TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

Feliz Cumple a mi...

Birthdays.  I never really celebrated my birthday much in the U.S.  They had too much emotional baggage attached to them I guess.  My mother used to forget mine.  Once when I was ten  she put my new 10 speed bike in the living room so I would see it when I woke up.  Only it was the day before my birthday. She was furious with me when I told her.  She didn’t believe me my birthday was the 24^th not the 23^rd, so she went and looked it up.  I wasn’t allowed to touch the bike until the 24^th.  Birthdays were a little traumatic for me.

Then I grew up. Birthdays took on a new sort of trauma.  Who would I spend them with?  The older I got the more difficult this question became. Mostly I just left the country.  It was easier than finding an answer.  I spent many birthdays in foreign countries.  One year in Paris I had a horrible lunch of raw seafood.  Not sushi. Raw gross seafood.  My French was not as good as I thought it was.  Another year I spent in Barcelona dancing tango and having a wonderful dinner of tapas with new friends.  When I worked in Mexico, my Mexican amigas threw me a wonderful bash at a salsa club.  We drank a whole bottle of tequila.  I am not sure I remember that night.

After I started coming to Buenos Aires, and eventually moved here, I discovered how much people love to celebrate birthdays here.   It has nothing to do with age, everyone celebrates.  Birthdays are a great reason to get together, to be with friends and family.

On Saturday we went to dinner, Sunday I opened the doors of my apartment to friends.  I invited friends to come at 4:00 pm.  It is always difficult to figure out what time on Sunday.  Sunday is a day people usually spend with their family.  I have lots of single friends, but most of them are out late on Saturday.  Late here is 6:00 am Sunday. 

My super guests Kathy and Peter decide to go exploring at Jumbo. Before they left they gave me a huge box of chocolates they brought from Canada.  I am touched.  I love chocolate. Anyone who knows me knows that.  This box has all the good stuff you can’t get here like molasses chips, caramels, fudge.  I can’t stop eating them. Chocolate for breakfast.  Chocolate and Peets Coffee. I break out the Peets for my birthday.

Maximiliana knows something is up.  Her crate is being moved into the bedroom.  She jumps on top of it.  I am not sure if she wants a ride or she is protecting her territory.  She is a pretty funny dog.  She would have to be.  Look at who her owner is.

My phones begin to ring at 10:00 am.  “Feliz Cumple Deby!”  my friends are calling.  The ones who cannot come are calling.  Sharon texts me; my Australian sister.  It is impossible to feel forgotten here.  Even on a low day.  When my back hurts, when things are not going well, I always have days like today to remember.

In between phone calls, text messages, and emails, I am getting things ready for this afternoon.  I run to the store several times.  People keep asking what to bring.  My long lost “brother” Gustavo calls.  He tells me he will come this afternoon.  I think we see each other every three years.  He was one of my first friends in Argentina.  I almost never see him in the milongas any more.  We dance in different places.  I probably saw more of him when I didn’t live here.

Kathy and Peter come home with many bags from Jumbo.  I laugh at them “You liked that place?”  They look a little guilty.  Jumbo is more like a big North American supermarket.  Foreigners love to shop there.  I hardly ever go there.  It is more expensive and there is nothing there I really want that I can’t get here in my barrio.  I think shopping there is more of a “shopping experience” for some people rather than the Chinese markets.

Kathy pulls out a big bag that has a box in it.  "We bought a blender to make smoothies," Peter says. "When we leave, we would like to give it to you, if that is OK."  I am overwhelmed.  A blender is something I have thought about buying and never got around to it.  I cannot believe how generous these two are.  I have had guests who have demanded I buy them bottled water or special soap and these guys buy me a blender.  I give them both big hugs.

Peter goes to the kitchen with their bags.  He asks me for a platter.  He begins to arrange the most artistisc cheese and ham plate.  I tell him he missed his calling. "If IT doesn't work out, you can always be a caterer."  I tell him.  I stuff more chocolate into my mouth.

I told people to come at 4. It is 4:15. Where are they?  What if no one comes?  How embarrassing.  What if I gave a party an no one came?  Well, we could eat cheese and crackers, pasta salad and chocolates.  At least I know Gina will be here with her famous chocolate cake.

At 4:30 the door buzzes.  Soon my apartment is filled with accents; Americans, Canadians, Australians, French, and of course Argentines.  Everyone finds someone they can speak to.  My Argentine friends are always amazed at foreigners who have learned to speak their language.

The table is filling with foods.  Tons of sandwichitos - miga sandwiches.  I love them.  Jorge always brings them from a wonderful bakery in Boedo.  Amanda brought hers from Casero.  She looks lovely, elegant.  She has a circle of people around her.  When she isn't dispensing advice she is telling tales of the milonga and tango.

People keep asking me about the cake.  I tell them that Gina has made me the best chocolate cake in Argentina.  Chocolate cakes here are not that good. One day when I was sick, Gina brought me a slice of her chocolate cake.  I told her if Javier would not marry her, I would, for her chocolate cake.  He is going to marry her, so I had to settle for a birthday cake. (Joke...) I tell them Gina's chocolate cake is worth the wait.

At 6:30 Gina and the cake make a grand entrance.  She apologizes.  She got the time mixed up.  When she uncovers the cake everyone's eyes get huge.  I put candles that are a 2 and a 9.  Everyone laughs. My friends insist I make 3 wishes.  I close my eyes.  I wish.  I blow out the candles.  Gina cuts her wonderful cake.  I am dying...you do not get chocolate cake like this in Argentina.  I feel honored to have this cake for my birthday.

The buzzer rings again and it is Samy.  He has cupcakes baked by his friend Maddie.  They are beautiful.  They look like they came from a magazine.  I cut one open and am treated to a rainbow of colors.  Argentines who are usually conservative about food cannot wait to try them.  My friend Sharon admits that she cannot stop eating them.

My friends want to know how I know each of them. I guess that is because they are such a diverse group.  It is interesting how many friends I have from my blog.  We either met because they read my blog or they are fellow bloggers.  Some friends I met from tango, some were friends of friends.  Gustavo is my oldest friend and Rosa is my newest.  It doesn't matter.  I value all my friends.

Soon my tango friends are talking about going to either Canning or El Beso.  I would love to go to El Beso but I still have guests and I am undoubtedly in a sugar haze.  I cannot wait to stop eating.  They all take off including Katey who has never been to a milonga.

The doorbell rings again and it is Gustavo.  He is coming from work. Other than a freak instance outside Canning one night I have not seen him in two years or so.  I give him a big hug.  I have always adored him.  He was the first Argentine man I got into a car with.  I remember giving him a big lecture.  He gave me his club to hold.  We are both geminis.

I bring him into the party and get him sandwiches.  I don't have to worry about him.  He speaks Spanish and English and will find plenty to talk about.  Maxie in the meantime is not happy about spending her time in the bedroom.  She had planned on being the life of the party.  Unfortunately her and my definition of life of the party were not the same.  Since I am bigger, I won.  With fewer people I let her out.

Maxie comes into the kitchen to charm her way into getting food.  My dog the canine garbage disposal. Her angelic face defies her tough street dog disposition.  I don't think she will ever get over being abandoned.

Soon we are just Jorge, Amanda, Gustavo, Samy, and me.  The discussion is lively.  No milonga for me. It is already 2:30 in the morning.  I look at my friends.  I look at my messy apartment, full of half eaten food, dirty dishes.  I think of how lucky I am to have such great friends. Happy Birthday to me.

Birthday countdown...how many pieces of sushi can you eat?

I love my birthday in Buenos Aires.  It is so special.  About 2 months ago my friends starting asking me what I was going to do for my birthday.  How could I think about my birthday in March?  Then all of a sudden it was May, and the the week before.  Then my friends really started to bug me.  What happened to Argentine spontaneity? 

The real problem was my desk top computer was dying a slow painful death.  Or maybe it was sick.  I was choosing to ignore it.  I hate hardware.  I always have.  I deal with it because it is a vehicle to software. Finally the power supply sounded like it was going to go out the kitchen window.  Time to replace it.  That I could do.  Only that did not solve the major problem, and finally my computer decided not to boot anymore.  Sob.

I knew it wasn't the hard drive.  It was something stupid like the memory or the video card.  I just hate dealing with technical people here.  It is so annoying.  I have to listen to everything they don't know about computers.  I called one guy, and 5 minutes on the phone with him was enough to make me want to kill him.  I ended up going to the place where I bought my power supply.

Things don't move fast in Argentina.  I had my laptop.  I had backups of all my data.  But I didn't have copies of the my mailing list or all my software.  Bad Deby.  How many years did I have in computers.  So that has been my excuse.  I hate using my laptop to write or to do much with.  So no blog posts. 

"IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY!" my friends were screaming at me.  "OK, OK, soy medio vaga." I tell them.  Finally I got it together.  We celebrate 3 days.  Saturday today a bunch of my friends and I are going to the Korean barrio to a great sushi restaurant.  Tomorrow we are having a big bash in my apartment, and Monday in the milonga.  Last night when I told Lucy it was my birthday and to please come on Monday, she wanted to know why I didn't celebrate on Friday with them and insisted I do it on Wednesday.  I remember the year I celebrated in 7 milongas.  I can't eat that much cake anymore.

People accuse me of not eating much of anything these days but it is not true.  I eat. It cracks me up. The men used to tease me about being "rellenita", now they are concerned about me.  Am I sick, am I ok.  I lost 10 kilos.  I am back to my California weight, before the accident.  Last night one old guy in the milonga told me I looked better fat.  It seems you are never right.  Whatever....

This must be my ethnic food day.  Sharon came by and we went to lunch with Kathy and Peter.  My two wonderful guests from Canada.  California Burrito opened up a branch on Godoy Cruz.  I felt like I had to have Mexican food.  I knew it was not going to be like Tacqueria San Jose on International Blvd in Oakland, but maybe it would be close.  A girl can dream.  At least there would be no lady behind the counter trying to fix me up with the cook.

It was a beautiful day. Hot.  I don't remember a May like this since 2002.  Kathy and Peter had not walked this way before.  I told them how this used to be the red zone.  I remember coming down this street late at night or early in the morning coming home from a milonga and the street would be filled with transvestites parading and looking for work.  Definitely not the scene now.

We finally land in California Burrito.  You get to pick what you want inside your burrito.  There is a really cute guy behind the counter who speaks perfect English.  Everyone who works there is very friendly.  The service is excellent.  The cute guy is from Puerto Rico. 

I get a burrito with chicken, rice, beans,vegetables, cheese, guacamole,and the hottest sauce they have.  I get taco chips and more sauce and a drink.  My eyes are bigger than my stomach. We go up on the roof to eat.  It is so pleasant.

I bite into my burrito.  It is not Tacqueria San Jose.  But for Buenos Aires, it is good.  I am happy.  I eat the whole thing.  It is better than anything else I have eaten that passes for Mexican food here. Plus the service is so good and the place is so nice, comfortable. I am happy. I can even walk there.

Now I am waiting for my friends so we can go to Barrio Coreano. The bell rings.  Maximiliana as usual goes psycho.  She thinks every door bell is Juan waiting to take her out.  It is nearly impossible to get her to stop doing the NASCAR race around the apartment with the fire bell bark.  Sometimes I want to send her over the balcony, but she runs too fast.

I am expecting Katie, but it is Deirdre.  I met Deirdre from Patrick.  Patrick and I share the same birthday.  He couldn't  come to BA to celebrate so he sent Deirdre, another crazy gemini.  We connected right away.  She has a big beautiful boquet of the most gorgeous flowers for me.  Maxie wants to eat them.  What can you say about a dog who wants to eat gum off the sidewalk?

Finally Katie comes. She is living in Neocochea.  I met  her through her blog.  She came to live there after meeting her future husband online in a language exchange site.  Neocochea is a small town on the beach south of Mar del Plata.  We had lunch on Friday and I loved listening to her story.

I don't have many ex-pat friends, but when I meet people, it is always interesting to hear their stories, to find what brings them to Argentina, to Buenos Aires.  Something more than "It was cheap" or "To dance tango"  Love stories are always the best.

We hop in a taxi.  Our driver is very entertaining.  I tell him where we want to go.  He is immediately grossed out.  "You are going to eat in that barrio?"  He ask.  I tell him "Yes, Barrio Correano is my favorite place to eat."  This begins a spirited diatribe with him telling us that he Koreans eat dog and cat, and he cannot believe we will be eating there.  He goes into great detail about it.  It is hysterically funny.  At one point he tells us that are only two things in life that scare him "Gays and Koreans".  We hope he never meets a Gay Korean or the poor guy will die of a heart attack.

We enter the restaurant.  Greg, Fred, and Karina are already there.  They give us one of the little rooms.  Us ethnically culturally deprived Americans are thrilled.  Once seated the waitress begins to bring the food.  Many plates of different food.  I tell my friends "I hope you are hungry." I explain to them how David my Korean friend once told me that Koreans believe you should concentrate on eating and not on the food.  That is why there is no menu and they just bring you food.  Each restaurant has a specialty and people just know that.  Everyone agrees that it is so much nicer.  More relaxed.

Dinner conversation is interesting.  Everyone has a story to tell.  Fred tells us how he paid off his first cop.  His Spanish isn't good enough so he had to call his wife and have her talk to the cop.  She negotiated and then told him how much to give.  Deirdre also dances Flamenco, she gives us the story behind flamenco. 

Then the sushi comes. The room is silent.  I know Deirdre must think we are crazy.  A whole boat of sushi that isn't cream cheese and salmon.  My friends are in awe.  There is an absolute huge gob of wasabi.  Greg remarks "That is something you never see."  I can't stop eating it.  Once we finish the sushi boat the waitress brings in a gas stove.  Next she brings in a huge bowl of udon noodles, fresh vegetables, and seafood.  It cooks.  We are all drinking Korean saki.  I love it.  It is much milder than Japanese sake.

Once dinner is finished we decide to go for ice cream. In the remise I thank my friends.  I am amazed. Mexican food and sushi in one day.  What a start to my birthday weekend.

On the road again: Bariloche Part 3

I woke up in the middle of the night to pounding rain and the emergency light glowing in the dark.  I guess this means no electricity.  The electric alarm clock is out.  I don't care enough to check my cell phone to see what time it is.  I force myself to go back to sleep.

In the morning it is still raining.  I tell Amy that I have no problem driving in this rain.  It is Sunday and probably there will not be much traffic.  "Reina de la Ruta!"  she exclaims.  We don't seem to have Internet of Direct TV.  We are cut off from the world.  This does not bother me much.  I remember when  I used to go to Mexico and finding a phone to call back to the US was a feat.  Probably it is good we are cut off for a bit.

We get back on the road.  We decide to stop again at the same bakery for breakfast.  Our friend the baker-owner is there and surprised to see us.  This time we elect to just have budin and coffee.  I have a budin de manzana (apple) and Amy has the limon. (Lemon) We watch the locals come in to get their bread and croissants for Sunday breakfast.

It is interesting.  In the Capital Federal, Porteños would greet the whole place.  This a small place and we are the only customers. Definitely they would greet us.  Here they only greet the owner.  In the Capital they kiss and here they do not.  Men also do not stare at you and talk about your body parts.  In fact they hardly make eye contact with you.  In a way it is a nice change.

We finish breakfast and head for Villa La Angostura, a small pueblo in the middle of the mountains on lake.  From what we read this is supposed to be a getaway for the rich and famous.  Amy insists I will find my "new husband" there.  "It's raining." I say to her.  "Don't worry, he will be in the lodge waiting to go back to Buenos Aires."

We are the only ones on the road.  When we pass a sign that says "El Bolson" I tell Amy "Last chance." She laughs.  El Bolson has become the butt of our jokes on this trip.  The road to Villa La Angostura is magnificient.  The rain does not mar the beauty in any way. 

Yesterday when we were in Bariloche we bought some CDs.  One was Rock and Roll of the 50s.  I am singing along to Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Chuck Berry.  I tell Amy how I remember these from when I was a teenager.  These guys still played even though the Beatles were the big thing.  I told her how when I saw Jerry Lee Lewis he came out late, never said a word to the audience, played for over an hour, said thank you and walked off the stage.  She tells me she remembers them from her parents. 

We bought two other CDs of Argentine and Brasilian music.  Some are good songs and some are what you would expect to find on a compilation CD that costs 6 pesos.  (We got a deal on the 3.) In any event it is better than an all news station or a scratchy cumbia station.

I am still amazed I have perfect hair.  Scary.  My back doesn't hurt either.  More scary.  I should leave Buenos Aires more often.  I tell Amy I was afraid that my back was going to ruin this trip and instead the surprise is that it was perfect.  She is busy doing homework.  She has a paper due when she gets back.

We soon arrive to civilization.  It appears like civilization after not seeing anything but nature for the last 1.5 hours. A few restaurants and hotels, inns are on the side of the road. There are no signs so we are not sure exactly where we are. Villa La Angostura should be close.  As we round a bend in the road we come into a street that has shops.  It looks a little like Carmel maybe 40 years ago.

It is still raining, but I cannot sit any longer.  "I have to get out and walk."  I tell Amy. "It's raining." she says to me.  "I know, but I cannot sit any longer, it will kill me.  I have to stretch."  The rain is not that bad and the shops have a covered walk way.  This is a cross between a downtown and a tourist trap.

We get out and start to walk.  "This place is to far out for me."  I say to Amy.  She agrees.  I don't think I could come here to stay maybe more than 2 days if that.  We look in the little shops.  More of the same stuff.  Mates, leather, some things made of fur, jewelry.  More upscale and better made.

We decide to get something to eat.  All the restaurants that are crowded have too long a wait.  I am sure the food is good and these must be locals.  The prices are reasonable.  We end up in a cafe that has a tour bus of people from the US.  They are mostly older people.  I wonder aloud if it is an Elder Hostel.  I have to explain this to Amy.  The age gap...

Their guide is an Argentine and he is sitting separate with the 3 men who are on the tour.  His English is very good.  He is telling them how much he loves to read and how getting books is difficult.  He tells them sometimes he goes through Amazon.  In the end he gets the men to feel sorry for him and they agree to send him books.  He writes down explicit instructions on how to send them and which books he wants.

The owner of the restaurant is from Maiten and interested in Amy and I.  It is not usual to get North Americans who speak Spanish well.  I think mostly they get tour buses here.  We tell him how we live in the Capital.  People in the provinces never understand how anyone can live in Buenos Aires.

Our lunch is OK, nothing special, like most of the food we have had in Bariloche.  Food is much better in Buenos Aires.  Better prepared. On our way back to the car we stop in a few shops.  Amy is looking for a bracelet.  The prices are much higher here than Bariloche. Neither one of us see anything we cannot live without.  Now it is time to head back to Bariloche.  There is not much to do here even without the rain.

"Let's go to Mamuschka!" Amy says as we arrive back to Buenos Aires.  We figure it is the last opportunity we will have.  "They have the best coffee there."  I tell her.  We drive into Bariloche and park the car.  Finally, after 3 days I can parallel park. 

Once in Mamuschka we decide to buy a few more chocolates.  I think I have eaten almost a half kilo of their chocolates.  I will suffer in the gym next week.  We sit down at a table to have coffee.  Although their cakes and pastries look good, we do not have the appetite for them. 

It turns out our waitress is from Buenos Aires.  We have a lively conversation with her.  She loves living in Bariloche and has no desire to go back to the Capital unless it is to visit her family.  She does not understand how we can live there.  She gives us extra candies.

We spend our last night in Bariloche in our chalet.  We bought cheese, smoke trout, fruit, and crackers at a market.  I get the Internet and the Direct TV working again.  Being a nerdette is a good thing.  It comes in handy.  Amy told me she probably would have assumed it was still down if I was not around.

In the morning we pack up and head for the airport.  We pass a sign for "El Bolson."  Both of us laugh. Maxie meets us on time and takes the car from us.  I tell him how much fun I had driving.  I really did.  Almost enough to want a car again.  Almost.

Our flight back to Buenos Aires is uneventful.  We get into a taxi.  As we pull out, I tell the driver to switch on his meter.  He gives me some BS about how it is a fixed rate out of Newberry.  I start to argue with him.  He wrongly assumed we are tourists.  "No voy a pagar 25 pesos por un vuelto de 15."  I tell him.  He then gives me the line about inflation, blah, blah, blah.  Every excuse he has I have answer.

Amy is laughing.  I tell him I have lived in Buenos Aires almost 5 years.  He is insulting me.  He tries to trick me and ask me how much the ride was 5 years ago.  I tell him 7.25 pesos. Then I comment that I notice he doesn't have his license in the taxi.  That shuts him up. Now we are back in Palermo on the corner. When he unloads us he asks for 15 pesos and makes some kind of comment I don't hear.  Bienvenidos a Buenos Aires.  Home again.

 

 

On the road again: Bariloche Part 2

A beautiful day in paradise!  The sun is streaming in over the mountains and the lake.  I have perfect hair and my back no longer hurts.  Life is good.  Amy and I make jokes about my hair.  I don't think even Ryan could make my hair this perfect.  There is no humidity here.  "All you need now is to find a husband." Amy tells me.  I am not so sure about that, but it is fun to joke about it.  I am not sure if it is the air in Bariloche, the Ozone treatments or what, but for the first time in months, I have no pain in my back.  This is a good thing.

We hit the road in our VW and decide to look for coffee.  The roads are all two lanes, with double yellow lines.  It doesn't seem to faze anyone here to cross over and pass on either side.  Oh well, this is Argentina.  They do drive much more sanely than the capital, just very fast.  I keep looking for the CHP.  Funny thing, they never materialize. 

We both see a place at the same time but not quick enough to pull into the parking lot.  So I pull into another parking lot further up and make one of my famous 3 point turns and turn around.  We pull into the driveway of what looks like something out of the wild wild west.  In we go.  The smell of baking breads is overwhelming.

The menu is bread, bread, bread.  We order the Especial.  Coffee, budin, (coffee cake) pan casero, and a croissant filled with jam.  Everything made fresh that morning and only 10 pesos for everything. The waitress who is also the owner and the baker brings us small plates with fresh butter and home made jams.

She is excited to talk with us once she finds out we are from California and the Capital.  She has two sons who live and work in Lake Tahoe.  To her, the USA seems like a paradise.  Besides her sons, her only other reference point is television and the movies.  It is never fails to amaze us how many people think that life is actually the way it is portrayed in the movies and TV.  If only the good guys always won.  They always think we are crazy to want to live here..where nothing works.

After breakfast we go back on the road. Our plan is to first do the teleferico-sillaire or air tram.  There is a tour bus unloading in the parking lot.  Amy and I run to the ticket window.  We want to beat them there. Standing behind a group of tourists who cannot make up their mind is not our idea of a good time.

This teleferico is more like a ski lift.  Lovely.  We jump in and off we go.  The scenery does not seem all that great. We are going higher and higher.  I look behind us and then I see what is going to be so spectacular.  "Amy check it out"  I say to her.  She turns "Wow".  The view is stunning.  Soon we crest over the top and the view is spectacular.  We jump out of our chair and go to the rails to look at the view.

We are on top of a mountain overlooking the lake and more mountains.  It is mind blowing. Amy is already climbing and taking pictures.  Most of the tourists stay on the lower decks and snap pictures.  I start climbing as well.  I feel like I am in the middle of a National Geographic magazine.

I meet up with Amy at the top.  I give her some camera tips.  I am finally learning how to use mine and want to help her out.  Amy is in such awe she is whispering.  We take pictures of each other.  This stupid guy with braces who keeps gawking at Amy keeps trying to get into our pictures.  I want to push him over the railing. I decide that probably is not a very good idea.

We walk down and go into the gift shop.  The view from the coffee shop is mind blowing.  We stop to stare.  We walk outside and find someone to take our picture.  We ask her for shots on both of our cameras.  We have to play tourist sometimes.

Now it is time to take the ride down.  As plain and nondescript as the ride up was, the ride down was like being in a movie set.  The views were amazing.  Bariloche has to been one of the most beautiful places on earth.  The best part is that it is not spoiled yet.

When our chair comes to the bottom two cute guys are there to help us out.  Mine doesn't let got of my hand and leads me over to the far right.  It takes me a second to figure out what he is doing.  Amy laughs at me.  Sometimes I really am a dumb blond.

We get back into the VW and head for El Bolson.  People told us we had to go there. It is a hippie town that has a crafts fair on the weekend.  It is a 2 hour ride through the mountains.  I am sort of lukewarm about the idea, but Amy wants to check it out.

The ride is beautiful.  We can see the leaves changing color on the trees.  I tell Amy "I think we are in Vancouver now."  She laughs.  There are almost no towns on the ride there.  It is a good thing we made sure we had gas in the tank this time.

I cannot believe what a creature of habit I am.  I am still looking for the CHP.  For the first time in my life I drive like an Argentine and I cross the double yellow line to pass a truck that is not only going slow, it has wood falling off the back of it.  It is more dangerous than me crossing the double yellow.  I still can't believe I am doing this.  Amy has renamed me "Reina de la ruta."

We coast into El Bolson.  It looks like a town in Missouri.  I can't remember which one.  Neither of us are enthused.  We look for parking.  I might be driving like an ace, but I am parallel parking like a blond.  We finally find a place behind the fair to park.

I mention to Amy how when Kunj and I went to La Plata we decided that all crafts fairs are alike.  We decided that there is a school somewhere that teaches people all over the world how to make the same junk.  Kunj says even in India you can buy the same stuff.

We walk into the fair.  The first place we hit is the "food court."  Nothing looks very appetizing.  We walk down an aisle.  The crafts are the same stuff you see everywhere.  We are in the jam and bread aisle.  Neither of us are moved to buy anything.  Nothing looks that good. 

As we walk down the aisles we look at many things.  The quality is not that good and the prices are high.  I had bought a really fine pair of earrings in the artisan fair building in Bariloche for 15 pesos. Here crudely cut and poorly designed earrings were going for twice that. 

We stop in front of a booth that has chocolate.  The woman is knitting.  Amy asks her a question.  She ignores her.  The woman keeps knitting.  She asks again.  The woman continues to ignore us.  It is so absurd we laugh.  Finally she glares at us as Amy asks again what the price is.  Just like everything else it is overpriced.  I tell Amy I think the chocolate has been refrigerated or frozen.  I point to the sugar crystals.

We go buy a coffee so we can use the bathroom.  We have been in El Bolson maybe 20 minutes. "What do you think?"  I ask Amy.  "We can leave." she says.  What a let down.  I guess because we have so many good craft fairs in BA and the crafts we saw in Bariloche were so nice, this was nothing special. For us it was a waste of time. 

The worst part is that we have to go back the way we came, so we see the same thing again.  I tell Amy we should go to Mamuschka and treat ourselves.  She agrees.  As soon as we get back to Bariloche we head for the center of town.

We enter Mamumschka and go to the back where they have a small cafe.  We order small finger sandwiches called chips.  I have a coffee.  They serve us their wonderful candies.  Amy sighs, "All roads should lead to Mamuschka."  Their chocolate is always the perfect end.

On the road again: Bariloche Part I

About a month ago Amy and I decided we needed a break.  Neither of us had been to Bariloche.  We decided that this would be the perfect place to go for the long weekend the first weekend in May.  We made our reservations on LAN and reserved the chalet offered for rent by Jamie of Living in Patagonia.  He and I had corresponded many times.  He is a reader of my blog.  The place looked great and the price was good.  Besides, what did we know about Patagonia and Bariloche?

When the day came to take off we both were excited.  Especially me.  I had not been anywhere for awhile.  I needed to get out of Buenos Aires.  As much as I love my city, it can really get to you sometimes.  Trips to San Isidro and Quilmes don't exactly do it for me.

I packed a few winter sweaters, gloves, and a Michael Conolly booked translated into Spanish.  Amy did the same, plus she had her computer.  We are women of the 21st century.  We have to be connected.  We had our cells, we said good bye to our dogs, and off we went.

Landing in Bariloche was non-eventful.  Jaime recommended we rent a car.  We were met by Maxi of the car rental place.  Niether Amy nor I had driven in over 3 years.  We had a VW Gol which is like a Jetta wagon.  Amy looked inside at the stick shift and announced "I am not going to be much help, I can't drive a stick."

The day of reckoning had come.  "Did I still know how to drive?"  I got in the car, fired up, and decided to try the parking lot first.  So far so good.  They say you never forget how to drive, but it takes coordination to drive a stick and I wasn't sure I still had the reflexes, but once around the parking lot and I felt like my old self behind the wheel.

Maxi told us to stay right all the way.  So we did and ended up in the dead end of a parking lot in the airport.  We decided we shouldn't be so literal.  This time we decided to exit the airport before staying to the right.  We drove towards San Carlos de Bariloche.  The air was clean and crisp. The closer we got to town the more beautiful the scenery got.  Our chalet was in Llao Llao just outside of Bariloche.  It was a good thing we got a car.  What did we know?

As we drove toward the lake I said to Amy "This looks like Big Sur." she agreed.  However as we rounded the curve coming out of the town the spectacular view of the mountains and the lake reminded us both of Lake Tahoe.  I said to her "You know I used to have this boyfriend Donald who lived in Guam until he was 5.  Every time we went somewhere he would go "This looks like Guam." Diego my Colombian boyfriend would do the same thing with Colombia.  Now here is me.  Everywhere looks like California."  We both laughed.  She is from San Diego, and she agreed that she does the same thing.  It seems like everywhere in the world looks like somewhere else.

Soon we pulled up to our chalet in Llao Llao.  "Good choice" said Amy.  Jaime came down to greet us. He took us up to our chalet.  It was a big one room cabin overlooking the lake and the mountains.  We had WiFi, Direct TV, and a Skype phone.  All great things but we did not plan to be inside much.  As soon as we dropped off our bags we took off.

We decided to do this route called the Chico circuito.  About half way there I realized we had um almost no gas.  "Hey Amy," I said to her, "We have about an 1/8 of a tank of gas." We were in the middle of no where.  "We're on an adventure." she says to me.  Ahhh youth.  So we just kept driving hoping that sooner or later a gas station would materialize.

I forgot to check the gas.  It had been so long since I had driven I didn't even think about it.  This had to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever been too.  Either that or I have been in BA so long, that being in clean air, the mountains, and just clean, clean, clean, was overwhelming.  I also realized my back was not hurting like it did in BA.  There is no humidity.

On the way to wherever we were going we stopped to look at the lake.  It was incredible.  We took a million pictures.  It had been a long time since I was in awe of so much nature.  I am not a country girl by any means, but I love to get out of the city and this place was amazing.

We saw signs pointing to Colonial Suiza. "Hey let's check that out." We both said at the same time.  We drove in that direction with our limited gas supply.  We got to a little area that had a few shops and restaurants.  We were both dying for some coffee and to stretch our legs so we decided to check it out.

I am not sure why they called it Colonial Suiza.  I guess we should have done more reading.  We got out and strolled around the grounds.  Of course we did the tourist thing and snapped pictures.  We watched a German family and their children play in the yard.  There were individual log cabins which were shops where you could buy things.

The restaurant looking like a lodge.  The food was nothing special, but it didn't matter.  The place had sort of a magic quality being out in the middle of no where.  After we eat we checked out the gift shops and then decided we should look for gas.

 

As we drive out of Colonial Suiza we ask the man who is directing traffic into the restaurant where there might be a gas stations.  Like everyone else we have met, he is super nice and gives us directions.  We are a little anxious as being stuck out in Bariloche with no gas in the cold does not sound like a good idea.

We drive along the roads as directed and finally we come to a gas station.  Neither of us have ever had to fill a car up here in Argentina.  Self-service does not exist.  We look at each other.  When the guy comes to the car I look at him and smile "Llenalo?"  He smiles.  I guess he understood.  He takes the keys and goes for it.

Here when they fill your car you have to get out.  So we go inside the gas station and decide to buy disposable mates.  We can get hot water from a machine for a peso.  Once the car is filled up we both feel better about driving around.   

We continue to drive around the lake until we get back to downtown Bariloche.  Time to check out the chocolate.  Several stores invite us inside to check out their choclate but I am not impressed.  I want to go to Mamuschka.  Amy buys a few chocolates in Reino del Chocolate.  They don't have any dark chocolate so I am not that interested.

We look inside the shops.  Most of the shops are pretty touristy.  Sweaters, crafts, silver, mates, leather.  Expensive.  Soon we see the red shop of Mamuschka.  Once inside the smell of chocolate is overwhelming.  Unlike the other shops, Mamuschka is the only shop that is not offering huge discounts or sales.  Once you taste their chocolate you know why.  It is simply amazing.

By now it is cold.  We are tired.  We decide to go back to the chalet, rest and then go to dinner.  We have a full day tomorrow.  Both of us are enthusiastic about being here.  I am totally psyched about driving.  I forgot how much I love to drive.  There is a certain freedom you have.  Not enough to want a car in Buenos Aires, but enough to be glad I have one here.

We head back to the chalet.  On the steps we look out to the lake.  Our view is spectacular.  This is definitely Paradise with a capital P.