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...
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
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.
Don't have much time to tell more, but enjoy some pictures of our snow day on flickr.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
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...
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...
Sunday, February 11, 2007
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!
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!
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, February 2, 2007
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.
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.
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