Suburbia

Ila's going to a very cute little preschool, cozy and small, tucked beneath a church on a back country road. She has a tiny class of eight with two sweet teachers, adorable classmates, and she learns a new song or game every day. She comes home and says things like, "Science is fun Mom." Totally worth the gazillion dollars! Most of the moms are very thin, have an extra baby on the hip and absolutely no split ends or dark roots. Their cars are big and shiny, and they're usually coordinating some fabulous project for the teachers or a food drive or something. Needless to say I feel like the misfit I was in high school - though I look more like them now, just heavier and ungroomed.

Fortunately, thanks to my dear brother-in-law Michael, I get to channel those misfit feelings into rebel status, just like I used to. I've rediscovered a couple of mixes he made me some years back, and one is jam-packed with the delicious sounds of the eighties. God I feel young driving away from school in my small, dirty station wagon blasting the Dead Kennedys or Joy Division. Takes me right back to that time when I was so proud of saying - I'm not one of you! Revisionist memories of course, because somehow, the mists of nostalgia keep me from truly recalling the misery I felt because I didn't have the boyfriend I wanted, my mom wouldn't let me go see Frankie Goes to Hollywood at midnight in New York (what was she thinking?) or my leggings from Unique Boutique had a hole in them. Funny how in Oakland I sometimes found myself ashamed of how much we had - our actually quite fancy Jetta, my iPod, a nice garden. And now I'm parading around with a righteous firmly-in-the-middle-class attitude. Wonder when I'm going to grow up and stop caring what other people think, or at least stop being such a hypocrite. Probably never, but if I get down about it, I now know that it's nothing a little new wave can't cure.

Hecho en Argentina

Excuse the long silence...

You didn't ask, but I'll tell you that this whole turn-our-lives-upside-down thing first came up about a year and a half ago. I got pregnant and, despite the fact that it was what we'd intended, it made me cry three times a day. Mostly I cried when I looked at Ila and thought about how crappy, tired and impatient a mom I already was and tried to imagine that times two. Sometimes I cried because the days were getting shorter and I couldn't bear the idea of being a pregnant mother of a toddler, stuck alone winter nights in our unwalkable neighborhood. Other times it was because I knew I'd never get to quit my job working for an evil corporate giant (albeit with good people). So when the tadpole's heart stopped beating at about 9 weeks, I was filled with relief. I gladly resumed my coffee and red wine habits and resolved that we would address some of the things that had made me feel so afraid. I'd had suspicions that something wasn't right with the little worm, so it wasn't a terrible shock, and after all, we had a perfectly good one at home already.

And so, the process began. I thought I'd start by seeing a therapist to sort out what was what, but my friend Penny suggested her financial counselor instead. It sounded strange, but I gave it a shot, and sure enough two hours of financial counseling gave me the equivalent peace of mind of about two months on the couch. Alicia told us we had to decide whether to refinance our house and stay for another five to ten years, or sell it, and soon. Our cat died. My mom told us we could always stay with her and it was decided. Despite the fact that we'd be tearing Ila and ourselves away from the best across-the-street neighbors a family could have, this was the time to try something different if ever we were going to do it.

And now it's been about six months since we left California. Things are really up in the air, though I imagine they'll start to settle down a little soon. They kind of have to. Because I'm pregnant again. Made in Argentina no less. And this time I'm not crying as much but I'm miserably sick which is half the reason Ila and I hightailed it back to the old US of A. We just saw the little creature on the ultrasound a couple of weeks ago, and it's jumping up and down, happy as can be and making me want to heave. So, while we still don't have jobs, are undecided about where we're going to live next, and we're whiling away our COBRA benefits, we are safe and sound in a pretty house, in the middle of a glorious spring (I forgot about spring!) with a baby on the way.

It's all very overwhelming, but exciting at the same time. One sad thing: for now, I associate anything South American, including the entire Spanish language, with nausea. So when people ask about our amazing trip, I just shrug and say it was fun, but that I'm glad to be back, any more and I have to excuse myself. Good thing I took notes.

Waiting...

Once we decided to go, the wait was painful. It rained for days and our crumbly apartment building felt dreary and dark. But then, the sun came out and we've made the most of our last few days in Buenos Aires. Playing in parks, wandering side streets, checking out a museum. And now, in just two hours, Ila and I will take a cab to the airport to begin the lovely all-night journey home.

It's hard to imagine being without Peter for two entire weeks. Ila asked him to take the next plane because there's no other boy like him and she wants him to come home too. We'll miss him. But I'm excited for his solo adventure, though I have no envy at all. So much for being a world traveler. Guess I'll have to wait until I retire!

I surrender

I've given in. To Ila's sickness, and my homesickness. But don't give up on the blog because
1. Peter is staying on for another two weeks and I will keep you posted on his travels
2. The wickedly insightful musings you've been enjoying since we left California will continue albeit with fully functioning septic systems and fewer volcano sightings.

It took a lot for me to decide that it was okay to leave. After all the planning and anticipation, two months sounds like such a short time. But it's actually a huge step to admit that, for me, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Don't get me wrong, I've had a great time, I've learned a lot, but it wasn't the kind of learning I was hoping for. I think I was naively expecting to have the same feelings and experiences I had when I traveled alone, when I was much younger. And that's just not possible for a worry wart of a mother. Peter, on the other hand, has been having more of a mind-opening experience, which is why he's staying on for a while. I felt badly about dragging him home when he wasn't ready, and he was very torn about letting us go. But we both agree it's best for Ila - who besides her repeated physical illness is sick of being away from friends and family - and it's best for me, since I'm ready, and it's best for him, since he's still having fun. Besides, for a couple that only saw each other weekends, 5 months of 24/7 is a lot, this will give us something to talk about!

So, we'll spend another week in Buenos Aires, and by then Ila will (hopefully) be over her third bout of the traveler's flu. She and I will spend a gloriously long time together on an airplane and then we'll reestablish ourselves in Connecticut for the time being. Peter is headed to Uruguay where he hopes to hit a pretty beach in La Paloma up north.

Once he's back we're planning to look for our next home, and figure out what we're going to do for a living. I must admit I really miss California and now that my brother's living in San Francisco I'm thinking he and I could start the full court press on the rest of the gang. Sure would be easier if we didn't have to move our stuff! What IS all that stuff? I can't imagine.

Right now it's crappy and grey in Buenos Aires. We couldn't get out of here until next Wednesday night and it's agony waiting now that we know we're going. Plus, our apartment smells funny. This whole place smells funny.

I forgot to post pictures of the tiny plane before... here you go...

Chiloe

If it weren't for the smell of dog pee and the fact that I nearly blew us up trying to turn on the oven, the cabana where I woke up yesterday might have been perfect. We were on Chiloe, an archipelago that runs along the coast of Chile from Puerto Montt to Chaiten. From the picture window of our dilapidated cabana I could see the ocean and the bluffs of nearby islands. The sky couldn't make up its mind and I was treated to the sound of rain but a patch of sunlight - at least for a few moments before the weather changed again. When Ila woke up we had breakfast, then walked on the beach below us for an hour before heading to Castro the central city of Chiloe, a fishing village further south. I'd been looking forward to seeing the famous houses on stilts and brightly painted churches. Chiloe's very quaint, but as it turned out, the island had a seedy run-down feel that was somewhat depressing.

Yesterday, on the advice of the woman who runs the cabanas, we took a dirt road through green farmland down to the beach where we found a bunch of enterprising fishermen offering boat tours to the rocks to see penguins, sea lions, otters and cormorants. There were seven passengers on our little boat and despite assurances that the waters were calm we hit some choppy water making the trip that much more of an adventure. We did see all of those animals, though the penguins have mostly migrated so there were just a few hanging around on the rocks. It was a good trip, worth the effort for the blast of fresh ocean air.

Now we're back in Puerto Varas again making plans for the next phase and working through another minor stomach bug with Ila. Again, we took her to the doctor to make sure nothing serious was going on, and again we were told to relax and just monitor her diet. But it's hard, for this anxious mother, to feel comfortable continuing our journey given the impact it seems to be having on little Moo. We'll head up to Buenos Aires shortly, then make our decision from there...

small town living

After Bariloche, I finally fell in love with our journey. Bariloche was great, it served our purposes well. But once we landed in the much smaller town of El Bolson, I felt a weight lift. Because we were on a schedule to meet up with Liz and Alex in Chile we only stayed two days, but enjoyed the slower pace. Bolson is described as a hippie town, and certainly showed a few signs - micro breweries, a health food store, dreadlocks, vegetables laden with aphids... but it wasn't overwhelming. We did a little shopping at the famous craft fair, ate out a a few times and ran into folks we'd met on the tourist circuit in Bariloche. Ila played with Dante from Santiago and Sequoia from Cordoba. Bolson is in a small valley with impressive mountains on both sides. Bolson is warmer than Bariloche where the wind blew cold air off the lake and mountains. We took a side trip to Lago Puelo 30 minutes out of town. Once there we walked along the lake despite the loud hum of bees in the trees. Peter was very brave, even after a sign confirmed that we were in a "zona chaquete amarilla." Before long we reached a beach where we met a most incredible family and spent hours visiting while the kids waded in the lake. Jill, Paul and their son Elliot are English but worked in Africa for 12 years as photo safari guides. Now they're traveling around South America for a few YEARS in their Land Rover. They camp everywhere and, as you can see from their rig, they have it pretty well figured out. They made it clear that anything is possible when traveling with a child and while I don't expect to reach their level of cool in my lifetime, I was glad to get the perspective.


We missed our bus - they only came every two hours or so - and were invited to tea. Tea, with English people, at a campsite, in Argentina. It was just super. We got back to town late and scrambled to eat dinner, buy bus tickets, pack and prepare for the next day.

The following morning we took a two and a half hour busride to Esquel, then a 30 minute one to Trevelin. Trevelin is a tiny town known for it's Welsh heritage. After Peter dragged our luggage up a steep hill to our lovely hostel Casa Verde, we walked to town accompanied by the hostel dog Tango. We had tea at the most traditional, but very tourist oriented tea house while Tango waited outside, then spent the afternoon walking the main street and playing at the playground.

Trevelin felt good, very calm, enough basic services, but nothing like the craziness of Bariloche. We had dinner a little late and Ila fell asleep in my arms on the way to the hostel. In the morning we set out for Chile in a taxi. The ride to the border was about 45 minutes through farmland , towards mountains to two small government buildings separated by a strip of nothing. Our cab wasn't allowed to pass into Chile but our driver asked another traveler if we could catch a ride to Futaleufu with hiim and he obliged. As I mentioned in the last post, he looked familiar to me and I later confirmed with LIz that he was in her documentary about the Futaleufu river. Mario dropped us a few blocks from the plaza and we found our way (Peter dragging our luggage along the dirt roads, as usual) to a wonderful place called Sur Andes. Sur Andes is run by Monica and Maria Jose from Santiago and they make wonderful coffee and delicious food - hard to come by in these parts. Upstairs is a comfortable little apartment where we stayed with Liz that night. Liz met us in the evening and we had dinner at her friends restaurant which was closed in general, but was open for us. We ate good food, drank wine and watched the fire while Ila fell asleep on a comfy couch. The second night in a string of five where Ila would pass out before we got her to a bed.



The town of Futaleufu, in the Futaleufu river valley is a jumping off point for a lot of rafting and fishing expeditions, but despite the presence of North American tour guides and their mostly European clients, the town takes you back in time. Many people still get around on horseback and it's common to see a horse tied outside the hardware store or just munching grass in a vacant lot. The smell of burning wood is ever present because it is how they heat their stoves and do their daily baking. The people are browner, more stout and ruddy than their neighbors in Argentina. The evidence of their lives is in their strong, rough hands - men and women. Being with Liz and Alex, we were lucky enough to be invited into a few homes where we were served tea yet again, but this time with baby chicks under foot and laundry hanging over the stove.



The valley is stunningly beautiful. The rivers change their shades of blue with the weather which seems to be a constant dramatic mix of clouds, sun and rain. Liz and Alex work at a rafting camp about 30 minutes from town and we spent a very fun night there drinking wine around the fire, sleeping on a tent platform over a creek and visiting with the resident sheep. The camp was mostly closed for the season so we weren't able to sample the luxurious hot tub, sauna, yoga classes or the bar, but I think it was better that way. For the two days we were there, we accompanied Liz and Alex as they firmed up some land purchases. That meant hanging out by the side of one beautiful river or another, eating cheese sandwiches and collecting rocks while they visited with Don Moreno, Don Rene or Don Ameche. Then they'd join us, there might be some fishing, some beer drinking, then back to town. Good times except for that moment when we realized that a dog stole Alex's trout from the car. Bad dog. And there was the time that Peter and Ila saw the chicken in a bag... but that's a long story.



We drove from Futaleufu to Chaiten on the Pacific. About a three hour dirt road drive through what is essentially temperate rain forest, mountains that are sometimes covered with blue glaciers, waterfalls, azure rivers. Nothing that great. Chaiten is a lonely little outpost that is also the government hub of the district. So it feels like a nothing little town at the end of the world, but it's for residents of the region, it's where you come to register your car, confirm your land deals etc. It's also where you catch a boat or a plane to get the heck out of the cold and we'll be flying in a tiny little one tomorrow to get to Puerto Montt.

Looks like we might go to Peru and hit a sweet little beach up north near the equator. Any suggestions?

Too busy having fun.

A long silence indicates we're either miserably bored or too busy having fun. This time it's the latter by a long shot. After leaving Bariloche we've been to several wonderful small towns, each prettier and smaller than the last: El Bolson, Trevelin and Futaleufu. We took a cab today from Trevelin in Argentina to the border with Chile where we caught a ride with a sad looking man in a blue pickup truck. I thought he looked familiar and turns out he was in Liz's documentary about the Futaleufu river several years ago. Unbelievable.

Once I have some time to record our great last few days, I'll be sure to post an update. I've managed to add some good pictures from the last days in Bariloche, and here are a few good movies to keep you busy while you wait for more on our latest adventures,



blowin in the wind



FIRE!



HOT DOG!

Bowling, Circus, an Eclipse, and I'm still homesick sometimes... Am I insane?

We have yet to spend a week without at least one of us being ill. We've been fighting colds, stomach viruses, the flu... now it's my turn and I'm so very annoyed. We've delayed our departure from Bariloche until Monday giving us time to recover again and maybe for someone else to get sick. So Monday we'll head a few hours south to El Bolson, then to Trevelin - a Welsh town famous for tea time - then across to the Futalefu river to visit with Liz.

We all had our last days of school Friday and celebrated with a late night out bowling with our classmates. It was a lot of fun for us to be out with other people, drinking beer, visiting... Ila had fun too. There were tiny bowling balls and plenty of people to charm. I forgot to wear socks and was faced with the choice of being barefoot in rental shoes or barefoot on beer dampened carpet. I chose the latter. We paid for our good time the next day when Ila woke bright and early at her usual 7:30 despite a midnight bedtime. I spent the day feeling grumpy and hungover.

Last day at Panda Jardin!


Saturday night we watched a lunar eclipse from our patio. It was spectacular. A very clear night. It became visible when the moon was nearly eclipsed so we mostly got to watch the shadow recede. Very cool. I felt the world get very small and very large all at once. Being so far from home, but such a tiny point in the universe.... totally groovy man.

Sunday we took another chair lift to a very pretty spot that offered a wonderful view of the surrounding lakes and, as usual, a confeteria with sandwiches, empanadas and cakes. We strolled around, had some lunch and met some nice folks from Manchester at the bus stop. After a late afternoon nap, we had a big adventure and went to the circus! Basically, cirque de soleil with no budget. The tent was up above town on a dirt road. Peter had been there earlier in the week to buy tickets and "splurged" on VIP seats for the early show. Nobody was in the ticket booth so Peter had wandered into the tent to find some help. One of two stage hands drinking beer off to the side ran off to fetch an authority. The tall toothy man in gymnast shoes who eventually appeared, turned out to be the lead performer and Peter was tickled when during an intermission he broke character to ask we were having a good time. Ila was spellbound and saw right past the aging acrobats, the threadbare costumes and the dirt floor. She also didn't notice that we were one of only three families in the VIP section.

Three days ago I got hit with this flu and spend days in bed while Peter and Ila made more friends at the playground and Peter finally scored a much talked about, much coveted YPF cap. After Liz turned us on the the fact that YPF - a gas station - had coffee to go, Peter stopped by there a couple of times a week, much to the amusement of our teachers at school who don't understand at all why one would get a coffee to walk around with. YPF used to be nationally owned but is now owned by Spain and, according to a lefty I know here, is a typical example of what's gone wrong in this country and how the politicos have spoiled everything. There's more oil here in Argentina than the population needs, but they have to buy it from a foreign company. Peter, having just finished reading a very sad book entitled "The Open Veins of Latin America" by Eduardo Galleano (the leftist bible according to my lefty friend) had some mixed feelings I think, but chose to think of the old YPF that belonged to the people. After all, he had spent weeks trying to get his hands on one of these hats that for some reason were not for sale. In the end, using a much practiced negotiating speech, he traded a Boca Juniors (soccer team) cap for the hat off one of the station employees, and made a few more friends in the process. Go Pete!

So now we're busy tying up loose ends, making transportation arrangements, doing a little shopping and mailing home. Miss "home" lots, but onward we go!

Please check out the Karate Kids video below...



A stop at the Tourista Chocolate Factory

Movin' on up!

Ahhh. We got us a new home. Not that we didn’t absolutely love Mirta, not that we didn’t learn a lot. Not that we didn’t find the dirt roads, the barking dogs and the daily breakfast of “no-es-café”, toast, toast and more toast be the “real deal.” Because we did. And we do. But. We were ready for a door on our bedroom, our own dinner hour and a toilet that could handle a few squares of paper. And now we’ve got it.

We’re living on a PAVED road, in a neighborhood Peter calls “the Beverly Hills of Bariloche.” We’re on a hillside above town, in a private and pretty cabana in the far reaches of someone’s backyard. We pay more than we’d planned, but it’s only for a couple of weeks at most, and we’ve got our own kitchen, a lake view and a short hop to town. We’re delighted. I’m sure Mirta is too. I know she enjoyed our company, but I think she was ready for us to move on and make room for the next round of travelers – ideally backpackers who only come home to sleep.

We’ll miss Mirta and her big personality. We’ll miss the neighbors as well. Seems we’re always leaving great neighbors behind. Playing with Luna and Azul, the three-year old girls next door, made our stay at Mirta’s more like home. Afternoons they’d call “Gringita!” through the fence and then the girls would run around in their compound of three tiny houses, chasing kittens, riding bikes, hiding in the bushes and getting really dirty. Likewise at the playground where Ila befriended a strange little girl who entered the park through the bushes. Uma talked to herself, had poor balance and unusually small teeth. But she shared cheesesticks with Ila, so they hit it off just fine. Yes, we'll miss our barrio in Melipal, but we're ready for a little luxury - luxury Bariloche style that is!

Here are some of Ila’s words and phrases:
Hola, Quiero mas comida, Tortuga, Ven!, Como se llama?, Jugar, Gracias, De nada, Abajo, Ariba, Pelo, Boca, Azul, Luna, Chocolate, Perro, Bien, Buen dia!, Mio!, Frutilla.

Here's a little movie from Mirta's. It's our view from the bedroom, and the sound of the dogs... Don't bother if you don't have sound...

Snow Day

Saturday we decided to make the most of the cold weather and head up into the snow. It's the equivalent of August here and even in this northern part of Patagonia, it's unusual to have snow. We spent 25 minutes on a bus, 10 on a gondola, 10 on a chairlift, and there we were, at the top of Cerro Cathedral - well, at least as far as the lift would take us. Cerro Cathedral is the big ski mountain in the area, I believe it is about 7000 feet. We spent a few hours romping in the snow and enjoying the views, then had lunch in the lodge - where you could just imagine the wealthy Latin American elite snowbunnying about in a few short months. Hard to believe we were cooling ourselves with a wade in the lake just a week or two ago. Afterwards we headed home for late naps, then out for a little family dinner in town. We're studying a lot this weekend and trying to make up our minds about next steps.

Don't have much time to tell more, but enjoy some pictures of our snow day on flickr.

Gracias Dr. Schneiderman

As only a mother can do, I went from calm to panicked in about five minutes Monday morning. All is well now, but it's been a stressful week full of ups and downs. It
actually started Sunday shortly after I trudged up the hill in hot and unusually
humid weather. I'd decided that Ila's illness was just a bug, and that she was having a day of recovery and would be fine shortly. No need for concern. But, when I reached the house I felt tension in the air. Mirta had discovered that Ila had a little fever, one a doctor in the States would tell us to ingnore. I´m pretty sure Mirta said she was reassured by the low temperature, but she then proceeded to tell me about several situations in which, despite her husband/doctor´s reassurances that all was well, she´d brought her kids to the hospital just in time to rescue them from some dire medical condition like appendicitis. Yes, I think this is when the seeds of panic were planted, but they didn't bloom until the next morning. Because Ila ate a little,drank a little. She played a little, and then she slept.

In the morning, she didn't have a fever at all, she was perky and had an appetite. But. Big But. Just before we left she started complaining of a belly ache again and drooped dramatically over the chair. My heart started beating a bit faster. I couldn´t help thinking of tainted spinach, parasites, kidney failure and pendicitis, and next thing I knew I´d declared that we would go to the hospital. Fortunately we thought better and asked teachers at our langauge school for some names of pediatricians. We got one, highly recommended, who was actually just blocks from the house.

The office opened late - receptionist out sick - and I sat outside holding limp-noodle Ila, allowing dramatic visions of tragedy to swarm in my mind as we waited and waited. Ah, but then I saw him. Our hero. I knew it was him. A tall handsome guy with an important looking bag. He got out of a car with four matching tires and no major dents. We watched, and hoped, that like the other hopefuls we´d spotted he too would turn into the panaderia instead of coming to the office, but he came. And he was nice. His name was Diego Schneiderman. Really, it was. And he told us we were right all along. With humor, sensitivity and careful attention, he examined Ila and told us it was just a bug that would clear up in a week. He was right and I think Peter and I would both marry him if we could. He took all our anxiety away. Now if only he could stay with us for the entire trip! Ila´s much better now. But it´s been a long week of worry and feeling far away from home.

Now it´s Thursday. It´s cold. After a wonderful dinner with Mirta last night during which we talked footbal, politics and history (in Spanish of course!) We had a long night of steady rain and the mountains are now capped with fresh snow. Tonight we´re taking Ila to what appears to be a play about the Little Mermaid at the library downtown and tomorrow after school, we´re planning an overnight trip to El Bolson a few hours away. Liz was here on Tuesday. We drove around in her giant Mitsubishi Delica "quatro por quatro" van and had a yummy pasta dinner. It was a treat to visit with Liz and we´re hoping to visit with her more on the Futaleufu river in Chile in mid- March. Mirta loved Liz´s car. She told Liz that for her, having such a car would be like having an orgasm. Well, there you go. Can´t top that.

Until next time...

Week Two In Bariloche - Our first Asados

Oi. So much to tell, so little time. First of all, someone needs to help out with the marketing here - there's a casino called Worest Casino, and down the road a children's store called Mr. Cock.

It's Sunday afternoon and as I write this, Mirta is pacing her yard talking to her daughter in Spain. Peter's studying his Spanish - which I should be doing too. Ila's sleeping and recovering from a rotten stomach flu, and I'm sitting underneath the sheets on the clothesline so there's no glare while I type. It's slightly overcast, but somehow bright too. The neighbors are laughing and screaming in their little compound next-door. The lake looks still from where I sit but there's wind and I'm glad we didn't take a boat trip today as originally planned.

Poor Ila. She's much better today, but was very sick all day Saturday and just at the point where we were about to whisk her off to the hospital for fear of dehydration, we got her to keep some water down and she slept for about 14 hours. Now I think she's just recovering from the physical exhaustion of being ill, plus fighting a cold. It's hard being so far from home, and in someone else's house while Ila's sick. We don't know who to call - and it's the weekend of course. It put us into a state of high tension. But Mirta has been wonderfully understanding and helpful. She even said a prayer, made the sign of the cross, and rubbed Ila's forehead with her thumb to help make the illness go away. She asked my permission first of course, and how could I say no?

Friday night we went to our second asado at the house of one of my classmates. It started at 9:30 and after pulling Ila and her neighbor friend out of Mirta's dirtpile, we walked down to the bus at about 9 pm thinking we had plenty of time. The bus was packed, but as usual someone gave up a seat immediately for us because we were holding Ila. It's never an issue. The driver was the same driver we'd had the first time we rode the bus sometime last week. He's a young guy, very handsome and wholesome looking, wearing a white short-sleeved collared shirt with a tie, incongruous in the dirty dilapidated bus. He is very serious and gruff, but as we quickly learned, is also just about the sweetest guy in town. Once we sorted out where we were going and what the fare was going to be he pretty much ignored us, until he was about to turn off onto the dirt roads of a neighborhood off the main route. He asked to see the map I was looking at, which was drawn by my classmate, turned on a light and read it while he navigated the potholes and dogs with no evident change in speed. He nodded and gave it back to me without a glance my way. We were on zig-zagging dirt roads for about 20 minutes. The bus was now essentially empty and we came to a cross-roads where people were congregated, drinking beer, leaning against crappy cars. I started to feel a bit nervous about the whole thing and wondered if my confidence in our driver wasn't just a bit naive. But, five minutes later, he asked for the map again. This time, he stopped the bus to read it, looked around, drove another block, then pointed out the house we were going to just off the road. We thanked him over and over, got off and watched as he drove away taking with him the last little bit of light but the stars. Unused to the darkness, we stumbled our way down the road toward the smell of smoke and the distant sound of conversation barely audible over the barking of the dogs now alert to our intrusion. They started to converge on us a bit and Ila got scared, but we pressed on and finally heard Irene's familiar Aussie accent welcoming us. At that moment I realized just how panicky I was starting to get. What the hell were we thinking?

Irene and her local boyfriend Ariel live in a small house with no fridge, but a big barbecue pit. Their friends were there already along with some delicious homemade (or Artesenal) beer and if I squinted, or didn't listen to the words, we might have been in Berkeley with all the beards and long skirts and the cool summer night weather. My lovely teacher, Laura, was there too with her two children and husband Christian. Asado is a great concept, but as Peter says, the food's not that great. It starts with chorizo which is delicious for the most part, but has too many crunchy bits of fat - or whatever that is - for the taste of an only recently reformed vegetarian. The chorizo is usually the first course, followed by morsilla (blood sausage - MMMMMM), vasio - which is the thickest cut and most palatable to me, and something I can't quite catch the name of but basically looks like a meat blanket. (Matambre Peter just reminded me) It's just a long thin sheet of meat and fat about the surface space of Ila. I'd guess it comes from right inside the skin. Again - MMMMMM. I don't know if it's that the meat is too fatty for us, or if we're just weaklings, or it's the lack of steak knives (says Peter), but the asado just hasn't won us over. Except for the manner in which it is executed of course. It's a warm gathering. Someone salts the meat while someone else starts the coals with some scraps of wood and prepares the barbecue. It seems as if everyone has one of these big brick ovens as a free-standing structure, built into the side of the house or just as a pit in the yard. It's an essential, more so than a fridge apparently. There are tomato, onion and lettuce salads to make, there's wine and beer to drink, and just all around pleasant relaxing. No running around to find condiments and buns and build burgers, just a big dish of meat and a side of salad.

The kids played hopscotch on the tile floor of the house then fell asleep while the adults chatted outside after dinner. It was about 1am when the parents all decided to pack it in. The last bus had gone by shortly after our arrival so we were relieved to be offered a ride home by Laura and Christian. They live about three kilometers away from Mirta and swore up and down it was not a problem. We piled into their two-door. Me with Ila asleep on my lap, Peter and Laura's snoring older daughter in the back, and Laura with her younger daughter on her lap in the front. The driver side door opened on its own once or twice when we bumped up and down dirt roads but Christian just slammed it back shut without a break in our cheerful conversation.

Thursday afternoon, after class I went for a hike with the young folks at Llau Llau which is a very pretty spot along the lake about 25K away from town. We had a nice view of the lake, a good workout, and it was pleasant to chat with the other students and the very sweet guide, Evo. I was tired afterwards and was glad we had a relatively early night - in bed by 11:00. Peter stayed home with Ila and they had a fun day visiting with the neighbors and Mirta and playing make-believe.

Tuesday Mirta had surprise guests - a wonderful, funny, friendly and very authentic family of three. The daughter, Valeria, was about 14 and was absolutely beautiful and incredibly sweet. She showed no sign at all of the bitter angry teen spirt that seems to invade every girl I've ever known in the States. She appeared to genuinely enjoy the company of her parents and was looking forward to the camping trip they had planned for the next day. The father, Ricardo, was a very tall, thin man with graceful, strong, expressive hands. He was initially a little shy but warmed up quickly and seemed to get a kick out of helping us along in Spanish. Adele, the mother, was a large woman who shook her belly with her hands after every meal, let out shrill peals of laughter and spoke a mile a minute. They came unannounced with hopes of staying in Mirta's house, and upon finding it booked, took a room at a hosteria down the road. For dinner Mirta cooked a pile of her delicious meat empanadas and an onion pizza and we shared a bottle or two of wine. We didn't get to bed until midnight. The next day I suffered in school having had little chance at sleep or studying and I was looking forward to a quiet night but found the family still there when we came home from school. They disappeared with Mirta for a while and returned at 8:30pm with arms full of groceries for an asado. Our first. Another late night for us, but filled with lots of laughter and practicing of Spanish. At one point I asked why there were so many stray dogs in South America and Adela told me it was because the animal rights activists wouldn't let people shoot them. It wasn't really what I was getting at.

So, we're not on our way home, and we're getting more comfortable, but I wouldn't say we're having the relaxed, introspective journey we'd planned. Traveling with a child makes things so completely different. I envy the hung-over card playing backpackers and their last minute weekend excursions into the mountains. I envy the well-to-do Buenos Aires and Santiago vacationers window shopping and wandering without a language barrier. But, I'm still glad we're here. It's been a mere three weeks - not even. Still so much to come!

Helado Helado and more Helado

We had our first day of school today. One of my classmates was born the year I bought my first Cure album, and I'm very rusty, but I think I'll survive. My teacher Laura is, like so many of the women here, absolutely stunning. The women in Bariloche manage to appear down-to-earth and very feminine all at once. Plus they all have the perfect rear-ends travelers in the know had warned us about.

Ila had her first full day at school (five hours) and she's tired too. Earlier, afraid he might wake Ila, Peter was whispering and tiptoeing around our room, wincing every time he made a sound. But at this moment, Miguel the electrician is dragging a shovel across a stone path immediately outside her window and she's snoring away. I closed the window, so now the noise can only enter through the knotholes in the window frame. Much better.

We decided to stay out nice and late on our first school night and went to what we thought was a pasta restaurant but turned out to be a steak joint owned by the pasta restaurant guy. So, more meat. I've had more meat in the past week than I've had in months. Afterwards of course we had to have helado. My mother mentioned that it sure seemed as if we were always having ice cream. We are, but it's hard not to! Heladerias are two to a block, at least. It's sort of like Starbucks except not a chain, and without the coffee or the world take over mentality. Anyway, the ice cream is good, and everywhere and everyone is eating it. So, maybe if we join them we'll have nice butts too. Ila had purple ice cream and gave herself a lovely moustache. Everyone we encountered, from the joyful old ladies in the heladeria to the mariachi players on the sidewalk commented on her bigote.

We were expecting Liz but she got tied up with work and wouldn't get into Bariloche until very late so we went on with out her and instead met for pastries in her van for 15 minutes after dropping Ila at school in the morning. Her plane left before we finished school, so we missed our much anticipated visit, but we're keeping our fingers crossed that we'll get a crack at her when she comes back through in a week or so.

Sunday Peter said our neighborhood smelled like it was on fire but it was just asado - barbecue Argentina style. All day long. We took a gondola ride up Cerro Otto to get a birds-eye view of the area and had lunch in an awesome revolving restaurant. The ONLY ONE in the area! I'm sure the restaurant, which did in fact provide great views, looks just lovely from the surrounding mountains. We've also been to a couple of lake beaches where we collected rocks and put our feet in the cold water.

Things continue to go well. We're learning lots and getting into our Bariloche routine. Time is starting to pass more quickly now that we're a little busier and I'm sure we'll be surprised when our time here is up.

It's all about the Dulce de Leche

Mirta practices Feng Shui. This means don't touch the spare change under the bed and es muy importante to close the toilet before flushing so bad spirits don't come into the house - or so you don't flush away the good spirits. I'm not really sure which one. Mirta also has a serious mate habit. Mate, is a grassy herb Argentines sip from small hollowed gourds using filtered straws made of metal. It's often a communal thing. I've yet to try it. Mirta leaves her gourd by the stove and periodically adds hot water and some of the dried orange rind she keeps hanging from her ceiling. Sort of an everlasting mate. To refer to her mate, which she does often, Mirta makes the American hand signal for "call me" (thumb and pinky extended), but positions her hand as if it is the straw. Ila tells me it's sign language for Tea.

Ila's first day of school was a total success. It was just a short day. A trial. But she was happier, even without her nap, than she's been in days. She didn't want to leave. They tell us she even had seconds at lunch, but if you've seen Ila eat, or more accurately not-eat, you'll know why I'm sceptical. Back at the house Ila ran to Mirta, gave her a big hug and told her all about her day. The two of them get along well, though they can't understand each other at all. This is only a problem when they're left alone in the kitchen where there seem to be a lot of misunderstandings. Mirta suggests food, Ila nods, then refuses what is presented until Mirta spreads Dulce de Leche on the offending item. Then, all is well.

We're having amazing weather. It's quite hot in the afternoon, with an occasional cool breeze off the lake. Evenings are cool. Summer in the mountains. The flora here is much like that in California. Similar wildflowers and fruit trees. Mirta grows walnuts, apples, cherries and pears. The neighborhood is on a hillside two miles out of town, overlooking the lake and the mountains. Mostly modest, but pretty, little bungalows with fenced yards line the unpaved side roads. Closer to town the roads are paved and houses are more grand. And then you hit Bariloche proper - a maze of shops offering the apparent Bariloche essentials: beer, chocolate, fleece, t-shirts and telephone/internet service. We haven't had dinner out yet because it's included in our rent but we're looking forward to Parilla (grilled meat) on Sunday night when Liz comes through town.

Liz! I can't wait to see Liz. She's going to the states for a week, so we get to see her twice as she passes to and fro. Liz loves Bariloche and has plenty of recommendations for us. And Monday we start school which means group activities. Peter and I have agreed that we'll take turns participating in school related events, and maybe once a week, we'll leave Ila with Mirta to sip mate, and lick Dulce de Leche off hot dogs while we drink Quilmes all night with the backpacking crowd.

Our education begins.

This morning I woke to Mirta, our hostess, asking Ila how many sugars she would like in her coffee.

We've arrived in Bariloche and it's clear that we're going to be learning a lot about regular life in Argentina - like it or not! The house is beautiful. Mirta is wonderful. She's friendly, gracious and speaks slowly so we can keep up. She loves to garden and has a beautiful, landscaped yard overlooking the lake and snowcapped mountains. Unfortunately we're also far from the center of town where we have to go every day. Mirta doesn't have a car, she carpools or takes the bus into town and we'll probably take a taxi every morning (with three of us, it's basically more economical than the bus, and much more reliable). Also, we have very little privacy. We are staying in Mirta's two bedrooms while she sleeps on the couch! Our bedroom "door" - doesn't slide closed and we have to close our windows at night so stray cats don't come in. All that plus the whole toilet paper in the basket instead of the bowl thing makes for some serious getting used to. But all in all, we're planning on making the most of it. Mirta is kind and is doing everything to make us feel at home. We've been speaking Spanish since we arrived and I think we're all surprised how much we are able to communicate. Ila likes Mirta very much and thinks the house is just great. A playground and a few shops are close by so we're not terribly isolated or anything, just far from town.

Here's a list of a few key things we've learned thus far:

neighborhood dogs enjoy barking contents with roaming packs of strays. preferably at dawn.
dulce de leche (caramel cream on toast) isn't really that different from jelly.
a carseat isn't necessary since most taxis don't have seatbelts.
when liz said there's wireless everywhere, she must have meant nothing's wired.
big mountains are really pretty
slides and swings can be made of wood
the pope and buddha can live together in harmony, at least at Mirta's house
nescafe is a far cry from peet's.
one week can feel like a month.
the southern cross can help you find your way if you become lost in an island forest while hunting deer.

This afternoon we went into Bariloche proper for the first time. Mirta lives in Malipel, a small town about 5K outside of the city. The city proper is really intense. Lots of traffic, tons of shopping and plenty of tourists - mostly from Argentina and Chile it seems. We stopped by our school to check in and discovered that it's being run by a couple of Dutch folks. Figures. We start classes Monday and there are many "after-school activities" like bowling, hiking and dance classes to enjoy. They also do some volunteer work with children where Ila could participate.

We also went by Jardin Panda where Ila will spend the mornings while we're in class. It's a far cry from any schools we saw in the US. For one thing, the contract is a single piece of paper. It costs $240 Pesos per month, or about $90 US, for 25 hours a week, plus a whopping $50 pesos if you want to have them serve your child a hot meal. After visiting we understand the low overhead. The teacher/child ration is about 1/20. Ila of course jumped right in during our visit but the whole thing left us a bit uneasy. We're not concerned about Ila's safety, the Directora and her husband are both pediatricians and Mirta recommends them. But imagine your three year old surrounded by kids running wild, without a bit of the language. All we can do is try. If it doesn't work out, one of us will do private lessons in the afternoons and we'll split child care. We keep reminding ourselves that one intent of this trip was to learn a different way of doing things. And we are doing just that.

And Ila says - don't forget I love you.

Photos next time.

On to Bariloche...

January 29, 2007

We leave tomorrow for Bariloche. I’m anxious about the first part of our family-stay since we know so little Spanish. I imagine our host is used to it, but I’m tired of being unable to communicate. My Spanish hasn’t improved with the few basic transactions we have each day. I keep hoping the Korean family that runs the grocery around the corner will understand me since we’re all from the States – but this is not the case.

Saturday night we ended up at the plaza again. We intended to walk by, catch a little tango show and head elsewhere for dinner, but Ila befriended another little Argentine/Canadian girl and neither set of parents could bear to pull them apart. Jasmine was with three generations of adults and I think I was closest in age to the grandmother. Guess we’re old parents in these parts. Ila and Jasmine ran around the plaza for hours and both families skipped dinner opting instead for a late night snack on the way home. Unfortunately we stopped at what must be the Taco Bell of empanadas: a chain called Solo Empanadas. And strangely, Jasmine’s family ended up there too a few minutes behind us. I teased them for following the gringos. The empanadas were horrible, but poor Ila, filthy, exhausted and starving, inhaled a couple and passed out around midnight.

Sunday morning the narrow streets in our neighborhood were filled with people, music, crafts, street performers and antiques. We had a little café breakfast and wandered into the madness where we quickly made up for our bad empanada experience with the best one we’d had yet - from the depths of a laundry basket covered with a kitchen towel. Much more like it. It was Peter’s birthday so Ila and I were on our best behavior. Ila got a new dress and put it on just in time to tango with a mime on stilts. She’s a brave little girl. We had an “early” dinner at 8:30 at a somewhat formal and “very expensive” steak house where for about $60 we had a big yummy dinner and a bottle of wine.

I’m excited about our next destination, especially the language classes. We have our fingers crossed that the daycare we’ve identified for Ila turns out to be okay. Mostly I just want there to be kids her age to play with so she can break out from mom and dad a bit and have some fun. She’s really been a trooper, despite my complaints. I want her to have fun on this trip too.

Can we come home yet?

First, thanks to all of you for the peanut butter feedback. I especially appreciate the anon suggestion that we try something different. Hmmm. I guess we could do that. And now that several people have weighed in, I'm pretty sure it's not a trick that it's actually called crema de cacahuate... but I still think that sounds a bit fishy...

Yesterday I decided I want to go home (wherever that might be!). It was a long day. Ila has been a handful. She’s started talking back and pitching a new kind of big-girl fit when she can’t get us to give in. She’s much harder to manage than she has been and with all of the upheaval, plus the fact that she’s three, it’s not a surprise. She misses her life in Oakland and I think that being here is reinforcing the fact that we’re really not going back. With this in mind, it’s hard to discipline her for bad behavior. And it’s not made easier by the fact that the sound of a sad child makes grown men pull candies out of their pockets, ancient old women come hobbling over with smiles and pats, and grouchy taxi drivers produce talking stuffed animals. How’s a mom supposed to lay down the law? When we do finally get back to the states we’ll have a very spoiled little nina indeed! I guess I did say I wanted to see how they raise kids here…

I’m sure our hours don’t help. We’ve had busy touristy mornings, late naps and long nights. Restaurants don’t open until after 8pm, so we’re not home for bed until 10. I’m dead tired myself and aching for old routines. But of course, this is all just parenting, and traveling, and moving - a lot to be doing at once. Today’s been better – thanks to a giant ice cream and an Ositos Carinosos (Care Bears) coloring book. See, I’m adapting!

Yesterday we went to the Jardin Zoologico in the northern neighborhood of Palermo. I’m not a fan of zoos, but Peter told me, once you buy the ticket, you might as well enjoy it, so I did. They let you feed the animals, which has the effect of making them somewhat tame. I smiled at an elephant and she walked over to me, put her foot over the moat that separated us and waved her trunk at me. We were just a few feet from touching. I told her I’d kidnap her and take her back to her home if I could, but that I didn’t know how. Ila’s favorites were the buffalo who accepted food at the end of a little wooden ramp that stretched from our fence to theirs, again just feet away. The camels and deer actually ate directly from people’s hands. We fed the deer, but skipped the camels. They were just too big. Also there for the feeding were feral cats, big ugly ducks and these beaver/rat things all of which wandered freely and gave me the total willies.

Today we went to the beautiful Cementario in Recoleta, another northern and more ritzy neighborhood. I forgot my camera and it was definitely the best photo op thus far. Typico. The cemetery was a maze of mausoleums, tourists and more feral cats. We paid our respects to Evita and played follow the leader until it was time for lunch, which we had in a café priced for touristas. Lunch was followed by the all-powerful ice cream at a super trendy heladeria called Freddo. Recoleta is very pretty. It is where you’ll find the most expensive shops and restaurants, pretty buildings with balconies dripping with green vines and flowers. It is also where we ran into the most Americans. Tomorrow, for Peter’s birthday, we’ll go to the famous San Telmo antique fair right in our neighborhood and probably a big steak house for dinner.

Speaking of Peter, I have to say that before we arrived I was sure I’d be the one to run the show here. Ordering food, asking for directions, sorting things out. After all, I planned the trip, found the apartment, arranged our pick ups and drop offs. I’m the one who’s been to South America. I’m the one who’s studied Spanish (sort of, anyway). But, it turns out – a surprise to no one but me I’m sure – that Peter’s taken the lead. He’s fearless. He speaks barely any Spanish, but he just tries and laughs and by the end of every transaction, he’s clearly made a friend. He’s not afraid of making an ass out of himself and so, he is often an ass but by being one ends up leaps and bounds ahead of the shrinking violet I become when faced with the possibility of being an imperfect American tourist. Plus, with his great sense of direction, he’s mastered the city – well, the part of the city printed on the back of a business card he was handed by a hawker for a hostel in the neighborhood anyway. His great memory is really serving him well here. Now if only I could get him to use it to remember how to use the computer…

PS – Ila says “And I love Annabel. And I saw a lot of cats yesterday and they smelled stinky. But guess what I got. I got a Happy Feet coloring book! Also I went pee in a square potty. And I flushed a potty with a chain! And for Christmas I got a little dolly with a blanket and I got a little Snow White outfit with a heart picture of her on the dress and on the crown. “

Buenos Aires

(January 25th)

Whew! We made it!

We’re in Buenos Aires. Hard to believe. After all the talk, the procrastination, the second thoughts, we’ve arrived. I’m sitting in a tiny apartment in San Telmo, watching our socks dry in bus fumes on the balcony while Peter and Ila nap off a big morning of wandering about. Neither Peter nor I have been out of the U.S. much in ages and it’s already been an adventure trying to navigate the basic differences – milk in a bag, keys that look as though they might open a treasure chest, no apparent traffic laws, and the tiniest, thinnest, least absorbent paper napkins you’ve ever seen. They’re essentially a square of that eco-toilet paper you can buy at Berkeley Bowl.

Adventures started early when we missed our connection to B.A. in Miami. We had fifteen minutes to traverse the entire airport and gave it our best shot despite signs indicating we had at least a 16-minute walk ahead. Too much carry-on, a three-year old, foot-injuries not withstanding, we made it before the departure time, but found that the LAN flight had left five minutes early. So much for the mañana mentality we keep hearing applies to all things South American. In the end, a little pleading with the airlines and we (and our bags!!) made a later flight. Thanks to our amazing contacts here, we even had a driver waiting when we arrived the next morning.

Our apartment is on the sixth floor of an ugly, corner building on a busy street. Ten stories make it a high-rise in this particular neighborhood. The hallways are dark, it has no character, and it certainly doesn’t appear luxurious by American standards, but there’s a doorman and an elevator and I’m thinking it’s probably on the well-to-do side for the area. We feel very safe, it’s very clean and it was cheap. So it works.

In the nearly 36 hours we’ve been here we’ve mostly kept to the San Telmo neighborhood. It’s an area known for antiques, narrow cobblestone streets and beautiful older buildings. There are loads of cafes, bars and restaurants. We ate a very late dinner in a plaza packed with tables of people of all ages and backgrounds drinking wine and enjoying the warm night. Ila and a little girl name Juana played with Juana’s My Little Pony collection for an hour, laughing and singing together despite the fact that they didn’t share a language. Peter and I drank cold beers and slowly took in the fact that we’re so far from home. This morning we had a late breakfast, bought a stroller and walked until we could walk no more and poor Ila had a meltdown at the supermercado when we couldn’t find peanut butter. Does anyone know how to say peanut butter in Spanish? Do they make peanut butter in Spanish?

And so it begins. We’re tired, overwhelmed, homesick and very happy to be here. So far so good! Adios for now!

Ila's first empanada:

Feelin' Lucky

I would like to put in a plug for the Motorola v325. It’s that slightly bulky looking flip cell phone with black rubber around the edges. Sometimes the sound is a little funny, but yesterday mine survived a 15-minute, 40 mile per hour ride on the roof of our car. Impressive, no? But then, this is the kind of good fortune we’ve been having these days.

We live in a big house where we’re treated to delicious meals. Ila gets to feed a dog, watch TV with her uncle, eat cookies almost daily and call half the basement her playroom. We have access to a sweet little New York apartment smack dab in the middle of our old haunts. We have babysitters who not only want to take care of Ila, they do it for free. We get to hang around with my family (most everyone anyway) for hours at a time without the pressure of imminent departure. And, everyone’s been getting along really well. On top of that, our travel plans have finally come together.

We’re leaving on January 23rd for Buenos Aires where we’ll spend about a week before we head down to Bariloche in the Patagonian lake district. In Bariloche we’re signed on with a language school that’s also, amazingly, helping us find childcare and a place to live. My friend Liz called yesterday to give me the good news that she’ll be passing through Bariloche at least twice during our stay. So we’ll even have visitors! We expect to spend a couple of months there with a side trip or two. Our plan after that is not firm, but I’m hoping we’ll head over to Chile for a while, then back to Argentina to spend some time in some of the northern towns.

Other than that, with so much time on our hands, we’ve actually been, what you might call “relaxing.” I’m not much familiar with this concept, so I’m not certain, but whatever it is, it feels nice. My sister called yesterday and asked what we’d been up to and I was hard pressed to come up with any activities that had actually produced a tangible result of some kind. It took me a day to realize that I’m actually proud of this fact.

The warm weather has us visiting some of the many amazing parks nearby. Saturday we walked around Pepsi Headquarters, a ten-acre complex of gardens and huge sculptures open to the public. On Sunday, Tod’s Point, a Greenwich park on the Long Island Sound, was packed with families, dogs and folks merrily chatting about global warming while tossing dry Christmas trees and wreaths on a pile for the wood chipper. The wildlife also has spring fever. Much to the delight of a resident hawk, small birds are out in huge numbers in the backyard, along with Disneyesque squirrels slowed by their overstuffed bellies and winter fluff.

We spent New Year’s weekend in New York City with my sister and her family. Among other awesome New Yorky things, Peter, Ila and I visited the Natural History Museum and checked out the cool dinosaur fossils and the living butterfly exhibit. A day or two in the City and I want to move there. I know we'd have to live in a dark basement studio and sell our souls back to the Man, but, we'd be New Yorkers! It's hard not to get caught back up in the feeling that any place else is just crap. Of course, you also drop ten bucks on tea and a cookie. And mostly the happy looking people are tourists, heiresses or people with rent-controlled apartments. But it’s fun to think about.

Christmas was the usual. Overdone despite all of our promises to the contrary. I think my favorite illustration of my personal struggle with Christmas was the fact that I gave my brother-in-law an economics book about “Life after Capitalism” but missed watching him open it because I was greedily digging into my own shamefully large pile of gifts. Gotta love it.

Much love all!

Stand up Ila


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