Favorite Planet

An Afternoon In Valparaiso

2012-02-11T10:42:00.001-08:00

Valparaiso, Chile is just an hour or so from Santiago. This colorful port town, called the "Jewel of the Pacific," had its heyday in the mid 1900's through 1914. Before the Panama Canal opened, Valparaiso was a lively international port for ships and their sailors traveling between the Pacific and Atlantic Ocean through the Straits of Magellan. It has often been compared to San Francisco because of it's mild and often foggy climate, the way the town is built on hillsides, and the colorful Victorian houses still standing in the older neighborhoods.

The hills of Valparaiso are a big part of its charm. All over the city there are asensores, or funiculars, which are elevators that take people up and down the steep hills. There are 16 of them now in operation although at one time there were as many as 28! We rode one of the oldest ones a few years ago and held our breath as a cable car built in 1883 lurched straight up an extremely steep hill, creaking all the way up on its rusty cables. I tried not to look down, although the views are fabulous!

We visited Valparaiso for the first time a few years ago, exploring the older neighborhoods built on the hills. From the top, each cobblestoned street has a view of the rest of the city and the hazy air shimmering over the Pacific. The crumbling old houses were wonderful but the winding streets were a little scary; just a few years ago these streets seemed like a good place to get mugged. Now, they are a great place to have a cup of coffee! In the few years since we've been here, the houses seem to be better cared for and galleries, hostels and cafes have popped up everywhere.

I took a lot of pictures and have included many of them here. I just loved all of the color and the murals we saw. I hope you enjoy them! You can click on each photo to enlarge them.

Exploring Chile, the other side of the Andes

2012-01-14T12:24:00.000-08:00

Fishing boats on the colorful coast

Welcome to Chile!

Several years ago, I read a wonderful article by Canadian travel writer Christie Pashby comparing the neighboring countries of Chile and Argentina. She describes the two countries as "Siamesetwins on the waiting list for a separation. They are forced together, but lookin separate directions. They have to get along because of geographical destiny,but they have two very different brains, even independent hearts."

She goes on to say that "these two nations share one of the longest borders in the world yet are worlds apart inpsyche. They share the same language, the same mountain range, the sameisolation at the end of the world" and yet they live in "two solitudes". I think of her words often as I am getting to know Chile.

Until this year I have only visited Chile for a day or two as a respite from the dry and waterless pampas of Argentina. This winter, I am getting to experience Chile first hand as a temporary citizen. I can't help but compare some of my experiences here with those I've had in Argentina and the differences, particularly in the personality of the people, are profound.

The view from the top of the ascensor at our apartment

There is an intense and sometimes absurd rivalry between the two countries, which we've heard about from citizens on both sides of the border. And yet, to us, they are like yin and yang, complementing each other. Our sons, who are both in their twenties, like the noise and the chaos of Argentina; the nightlife, the instant friendships, and the unpredictability of almost everything there. I prefer quieter Chile, and the way Chileans are more organized, more humble and reliable. I feel more balanced here, safer; I can cross the street without risking my life and even if I am still somewhere "at the end of the world", I don't feel as overwhelmed. What I am enjoying the most here in Chile is living near the sea.

A mural in Valpariaso

We are renting an apartment in Concon, a fishing village about 10 miles down the road from Vina Del Mar. Valparaiso, which is a much bigger city and has a bustling port on the waterfront, is just a little further down the road. All of these coastal towns have distinct beaches of their own and are connected by a winding coastal road that strings them together like jewels.

The Mar is the most important feature of life here in Concon; everyone seems to have their eye on the ocean. The locals watch the water for work and for weather. We watch it because it changes endlessly; the color, the movement, the waves - even the sound. When we take the 40 minute bus ride to Valparaiso, we pass at least six beaches, each, it seems, with it's own wind and weather system, determined by the shape of the land. On one beach, the waves come to shore in long rolls, just a few minutes later we pass waves on another beach which are louder and more forceful; the water crashes and clatters on the rocks, frothing into whitecaps before washing out on shore. The surfers must dreams about the water, it moves so mysteriously.

I will be writing alot about Chile while I'm here but for now, I wanted to post some photos of my first few weeks here. I am also posting photos of Chile on facebook everyday so feel free to take a look! Enjoy -

What a view!

Christmas decorations in Chile

New Years Eve in Concon

The street market in Valpariaso

You can click on the photo to enlarge it and see more detail --

Beach sculpture

A common occupation in South America

Our view at night overlooking the water and the best fish house in town!

Nice colors on a sunny afternoon

What Do You Wear to a Bullfight?

2011-11-28T16:55:00.000-08:00

Or, My First Corrida

I’ve been home for several weeks now and to be honest, Isort of crash landed back into my own life. I attribute this partly to the phenomenon of flying, which enables oneto be on the lively coast of the Spain one night, (staying out much too late on the night before anearly morning flight) and at home in our own beds the next. Which leads me to wonder: was I just dreaming? Was that tapa bar, buzzing with music andconversation after the bullfight real?

It is also my own fault for trying to pack in as muchexperience as possible into my last few days. On our very last night in Spain, Iwent to my first bullfight during the feirain Malaga, the biggest festival of the year. We were lucky to get tickets during that week,since Rivera Ordonez, the grandson of Antonio Ordonez, as well as the muchloved, very young torero, DanielLuque were both on the bill that evening. I have been trying to write about my experiences in Spain for severalweeks now, especially this bullfight, but I find that even when I am speakingabout it, my feelings are too big, too unordered to tell it in a logical way. When I told a librarian friend of mine that I was having trouble writing about the bullfight I had seen, she said, "Well, you were stirred in a primal way." Without skipping a beat, another woman walked by and said, "What better way is there to be stirred?"

I could begin the story of Spain by telling you about thelittle villages where we stayed, about how blue the ocean was, the kind ofcolor it was – an infinite blue that I have tried to burn into my memoryforever. Cerulean, incandescent, an intense cobalt blue that connects you tothe ancient Greeks, to Icarus and his spectacular flight and epic fall, a widegolden light and the splashing plunge of blue – a no-wonder-Van-Gogh blue.

Or I could write about how much I loved the plazas allacross the country and the sound of goat bells ringing up and down the hills, orabout the way the light is luminous in Spain in different ways throughout theday and into the evening. But before Ican focus on explaining any of those things, an image flashes through my mind –a glimpse of something deeply embedded in me – a fragment of something - a redand white blur. I pause for a moment andpull it into my consciousness – is it a memory? Is it a dream? No, it’s Pamplona, and I was there last month!

You see, I am “assover teakettle” as the British say, (which the slang dictionary defines as,“fallen in a dramatic fashion”; or, ‘in complete disarray’), and have been fora couple of weeks now. Way too many bigthings have happened in my life this year --

So perhaps I should back up and do this Hemingwaystyle. I will tell you about my lastevening in Spain by simply reporting to you what happened. In this deceptivelysimple way, perhaps I can climb out of the wild jumble of my experiences – wordby word, detail by detail – and make a little bit of order out of a lot ofchaos. I’ll pretend that I’m Ernest and you can pretend that you are readingthe Toronto Star.

By the end of August, Spain was intensely hot. I have neverexperienced heat like this, bearing down on us as if the sunlight had a weightof its own. I can see how light like this can eventually crumble rocks andcathedrals, it was that hot. The heatwas something that you eventually take pleasure in because it’s so remarkable,so much a part of the experience of Spain. Throughout July we had traveled upand down and back and forth in Spain and oh how I loved the plazas, thefountains, the tiled and cobbled streets, the curving mountain roads withhairpin turns and thrilling views – all of it new and old and sleepy and fullof vitality all at the same time. But the way the heat came in August slowedeverything down.

So back to the bullfight – I mention the heat because thesun is such a feature of the evening in my memory. I asked a few of my female friends ahead oftime what one wears to a bullfight, which was really another way of saying thatI really didn’t know what to expect. No one could actually answer thatquestion, but because of the heat, we wore the lightest clothing we had. The audience seemed to be mostly older Spanishpeople and quite a few foreigners. The bullring was beautiful, with red railsand window arches, and a grace and pageantry that does not exist in any othersports arena I’ve been in.

It was our last day in Spain and we took an early bus fromour little village of Maro into Malaga, a beautiful and surprising city next tothe sea. We spent the day walkingthrough the streets and along the beach telling ourselves how much we have lovedthis summer of our lives, marveling at the setting we were in and the peoplearound us. We ordered our last paellafor the summer, and drank the last brisk cold Spanish beer. The streets ofMalaga were wrapped in ribbons and flowers, music drifted through the air, therewere horses, musicians, dancing, free beer and tapas, and bullfights eachevening. The streets had vitality and tiredness too, (the undercurrent of allgreat parties, the sense that this would end) for today was the last day of thefair and the end of the summer and our last full day in Spain.

As we got closer to the time of the bullfight, we spent acouple hours at a café near the bullring and watched what was happening aroundus. The café grew noisy in the happy chatter of Spanish people; women wore longflamenco dresses, despite the heat. Fromour table, we could see men come and go through the back doors of the arena; wetook turns walking across the street to the bullring to see if we could seeanything. At one point we could smelland hear the bulls on the other side of a wall; the bulls had a familiar animalscent – which was somehow oddly touching. Finally, the day was fading, the sun was a burnt orange globe in thesky, but the heat stayed strong.

Just before 7 pm we crossed the street and entered the arena.In the umber light we watched the bullring fill with fans, many with their owngold and red seat cushions and folding fans to help with the heat. There was a tired buzz in the air. From where we sat, we could see the ruins ofan old fort to the left of us and new high-rise apartments to the right. A manwith an Adonis Greek figure was sunbathing on his balcony, his eyes closed. Heseemed nonchalant to the sounds of the bullring below, which he must hear everynight. As people filled the stands inthe bullring, a murmur rose around us but it was in another language, and wewere too tired to distinguish it. Someone walked by selling cold beer. This wasMalaga – this was Spain in a microcosm, the fiesta, the heat and the throb of aforeign language in the background, the old and the new.

The band started up – a real band sitting nearby in thebalcony – and their music signaled the beginning of the evening, adding a kindof pageantry as each figure, each character of the drama was introduced to theaudience - the picadors, the toreadors, etc. . . Dusk came on and highlightedthe color of the sand in the ring, the deep red arches around the arena, thecostumes the participants were wearing, the gold horns in the band section in the eveninglight.

The first toreador threw his hat into the ring to see whichway his luck will go and the night began. The bulls come out high-spirited,bold, and noble. They are sleek and strong and dark and beautiful and it allbegins. My son liked the way the bulls were frisky before the picadors bledthem. The horses are also beautiful in a different way; graceful, fluid. Thescene was riveting. We were holding our breath and looking at each other withwide eyes as the three acts unfolded before us, before we were ready, before weknew what we thought. It was beautiful, itwas dangerous, and it was disturbing.

There is so much to absorb that it is hard to describe, the richred flash of the cape, the glint of the sword in afternoon light, the deepeningshadows in an ancient bullring, the hush and the murmur of hundreds of peoplewatching life and death, graceful men in their colorful suit of lights, themagnificent bull trotting, charging and almost dancing around the men in thering – a black swirl, a blur, a kaleidoscope of Spanish color.

The first bull did not die right away but staggered sidewaysfor what seemed like an eternity before finally falling. (If any of you have seen Gerard Depardieu in Cyrano de Bergerac, think of the lastscene in the garden before he utters “mypanache –“.) Both of us were rathershocked – it was fascinating, it was beautiful, it was brutal, elemental andintense. And our adrenalin was up – way up. It remained that way all evening (and unfortunately, in our beds thatnight when we had hoped for some sleep).

After the bull dies, “the death squad”, as my son callsthem, moves into the ring with a team of horses that drag the bull’s body outof the ring. Then a group of men sweepaway the blood and rearrange the sand – the team of horses wears bells thatjingle in an oddly cheerful way as they go in and out of the ring to do theirjob. The music stops for this and you noticehow intense the heat is and the air is still except for the paper fans goingback and forth in the sweltering August night.

I’m not sure either one of us knew what to expect, but afterthe first fight we were able to watch the second fight in a different way. I noticed how each person had a job to do andhow important it was that they do it well. I noticed what the picadors do (and thought they were rather brutal).As the evening went on I saw how each bull was different and how the men in thering learned and responded to him. I was able to pull my eyes away and watch theaudience and the people around me. I understood some of what Ric Polanskyexplained when he described the audience as being part of what makes eachbullfight new. The spectators have their own rituals and expectations as theyparticipate in the evening in subtle and not so subtle ways. I could understand how easy it would be towrite about bullfights in a romantic, cliché way or resort to technicalobservations, because a bullfight is not like a movie that you caneasily forget, it is something you think about for a long time. I remembered the shopkeeper we met our first week in Mijas: bullfightingwas cruel, he acknowledged, but “lifeis cruel, no?”

The young matador Daniel Luque cut an ear that night, andthe crowd went crazy. Whitehandkerchiefs went up all around the arena. A few rows behind us, a Spanish womana little older than me was overcome with emotion during the last fight. She yelled all evening, but during Luque’sfight she shouted, Kill him good, hombre! Gradually she moved closer and closer to therailing where we sat until finally she was leaning into us, cheering on thematador, obviously moved by the events of the evening. Her passion forbullfighting was so intense that after the bullfight I asked her why she lovedit so much. Es muy bonita, she said – it’s beautiful. She knew and felt deeply the traditions andrituals of bullfighting, of her own culture, the heroic ideals that played out before us in the ring that evening. Thebullfights were over and the young bullfighter walked around the ring acceptingaccolades, flowers, and gifts. Weexhaled. The crowd emptied out of the archedexits and into the streets. We walked out of the building with the woman andher husband, my son translating for us.

She led us around the bullring to show us the pens where thebulls wait before the fight and where they are butchered afterwards. It was dark now and from where we stood, wecould see light coming from the room where they had taken the bulls, there was asmall river of blood outside the door. We asked manyquestions and she was clearly delighted to talk about bullfighting and hercountry. She has loved bullfighting all of her life and the ceremony ofit. She knows about all of the torerospast and present. She told us about their style, their glorious posture, theirachievements and their travel schedule throughout the country. As we stood inthe street talking, we could not let each other go – we walked to the cornertogether, stopping at a vendor’s table where she bought several expensiveportraits of the toreros she loved. Her enthusiasm was charming; we thanked herand said good night.

In the dark we walked almost twenty blocks, the streetssticky with beer. The feira was over and the tired vendorswere packing up their stalls. We could no longer hear the accordion music thatdrifted around street corners most evenings in Malaga. The ocean was a dark puddle to our left, taxisslid quietly by on the street next to us. We were tired and wired, tomorrow morning we would be on a plane headedhome. One of us would start to talkabout the evening, unable to finish even the simplest thought or sentence. I know. . . the other would acknowledge in the dark. We tried to speak but it was only images that occurred to us, elemental colors and shapes.

After the bullfight we went to a tapa bar and had our last,lovely meal at a table on the the street, reminding us that whenwords fail, there is always garlic!

We left Malaga at 11:00 at night, the streets still brightand noisy, and headed to Maro, an hour by bus. We had to be up at 5:00 am for our long flight home. During the drive, we saw the moon reflectedback to us on the Mediterranean, not its usual dazzling blue, but jet black inthe warm summer darkness. One of uswould begin to talk about the bullfight again and then just simply sigh. The other answered, “mmmm” and we moved alongin the gloom. It was beyond words.

We might say – “It wasbeautiful, in a strange way.” Or, “It was intense. It was very Roman.“ It fit exactly intothe beauty and the glory and the history that is Spain. At 3 am we talked in the darkness as we layin bed. “Still awake?” It was the adrenalin.

Before we knew it we began a long, exhausting, blur of a daystarting at 5 am with a cab driver who loved bullfights. We had early morningcoffee in a café. At the airport Istepped on a scale that measured me in stones. Our flights were from Malaga to New York City, New York to points west.As we met strangers on the plane and in the airports throughout the day, wetold them we were coming back from a summer in Spain, that the ocean was adazzling color of blue, that we were tired and happy, that we had seen abullfight the night before. And that wasall we could say *

Have you ever been to a Tuna Festival?

2011-07-27T15:05:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been to a Tuna Festival? Well, neither have I -- until recently! We had one of those lucky discoveries when we left Pamplona in search of quieter quarters. Lodging was so hard to come by because of the running of the bulls that we ended up in Saint Jean de Luz, a lovely little fishing town just across the border into France. We were still clearly in Basque country, a compelling region with lush landscapes, lively culture, and a population and history that fascinates me. We were exhausted from our hectic days in Pamplona and rented small cabins near the ocean where we slept peacefully, not one of us dreaming of bulls! In the morning we woke with the Atlantic ocean nearby and news that we had arrived just in time for the annual Tuna Festival, which was going to be held that night in lovely Saint Jean de Luz.

A quick internet search told us that Saint Jean de Luz was a medieval town known for it's delicious cuisine, the quality of light there (which was true, the light was lovely) and its beautiful beaches. It is especially proud of the macaroon, which was invented by a baker here on the occasion of Louis the XIV's wedding in 1660. Saint Jean de Luz is a medieval port town just across the border of Spain. Almost all of the buildings are painted white with red shutters, and as you can imagine, the sunlight and water reflected on these buildings makes them even more beautiful! There is something about this combination - the light, the ambience, the history and the nearby ocean, that makes you simply relax.

As we walked along the old streets, we watched the townspeople transform their downtown into an open air dining room where stranger sat with stranger to eat and celebrate Tuna. The tuna was grilled and served with an herbed tomato sauce, french bread and a glass of wine, cooked by handsome men dressed in traditional Basque clothing. People of all ages sat side by side at the long outdoor tables and enjoyed the food and evening. There was Basque music too, which we didn't understand a word of, but all of the locals knew the songs and sang them together before and during dinner. I would have liked to ask what they were about!

For me, often, the joy of an event is often the human responsearound me – I loved seeing the delight on the faces of the people around me. What a lovely summer evening we had, lucky to be passing through Saint Jean de Luz!

One of the many cooks during the evening!

Whose turn is it to set the table?

Fishing nets near the port

A good time was had by all --

Isn't she lovely?

This Tuba player was so enthusiastic, he eventually just had to get up on the table!

Me encanta

2011-07-18T06:23:00.000-07:00

I learned the phrase "me encanta" in Argentina but am really feeling it here in southern Spain. I'm loving it - I'm enchanted - is how it translates. What I find so enchanting is the fascinating blend of cultures (Spanish, Moroccan, and Moorish to name a few) along with daily encounters with old and new world traditions. I think this is highlighted because we are renting a house in rural Andalucía, where we are just as likely to share the narrow, high mountain roads with goats and sheep as we are with land rovers and school buses. Meeting the animals on the roads is far and away preferable to me, since encountering other automobiles often involves hugging the edges of the already much too tiny byway or worse, backing up to let the other vehicle pass.

But I digress . . . what I mean to say is that I am really enjoying the pace and the novelty of rural life around me and the opportunity to go into town once or twice a week to see a completely different side of Spain and the dazzling blue ocean I have always read about!

In both rural and urban areas, we notice a lot of old people sitting on benches or stone walls around town – the whole day it seems – just talking and watching the world go by. There is extremely high unemployment in Spain right now but I also think that it’s partly a lifestyle thing to just sit and relax. I have been able to do the same here – relax – and I am resting and sleeping more deeply than I have in half a year.

I am working, writing and resting in a breezy upstairs room painted a shade of ochre that is bathed in sunlight and then shadow certain hours of the day. Nearby is a small café where I can hear conversation drift up through my windows – mostly men talking, mostly in Spanish. I understand their tones, but not very often their words. I suspect that many of them no longer work, but they enjoy a cup of coffee with their friends in the morning and a bit of beer in the evening as they exchange gossip. I am beginning to distinguish the voices of the men I overhear (but do not see) and one of them goes into fits of laughter that is truly contagious. I often have to stop working and listen! One of the oldest men in the village is apparently full of local lore going back to the Spanish civil war. I wish I was fluent and could ask him to tell me his stories.

There is something oddly comforting to me in the way one detaches from everything in a foreign country. Hours, days and weeks take on a different proportion. Everything in one’s life is measured newly against these fresh hours, this clean light – a completely different backdrop. Certainly a big part of it for me is the language barrier. But I have to admit that I kind of like hovering outside of the concerns of daily life here – I pick up the essence of people and situations, rather than the details. In fact, I am blissfully alone and can keep my focus inward. When I do engage in my surroundings, it is with a writer’s luxury I think; without hurry, without obligation, simply to learn and enjoy.

Well, I’ve probably loaded way too many photos on today’s post, but I couldn’t resist some of the photos which highlight how the old and new coexist here. I hope you enjoy them!

This is a store of Spanish and Moroccan knick nacks found high in the hills above Malaga. You could be in here for days and still not see everything!

This next series of photos was taken when I went for a walk after dinner yesterday. The hills and the evening light are so comforting, so familiar - I think it's all those foreign movies I've watched!

Is anyone missing their garden gnome? I think I've found it . . .

Here is a great example of old and new - this is a farming-hardware store that sells a little bit of everything, including handmade pitchforks!

This next photo was taken in downtown Malaga and was a really funny moment and quite a contrast to the serenity of the older people I have been photographing.

These young men had somehow dropped their blow-up doll and were in the process of throwing her back up onto the balcony when we walked by. My photo of their efforts to catch her (it took several tries) were blurry. I had lots of questions, but didn't ask them!

I would like to have a bedroll like this!

A cemetary in Comares

I was so thrilled to get these photos (but the next day I saw something even better!) As we rounded a corner on the way to get groceries, this shepard and his herd blocked our way. The herd was clearly not motivated by the two dogs that followed them. As the goats wandered off to eat anything in sight, the dogs took a few moments to lay down on the road. All of us were curious about each other --

But this series of photos is even better! My son and I walked down this lane to get to the ATM machine (on the left). It was just after siesta and the cafe on the corner was lively. Obviously, the owner of this amimal was enjoying himself inside - it didn't take long for the (Donkey? Horse?) to figure out what to do.

Andy's lunch

Do you think one of these men would adopt me so that I can get a green card and stay forever?

Click on The Hemingway Project for some exciting news.

Getting to know you . . .

2011-07-15T15:42:00.000-07:00

Despite my limited Spanish vocabulary, I have really enjoyed meeting people here, especially in the small pueblos. It is somehow easier to be more outgoing as I get older, and certainly easier to appear foolish! (Perhaps I am just getting used to it) In the rural settings, especially, people are as curious about my life as I am about theirs. Older men are a striking feature in the center of most towns in Spain. They sit together mornings and evenings talking to one another in the plazas, which were surely built just for them! They seem to sit for hours, leaning on their canes, many with berets on. I can't figure out where the women are, but the men are easily approachable and often enjoy conversation. They seem to take in all that goes on around them and they know all the news.

The Spanish live a good portion of their lives in the streets and plazas of their towns; these places come alive after 8pm, when the warm evening air entices everyone out for a stroll or a cafe con leche. I think I could become pretty good at this life! I put in a lot of plaza-dwelling practice last week during our 8 day road trip to Northern Spain and I have to say that I enjoy the plazas and coffee in San Sebastian just as much as I enjoy them in Malaga! It really grows on you - watching the children run around fountains laughing, watching the birds swooping in for bread crumbs in the twilight, watching young and old couples stroll down the street with no apparent destination or haste.

All of this is best viewed from your own outdoor table under a graceful stone arch where the waiter allows you to linger as long as you want. In fact, some sit for hours at a cafe table in the afternoon sunlight reading (this is surely one of life's best pleasures), and I've seen parents sit at cafes near a small playground and enjoy themselves completely while their children played. Between the plazas and the tapas, life is pretty good!

This is Miguel, who starts each day with coffee and brandy at the local cafe. In the evenings, he enjoys a cold beer at the same table. His wife has passed away but he lives with his children. He and his family have a goat farm which supplies the town with the most delicious goat cheese I have ever tasted (and I don't like goat cheese!) He is 85 years old and his friends call him " el jefe" (the boss), a job he conducts throughout the day from his usual spot near the window.

This is also Miguel, who lives in the small town of Comares. Comares is a "pueblo blanco" literally perched on the top of a mountain. The views go all the way to the Mediterranean! Miguel owns a cafe and a small kiosk (and this donkey, I think!) so he is naturally one of the first to greet to newcomers. He took me around the tiny village to show me his son, his cafe, his donkey, and to let me sample his homemade raisen wine.

More friendly faces in Comares

Which plaza is your favorite?

All along this balcony are benches and tables where one can sit and gaze at the beautiful blue sky and water. There is a shimmer in the air from the summer heat and I have to remind myself that I'm not dreaming, it really is the Mediterranean Sea! There are hundreds of little stone steps to walk down to the beach from here and I really can't decide which place has a more lovely view.

Rich and I stayed in this small town of Trujillo, (pictured above), which I will write more about later. While the boys looked around the shops, we sat at a table in the plaza watching the sun fade behind centuries old buildings. The birds swooped around us in the semi darkness, their movements in flight seemed joyful!

The next morning we got up and slipped out for a cup of coffee before the boys were awake. Our very own table waited for us and we enjoyed the same view of the plaza bathed in new light. I think we are becoming Spanish!

Espana!

2011-06-13T10:18:00.000-07:00

It has been awhile since I last traveled and wrote about it - more than a year - and so much has happened since then. As many of you know, it's been a long winter of healing and recovery but my health is excellent. I wasn't sure I was ready to travel again, but my husband is ever nudging me back towards confidence and new life experiences. Since I've been here (just under a week), I understand the idea that time is a river that always changes. It is impossible to wholly grasp everything that we experience; it all seems to happen so quickly - the good moments, the scary ones. The present is sliding into the past as we live it, so we might as well just go with it, eh?

Andy and I arrived in Spain on Tuesday afternoon. Rich rented a house about 15 miles outside of the city of Malaga on the Southern Coast of Spain, but driving to the house takes considerably longer because of the roads that wind back and forth across the mountains at seemingly impossible angles. From the house we hear roosters, the tinkling of goat bells up and down the hills, and an ongoing conversation between the neighborhood dogs. On the way up the mountain, we often see shepards leaning against canes or walking sticks, standing near their goats or sheep. They are usually older men with deeply tanned faces that watch us pass by from beneath sun hats. Since Rich is working from the country house, I have rented a small room nearby where I can work, write, and continue to rest in solitude.

I had forgotten some of the pleasures of travel such as learning new things not each day but practically each moment! The shopkeepers and stall vendors have sales tactics that range from high pressure to the most accomplished flirting I have ever seen. I am sorry to say that this technique often works with me. In Argentina it took me quite a while to pick up on this. Each time I entered our local small grocery store, the keeper would exclaim to the whole store that the sun had just come out for him, look how lovely she is, oh what a beautiful gringa, ect - even my children were the most beautiful he had ever seen. (Now, who can argue about the price of butter when someone talks like that!?) For the longest time I thought, wow, I must really be looking good these days! until one morning I overheard him tell another woman that the sun just came out, etc. . . so you think I'd learn. In Mijas, I made the mistake of looking at a travel bag in one of the street stalls which turned into a playful 35 minute conversation about how the seller could go home and put on nice music, pour a glass of wine and enjoy his evening if only I would buy his bag. Otherwise, his night would be austere - no wine, no music, no reason, really, to be happy at all. Who knew I held such powers?

Malaga is a beutiful blend of old and new architecture as you can see by the photos below. We spent one quick afternoon in Malaga and over the weekend we visited some of the nearby pueblos which are perched on hillsides and hilltops all around the city. It's always fun to turn a corner and discover doorways, alleys and gardens that are truly magical. Take a look:

This lovely building is in downtown (or, centro) Malaga. I love this tile!

A cathedral in Malaga seen from one of the alleys

We had tapas at "The Office"

During our brief visit to Malaga we were serenaded not once, but twice, by street musicians hoping for a tip. The second guy played cheerful polka's with such a mournful expression that it was hard to listen.

The country house

Costa del Sol - the beach in Nerja

The magical town of Mijas, where we attended an international festival of food and music.

Let's you and I step through this starry doorway and see what's inside, shall we?

Discovering Siesta

2010-03-05T00:02:00.000-08:00

Reaching out to pull the black shutters closed in the afternoon must be an age old ritual, but for me, it was a new experience. Mendoza summers are hot and dry, by early afternoon the heat is almost unbearable. All around town, people are latching their shutters to block out the intense noonday heat, darkening their rooms, and turning on their ceiling fans. In rooms with high ceilings and cool tile floors, people are preparing for a snooze.

Argentine people are getting ready for what my southern friend calls a “dropdown”. At our corner fruit market, where crates of colorful fruits and vegetables are stacked along the sidewalk, employees hurry to move everything inside before closing up shop. Along the street you can hear the rattle of rolling metal doors being pulled closed and window bars sliding into place. Its time for siesta.

The streets, which are usually so filled with noisy traffic, honking cars, and buses lumbering to and fro, were now eerily quiet. So quiet that we could hear the palm fronds rattling in the dry breeze, the padded steps of a stray dog crossing the street in front of us.

At first, we didn’t know what to do with these quiet midday hours. After all, our North American clocks told us that the days were meant for achievement and industry. We thought we’d use siesta time to do errands, but this proves impossible since almost everything was closed tightly for several hours every afternoon. Even the doors to our favorite laundry were locked, the shades drawn and the lights turned off.

“Despacio” our friend tells us; slow down. And we tried. It took several weeks of living in Argentina to fully appreciate the reasons why the afternoons come to a complete standstill. The midday heat is one reason why relaxing during these hours is so essential. In the summer months it is hard to imagine getting much work done in the hottest part of the day. But a siesta is also necessary because of the late nights that Argentines are famous for. Argentines are notorious night owls, who love to eat, dance and converse late into the night. Mendoza literally comes alive after 9 pm. It is not uncommon to walk past restaurant tables at midnight and see families with small children just lifting their forks to the evening meal.

Along with napping, siesta is also a time for families and friends to share a leisurely midday meal and perhaps a bottle of wine. Children come home from school during these hours and fathers come home from work.

Rising from siesta a few hours later, the town becomes animated again – windows and doors are opened and the sleepy streets wake up. Children in their school uniforms head back to school, lively and rested. Even the busses and taxis seem to ease back into their usual noise and speed. The day seems new again – fresh and rested. As always, the people in the shops and along the streets smile warmly at each other – hola, hola, they say, Buenos tardes.

In Argentina, the days are broken up like this – off to school or work in the morning, a leisurely break for siesta from 2 to 6 pm, and then home again a few hours later for a late, unhurried family dinner. After that, Argentines look forward to a long evening of socializing. Dinner seems to be anywhere from 9 to midnight and tango shows never start before 1 pm. This is the rhythm of life in Argentina, and gradually, it overtakes us.

Each evening as the day cools down it seems as if the whole town is outdoors, walking to the park or the centro district to meet friends for coffee or ice cream, promenading as families or in small groups of friends sitting together on benches, near fountains, or under an umbrella at an outside café. Certainly the climate makes much of this possible, but it is cultural too – Argentines would not think of staying inside in front of the flickering screen of a television or computer when there are friends to be met and made. Because so many people don’t own a car, the central streets in Argentina provide an observable sense of community. These lively streets became a part of our life too, where news and gossip are shared, introductions are made, and the vital and essential transactions of friendship are exchanged. The hours of rest during siesta earlier in the day make this late night socializing possible in Argentina.

Our friend tells us that while the tradition of siesta is alive and well in rural areas, the larger cities in Argentina such as Buenos Aires, are slowly changing over to western ways. Economics is certainly a motivation for store keepers to stay open all day, but in Mendoza, siesta is a tradition that may hold more sway than any financial incentive. Our friends tell us that as more and more people visit Argentina, the idea of keeping siesta is being challenged. But this is just a rumor, spoken too softly to actually wake anyone from their deep and peaceful sleep.

Many cultures around the world have their own version of afternoon shuteye. Wikipedia reports that siesta is a tradition in Spain, Portugal, the Philippines, China, India, Italy, Greece, the Middle East, and North Africa. In Italy, this midday rest is called reposo. In the United States, a “power nap” replaces those tranquil hours spent at home. In China, a short snooze at one’s desk is called wu xiu. But long meals at home and a few precious hours of relaxation in the middle of the day are primarily the privilege of those who live in warmer climates.

Business, school, meals, even transportation – all of these things orbit around the siesta hours. Perhaps that is why we admire our Latin American friends and their lifestyle so much. How extraordinary it seems to us that life in South America appears to revolve around something so humble as a nap.

No hablo espanol

2009-11-15T13:35:00.000-08:00

“No hablo espanol” or, the unexpected rewards of incompetence

My old thesaurus describes someone who is fluent as articulate, effortless, easy, eloquent, glib, natural, quick, ready, silver-tongued, and smooth. I have to laugh as I read these words, for they certainly do not describe me. At one time, I might have hoped to be characterized as any one of these things, but not now. As a lifelong reader and writer, I thought acquiring a second language – even later in life – would not be difficult for a clever person like me. Oh how falso!

On a recent trip to Argentina, my self image was challenged in ways that astonished me. As my teenaged sons rolled their “R”s and reveled in the discovery of new slang words, I struggled with the very basic elements of Spanish language. Not being fluent in Spanish meant that I could not engage in both casual and deep conversation with new friends. I couldn’t read a local newspaper or waltz into a bookstore and find out what Argentine writers were doing. This amounted to giving up a significant part of my identity as I traveled. At times, not knowing Spanish was lonely and frustrating. My experiences were vivid, wondrous and sometimes overwhelming, and I didn’t have the vocabulary to express it. Little by little, the charm of my surroundings and the genuine kindness of Latin Americans trumped any lingering doubts or discomfort I had.

As I relaxed, I began to see my limitations in a second language as amusing, often humbling and eventually, as a relief. To be sure, I had less anxiety as we made friends, and began to know the territory. But I still could not speak in complex sentences. Like a child, I acquired nouns first, and used them in one word sentences - first with trepidation and then with increasing joy. Speaking in one word sentences required that I participate in a whole different level of communication. I acted out words, I smiled and frowned, I gestured in a way that pulled me into a true fusion with my surroundings.

To not speak fluently became a surprising bonus – I spoke less and listened more. I made deep, sincere eye contact. I found that I didn’t necessarily need the words I struggled to retrieve and pronounce to be understood, I needed the human connection! Not knowing how to speak Spanish reminded me that the purpose of language is to connect human beings, it reminded me of how far I have strayed from this intention. I learned to be in the absolute now of each relationship – measuring gesture and body language rather than the complexities and nuance of every word. What a joy -! What a relief -! What an unburdening -! For a top heavy, head heavy, vocabulary laden American like me.

My daily adventures further into Argentine culture began to awaken me to the sparkle and vitality of language once more. With my one word sentences I once again experienced the delight of word recognition, and the joy of naming the world all over again. The sound of new words began to match my experience of them; to be sad is to feel triste, something lovely is lindo. Dulce sueno our friend calls out as we go to bed – sweet dreams.

I will be forever grateful for my ignorance when I remember looking for dish soap in a market and the three Argentine women gathered around me trying to help. One touches my arm as she points, another looks deeply into my eyes with a kind of concern that I have never experienced before (was I in trouble? her eyes asked). All three of them laugh warmly when I pantomime lifting a fork from a plate, soaping it, rinsing it, and drying it off. We four women, middle aged and surely with families, know all about this. In our small group of strangers we have found something so ordinary and so common to our experience. We don’t know each others book preferences, class or professions, but we can all wash the dishes! Ah! We all say when we have understood each other, and the connection (and my gratitude) goes deeper than I could have imagined.

Am I betraying my English major, poetry-reading, literary-magazine-subscribing, wall-to-wall-bookshelf self when I say that I liked myself better without a computer, thesaurus, and all that talk? I did. Indeed, I do! I wasn’t concerned with appearing to be smart, sounding intelligent, being understood – I was enjoying the way Argentines met each other on the soul level – open, utterly liberated from the ever narrowing qualities, the boxing in, of my own language.

Upon returning to my own country, I felt an immediate sense of diminishment. The adventure of communication had suddenly shrunk. We were just talking in words. Only words. Poor, used up, empty words. Humor, love, cunning wit – those things have long vanished from our verbal transactions. When I listen to conversations around me I think, is that all??? What about the kiss we greet each other with, what about the deep eye contact which says we are human together, what about the gesture, smile and pantomime so warm and humorous, and most of all, what about the generosity that one human conveys to another without a single word? Without these, my own language seems lonely, hollow, a sorely inadequate expression of my life – the life I share with so many other people.

I am planning to return to Argentina and I know I will eventually learn how to speak passable Spanish. As my new vocabulary increases, I hope that I will not lose the magic that my incompetence now affords me. I hope that when I ask the clerk for something on the shelf behind the counter, he will not simply hand it to me and ring up my purchase. I hope the Aha moments, and the joy of learning Spanish will continue for a long time. Perhaps the world was long ago discovered and named in English, but for me there are still ways to make it new in Espanol. In Spanish, life is vida - especially for a word-weary American like me.

The following essay first appeared in the magazine "Transitions Abroad" in 2007.

Visit to a French library

2009-10-29T16:28:00.000-07:00

Reprinted below is an email I sent out to friends and co-workers after my trip to Europe. Wow! I got a lot of emails! What fun it was to get such a variety of reactions. How does that saying go? You can fool some of the people some of the time . . . .

Dear Colleagues,

While in Paris, I decided to visit a French public library to see how our practices compared to theirs. Of course, the building was beautiful (just like ours), but old. The main room smelled clean and familiar, that alluring combination of paper and ink. There were many similarities, but there were differences too, which I thought you might like to hear about. I thought maybe we could incorporate some of their ideas into our library workday - a sort of "best practices" from the French, especially since our city has a French name. Here are some of my observations:

Of course, patrons getting out of taxis or parking their scooters and vespas in front of the library was different, and using the beautiful brass coat hooks for their berets and lovely scarves was different too. The library was furnished differently than ours; in addition to the simple, comfortable chairs like the ones we have near the fireplace, there were several chaise lounges for people who prefer to recline as they read.

Other differences were found in the work schedules of the French. For instance, full and part time circ clerks get 10 weeks of paid vacation a year. (This is usually spent in Southern France or one of many dazzling spots on the Mediterranean). In addition to that, both full time and part time clerks are given full benefits and free childcare. Each day they have a half hour morning break where they can enjoy fresh croissants delivered by the bakery down the street, fresh coffee, and brioche with an assortment of jams. They have a two hour lunch break, usually spent in a local cafe or bistro or in one’s home. The staff room also provides for an afternoon beak, where circ clerks enjoy red or chilled white wine, brie or camembert cheese, fresh fruits and/or sparkling water.

I was very impressed with how much time each clerk is given for professional training. The French like their employees to be knowledgeable about books, and therefore, each employee is given 10 hours of paid reading time per week. Because they want to be seen as professional and up-to-date on literature, they prefer that employees use these paid hours to read at local cafes. Of course, the library picks up the tab.

I forgot to ask, but there appeared to be a dress code too - most of the women wore black tights and stunning boots with smart and sophisticated skirts and dresses. Men in administrative roles wore mostly black and always, a tie. It seems that that male clerks, however, mostly wore black turtlenecks and berets that stayed on their heads no matter how precarious the angle.

The children’s department offered several programs that differed a bit from ours. While I was there, the four year olds were practicing their language pronunciation (in English) and I saw a poster announcing a wine and cheese tasting for seven year olds to be held in November. An intermediate philosophy class for pre-k children was going to be held in the afternoon, but I didn’t have time to stay.

Like us, they passed out thin paper bookmarks made of discard-able materials; the week I was there, they were using US currency.

All in all, it was a very interesting visit and I hope they will look at my resume soon!

The Eiffel Tower

2009-10-28T09:10:00.000-07:00

This video is almost (but not quite) as wonderful as being there.

More photos of beautiful Spain

2009-10-22T22:32:00.001-07:00

My two week visit went by so quickly! I had such a wonderful time with Matt and the weather was perfect. During my last few days in Spain I walked as much as I could along the lovely seawalls and boulevards just made for strolling. The Spanish people really do stroll - often, we noticed how much quicker our pace was than the people around us, and we tried to slow down so that we could take it all in.

At the suggestion of Jose, the owner of the pension I stayed in, we took the Funicular up to the top of a large hill so that we could see a panoramic view of the city, which was stunning! If "Biology is Destiny" than so is Geography, for the landscape along the coast here certainly shapes the life of its residents. Colorful fishing boats, surf boards, fresh coastal air, seafood and views everywhere you look are just a few of the features this generous landscape provides.

Like Paris, San Sebastian seems like a dream, and I am already thinking about how I can come back!

All of these photos can be enlarged by clicking on them.

We took a ride to the top, but walked all the way down the hill and back to the city later in the day!

More tapas, most often enjoyed with cold beer. People eat tapas standing together in a semi crowded space or in the street just outside the door. After eating their tapas, they throw their napkins and toothpicks on the floor, a sign that the food is good. If you see a tapa bar with a floor littered with paper, that's a sign that you should eat there too!

These strands are some kind of fish. Go ahead, you try them first!

This is part of the downtown.

I couldn't get over these fish!

A street view from the pension I stayed in.

A quick trip to Pamplona

2009-10-17T14:54:00.000-07:00

It´s weird how I seem to be stalking Hemingway, but my trip happens to be quite similar to his main characters´ journey in The Sun Also Rises. Matt had a three day weekend so we took a bus to Pamplona on Saturday. We left early, but just shortly after we arrived everything closed for Siesta, which seemed to be earlier than on weekdays, but who knows? We wondered around on foot through mostly empty streets and found a few of the landmarks we´ve read about. The Road to Santiago goes through Pamplona and of course, there´s the running of the bulls each July. We also saw the walls of an ancient fortress just outside of town, which we could see from the bus on our way in.

Hemingway Cafe

A very quiet Saturday afternoon

Part of a beautiful old building

Can´t you just imagine the bulls?

Shhh . . .everyone´s napping

Hey, this guy is getting too close!

San Sebastian, Spain

2009-10-17T14:34:00.001-07:00

The order of these photos is all mixed up, but you get the idea. I´ve been walking a ton, sight-seeing and going back and forth to Matt´s apartment. San Sebastian is an easy town to navigate by foot and its beautiful no matter which direction you walk. The air, the water and the streets all seem so clean and well cared for and life seems good here in Spain. Everyone seems to have alot of free time.

This guy likes tapas too. His name is Jordon. Do you think his owner would notice if I took him home with me?

A great way to zip around . . .
There were two old men yelping as they swam in the water here today with no wetsuits on! On another beach on the other side of town, surfers are in all day, but fully suited up.

There is a farmers market not far from my pension

A Look At Spain

2009-10-17T13:55:00.000-07:00

After a beautiful train ride through Basque country, we got to the border between France and Spain and switched from a train to a bus. The countryside was beautiful - it was a clear, warm October day and we saw small towns and farms along the way. The red tile roofs and the cows and sheep grazing on the hillsides looked just like the paintings we saw in the museums!

San Sebastian is beautiful! Matt is so lucky to live here and look at the ocean everyday. His apartment, overlooking the beach, is not far from the center of town, but quite far from school. The upside, though, is that he looks out the window at the ocean every day and almost every night he can appreciate the sunsets. He bought a funky old bike for 100 euros, so he can get back and forth a bit quicker.

My pension is clean and quiet and is located in the old part of town. From my room, I can walk just about anywhere. The streets in the old part of town are narrow and tiled. They are quiet during the day but at night, the tapa scene is incredible. Young and old come out each evening to socialize while they have their ¨little bites¨. Because the streets and buildings are made of stone and tile, the noise of a whole community meeting and greeting each other, laughing, drinking and talking at once is incredible! Here are a few pictures of my first few days:

The days have been gorgeous, clear and blue, but it can get cold when you are out of the sunlight!

This is a stage in the center of town.

You can´t get food here, only coffee. Lots of people spend hours here in the sunlight as they sit and visit over a cup.

Tapas
On my first night, we shared this Paella.

A day in the cemetery or . . . Break on through to the other side

2009-10-13T10:59:00.000-07:00

Matt and I spent our last day in Paris walking through the Pere Lachaise cemetery. It was the perfect October day and the cemetery was fascinating. Many famous people are buried there including Colette, Oscar Wilde, some of France´s most beloved painters, composers, and politicians, and Jim Morrison of the Doors. It was quite easy to tell who was there to see the grave of a classical music composer and who was looking for Mr MoJo Rising. After wandering through the passageways and crypts, we finally found him but it was a little anti climactic after seeing such lovely ornate and detailed sculptures, monuments and engraved headstones from long ago. Afterwards, we shared absolutely delicious crepes at the place across the street and headed back to the hostel.

All in all, Paris was far and beyond our best hopes. Matt was a pro with a map and the metro system and we tried to fit in as many things as we could. Our favorite museum was the Orsey, which had Impressionist paintings by Renoir, Monet, Van Gogh and so much more that it was hard to take it all in!

A Perfect Day In Paris

2009-10-13T09:24:00.000-07:00

Matt and I were more rested for our long walk through the Saint Germain neighborhood - my favorite! I have been reading Hemingway´s memoir, ¨Ä Moveable Feast¨and recognized the streets and cafes where he wrote, met friends, and became a writer. I absolutely loved this neighborhood and its bohemian artist vibe. Matt and I agreed that the Shakespeare and Company bookstore was the highlight among many contenders of our Paris visit.

Saint George and the Dragon

Yes, I could easily live here . . .

. . . and never get bored!

I could spend time in cozy cafe´s

or with Matt´s distant cousins from France . . .

or in this famous the cafe

And I could easily spend my days at this wonderful bookstore with creaky wooden floors, stacks of books everywhere you look, funky old chairs for reading, a piano for anyone to play, an attic room for writers to meet, and a sense of history and wonder in each corner.

Oh yeah, and we saw the Eiffel tower today too!

Never too tired for Paris!

2009-10-13T07:33:00.001-07:00

Matt arrived on Thursday night with a cold and quite exhausted. He slept in a bit and on Friday we went to the Louvre and tackled the Metro system together. Here are some photos from Matt´s first day in Paris:

We tried roasted chestnuts sold on the street in front of the Louvre.

There are bikes for rent everywhere around the city.

Along the Seine again.

I hope you can see the details in the ceiling - many of the photos I took in the Louvre didn´t turn out. I was especially disappointed not to be able to include a photo of ¨Winged Victory¨, which was so beautiful in its place at the top of a marble staircase.

She is smirking at at all of the tourists who thought the painting would be larger!

Part of what made the Louvre so awesome for me was hearing all of the languages spoken around me and realizing how far people will travel to see art. The mingling of French, Russian, English, Polish, Spanish, Italian, etc. . in hushed high-ceilinged rooms is pretty amazing. And I would guess that we are all talking about the awe we feel at seeing objects so old, so beautiful and so deeply a part of all of us.

We left shortly after this photo, Matt was not feeling well, and we were both exhausted. I mean, we were so exhausted that we were leaning against walls on the way home!

Yes, I feel lucky!

Lets you and I sit together under those arches

and watch people stroll through the courtyard . . .

This is a narrow lively street we wandered through on the way home.

We found a cozy little place to share a pizza before heading back.

Around Paris

2009-10-13T06:46:00.000-07:00

On Thursday morning, I joined a young woman from Australia on the bus tour of the city. The photos seem a little dark because it was cloudy, but it was unbelievably humid that day and we were glad to get some fresh air on the top of the bus. The tour was really extensive and we could get on and off the bus at any stop. There were so many places I wanted to come back to, but there wasn´t enough time! Here are some photos of out tour:

Another beautiful neighborhood:

This is Champs Elysees. I would love to have seen it at night, when all of the trees are aglow.

Everyone was so very welcoming in Paris, even the crazy lady performing for the bus.

The lovely details

The stalls along the Siene - you can buy art, antiques, books, posters and risque postcards here!

I really wanted to take a picture of all the great boots French women wear, but that was hard to do. I think the legs of French women are one of their national treasures!

A new shop getting ready to open. I would be such a great customer if I lived here!

More places to enjoy coffee and the passing of time.

The arch de triumph

A day in the life . .

Paris!

2009-10-13T04:33:00.000-07:00

After years of wishing, I am finally here - Paris! It is hard to describe it without cliche, but it is every bit as charming as I had hoped. I arrived on Wednesday morning and waited for Matt´s arrival on Thursday afternoon. Our hostel was in the Gare du Nord district, which had some nice neighborhoods nearby. Here are a few of the sights from the first day; they are very very local since I was tired and bit bit timid the first day. All of these shops are within a few blocks of the hostel.

The photos can be enlarged if you click on them.

A flower shop with lavender, of course!

This was a wonderful coffee shop but I never sat down with a book and a cup to pass the time and people-watch.

You can see the transition from summer to fall in this picture. It was very humid in Paris, which surprised me. Chestnuts and acorns had fallen on the sidewalks, the leaves were turning, and yet the geraniums and other flowers were still bright and colorful.

This was a children´s store with one-of-a-kind toys I have never seen before. There were hand made puppets, dolls, costumes from mythology and beautiful wooden trains.

Scooters, vespas and bikes everywhere!

Beautiful fruits and vegetables on every corner.

Near the vegetable shops was a cheese shop too.

More places to sit and watch the world go by . . .

This was my favorite shop in the neighborhood. Enlarge the photo and look at this food - ! It´s incredible! Matt and I tried very, very small portions of of stuffed peppers and the gingered shrimp. We both noticed how much the French seem to appreciate and elevate veggies here - this window is a work of art.

Planning for Paris

2009-04-13T23:00:00.001-07:00

Browsing through guidebooks for Europe has to be one of the best things you could possibly do on a rainy Saturday in April! Today I am researching my transportation in Paris once I have arrived. I know that I can manage airports and plane connections, museums and restaurants just fine, its the getting around in Paris that seems intimidating. Perhaps, like many people, it is because I don’t use a bus or subway system or taxis every day, that this part of the trip seems the most daunting.

My guidebook assures me that the metro is one of the cleanest, safest, and well organized transportation systems on earth! Running on 133 miles of track, the metro can take you anywhere you want to go in Paris and the outskirts. Everything in Paris is within 500 meters of a metro station. Tickets can be purchased at kiosks near any metro stop and you can buy single trip, daily, weekly, or monthly passes. The routes are numbered and color coded and each stop is well marked both inside and outside of the station. Some parts of the metro are architecturally beautiful to look at with Art Nouveau design and in some places, marble walls. You will often hear live music in the metro too – buskers playing saxophone, Peruvian music and more – which is surprisingly pleasing as the sound echoes off the walls. here is a great webiste withinformation about the metro, including a feature that helps you plan your route online, visit: www.parisbytrain.com

Another great option for getting around Paris is take an open bus tour, which not only gives you an overview of the whole city, but also allows you get on and off at any stop you want to explore. The open Bus tour covers a staggering amount of major places of interest – Notre Dame, Champs Elysees, and the Eiffel tower to name a few! Each passenger receives a pair of headphones to hear historical details, interesting stories, and fascinating commentary about each point of interest. The tour runs from 9:30am to 6pm every day of the year. The best part is that if you get tired or hungry or simply curious, you can get off anywhere in the city, enjoy a café au lait or the Louvre, and catch the next bus! The double-decker buses are easy to spot and stops are well marked throughout the city. Tickets can be purchased online or at your hotel or hostel.

I also booked the Paris blue Airport Shuttle, which takes you from any of the airports in Paris to anywhere in the city for approximately 35 euros. If you are lucky enough to be one of the last passengers to be dropped off at your hotel, you will get a wonderful introduction to the city. Drivers are friendly and knowledgeable. Book ahead of time by going to their website: www.paris-blue-airport-shuttle.fr/

Good-bye, Mendoza

2009-03-23T00:00:00.000-07:00

When we first set foot in Menodza, almost 5 years ago, Andy had just graduated from high school and turned 18 a few weeks earlier. Matt was 15 and celebrated his 16th birthday in Mendoza. Oh, what has happened since then!

In Mendoza we have laughed and cried, been enchanted and frightened, felt earthquakes and watched parades, made the best friends we've ever had, felt like quitting - its been the hardest thing we've ever done and the most rewarding. Our sons will tell their grandchildren about the herculean efforts it took to establish ourselves there.

In the past few years, we have truly known the kindness of strangers and understood the meaning of "the human family". There have been enormous frustrations and yet extraordinary joy over the smallest of victories. I am so proud of our sons and of Rich, who gets up each day and begins anew.

Our first visit to the park in September 2004

So much to look at - ! - the tiled sidewalks, the water canals, new trees and street signs

Our house on Roca Street

How the house looked when we moved in (this is the back). Notice the lack of flowers, which Rich soon planted to brighten up the yard.

Lots to see in the city

Mendoza in 2004

Andy in 2004 with his new friend Nacho

Matt with Julio in 2004

Andy and Matt made friends at the fruit stand around the corner

Rich and Wendy in 2004 - or, it takes two to tango!

Marcado Central

2009-03-22T23:47:00.001-07:00

Marcado Central is one of Andy's favorite places in Mendoza and he's made lots of friends in the food stalls there. Andy loves to buy asado meat here, where it's fresh and cheap. Andy has probably been the dried fruit vendor's most loyal customer.

Located on Calle Los Heras, Marcado Central is a big open building with vendors selling beef (our course), fruits, vegetables, cheeses, herbs, nuts, spices, you name it. When you enter the sliding glass doors, you enter another more pungent world - almost surreal. This place really bustles around 6 pm, after siesta, when customers jostle each other in line to buy the ingredients for their diner.

These bags contain different varieties of yerba mate - a drink that our friend claims tastes like "old hay with water poured on top"!

Chorizo and Morzilla (blood sausage) - some people really like it!

The sign says "don't touch"!

Spices in bulk.

Yes, it's true - if you enlarge this photo you will see a little face.

More of everything.

Ham and cheese - Jamon and Queso - the staple in Argentina.

Vindemia - Celebrating The Harvest in Mendoza

2009-03-11T09:34:00.000-07:00

Mendocinos love to party - birthdays, weekends, anything becomes a celebration in Mendoza!

But Vindemia, usually celebrated in early March, is the biggest celebration of all. March in Argentina marks the end of summer - school starts back in session, the heat mellows just a little, and the harvest come in. The people of Mendoza (and winemakers in particular) celebrate the fruits of their labor by having a huge party. During Vindemia week thousands of tourists come to Mendoza to join in the festivities. There are parades, music and dancing performances, and the crowning of a new harvest queen. It seems as if the whole city gets involved.

Below are several photos of the Vindemia parade just a few blocks from our house. I apologize in advance for including so many photos - it was hard to narrow them down! I have never seen a parade as joyous and noisy and chaotic as this one. It was hard not to end up grinning from ear to ear at some of the things we saw that day.

The parade was quite long and included floats, bands, dancers, stilt walkers, and the young women hoping to be crowned this years' harvest queen. Contestants vying for the title of Vindemia queen ride on floats and throw not candy, but fruit into the crowd. We didn't believe it until it actually happened - plums, apples, pears, and even cantaloupes fly through the air towards spectators. More amazing yet is the beef, (pictured roasting on a float below) that is thrown into the crowd of people gathered along the curb!

Grapes and wine are undoubtedly the star of the show. Many of the local wineries have floats in the parade to show off their wares.

There were many wonderful Bolivian bands with dancers who wore high heels for the entire parade.
There were also lots of horses and handsome gauchos like this one.

The goose guy. (Yes, it's real!) I missed the best photo of the day however, when a man rode by on a bicycle with a dingy looking poodle riding in a basket on his handlebars. The poodle had on a gown, a glittering tiara, and a sash in honor of the selection of the Vindemia queen held each year.

More great music from the Bolivians.

A float celebrating German heritage - our friend Carol found a dancing partner and did the Polka along the street.

Every parade must have horses.

I told you -! The men on this float tore chunks of beef from the fire and threw them into the delighted crowd nearby.

Watching some of the other spectators was almost as fun as watching the parade.

These two men (who I think are brothers) had more fun than their kids at the parade. By the time it was over, they were covered in stickers from area wineries, and had not only danced the 'cha-cha", but also enjoyed scrambling and wrestling towards the fruits being thrown to the crowd, and racing each other to the next best spot to catch things.

Ahh, Chile

2009-03-04T12:06:00.001-08:00

Rich and I had the chance to sneak away to Chile for a couple of days because he needed to get his passport renewed, so we took the opportunity to see Vina del Mar again. Vina del Mar is a lovely city located on the coast of the Pacific ocean, with great beaches, restaurants and views.

The towns of Valparaiso, Vina del Mar, Renaca, and Con Con are nearby, all connected like a string of jewels along the coast. I'm not sure if it's the fresh ocean breezes, the beaches, or the pisco sours, but I find Chile so relaxing. After a day at the beach, the coast is even more enchanting at twilight when the lights along the coastline start to glow and the sky darkens. The nights get a bit chilly and its nice to stroll along the ocean in the dark as we wait for the restaurants to open up.

Here are the five best things about Chile: beaches, seafood, pisco sours, Isabelle Allende, and Pablo Neruda.

Below is a mixture of photos from last weekend and our trip last year with Andy and Matt. This year, the weather was a bit cooler and the days started out foggy and gray. Eventually the fog burned off and we enjoyed two afternoons at the beach. These first group of photos were taken last year in Valparaiso. We took an ascensor to the top of the hill and walked around the neighborhoods there. The houses and the views were beautiful and this painter captured how serene and colorful everything is.

This year, we stayed in the fishing village of Horcon, on a small rocky Peninsula. We had a wonderful room with a great view of the ocean and a delicious dinner. Empenadas are popular in Chile, too, but are often filled with seafood rather than meat.

Room with a view!

Valapriaso is a busy port town.

This is a picture of the casino in Vina del Mar at night. It is a really beautiful building facing the ocean.

Andy would have liked the waves, which he calls 'shackers". (These waves are bigger than they look). We can't wait to come back someday!

Patagonia Scenery

2009-02-20T10:52:00.000-08:00

This is a picture of the town of Bailoche from across lake Nahuel Haupi. It was warm and windy while we were there, a nice reprieve from the dry heat of Mendoza. The lake, sky, and air felt incredibly clean. Bariloche is part of the lakes district of Patagonia, which includes hundreds of clean, cold, glacially formed lakes like this one. People come to Bariloche to hike, fish, swim, climb and ski (and buy chocolate).

You can click on the photos to enlarge them.

The view photos in particular are fun to look at.

There are views everywhere you look! You can see the famous (and expensive) Llao Llao resort on the peninsula on the left.

I would like to say that we made a strenuous climb to enjoy this view, but really, we took a ski lift to the top, took in the view, and then enjoyed a cup of coffee with chocolate cake and apple pie in the cafe overlooking the lake!

I couldn't resist this rose on the roadside in Villa Angostura.

We were "walking on the moon" in Villa Angostura - this moon and star were embedded in the sidewalk there.

More scenery

This is a restaurant in the center of town which has fish on the menu! Grilled trout is a specialty in Bariloche. The next photo is a close up of the tree in front, which grow all over town. It is very much like a pine tree but with long, snaky branches and very prickly!

This was the view outside of the apartment where we were staying.

The city of Bariloche is influenced by the German people who settled there and the architecture and design are very different from rest of Argentina. Buildings are made from stone and wood and look a little Bavarian. The photo below is from the city center, next to the lake.

Sights you don't see everyday

2009-02-20T09:44:00.000-08:00

This is one of several peddlers that come to our door each week. This man (whose name I don't know) has a mobile knife sharpening service, which he offers door-to door. His grindstone is welded to his bicycle, and when he peddles his bike, the stone rotates. I'm not sure what the objects on his handle bars are for - but his bike is highly decorated. He loved having his photo taken!

Cars are extremely expensive in Argentina, but we are gradually seeing more and more newer models. These two cars are older, and more like the cars we saw on our first trip in 2004.

This is a shrine for the Virgin of the snow, found along a road in Bariloche. As you can see, it is very popular and people stop by to pray, light candles, and leave flowers or gifts. The plaques, which are attached to the hillside, almost all give thanks for the small and large miracles of life - love, children, good health, family and friends.

Our guidebook wasn't exaggerating when it claimed that the people of Bariloche are obsessed with gnomes. They are everywhere and I find them a little creepy, don't you? This one greeted us on the shore next to a lake in Villa Angostora. You have to walk by him to get to the pier.

Mendoza, Argentina

2009-01-18T12:35:00.000-08:00

Hello friends - I have finally taken enough pictures to publish a blog. Mendoza is a desert city at the foothills of the Andes mountain range. Most of these photos are city scenes -- as you can tell, I am drawn to the plazas, which offer some green space, and the fountains, which are found in several places throughout the city. Mendoza is surrounded by vineyards and orchards, which are irrigated by the melting snow of the Andes mountains. Wine, fruits and vegetables, and olive oil are the principle products of the region.

We travel mostly on foot, and a lot of the photos show the details of architecture and outdoor structures like fences, water canals made of stone, iron lamp posts, and wire garbage baskets. Argentina has a strong European influence, which is found in the buildings and plazas and the people, but unfortunately, not the cuisine.

It was nice to be together as a family for a couple of weeks before Matt returned to college. Matt and I got to meet the current group of students as well as Andy's new puppy, le Jean. Rich and the students have a full day starting with school in the morning, a lunch break, and then Spanish lessons, music in the studio, and visits to the gym and volunteering at the orphanage. In the past two years, we have met several friends who have come to be part of the daily life of the students and our family.

It does take patience, however, to live here. Argentines are famous for their very late schedules, which can really exhaust those who are not used to it. The mid day siesta helps, but it also slows down the flow and productivity of the day since everything is closed from 2 to 6 pm. Utilities can be unreliable, as are the plumbers and electricians you depend on to restore them! And it takes alot to learn, listen to, and speak a new language.

Argentina, and my experiences here, gives me endless things to write about and it also makes me incredibly grateful for the friends and opportunities I have in the United States. I miss Matt, our house, the library, Jimble, and my friends so much - everything but the cold!

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The fountain is in a plaza outside of our apartment and is quite a popular place to sit after 10pm, when people eat ice cream there . There are toddlers playing on the swings long after midnight - that's Argentina!

This tiny plaza is called "Plaza of the Poets."

The staircase which made us fall in love with the house

These wire baskets are found in front of each house for collecting garbage, which is collected every night around 10pm

A palm tree and coffee shop on Civit Street.

The maids who work at a bed and breakfast two doors away. They borrow our iron, we borrow their ladder and they let us use their pool on hot days, which sits next to a giant fig tree.

My grand dog, le Jean

Our friends Nacho and Carolina and their daughter, who loved playing with Rich!

Roca Street, where we live. The balcony is part of our house.

Guess who?

A neighbor's house - I love these lamps!

A good reading spot when its not too hot.

An outdoor cafe (with a well fed security guard)

Thanksgiving

2008-12-07T18:44:00.000-08:00

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving at home. We read lot, watched the Godfather movies and enjoyed Jimble. Matt fit in lots of rest including pre and post turkey naps. I have to say that although dinner was good, playing bridge after dinner was even better. It's nice to play again and I hope to recruit more friends to the game.

I have posted a few pictures of our house. It's small but cozy and walking distance to the lake, the library and downtown events. We haven't had any snow yet, but when we do, I hope to capture a few photos of the Christmas lights in the trees lining the streets downtown. They are lovely at night and even more magical when it snows.

Dreamy October

2008-10-27T21:25:00.000-07:00

Autumn has been beautiful this year. For my far-away friends, I have posted some pictures of the lake, the library, and of course, Jimmy!