a dose of. A great meal, I probably talked too much, but didn't care and was happy to be with them.
Day two brought more exploring. I headed out to the Casa Rosado, or as you all know it, the palace from which Evita sings "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" and man, did I channel her, standing there. In my head, I was all Madonna-ing my ass off, one hand raised to my general public, the other holding my laced, veiled hat in place. An imaginary moment on the Plaza Mayor. All mine. Savored. Then, reality hit, and I was back in $30 Urban Outfitter gaucho pants and a wife beater, holding a camera and a backpack and returning to my very comfortable state of traveling schlub. Mmmmm..... Anyway, I went through a good amount of the city, seeing the sites which are all amazing. There's a million balconies here, mixed with Gaudi architechture and a touch of modernity. It's eye-candy to walk around. And, yes....shopping. I may be travel Marie here on this little adventure, but my heart belongs to AmEx. And in 24 hours, I managed to buy 3 bags (aaaah, the leather here), 3 pairs of shoes, 5 shirts, 1 skirt, a belt, numerous tchotchkes for the home and other crap....HAPPILY. I've been "browsing" for just the right leather jacket, bargain-shopping it out, if you will. I also have discovered antiquing. I found this unbelievable Jaeger couture clock from 1920 which is being "transported" to me via a commercial pilot who flies from Argentina to NY in the next month. You pay him cash on arrival because customs denies many of the $$ items that stores try to ship to the States b/c of the exchange rate. So, I am working on blackmarket shopping now. More to come on that front when an Argentinian pilot rings my bell for cash one day soon in NY......and hands me a clock. My doorman will deny him, after ALL of that. Watch....
I LOVE BA, did I say that already? After all the shopping, I went to the Four Seasons to do what was MOST necessary. Mani, pedi, etc.... 1 month, no pampering.....what's a girl to do? Check into the spa at the Four Seasons... duh! And, it was only $65. Are they on CRACK? Wonderful. Wonderful. Wonderful. Meanwhile, the funny thing is, or maybe not funny, but interesting is that, I'll meet many other travelers and love hanging out with them bc those are the best nights I have. Just easy, fun, down-to-earth nights. No pretense, no bullshit. But, I'll bust out the antique silver bracelets I bought that afternoon, with my little Gucci clutch and return to my "hotel, not hostel" and sleep in my king size bed. And, on other nights, I'll go to some fantastic restaurant, and meet a doctor, and have lovely drinks at the Ritz, but the night before I was in a Patagonia fleece tied around my waist listening to a band at the local pub with people who don't own razors and think growing facial hair is an international contest. It's a fine line to walk, and I take a lot of shit for it. And I'm aware that I'm always walking it, but it's ... if nothing else, lends contrast to the whole experience, and keeps me ME. Just a random thought ... especially here. B/c I like being fancy here, but the more interesting people ARE NOT the people you find in the Four Seasons. (Except Josh and Leslie, obv....)
Anyway . . . we went to see a Tango Show, night two. But, it's a tourist trap. A woman who looked like Michele Hanft with black hair sang the whole damn time. It should've been called the Michele Hanft look-a-like show, instead of the Tango Show at the Cafe Tortoni. The best tango can be found on the streets, in the plazas, in places you don't expect. NOT the shows. Today, in La Boca (another neighborhood, characterized by the buildings painted bright bright colors which you'll see in the pix I'm about to send), I tango-ed myself a ditty or two. Might've even been decent at it. CERTAINLY better than the Aussie couple that were doing their best to 1-2 to the beat, but might as well have been saying 1-5 in their heads. Very fun....
And tonight, went to another Hanft recc called Cabana de Las Lilas for steak and FEASTED b/c my NZ and Aussie backpacker friends went to like Chinese take out and ... nah. Met them after, at 4 AM!!! What???? I eat like a 250 lb linebacker here in S America. A Brit at the next table was like -- have you eaten in a year, you're a little girl and you ordered a ribeye, potatoes, an antipasto plate to start AND dessert. Yeah, so what of it, mate?!?!?!?! I can't get enough.
Yeah, welcome to Buenos Aires. Don't cry for me, kids....I'm doing JUST FINE.
xoxoxo
Buenos Aires. Love it. I'm easily obsessed with this country, more so now that I'm in Buenos Aires.
The 20 hour bus ride was uneventful, 3 meals of...you guessed it....ham and cheese sandwiches in some incarnation.
Breakfast: ham and cheese with a crossaint and coffee.
Lunch: "Lunchable" type ham and cheese white bread with the crusts cut off packages sandwiches.
Dinner: Ham and cheese with melba toast, olive oil and bread to make...um, yeah...sandwiches. But, I'm into it. Forget turkey on seven grain with tomato and honey mustard. I'm ALL about jamon y queso. Any way you want to give it to me, I'm all over it. (Cher, I know I've always given you shit about your pork chop fetish. Yeah, well...I take it back. B/c I'm SO blue-collar-in-a-lunchbox ham and cheese, it's SCARY.)
Anyway....I'm in BA now. And love it. LOVE IT. If Bariloche was great, this is super fantastic.
How can I explain Buenos Aires?
A little bit of Paris (a million plazas and parks and open spaces, an obsession with fashion and being posh), a little bit of NYC (the restaurants, the shopping, the fast-paced atmosphere, the cityness of it, the clubs and lounges) and a little bit of Barcelona (the ports, the water, the bar/restaurant area that is always happening right on the port) and a little bit of South America thrown in for good measure. That's about right, but not exactly. You have to come here to experience it. And, I highly advise it. It's my favorite place, so far. Buenos Aires is full of life, energy, passion. Buenos Aires is full of itself. Buenos Aires is an eclectic mix of people, cultures, politics and classes. It's heaven on earth. I've been here for 3 full days, and I can't imagine EVER wanting to leave.
My friend Leslie, from Harper was here with her husband, Josh for the last few days. And it was SOOO nice to see them. They are the first Americans I've seen yet! Do you believe that? THE FIRST. And it was bliss. Of course, after getting here on Wednesday, I set out to conquer Recoleta, where many of the tourists stay (including me), full of fancy shops (Fendi, YSL, Louis Vuitton), hotels (Four Seasons, Sofitel, Alvaer), etc.... The city is peppered with plazas of grass, interspersed with shops, always teeming with people. That night, Leslie and Josh took me to Palermo, another neighborhood, north of Recoleta that is divided into Palermo Soho and Palermo Hollywood. The easiest way to explain it is -- East and West Villages. Young, hip types live here, lots of restaurants and boutique shopping. I think, initially, when Josh and Leslie got to my hotel and I pounced on Leslie, Josh might've been a little taken aback. While I LOVE every minute of my time, meeting people...it was SO nice NOT to have to talk about why I decided to take this trip, where I'm going, where my boyfriend is, what my old job used to be, how old I am, etc.. etc.. etc... BLISS. We went to Casa Cruz, a wonderful trendy restaurant in Palermo Hollywood that reeked 'of-the-moment' and I embraced every ounce of it wholeheartedly. When I saw tuna tartar on the menu (though I didn't order it) I knew Leslie loved me a lot and knew JUST WHAT I needed a dose of. A great meal, I probably talked too much, but didn't care and was happy to be with them.
Day two brought more exploring. I headed out to the Casa Rosado, or as you all know it, the palace from which Evita sings "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" and man, did I channel her, standing there. In my head, I was all Madonna-ing my ass off, one hand raised to my general public, the other holding my laced, veiled hat in place. An imaginary moment on the Plaza Mayor. All mine. Savored. Then, reality hit, and I was back in $30 Urban Outfitter gaucho pants and a wife beater, holding a camera and a backpack and returning to my very comfortable state of traveling schlub. Mmmmm..... Anyway, I went through a good amount of the city, seeing the sites which are all amazing. There's a million balconies here, mixed with Gaudi architechture and a touch of modernity. It's eye-candy to walk around. And, yes....shopping. I may be travel Marie here on this little adventure, but my heart belongs to AmEx. And in 24 hours, I managed to buy 3 bags (aaaah, the leather here), 3 pairs of shoes, 5 shirts, 1 skirt, a belt, numerous tchotchkes for the home and other crap....HAPPILY. I've been "browsing" for just the right leather jacket, bargain-shopping it out, if you will. I also have discovered antiquing. I found this unbelievable Jaeger couture clock from 1920 which is being "transported" to me via a commercial pilot who flies from Argentina to NY in the next month. You pay him cash on arrival because customs denies many of the $$ items that stores try to ship to the States b/c of the exchange rate. So, I am working on blackmarket shopping now. More to come on that front when an Argentinian pilot rings my bell for cash one day soon in NY......and hands me a clock. My doorman will deny him, after ALL of that. Watch....
I LOVE BA, did I say that already? After all the shopping, I went to the Four Seasons to do what was MOST necessary. Mani, pedi, etc.... 1 month, no pampering.....what's a girl to do? Check into the spa at the Four Seasons... duh! And, it was only $65. Are they on CRACK? Wonderful. Wonderful. Wonderful. Meanwhile, the funny thing is, or maybe not funny, but interesting is that, I'll meet many other travelers and love hanging out with them bc those are the best nights I have. Just easy, fun, down-to-earth nights. No pretense, no bullshit. But, I'll bust out the antique silver bracelets I bought that afternoon, with my little Gucci clutch and return to my "hotel, not hostel" and sleep in my king size bed. And, on other nights, I'll go to some fantastic restaurant, and meet a doctor, and have lovely drinks at the Ritz, but the night before I was in a Patagonia fleece tied around my waist listening to a band at the local pub with people who don't own razors and think growing facial hair is an international contest. It's a fine line to walk, and I take a lot of shit for it. And I'm aware that I'm always walking it, but it's ... if nothing else, lends contrast to the whole experience, and keeps me ME. Just a random thought ... especially here. B/c I like being fancy here, but the more interesting people ARE NOT the people you find in the Four Seasons. (Except Josh and Leslie, obv....)
Anyway . . . we went to see a Tango Show, night two. But, it's a tourist trap. A woman who looked like Michele Hanft with black hair sang the whole damn time. It should've been called the Michele Hanft look-a-like show, instead of the Tango Show at the Cafe Tortoni. The best tango can be found on the streets, in the plazas, in places you don't expect. NOT the shows. Today, in La Boca (another neighborhood, characterized by the buildings painted bright bright colors which you'll see in the pix I'm about to send), I tango-ed myself a ditty or two. Might've even been decent at it. CERTAINLY better than the Aussie couple that were doing their best to 1-2 to the beat, but might as well have been saying 1-5 in their heads. Very fun....
And tonight, went to another Hanft recc called Cabana de Las Lilas for steak and FEASTED b/c my NZ and Aussie backpacker friends went to like Chinese take out and ... nah. Met them after, at 4 AM!!! What???? I eat like a 250 lb linebacker here in S America. A Brit at the next table was like -- have you eaten in a year, you're a little girl and you ordered a ribeye, potatoes, an antipasto plate to start AND dessert. Yeah, so what of it, mate?!?!?!?! I can't get enough.
Yeah, welcome to Buenos Aires. Don't cry for me, kids....I'm doing JUST FINE.
xoxoxo
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Claudio, the Argentinian Stalker...
So, I'm totally over my last blog angst, and Thanksgiving dramas...as I'm in Argentina.
Aaaaah, Argentina. I think I've already fallen in love with Argentina!!!
The "Cruces del Lagos" or Chilean Lake Crossing was absolutely amazing. The sun came out for me, shining the whole day, as we made our way from bus to boat to bus to boat to bus to boat to bus to Bariloche, Argentina. 4 buses, 3 boats, 12 hours. A very long, but absolutely breathtaking day. The water of the lakes is a turquoise blue/green that I've never seen before. It's so clear and crisp, you just want to dive into it and/or drink it. The lakes are calm, set in between mountains as far as the eye can see, lush and green at their bases, white with snow at their pinnacles. Waterfalls streaming down the mountains into the lakes. I mean, it's just the most naturally beautiful setting I've ever seen. I don't think many people get to see settings like this in their lifetimes and I felt to lucky to be getting such an opportunity. Amazing.....
On the last boat, which takes you right to the port on the Llao Llao peninsula (where Llao Llao hotel sits perfectly atop the mountain), I met Claudio, a very nice (and cute) sailor on the ship (Kim - he kinda looked like Chad in a weird, Argentinian way) who told me that everyone in town goes to Wilkenny Bar at night and I should go there. Ok...maybe. I hadn't gone out out in a while, so maybe. Exhausted, happy to be in Argentina, the bus drives down Avenue Bustillo from Llao Llao, dropping people off along the way. I am still stunned by the view, at this point, the sun is setting, giving off hues of pink and orange that bounce off the mountains and reflected back off the water. I couldn't take my eyes away from it. Really, it's one of the most unbelievable places I've ever seen. I had wanted to stay at Llao Llao, but on my arrival night, they were booked, so I booked a few days later with them, and opted for a cabana (they're everywhere here, it's a ski town, and there's cottages everywhere for rent) instead, closer to town, for half the price. It looked really nice online, was recc'd by the guidebooks and having a little cottage to spread out in might not be so bad, right?
Well, to say that I'm living in a PALACE here in Bariloche, is an understatment. Forget Llao Llao. Wisemans, you think we had a nice house in Tahoe? Yeah, not so much compared to my little villa here in South America. So, it's huge. It has a kitchen, living room, dining room with seating for 8. A fireplace, 2 bathrooms. My bedroom with walk in closet. Jacuzzi, BBQ, terrace. I mean.... I didn't want to leave. I loved it so much.... But, Wilkenny bar beckoned. I had to go out, and be social. And cute Claudio invited me. Why not?
Wilkenny Bar was an Irish pub that seemed tame when I got there. After settling into a meal of pumpkin soup and a salad, I struck up a conversation with two girls at the table next to me. Turns out, they're both traveling alone too. Sarah, from Sydney, is a hilarious redhead. Anneke (pronounced Anika) is from South Africa, and is a striking, refined blond. They met in Bolivia and have been traveling together ever since. Turns out, Sarah will be arriving in Vietnam the same day as I am! What are the chances!?!??! Anyway, it was such a great night....GIRLTALK! It felt terrific. If there's one thing I miss here, it's that, GIRLTALK. So, you all best be prepared for me to burning up your phone lines when I get home. Anyway...they were on a boat crossing earlier in the day and met a "guide named Claudio" who told them to come to Wilkenny too! This Claudio has his act down with the ladies, seemingly . . . Sarah's hooked on capirhinas since Brazil, so we're getting wasted on them with the Argentinian rugby team, who are in town for the championship game, can only speak phrases "I may not speak much English, but I feel a connection with you" and "I love rugby but I think I can love you more." YEAH. Next thing you know, Claudio shows up. Whispering sweet nothings in my ear. To say the men here are touchy feely. I mean, the caresses, the intensity of the eye contact. It's VERY overwhelming. Asking to come home with me. Anneke is being slobbered over by one of the rugby players who cannot even do the cheesy phrases in English and Sarah is working the bar, capirinha by capirinha. At 5 AM, I finally looked at my watch, then around the PACKED bar and decided fun as it was, it was time to go.... After turning Claudio down on the offer to accompany me home, he made me promise to go to dinner with him the next night. Fine, fine, whatever...just let me go to sleep!!!
Yesterday, we did it all over again. After a rainy day of shopping (where I bumped into my sister/jordan's friend on her honeymoon....I mean, only me, right? who knows people in bariloche??), planning my next moves, etc... I got a call in my room (which I didn't take) from Claudio, and headed out to meet Anneke and Sarah. All of a sudden, Sarah busts thru the door of the pub and goes -- Claudio is outside, he's looking for you! Ok......um.......what? I walk outside where Claudio is waiting, telling me that he's been to every pub in Bariloche after I wasn't at my hotel. He WENT to my hotel and knocked on all of the doors of the cabanas (!!!!!!!) and then proceeded to tell me how mine was laid out, where in the room my computer was, my backpack, my sweater that I wore on the Lake Crossing b/c he was peering in the windows. WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!?!?!?! Claudio was the nice boat guy who was so sweet last night. And now, I'm looking into the eyes of my stalker, Claudio, who is no longer so cute.... He then, without being asked, joins us for an amazing dinner at a parillada (or grill, where you pick out a cut of meat and they grill it for you -- huge portions of steak, cooked exactly right for $7 -- amazing meal). Professing his love to me all the while. I can't.....
Back to Wilkenny after dinner, where Claudio proceeds to tell me that he's a realist and he understands that I'm only in town for a few days, but I'm not showing him any "carino" or affection and that he's trying so hard to get me to like him, and it's obvious to him that I don't. At this point, I'm having a "talk" with a guy I met yesterday. Finally, as I'm talking to someone else, he comes over and very angrily tells me he's leaving, I'm not paying him any mind and balls me out to Sarah and Anneke and leaves Wilkenny and my life forever.... Unless he comes a-peering later. Sarah, Anneke and I accompany the rugby team to Rocket, one of the many clubs here. We left to go to Rocket at, gulp, 5 AM. Anneke and I left at 7. Sarah stayed. When we walked outside, it was light out. I flashed back to Cancun, senior year of Michigan, spring break, laughed and crawled into bed. Spent again.
Aaaaahhhh.....Argentina.....
More soon....
xoxoxo
Aaaaah, Argentina. I think I've already fallen in love with Argentina!!!
The "Cruces del Lagos" or Chilean Lake Crossing was absolutely amazing. The sun came out for me, shining the whole day, as we made our way from bus to boat to bus to boat to bus to boat to bus to Bariloche, Argentina. 4 buses, 3 boats, 12 hours. A very long, but absolutely breathtaking day. The water of the lakes is a turquoise blue/green that I've never seen before. It's so clear and crisp, you just want to dive into it and/or drink it. The lakes are calm, set in between mountains as far as the eye can see, lush and green at their bases, white with snow at their pinnacles. Waterfalls streaming down the mountains into the lakes. I mean, it's just the most naturally beautiful setting I've ever seen. I don't think many people get to see settings like this in their lifetimes and I felt to lucky to be getting such an opportunity. Amazing.....
On the last boat, which takes you right to the port on the Llao Llao peninsula (where Llao Llao hotel sits perfectly atop the mountain), I met Claudio, a very nice (and cute) sailor on the ship (Kim - he kinda looked like Chad in a weird, Argentinian way) who told me that everyone in town goes to Wilkenny Bar at night and I should go there. Ok...maybe. I hadn't gone out out in a while, so maybe. Exhausted, happy to be in Argentina, the bus drives down Avenue Bustillo from Llao Llao, dropping people off along the way. I am still stunned by the view, at this point, the sun is setting, giving off hues of pink and orange that bounce off the mountains and reflected back off the water. I couldn't take my eyes away from it. Really, it's one of the most unbelievable places I've ever seen. I had wanted to stay at Llao Llao, but on my arrival night, they were booked, so I booked a few days later with them, and opted for a cabana (they're everywhere here, it's a ski town, and there's cottages everywhere for rent) instead, closer to town, for half the price. It looked really nice online, was recc'd by the guidebooks and having a little cottage to spread out in might not be so bad, right?
Well, to say that I'm living in a PALACE here in Bariloche, is an understatment. Forget Llao Llao. Wisemans, you think we had a nice house in Tahoe? Yeah, not so much compared to my little villa here in South America. So, it's huge. It has a kitchen, living room, dining room with seating for 8. A fireplace, 2 bathrooms. My bedroom with walk in closet. Jacuzzi, BBQ, terrace. I mean.... I didn't want to leave. I loved it so much.... But, Wilkenny bar beckoned. I had to go out, and be social. And cute Claudio invited me. Why not?
Wilkenny Bar was an Irish pub that seemed tame when I got there. After settling into a meal of pumpkin soup and a salad, I struck up a conversation with two girls at the table next to me. Turns out, they're both traveling alone too. Sarah, from Sydney, is a hilarious redhead. Anneke (pronounced Anika) is from South Africa, and is a striking, refined blond. They met in Bolivia and have been traveling together ever since. Turns out, Sarah will be arriving in Vietnam the same day as I am! What are the chances!?!??! Anyway, it was such a great night....GIRLTALK! It felt terrific. If there's one thing I miss here, it's that, GIRLTALK. So, you all best be prepared for me to burning up your phone lines when I get home. Anyway...they were on a boat crossing earlier in the day and met a "guide named Claudio" who told them to come to Wilkenny too! This Claudio has his act down with the ladies, seemingly . . . Sarah's hooked on capirhinas since Brazil, so we're getting wasted on them with the Argentinian rugby team, who are in town for the championship game, can only speak phrases "I may not speak much English, but I feel a connection with you" and "I love rugby but I think I can love you more." YEAH. Next thing you know, Claudio shows up. Whispering sweet nothings in my ear. To say the men here are touchy feely. I mean, the caresses, the intensity of the eye contact. It's VERY overwhelming. Asking to come home with me. Anneke is being slobbered over by one of the rugby players who cannot even do the cheesy phrases in English and Sarah is working the bar, capirinha by capirinha. At 5 AM, I finally looked at my watch, then around the PACKED bar and decided fun as it was, it was time to go.... After turning Claudio down on the offer to accompany me home, he made me promise to go to dinner with him the next night. Fine, fine, whatever...just let me go to sleep!!!
Yesterday, we did it all over again. After a rainy day of shopping (where I bumped into my sister/jordan's friend on her honeymoon....I mean, only me, right? who knows people in bariloche??), planning my next moves, etc... I got a call in my room (which I didn't take) from Claudio, and headed out to meet Anneke and Sarah. All of a sudden, Sarah busts thru the door of the pub and goes -- Claudio is outside, he's looking for you! Ok......um.......what? I walk outside where Claudio is waiting, telling me that he's been to every pub in Bariloche after I wasn't at my hotel. He WENT to my hotel and knocked on all of the doors of the cabanas (!!!!!!!) and then proceeded to tell me how mine was laid out, where in the room my computer was, my backpack, my sweater that I wore on the Lake Crossing b/c he was peering in the windows. WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!?!?!?! Claudio was the nice boat guy who was so sweet last night. And now, I'm looking into the eyes of my stalker, Claudio, who is no longer so cute.... He then, without being asked, joins us for an amazing dinner at a parillada (or grill, where you pick out a cut of meat and they grill it for you -- huge portions of steak, cooked exactly right for $7 -- amazing meal). Professing his love to me all the while. I can't.....
Back to Wilkenny after dinner, where Claudio proceeds to tell me that he's a realist and he understands that I'm only in town for a few days, but I'm not showing him any "carino" or affection and that he's trying so hard to get me to like him, and it's obvious to him that I don't. At this point, I'm having a "talk" with a guy I met yesterday. Finally, as I'm talking to someone else, he comes over and very angrily tells me he's leaving, I'm not paying him any mind and balls me out to Sarah and Anneke and leaves Wilkenny and my life forever.... Unless he comes a-peering later. Sarah, Anneke and I accompany the rugby team to Rocket, one of the many clubs here. We left to go to Rocket at, gulp, 5 AM. Anneke and I left at 7. Sarah stayed. When we walked outside, it was light out. I flashed back to Cancun, senior year of Michigan, spring break, laughed and crawled into bed. Spent again.
Aaaaahhhh.....Argentina.....
More soon....
xoxoxo
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Happy Freakin´ Thanksgiving...
So, Happy Thanksgiving everyone.
Thought it would be best to get online and write mine out, because well....let´s be honest...it was heinous. I´m in Puerto Montt, the port town in the Chilean Lake District. It´s here that I´m taking a boat trip for 12 hours tomorrow across to Bariloche in Argentina. Starting the second half of my trip. CRAZY that this is half over. The countries I was most looking forward to hitting were Argentina and Brazil and to think that I have all of that AHEAD of me, after all of the wonderful experiences I´ve had so far in Ecuador, Peru, and Chile. I cannot wait. More so, because today just sucked and I´m going to tell you about it. I feel better venting but you ALL know that already don´t you? Hehe....
So, backtracking a bit: Thanksgiving used to be my favorite holiday. I´m obsessed with the turkey meal. I´ve just always loved it. Maybe it´s my mom´s Thanksgiving that I love, but it´s always been my favorite holiday. Last year, the title got tarnished a little when, in Puerto Rico, at the buffet at the Ritz, they RAN OUT OF TURKEY right as I was next in line and tried to offer my schwag-cooked-under-the-heat-lamp-leftovers instead. At the Ritz. To which I said (c´mon, unison now...) ¨ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?¨ My dad, sister and Jordan were mortified by my behavior to the holiday waitstaff of the Ritz, I didn´t have turkey and I was upset for days. Seemingly, I´m still not over it. ;)
This year tops it. Getting into Puerto Montt, guess what? It´s raining again. Are you keeping track? Day 5. Then, got in a fight with a Chilean cab driver that took me to no man´s land b-c he misunderstood and took me to the actual name of my hotel, sure, but a street CALLED THAT NAME in the slums, not the HOTEL and I FREAKED OUT (I speak a mean fighting Spanish I realized...) until I understood the mix-up and that he wasn´t going to take me to alley and slaughter me for kicks while his taxi driving cab friends watched them kill the little American chica. But then, we became BFF (obv...) and he asked me where I was from and I said NY and he said, you were so rude with your mouth and your hands and your tone, that I knew you had to be from the United States. ME? RUDE? Then, he let me go for free b-c he thought I was funny and knew that he scared me taking me to that part of town (I was shitting in my pants) and he was sorry, and was tough and stood up for myself. He told me my heart stopped and I turned white. PROJECTS, I tell ya. With like bars on the windows of houses made of cardboard materials. I don´t know why you need bars on cardboard houses, just use a $1 box cutter to bypass the bars part and you´re inside. I mean.... it was a bad scene. There were like wild horses in the middle of the half paved road WITH the wild dogs, cats, goats, rats, mice, pigeons and guinea pigs.
So, I ate a hamburger with guac (big thing here) on it for Thanksgiving dinner after the taxi debaucle. And it´s raining. Did I mention? Again. And the hotels were all booked so I was walking the town in the pouring rain, with my 400 lb wheelie bag that kept flipping over down EVERY curb and knocking my ankle out, going into every hotel asking, begging for a place to stay, and they had NONE (I went to about 8), and finally some receptionist was nice and told me that a new hotel just opened and had 170 rooms and I should check there, so I did. But, NEW HOTEL DRAMA, the first room wasn´t ready and like had dirty sex bed sheets still happening when I walked in. The second room had no lights or electricity hooked up. The third room the key wasn´t working. When I finally got into mine, and was changing, the door flies open with a staffer giving a tour of the new facilities... HELLO!?!?! Did you not check with the front desk about WHICH room to use as show!!!! I was mid-pant change. `Lo siento, lo siento, senorita`... says the tour guide backing out of the room gingerly. Geez. Then, the ¨machina de tarjeta de credito´ isn´t up and running yet, so I had to find myself a money exchange (another hour of rain walking) or else I couldn´t stay there. Aren´t hotels a SERVICE industry. Meaning, they serve you?!?!? Not in Puerto Montt, Chile. I mean....all I wanted was a ROOM!!!! A bed. A place to wash my face. OH, and I´m PMS.
I´m OVER Chile today, can you tell?
Onto Argentina tomorrow. Crossing through the lakes. CAN´T WAIT. Maybe it´ll rain again. That would be nice and different. I´m fine, I´m fine but today´s been a long, long day. And I VERY MUCH needed to vent. I just want some turkey. And sun. Sun would be nice.
Happy Thanksgiving. Big smiles. No, really.
xoxo
PS. I just reread this, what a day! Thanks for listening...
Thought it would be best to get online and write mine out, because well....let´s be honest...it was heinous. I´m in Puerto Montt, the port town in the Chilean Lake District. It´s here that I´m taking a boat trip for 12 hours tomorrow across to Bariloche in Argentina. Starting the second half of my trip. CRAZY that this is half over. The countries I was most looking forward to hitting were Argentina and Brazil and to think that I have all of that AHEAD of me, after all of the wonderful experiences I´ve had so far in Ecuador, Peru, and Chile. I cannot wait. More so, because today just sucked and I´m going to tell you about it. I feel better venting but you ALL know that already don´t you? Hehe....
So, backtracking a bit: Thanksgiving used to be my favorite holiday. I´m obsessed with the turkey meal. I´ve just always loved it. Maybe it´s my mom´s Thanksgiving that I love, but it´s always been my favorite holiday. Last year, the title got tarnished a little when, in Puerto Rico, at the buffet at the Ritz, they RAN OUT OF TURKEY right as I was next in line and tried to offer my schwag-cooked-under-the-heat-lamp-leftovers instead. At the Ritz. To which I said (c´mon, unison now...) ¨ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?¨ My dad, sister and Jordan were mortified by my behavior to the holiday waitstaff of the Ritz, I didn´t have turkey and I was upset for days. Seemingly, I´m still not over it. ;)
This year tops it. Getting into Puerto Montt, guess what? It´s raining again. Are you keeping track? Day 5. Then, got in a fight with a Chilean cab driver that took me to no man´s land b-c he misunderstood and took me to the actual name of my hotel, sure, but a street CALLED THAT NAME in the slums, not the HOTEL and I FREAKED OUT (I speak a mean fighting Spanish I realized...) until I understood the mix-up and that he wasn´t going to take me to alley and slaughter me for kicks while his taxi driving cab friends watched them kill the little American chica. But then, we became BFF (obv...) and he asked me where I was from and I said NY and he said, you were so rude with your mouth and your hands and your tone, that I knew you had to be from the United States. ME? RUDE? Then, he let me go for free b-c he thought I was funny and knew that he scared me taking me to that part of town (I was shitting in my pants) and he was sorry, and was tough and stood up for myself. He told me my heart stopped and I turned white. PROJECTS, I tell ya. With like bars on the windows of houses made of cardboard materials. I don´t know why you need bars on cardboard houses, just use a $1 box cutter to bypass the bars part and you´re inside. I mean.... it was a bad scene. There were like wild horses in the middle of the half paved road WITH the wild dogs, cats, goats, rats, mice, pigeons and guinea pigs.
So, I ate a hamburger with guac (big thing here) on it for Thanksgiving dinner after the taxi debaucle. And it´s raining. Did I mention? Again. And the hotels were all booked so I was walking the town in the pouring rain, with my 400 lb wheelie bag that kept flipping over down EVERY curb and knocking my ankle out, going into every hotel asking, begging for a place to stay, and they had NONE (I went to about 8), and finally some receptionist was nice and told me that a new hotel just opened and had 170 rooms and I should check there, so I did. But, NEW HOTEL DRAMA, the first room wasn´t ready and like had dirty sex bed sheets still happening when I walked in. The second room had no lights or electricity hooked up. The third room the key wasn´t working. When I finally got into mine, and was changing, the door flies open with a staffer giving a tour of the new facilities... HELLO!?!?! Did you not check with the front desk about WHICH room to use as show!!!! I was mid-pant change. `Lo siento, lo siento, senorita`... says the tour guide backing out of the room gingerly. Geez. Then, the ¨machina de tarjeta de credito´ isn´t up and running yet, so I had to find myself a money exchange (another hour of rain walking) or else I couldn´t stay there. Aren´t hotels a SERVICE industry. Meaning, they serve you?!?!? Not in Puerto Montt, Chile. I mean....all I wanted was a ROOM!!!! A bed. A place to wash my face. OH, and I´m PMS.
I´m OVER Chile today, can you tell?
Onto Argentina tomorrow. Crossing through the lakes. CAN´T WAIT. Maybe it´ll rain again. That would be nice and different. I´m fine, I´m fine but today´s been a long, long day. And I VERY MUCH needed to vent. I just want some turkey. And sun. Sun would be nice.
Happy Thanksgiving. Big smiles. No, really.
xoxo
PS. I just reread this, what a day! Thanks for listening...
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Romancing the Stone....
I made my way from Santiago to Pucon, Chile in an overnight bus two days ago.
Yes, you read correctly, an overnight BUS.
I asked my concierge at the Santiago hotel to book me an overnight TRAIN with a sleeping car and he booked a bus. So, I bit the bullet and went. Again, the public transportation here in Chile is fantastic.
Basically, it's a double-decker bus with seats that flatten out into beds. Black out shades, snacks, breakfast for like $50! 12 hour trip. I'm going to try to see if I can do the same thing from the south of Argentina to Buenos Aires, it's so much less hassle than getting to the airport, checking bags, going thru immigration, sitting waiting for the flights, etc... I'm now a converted busser.
Arrived in Pucon, a ski town here in the south of Chile yesterday morning at 9:30 AM. It´s pouring here, day two of it, no less. But the town has so much charm, even in torrential downpour, that I can't help but adore it and want to make every moment count. My hotel fronts the Plaza and backs Lake Villaricca. The best way that I can explain Pucon is that it's like Interlachen, Switzerland. Set in the mountains, surrounded by lakes, with tons of outdoor activities. I just can't help but look around here, craning my neck constantly for a better view of the snow-capped mountains and the blue of the lakes.
Deciding NOT to waste time, I went rafting yesterday. Yes, I know, I know. We're all taught in the States that thunderstorms and being outside in them equals sudden death by lightning, that's not the consensus here in Chile, so I went with it, and took a Class IV rafting trip down the Trancuro River with two guys from Chicago. My guides Jorge and Christian (the rescue kayaker) were skeptical of how successful a trip it would be, considering the rain, but took us anyway.
I had a blast! The rapids were fantastic and enormous. We actually had to walk the raft down the river for a couple of the rapids because they were too strong and the current would've toppled us. But, what an exhilirating feeling. Better than sitting in a hotel, waiting for Mother Nature to give it a rest.
Of course, the day couldn't be without incident. During the 'walking the raft' segment of time, we (me, Mark and Sam, the Chicago boys) had to walk thru the jungle to get the end of the rapid. In our wetsuits and booties, torrential downpours, it was a bit slippery, so I'm not sure what exactly possessed to take a shortcut from one riverbank to the other by climbing through a huge tree. YEAH, I'm always full of bright ideas. Well.....serves me right. I fell out of a tree while going across and
I´m sore as shit. Like full on "Romancing the Stone (thank you Karen) jungle acrobatics. Shimmying out to the edge of the very strong, thick branch. Shimmy, shimmy, shimmy. Moving my ass right on down. As I got above two huge rocks where I had planned in putting my feet down and jumping across to the next riverbank, the slick branch betrayed me, ungripping my ass, and letting me plummet, footing not yet quite right on the rocks, down. Flipping while hitting the fissure between the two rocks. My helmet (THANK GOD) bounced off one rock, then the other, while my hips flew straight up in the air. A complete an utter wipe out. I don´t black and blue easily, and I am like blackened on elbow, hips and knees. I literally fell out of a tree!!! Thank god the raft trip photographer didn't get THAT shot. Well, kinda funny if he did.
Anyway, I´m fine but just kicked around today, no rainy outdoor activities for me. Hopefully, the weather will clear tomorrow, there's an active volcano here that is supposed to be an amazing hike, with hot springs to ease the pain afterwards. The weather report for tomorrow is looking better. But, the south of Chile, bruises and all, is wonderful. I absolutely love it.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone... Mind you, I've yet to see turkey on a menu anywhere. Guinea pigs, yes (it's a delicacy in South America). Turkey, no. So, I'm very jealous of you all....
More soon.
xoxo
~M
Yes, you read correctly, an overnight BUS.
I asked my concierge at the Santiago hotel to book me an overnight TRAIN with a sleeping car and he booked a bus. So, I bit the bullet and went. Again, the public transportation here in Chile is fantastic.
Basically, it's a double-decker bus with seats that flatten out into beds. Black out shades, snacks, breakfast for like $50! 12 hour trip. I'm going to try to see if I can do the same thing from the south of Argentina to Buenos Aires, it's so much less hassle than getting to the airport, checking bags, going thru immigration, sitting waiting for the flights, etc... I'm now a converted busser.
Arrived in Pucon, a ski town here in the south of Chile yesterday morning at 9:30 AM. It´s pouring here, day two of it, no less. But the town has so much charm, even in torrential downpour, that I can't help but adore it and want to make every moment count. My hotel fronts the Plaza and backs Lake Villaricca. The best way that I can explain Pucon is that it's like Interlachen, Switzerland. Set in the mountains, surrounded by lakes, with tons of outdoor activities. I just can't help but look around here, craning my neck constantly for a better view of the snow-capped mountains and the blue of the lakes.
Deciding NOT to waste time, I went rafting yesterday. Yes, I know, I know. We're all taught in the States that thunderstorms and being outside in them equals sudden death by lightning, that's not the consensus here in Chile, so I went with it, and took a Class IV rafting trip down the Trancuro River with two guys from Chicago. My guides Jorge and Christian (the rescue kayaker) were skeptical of how successful a trip it would be, considering the rain, but took us anyway.
I had a blast! The rapids were fantastic and enormous. We actually had to walk the raft down the river for a couple of the rapids because they were too strong and the current would've toppled us. But, what an exhilirating feeling. Better than sitting in a hotel, waiting for Mother Nature to give it a rest.
Of course, the day couldn't be without incident. During the 'walking the raft' segment of time, we (me, Mark and Sam, the Chicago boys) had to walk thru the jungle to get the end of the rapid. In our wetsuits and booties, torrential downpours, it was a bit slippery, so I'm not sure what exactly possessed to take a shortcut from one riverbank to the other by climbing through a huge tree. YEAH, I'm always full of bright ideas. Well.....serves me right. I fell out of a tree while going across and
I´m sore as shit. Like full on "Romancing the Stone (thank you Karen) jungle acrobatics. Shimmying out to the edge of the very strong, thick branch. Shimmy, shimmy, shimmy. Moving my ass right on down. As I got above two huge rocks where I had planned in putting my feet down and jumping across to the next riverbank, the slick branch betrayed me, ungripping my ass, and letting me plummet, footing not yet quite right on the rocks, down. Flipping while hitting the fissure between the two rocks. My helmet (THANK GOD) bounced off one rock, then the other, while my hips flew straight up in the air. A complete an utter wipe out. I don´t black and blue easily, and I am like blackened on elbow, hips and knees. I literally fell out of a tree!!! Thank god the raft trip photographer didn't get THAT shot. Well, kinda funny if he did.
Anyway, I´m fine but just kicked around today, no rainy outdoor activities for me. Hopefully, the weather will clear tomorrow, there's an active volcano here that is supposed to be an amazing hike, with hot springs to ease the pain afterwards. The weather report for tomorrow is looking better. But, the south of Chile, bruises and all, is wonderful. I absolutely love it.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone... Mind you, I've yet to see turkey on a menu anywhere. Guinea pigs, yes (it's a delicacy in South America). Turkey, no. So, I'm very jealous of you all....
More soon.
xoxo
~M
Saketinis in Santiago...
So, a few nights ago, I went out with Tony, a Chilean friend of a friend from HarperCollins who lives in Santiago.
He was born in Chile, but has lived everywhere from New York and Miami to Rio, to London, to Buenos Aires, but now is back
here. He's been very helpful throughout re: Chile and South America. He took me out last night in Bellavista, the Villagey part of Santiago. What a night! I realized I'm just not equipped for South American night life and better get it together before I get to Buenos Aires and Rio and have to really pull out the stops....
Tony is 39, about 6'5" and looks like John C. Reilly from Boogie Nights. Picks me up in a little Alfa Romeo, and takes me to
some fabu sushi place called Etniko (a play on the word Ethnic, I'm told) that's hidden behind a door and you have to "know" about it. It's like Bond Street or as close in feel as it can be. Have drinks, I order a saketini. They almost
balked when I asked for sake and VODKA...very conservative city and he said it's unladylike to drink like that here... he wasn't being rude, just explaining and being incredulous of my order at the same time. Tony's the mayor, knows everyone. Amazing...people keep coming to table. I'm minding my own business, happy to be eating SUSHI, though the comparison with the sushi we all know and love isn't necessary, not even close to the same thing! After dinner, I'm maintaining I'm FINE (having had vodka for the first time in 3 weeks) and we head to the next place which is a little Chilean bar that unbeknownst to us, they're doing poetry readings and an open mike at..... We're loosening up a bit, or maybe it's me doing the loosening b/c I I knock my WHOLE MARGARITA as the waitress is putting it down ALL OVER him. Not a drop touches me. NOT ONE DROP. But remember, I'm FINE.....
I can tell he's livid, but dealing. I was getting up/down in the middle of the poetry reading to get napkins (I cleaned out the whole supply b/c in S. America, napkins are like 1-ply paper. They crumble up into a spitball, like you can't evn put it on your lap but it's only as big as your kneecap and so light (1-ply) that it flies off from like a sneeze breeze from 2 tables down. HORRIBLE. So, I use all the napkins and my heels are clicking back/forth as I keep getting more napkins for him b/c he's Margarita-sticky. The Chileans who are VERY SERIOUS about their poetry/singer dudes on stage are pissed at us. I'm asking them to take pictures, to boot. Blah, blah... So, we move on. Now, at this point, we're best friends, bonding over the spillage and the awful poetry set to song.
So, we then go to some CLUB called La Feria. Again, hidden behind a door, it's a full on lair. Red everywhere, the walls, the couches, the light fixtures. The DJ is jamming with himself like it's New Years Eve. But, we're early and there's nobody there. It's like 2 AM!!! And we go in anyway, and just sit on these red couches and talk and I'M WASTED b/c I haven't had vodka, and now I've had 3 (do you believe I'm saying this...?)!!! And, at about 3 AM, the club starts to fill up with all these Chilean youngsters that I cannot believe are JUST coming out to play, and thinking to myself, what the hell happened to the days when I WAS A YOUNGSTER like this and could drink 7 saketinis and hold my own and dance all night and never come down. I'm sad to leave, goddamnnit, I've got dancing shoes. But, I just can't party forward, I need sleep. And...........was miserable the next day. My first serious South American hangover.
Moral of the story: I have a lot of work to do before I get to Buenos Aires, let alone Rio. A lot of freakin' work......
~M
He was born in Chile, but has lived everywhere from New York and Miami to Rio, to London, to Buenos Aires, but now is back
here. He's been very helpful throughout re: Chile and South America. He took me out last night in Bellavista, the Villagey part of Santiago. What a night! I realized I'm just not equipped for South American night life and better get it together before I get to Buenos Aires and Rio and have to really pull out the stops....
Tony is 39, about 6'5" and looks like John C. Reilly from Boogie Nights. Picks me up in a little Alfa Romeo, and takes me to
some fabu sushi place called Etniko (a play on the word Ethnic, I'm told) that's hidden behind a door and you have to "know" about it. It's like Bond Street or as close in feel as it can be. Have drinks, I order a saketini. They almost
balked when I asked for sake and VODKA...very conservative city and he said it's unladylike to drink like that here... he wasn't being rude, just explaining and being incredulous of my order at the same time. Tony's the mayor, knows everyone. Amazing...people keep coming to table. I'm minding my own business, happy to be eating SUSHI, though the comparison with the sushi we all know and love isn't necessary, not even close to the same thing! After dinner, I'm maintaining I'm FINE (having had vodka for the first time in 3 weeks) and we head to the next place which is a little Chilean bar that unbeknownst to us, they're doing poetry readings and an open mike at..... We're loosening up a bit, or maybe it's me doing the loosening b/c I I knock my WHOLE MARGARITA as the waitress is putting it down ALL OVER him. Not a drop touches me. NOT ONE DROP. But remember, I'm FINE.....
I can tell he's livid, but dealing. I was getting up/down in the middle of the poetry reading to get napkins (I cleaned out the whole supply b/c in S. America, napkins are like 1-ply paper. They crumble up into a spitball, like you can't evn put it on your lap but it's only as big as your kneecap and so light (1-ply) that it flies off from like a sneeze breeze from 2 tables down. HORRIBLE. So, I use all the napkins and my heels are clicking back/forth as I keep getting more napkins for him b/c he's Margarita-sticky. The Chileans who are VERY SERIOUS about their poetry/singer dudes on stage are pissed at us. I'm asking them to take pictures, to boot. Blah, blah... So, we move on. Now, at this point, we're best friends, bonding over the spillage and the awful poetry set to song.
So, we then go to some CLUB called La Feria. Again, hidden behind a door, it's a full on lair. Red everywhere, the walls, the couches, the light fixtures. The DJ is jamming with himself like it's New Years Eve. But, we're early and there's nobody there. It's like 2 AM!!! And we go in anyway, and just sit on these red couches and talk and I'M WASTED b/c I haven't had vodka, and now I've had 3 (do you believe I'm saying this...?)!!! And, at about 3 AM, the club starts to fill up with all these Chilean youngsters that I cannot believe are JUST coming out to play, and thinking to myself, what the hell happened to the days when I WAS A YOUNGSTER like this and could drink 7 saketinis and hold my own and dance all night and never come down. I'm sad to leave, goddamnnit, I've got dancing shoes. But, I just can't party forward, I need sleep. And...........was miserable the next day. My first serious South American hangover.
Moral of the story: I have a lot of work to do before I get to Buenos Aires, let alone Rio. A lot of freakin' work......
~M
Friday, November 18, 2005
Would you believe, I love the Metro!
Santiago....
I wasn't sure what I expected from Santiago. The word on the street is that there's nothing to "see" here, it's a city you'll pass through. Not for me, I've now been here for 4 days.... I like getting to a city and settling myself into ONE hotel, unpacking and doing everything I can from one localized city. It's not as hectic a pace, not as harried a schedule, and you get a better feel for the places you're visiting, as opposed to only tastes of more cities. At least, that's what is working for me. I'm taking day trips to Valparaiso and Vina del Mar (beach towns outside of Santiago) and took a day trip to the vineyards the other day. It's just easier than being go, go, go, every 2 days. So, hi from Santiago, Chile!
Santiago is VERY modern, very clean, and feels very American. The American brands are everywhere, posted on billboards, on street signs, it's omni-present just how westernized Santiago is. It reminds me a little bit of Washington DC, at least in the "Gringo" parts of El Bosque and Las Condes and Vitacura. It's very much high-rise, glass buildings, interspersed with leafier streets and older, little townhouses that house restaurants and residences. For some reason, I'm channeling DC a bit. It actually felt kinda nice to be in a city when I first got here, the familiarily of seeing AT&T, Hooters and Ruby Tuesday, Starbucks and Jeep. I felt very "city girlish" and when I saw a Starbucks, ran for it with a pace that I haven't hit since my last jaunt on my treadmill as Sports Club LA. But, I'm over it and excited to go to Valparaiso/Vina del Mar tomorrow which supposedly have a little more culture. Then, down to the lake region of Chile for some Andean mountain time in the outdoors on Sunday. Modern is good, in doses, I'm finding. But, the more rewarding places have been those I don't know as familiar, not the ones that I'm too comfortable in.
Also, the people in Santiago are more conservative than in other cities. The city, the people just lack a little passion as far as I've seen so far. And, they admit that. They know that the city is just a little more hands-off than the rest of South American in many ways. Their lifestyle is more sedate, there's more quiet, there's less flavor. I like Santiago, it's just a little bland.
On the first day here, I just kicked around town, exploring (on foot) Gringo land. I met up with a friend of a friend who lives down here, is Chilean, Tony. We met for coffee on what might as well be the Miracle Mile of Santiago. LV, Hermes, Longchamp, Burberry. Boy, does he know where to take the NY girls... I had my first Cafe Helado and just explored the city on foot. I wound up stopping for a glass of wine at a bar, unbeknownst to me at the time, called, of ALL things, Publicity. Go figure......
My second day here I took in more of the sights, riding a funicular up to the top of San Cristobal, overlooking the city, seeing the snow-capped Andes in the backdrop. It's easy to tell direction here (thank you, Brett Isaccson), if you see the Andes, that's the east. Helpful to know. VERY helpful to know. San Cristobal is part of Parque Metropolitan, which is in Bellavista, the more bohemian section of town. Colorful little homes, tree-lined streets teeming with cafes and outdoor restaurants. Here, I stopped for a conger eel soup, which is a whitefish that they serve locally. Then, onto La Chascona. The Santiago home of Nobel prize winning poet, Pablo Neruda. His homes (there are 3) are attractions here in Chile, they are all VERY eclectic, he was a collector of everything and his houses are amazing to see. What struck me is that they let you sit in the chairs, touch the books, and things stored in the house. Imagine going into, like...Roosevelt's Oyster Bay house, and dilly dallying with the mooseheads he killed on African safaris. Right..... So, La Chascona is named after his lover, Matilde. It literally means BAD HAIR. The guide, a funny little man with a fantastic ranchero mustache that you see in my pix (couldn't pass up a photo of his 'stache...) told us that Matilde had big bushy hair and they called her La Chascona or Medusa, hence the name of the house. Granted, I have a japanese treatment on my hair now, but can you imagine if my famous poet husband of my future decided to name our house after my old hair...? I mean, talk about the most heinous of insults!!?!?! Then, to meet Ike's brother Brett who lives here and is a TWIN for Ike, but bigger. Very weird to meet someone's sibling in Santiago for the first time. He took me to a place for the typical Chilean sandwich, which are everywhere down here. Very good, but not sure how many more Chilean sandwiches are in my future. ;)
On the third day, I had a debaucle with the Sheraton, as I used AmEx points for my room there the first two nights but try explaining that to the Spanish desk guy who could give a shit about you and your American Express card and tries to make you pay double. I mean.... Then, my Treo spazzed (in a modern city like Santiago of ALL places) and so, I spent part of the day, trying to get back online with that. Then, I put hot milk in my Cocoa Puffs knockoff b/c I didn't the sign on the breakfast buffet that said HOT MILK and then, they didn't have anymore cereal left and the eggs looks like vomit and so I didn't eat breakfast before heading out. Again...stupid issues but frustrating, nonetheless.
Headed then, to the vineyards. Concha y Toro, the #1 exporter of Chilean wine to the States. I tried it in Costa Rica, and have since been hooked, so it was great to get to tour the vineyard, send home a ton of rare bottles that I can't get in the States and get out of the city for part of the day. I even, GULP, mastered the Metro here. The subway is amazing. The MTA should take a few tips from the Chilean government on how to create worthwhile, clean and efficient public transportation systems. It was fantastic and I went to Conchy y Toro on the subway, then to a bus, and back....EFFORTLESSLY. I arrived at the Plaza de Armas, which is eye-candy with all the performance artists, kiosks of Chilean art for sale, chess players in various stages of games and other such distractions. Pretty wild scene, you don't know where to look first. There's a lot of dirty old men with bellies overhanging their pants on the Plaza, waiting for girlies like me to ask them to take a photo, at which point, they harass you to join them for coffee, a drink or whatnot, following you around the Plaza like a lost puppy. But, I digress....
I lunched at Mercado Central, which is the fish market. It's exactly how South Street Seaport used to be with the open air fish vendors selling their catches of the day everywhere. But, here in the middle of the market, is a huge restaurant called Donde Augusto that sells lunches, dinners of the fish from the market. Total tourist trap, but fantastic fish and atmosphere. Worth the trip. The waiters all bum rush you as you walk in, trying to get you to sit in their section (ummm, what are they all freaking out about, it's the SAME restaurant) and then, bombard you with choices to eat. It's overwhelming but kinda fun to play with them all. I sat overlooking the whole market and my waiter (didn't catch name) decided to fall for me, wrote me a love letter on the tourist post card and then, proceeded to get a guitarist to accompany his "Ode to Marie" in the middle of the whole place, and SANG TO ME loud and passionately for all to see. He said "Amor" in the song like 50 times. I was....MORTIFIED. You think getting a meek rendition of Happy Birthday by 2 waiters in ---enter your favorite birthday restaurant here----- is bad. Go to Donde Augusto, I promise, it's much much worse.
So, that's where I'm at..... now, I'm signing off to go shower for some dinner with Tony, who's going to take me out local Chilean style in Bellavista. Then, tomorrow, I'm off to the beach towns of Valparaiso and Vina del Mar to work on my jacked tan . . . I'm VERY uneven b/c of Peru. I'll report more soon... Hope you're all doing well.
xoxo
I wasn't sure what I expected from Santiago. The word on the street is that there's nothing to "see" here, it's a city you'll pass through. Not for me, I've now been here for 4 days.... I like getting to a city and settling myself into ONE hotel, unpacking and doing everything I can from one localized city. It's not as hectic a pace, not as harried a schedule, and you get a better feel for the places you're visiting, as opposed to only tastes of more cities. At least, that's what is working for me. I'm taking day trips to Valparaiso and Vina del Mar (beach towns outside of Santiago) and took a day trip to the vineyards the other day. It's just easier than being go, go, go, every 2 days. So, hi from Santiago, Chile!
Santiago is VERY modern, very clean, and feels very American. The American brands are everywhere, posted on billboards, on street signs, it's omni-present just how westernized Santiago is. It reminds me a little bit of Washington DC, at least in the "Gringo" parts of El Bosque and Las Condes and Vitacura. It's very much high-rise, glass buildings, interspersed with leafier streets and older, little townhouses that house restaurants and residences. For some reason, I'm channeling DC a bit. It actually felt kinda nice to be in a city when I first got here, the familiarily of seeing AT&T, Hooters and Ruby Tuesday, Starbucks and Jeep. I felt very "city girlish" and when I saw a Starbucks, ran for it with a pace that I haven't hit since my last jaunt on my treadmill as Sports Club LA. But, I'm over it and excited to go to Valparaiso/Vina del Mar tomorrow which supposedly have a little more culture. Then, down to the lake region of Chile for some Andean mountain time in the outdoors on Sunday. Modern is good, in doses, I'm finding. But, the more rewarding places have been those I don't know as familiar, not the ones that I'm too comfortable in.
Also, the people in Santiago are more conservative than in other cities. The city, the people just lack a little passion as far as I've seen so far. And, they admit that. They know that the city is just a little more hands-off than the rest of South American in many ways. Their lifestyle is more sedate, there's more quiet, there's less flavor. I like Santiago, it's just a little bland.
On the first day here, I just kicked around town, exploring (on foot) Gringo land. I met up with a friend of a friend who lives down here, is Chilean, Tony. We met for coffee on what might as well be the Miracle Mile of Santiago. LV, Hermes, Longchamp, Burberry. Boy, does he know where to take the NY girls... I had my first Cafe Helado and just explored the city on foot. I wound up stopping for a glass of wine at a bar, unbeknownst to me at the time, called, of ALL things, Publicity. Go figure......
My second day here I took in more of the sights, riding a funicular up to the top of San Cristobal, overlooking the city, seeing the snow-capped Andes in the backdrop. It's easy to tell direction here (thank you, Brett Isaccson), if you see the Andes, that's the east. Helpful to know. VERY helpful to know. San Cristobal is part of Parque Metropolitan, which is in Bellavista, the more bohemian section of town. Colorful little homes, tree-lined streets teeming with cafes and outdoor restaurants. Here, I stopped for a conger eel soup, which is a whitefish that they serve locally. Then, onto La Chascona. The Santiago home of Nobel prize winning poet, Pablo Neruda. His homes (there are 3) are attractions here in Chile, they are all VERY eclectic, he was a collector of everything and his houses are amazing to see. What struck me is that they let you sit in the chairs, touch the books, and things stored in the house. Imagine going into, like...Roosevelt's Oyster Bay house, and dilly dallying with the mooseheads he killed on African safaris. Right..... So, La Chascona is named after his lover, Matilde. It literally means BAD HAIR. The guide, a funny little man with a fantastic ranchero mustache that you see in my pix (couldn't pass up a photo of his 'stache...) told us that Matilde had big bushy hair and they called her La Chascona or Medusa, hence the name of the house. Granted, I have a japanese treatment on my hair now, but can you imagine if my famous poet husband of my future decided to name our house after my old hair...? I mean, talk about the most heinous of insults!!?!?! Then, to meet Ike's brother Brett who lives here and is a TWIN for Ike, but bigger. Very weird to meet someone's sibling in Santiago for the first time. He took me to a place for the typical Chilean sandwich, which are everywhere down here. Very good, but not sure how many more Chilean sandwiches are in my future. ;)
On the third day, I had a debaucle with the Sheraton, as I used AmEx points for my room there the first two nights but try explaining that to the Spanish desk guy who could give a shit about you and your American Express card and tries to make you pay double. I mean.... Then, my Treo spazzed (in a modern city like Santiago of ALL places) and so, I spent part of the day, trying to get back online with that. Then, I put hot milk in my Cocoa Puffs knockoff b/c I didn't the sign on the breakfast buffet that said HOT MILK and then, they didn't have anymore cereal left and the eggs looks like vomit and so I didn't eat breakfast before heading out. Again...stupid issues but frustrating, nonetheless.
Headed then, to the vineyards. Concha y Toro, the #1 exporter of Chilean wine to the States. I tried it in Costa Rica, and have since been hooked, so it was great to get to tour the vineyard, send home a ton of rare bottles that I can't get in the States and get out of the city for part of the day. I even, GULP, mastered the Metro here. The subway is amazing. The MTA should take a few tips from the Chilean government on how to create worthwhile, clean and efficient public transportation systems. It was fantastic and I went to Conchy y Toro on the subway, then to a bus, and back....EFFORTLESSLY. I arrived at the Plaza de Armas, which is eye-candy with all the performance artists, kiosks of Chilean art for sale, chess players in various stages of games and other such distractions. Pretty wild scene, you don't know where to look first. There's a lot of dirty old men with bellies overhanging their pants on the Plaza, waiting for girlies like me to ask them to take a photo, at which point, they harass you to join them for coffee, a drink or whatnot, following you around the Plaza like a lost puppy. But, I digress....
I lunched at Mercado Central, which is the fish market. It's exactly how South Street Seaport used to be with the open air fish vendors selling their catches of the day everywhere. But, here in the middle of the market, is a huge restaurant called Donde Augusto that sells lunches, dinners of the fish from the market. Total tourist trap, but fantastic fish and atmosphere. Worth the trip. The waiters all bum rush you as you walk in, trying to get you to sit in their section (ummm, what are they all freaking out about, it's the SAME restaurant) and then, bombard you with choices to eat. It's overwhelming but kinda fun to play with them all. I sat overlooking the whole market and my waiter (didn't catch name) decided to fall for me, wrote me a love letter on the tourist post card and then, proceeded to get a guitarist to accompany his "Ode to Marie" in the middle of the whole place, and SANG TO ME loud and passionately for all to see. He said "Amor" in the song like 50 times. I was....MORTIFIED. You think getting a meek rendition of Happy Birthday by 2 waiters in ---enter your favorite birthday restaurant here----- is bad. Go to Donde Augusto, I promise, it's much much worse.
So, that's where I'm at..... now, I'm signing off to go shower for some dinner with Tony, who's going to take me out local Chilean style in Bellavista. Then, tomorrow, I'm off to the beach towns of Valparaiso and Vina del Mar to work on my jacked tan . . . I'm VERY uneven b/c of Peru. I'll report more soon... Hope you're all doing well.
xoxo
Dirty nails complete a look...
Hi there...
I know, I haven't been online in a while...I've been running around South America, what else...?
Anyway, I'm going to try to play catch up today. I have a free day in Santiago, Chile and I'm just taking it to walk around, email and write a little and drink lots of coffee. I've become hooked on a coffee drink that they serve in Chile, it's called Cafe Helado, which basically tranlates to coffee with ice cream on top. Uh-huh....not the BEST thing to be hooked on. But, nonetheless... So, sitting in a coffee shop is a pretty enjoyable treat in Santiago.
Ok, backtracking...
Lima. As per usual, I got up at the crack of ass in Cusco to go to Lima. I wasn't connecting to Santiago, until 9 PMish, so I had a full day to spend in Lima aimlessly wandering with maybe two hours of sleep logged. At best. I had heard dreadful things about Lima and wasn't really looking forward to it. Dirty (check), congested (check), and ugly (check). Since I had only passed thru for the splurge night at the Marriott a week ago, I had some exploring to do to form my own opinion. As it turns out, I really enjoyed it (EXCEPT for how freaking dirty I was after walking around all day....my nails turned grey, my white beater....yeah, not even CLOSE to white anymore (I threw it out), and my legs had a film of dust on them that I had to SCRUB with the Sheraton/Santiago soap bar to get off...yeah. You should've seen the shower drain when I finally showered in Santiago. Mmmm...hmmm. Images, images.)
When I got in, I went straight to the Plaza de Armas, chatting with the cab driver all the while (I'm really good at chatting with cab drivers. They always give me their cards when I leave their taxi. I guess I'm not intimidated to talk to them and sound foolish b/c it's only the two of us there to hear...I dunno. I give my best Spanish in cabs, though, I'm realizing). The Plaza de Armas is gorgeous. It has a huge fountain in the middle, with tons of benches surrounding. The buildings on the Plaza consist of the Presidential Palace which is a massive, white gated mansion that is offset by the municipal buildings on the other side, which are a bright shade of pumpkin color. It's aesthetically pleasing and while I'm sure you're thinking "pumpkin colored?" I really, really loved sitting in the Plaza. You would too. It's a highlight of Lima, for sure. The Catedral is on another side, and after being approached by a student named (didn't catch it) who just wanted to chit-chat with me, and for those of you who know me...I'm NOT exactly a morning person (though I'm getting better, I SWEAR!), I ducked into the Catedral under the guise of being REALLY interested in like, God, b/c you have to pay to go in and the chatty student wouldn't pay. There's a lot of ducking out like that, b/c you're constantly approached as a solo traveler. The only time I'm TRULY alone is when I'm hiding in my hotel room. Alas, in Lima, I had no hotel to hide out in.
Then, from the Plaza, I walked to the Plaza de San Martin, which was fine but underwhelming. Off the Plaza, though is the Hotel Gran Bolivar, a regal and uber-fancy hotel that I was told by a Peruvian author of my friend Michael's to visit. So, I checked into the hotel which was lovely, and parked myself on the terrace to down about 3 Cafe Americanos con leche while I wrote in my journal and caught up with myself. From there, I went to the neighborhood of Miraflores, first noticing at this point, the grey of my nails....where you can look out onto the ocean. I walked the whole area, it's young and more trendy than the other areas of Lima that I've checked out today, and full of shops and restaurants. I walked to the water, where there is a huge promenade of about three levels on the coast that overlooks the ocean. Lima is overcast most of the time, so you see a lot of fog as you look out onto the water, but regardless, it was calming and I was just completely happy being there with my Pisco Sour. Then, OBVIOUSLY, needed food. (I swear, if I don't get to a gym soon.....) So, I went to Astrid y Gaston, which was recc'd to me by everyone I met. THE restaurant in Lima. As I walk in, I feel at home. The deeply colored walls with great artwork on them, the open kitchen where you can watch the chefs cook, the waiters in their expensive, tailored suits, the hot looking Peruvians in clothes I wish I packed.......and me, in my sweatshirt and gaucho pants and Pumas, my messy ponytail with dirty nails and mammoth North Face backpack to complete the look. But, without missing a beat, they sat me right down amongst the men in business suits smoking cigars and took care of me. GREAT MEAL, they even let me hang out there until closer to my flight even though they were closing before dinnertime (I was kinda there in between meal services). And, then... I went BACK to the airport for my PM flight to Santiago, Chile...where I forgot to turn off my computer before putting it through the X-ray machine and jacked it for about a day. Yeah...sometimes there's just too much to concentrate on when you're schlepping from country to country. These are my issues.... :)
More soon...
xo
I know, I haven't been online in a while...I've been running around South America, what else...?
Anyway, I'm going to try to play catch up today. I have a free day in Santiago, Chile and I'm just taking it to walk around, email and write a little and drink lots of coffee. I've become hooked on a coffee drink that they serve in Chile, it's called Cafe Helado, which basically tranlates to coffee with ice cream on top. Uh-huh....not the BEST thing to be hooked on. But, nonetheless... So, sitting in a coffee shop is a pretty enjoyable treat in Santiago.
Ok, backtracking...
Lima. As per usual, I got up at the crack of ass in Cusco to go to Lima. I wasn't connecting to Santiago, until 9 PMish, so I had a full day to spend in Lima aimlessly wandering with maybe two hours of sleep logged. At best. I had heard dreadful things about Lima and wasn't really looking forward to it. Dirty (check), congested (check), and ugly (check). Since I had only passed thru for the splurge night at the Marriott a week ago, I had some exploring to do to form my own opinion. As it turns out, I really enjoyed it (EXCEPT for how freaking dirty I was after walking around all day....my nails turned grey, my white beater....yeah, not even CLOSE to white anymore (I threw it out), and my legs had a film of dust on them that I had to SCRUB with the Sheraton/Santiago soap bar to get off...yeah. You should've seen the shower drain when I finally showered in Santiago. Mmmm...hmmm. Images, images.)
When I got in, I went straight to the Plaza de Armas, chatting with the cab driver all the while (I'm really good at chatting with cab drivers. They always give me their cards when I leave their taxi. I guess I'm not intimidated to talk to them and sound foolish b/c it's only the two of us there to hear...I dunno. I give my best Spanish in cabs, though, I'm realizing). The Plaza de Armas is gorgeous. It has a huge fountain in the middle, with tons of benches surrounding. The buildings on the Plaza consist of the Presidential Palace which is a massive, white gated mansion that is offset by the municipal buildings on the other side, which are a bright shade of pumpkin color. It's aesthetically pleasing and while I'm sure you're thinking "pumpkin colored?" I really, really loved sitting in the Plaza. You would too. It's a highlight of Lima, for sure. The Catedral is on another side, and after being approached by a student named (didn't catch it) who just wanted to chit-chat with me, and for those of you who know me...I'm NOT exactly a morning person (though I'm getting better, I SWEAR!), I ducked into the Catedral under the guise of being REALLY interested in like, God, b/c you have to pay to go in and the chatty student wouldn't pay. There's a lot of ducking out like that, b/c you're constantly approached as a solo traveler. The only time I'm TRULY alone is when I'm hiding in my hotel room. Alas, in Lima, I had no hotel to hide out in.
Then, from the Plaza, I walked to the Plaza de San Martin, which was fine but underwhelming. Off the Plaza, though is the Hotel Gran Bolivar, a regal and uber-fancy hotel that I was told by a Peruvian author of my friend Michael's to visit. So, I checked into the hotel which was lovely, and parked myself on the terrace to down about 3 Cafe Americanos con leche while I wrote in my journal and caught up with myself. From there, I went to the neighborhood of Miraflores, first noticing at this point, the grey of my nails....where you can look out onto the ocean. I walked the whole area, it's young and more trendy than the other areas of Lima that I've checked out today, and full of shops and restaurants. I walked to the water, where there is a huge promenade of about three levels on the coast that overlooks the ocean. Lima is overcast most of the time, so you see a lot of fog as you look out onto the water, but regardless, it was calming and I was just completely happy being there with my Pisco Sour. Then, OBVIOUSLY, needed food. (I swear, if I don't get to a gym soon.....) So, I went to Astrid y Gaston, which was recc'd to me by everyone I met. THE restaurant in Lima. As I walk in, I feel at home. The deeply colored walls with great artwork on them, the open kitchen where you can watch the chefs cook, the waiters in their expensive, tailored suits, the hot looking Peruvians in clothes I wish I packed.......and me, in my sweatshirt and gaucho pants and Pumas, my messy ponytail with dirty nails and mammoth North Face backpack to complete the look. But, without missing a beat, they sat me right down amongst the men in business suits smoking cigars and took care of me. GREAT MEAL, they even let me hang out there until closer to my flight even though they were closing before dinnertime (I was kinda there in between meal services). And, then... I went BACK to the airport for my PM flight to Santiago, Chile...where I forgot to turn off my computer before putting it through the X-ray machine and jacked it for about a day. Yeah...sometimes there's just too much to concentrate on when you're schlepping from country to country. These are my issues.... :)
More soon...
xo
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
