TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

On the road again.....La Plata

Kunj and I have decided that we need to explore outside of Buenos Aires.  I left it up to her where we should go.  She decided that we should go to La Plata.  She checked out La Plata and Colonia on the web.  She thought that La Plata looked more interesting.

On Thursday Marcelo came over to say good bye and meet his "sister."  He is off to Brasil for 2 weeks.  He and Kunj hit it off.  He was shocked when we told him that she was only 18.  They kept making jokes about their "father."  Phillippe has yet to meet Marcelo.   Kunj tells Marcelo he wants to "sell" her because she is so young. 

For over a year Marcelo has been bugging me to go to La Plata with him.  It is one of his favorite places. When we tell him we are going on Saturday, he hops up and down like a frog.  He cannot believe that we are going to go without him.  I guess that is like going to a milonga without me.  There is no way that we can work it around his schedule.  He is leaving and will not be back for Kunj's last weekend.  We decide that when he returns he should come over with all his fotos for dinner and maybe finally meet his father.  His parting gift is to download a map of La Plata and outline the highlights of the city.

On Saturday the weather is cold.  It is supposed to get colder.  One never knows these days.  The weather is totally weird.  I elect to wear multiple layers rather than drag my down coat around.  Kunj texts me that she is ready to leave her house.  We are to meet in Retiro. 

As I enter into Retiro I Kunj texts "I am here".  I text back "Me 2".  We almost knock each other over we are so busy texting.  I grab her hand and we go off to the bathroom and then to look for the bus.  I am freezing to death.  Kunj who lives in Chicago is not at all fazed by the weather. 

We walk over to where the buses are.  They are nice.  They are the Plaza line of buses owned by our future mayor and his family.  Too bad the city buses are not this nice.  Our bus is not crowded.  Kunj gets the window. 

The ride is pleasant.  Kunj talks about what it is like growing up Indian in Wichita Kansas.  She is quite the character.  Listening to her talk about her family is fun.  She talks about her trips to India.  She told me her parents were worried when she told them she got adopted.  I told her wait until you tell them I am looking for a husband for her.  She screams with laughter when I suggest the cook at Tandoor, my friend Belli and Sharukh's restaurant.  "My parents would kill me."  she laughs.

We roll into La Plata.  It doesn't look so promising.  It seems pretty plain. We wonder what Marcelo gets so excited about.  We count the streets.  He has told us to get off at 4th and 42nd.  This is the bus terminal.  We wonder why he didn't just tell us that. 

The second we enter the terminal people start staring at us.  I turn to Kunj "I think we look sorta different.  Do you think we stand out?"  She giggles, "I think so."  Me with my two toned Veronica Lake bangs and she a "Hindu" as they are called here.  Just as we exit the terminal I notice a statue of tango dancers.  We take each other's pictures.  I like Kunj's foto better than mine.  While we were snapping away a woman asked if she could take both of us.  It never happened.   She just could not understand the concept of pressing the button to take the picture. We thanked her and told it was OK.  We could not understand what she was thinking.

Armed with our Internet downloaded map we stroad out the doors to the street.  Since Kunj had the map I asked her which way to go. She said left.  I was a little uncertain, but figured what the heck.

As we walked up the street it was pretty obvious we stood out.  People just stared at us.  Both of us thought it was funny.  I told Kunj it didn't bother me.  When I worked in Mexico I used to travel alone to small towns.  I got used to being stared at as a curiosity.  Kunj told me how when she went to China they wanted to take pictures of her and her sister because they were so different looking.

As we walked up the street, on the corner was this totally cool looking place. The walls were painted with tropical looking women.  We thought it might be a salsa place or something.  We went up to look at it and check it out.  You can't see it in this picture, but above the door, that little white piece of paper says woman are prohibited from entering!

If they weren't staring at us before, they certainly were now, because the two of us were standing there cracking up.  We really wanted to ask someone what this place was -  a gay bar? A gentlemen's bar?  Well, whatever, the outside of it certainly was beautiful.

Since the neighborhood was getting pretty grungy I asked Kunj if she was sure this was the right direction.  I looked at that map.  "Loca," I said to her.  "We are going the wrong way.  Forget it, no more navigational duties for you!"  It is amazing no matter what we say to each other we end up laughing.  I adore this child.  She is so much fun.

We start back towards the cathedral and the other places Marcelo tells us we must go to.  As we walk down 7th street (impossible to get lost here because all the streets are numbered) I tell Kunz, "Wow! Look important buildings.  They turn out to be banks.   The banks in this town are gorgeous.  I only took pictures of these two, but there were plenty more.                                     

It was really cold.  Finally we found the train station.  It has an art museum inside.  There were two guards standing by the door.  It was kind of weird.  We were not sure if the place was open or not.  Finally we decided to open the door to see. 

Both guards ignored us.  So we went in.  It was definitely a train station at one time.  Now an art museum.  It was was definitely weird. There was no one around to answer questions.  Around what was the middle of the station were these high white boards.  We walked around the perimeter trying to figure out how to get in.  We figured there must be a secret entrance somewhere. 

There were interesting exhibits of sculptures.  There were rooms where we saw paintings, but the rooms were dark and locked.  We were the only people in the place, or so it seemed.  I came across this one sculpture.  I know just how this doll feels, I have days like this myself.

Finally we saw a real live person.  Kunj asked her how we get into the main part of the exhibit.  She told us to go around and go through the doors.  Uh huh, yeah.

The doors were a parting in the white boards.  Go figure.  I don't know who does the PR for this museum, but they certainly could use some help.  Soon we were in the main exhibit area.  The artist on display was Salvadore Dali.

I whipped out my camera and took a picture of the main hall.  This was the center of the train station at one time, in another era.  It was spectacular.  The exhibit was amazing.  Almost overwhelming.  La Plata Argentina was the last place I expected to find a comprehensive exhibit of Dali.

Kunj and I didn't realize that we were not supposed to take pictures. There were no signs of any type posted.  However the second we started snapping guards rushed at us from all directions.  Not only were we the weirdest looking people in the city, we were now being lawless as well.  Who runs this place anyway?

We soon got burned out on the museum.  We stopped for lunch in a place called Cafe Paris.  It is the kind of place your grandmother would probably take you to lunch at.   At first we felt invisible because they ignored us.   There were all these waiters.  They would help all the tables but ours.   Maybe this was our punishment for taking pictures and asking too many questions in the museum.  In the end we had a nice lunch.

We decided to hurry to the cathedral.  It was cold.  We could imagine that La Plata would be much more delightful if it was not so cold outside.  There were many parks.  We hurry down the street past the modern Teatro Argentino.  Ahhhh, another important building.  This building is splendid.  It is the only way to describe it.  It is the capital building.  While Buenos Aires is the capital of Argentina, La Plata is the capital of the province of Buenos Aires.

Finally we are at the cathedral.  Suddenly I say to Kunj "You know I don't really care that much about churches.  After Europe and Mexico, I got kind of burned out on them."  She takes it one step further, "You know I really feel that way about touring.  You go to so many places and see so many things, and then you wonder what you really saw."  She says that is why she came here to stay over the summer and volunteer.  She is working in a school for children who have HIV or have parents that are HIV.

The cathedral is beautiful.  It is the largest cathedral in Argentina. We walk up the steps and look around.  The setting is magnificent.  It however looks like lots of churches.  No the church is not crooked.  I didn't do such a good job of taking this picture.  I liked the stone work.  An example is to the right.

Once inside the cathedral we were able to take some pictures.  I took one that shows the ceiling.  There was a museum in the basement.  We went downstairs to check it out.  You go through a restaurant, then a gift shop.  We opted out.  We decided it was time to go home.

On the way back we took a different route.  We ended up in what is probably the "Palermo" of La Plata.  There were lots of shops and cafes.  They were all closed or looked dismal.  Dark with a person sitting in the dark.  We kept walking until we found this delightful store called Lua on 48 N 718.  It was all glass objects made by the owner's family.  They had beautiful jewelery.  The prices were very reasonable.  I bought nothing.  Kunj got 3 pair of great earrings and a bracelet.

To get back through to the train station we cut through a park where there was a ferria.  Once again Kunj and I were the objects of curiosity.  We commented on how the same stuff is sold everywhere.  Kunj says that artists everywhere must have a giant website to pattern their stuff after.  Here in Argentina you get mates in India you get something else, but everything other than the regional stuff looks the same.

We arrive at the bus station cold.  The buses come every 15 minutes.  We join a line.  It takes two buses before we can get on.  We are happy to get a seat.  Happy to have had at least one day outside of Buenos AIres.

One the road again...Montevideo un vez mas

This is my last day in Uruguay.  I look at the map of the city.  My friend Jerry gave me many ideas on places to go and see.  I think that I will walk from one end of the city to the other.  I love to walk.  My friends in Buenos Aires tease me about this all the time.  It is nothing for me to walk 30 - 40 blocks instead of taking the bus.

I decide that first I will go to the Mercado del Puerto.  To get there I will walk through the Ciudad Vieja - the old city.  I eat breakfast in my hotel.  I go to take a newspaper and the deskperson informs me that it is in Spanish.  "Yo se, hablo español."  I tell him.  I am not sure what is wrong in this country but every time I speak in Spanish they answer me in English. If they don't speak in English, they end every sentence with "Entendiste?" (did you understand)  I know I speak well, so it is a little bit of a mystery.

I head out the door of my hotel towards the street 18th de Julio.  This is the main street in Montevideo.
One thing that I have noticed about Montevideo is that it is very clean.  As much as I love Buenos Aires it is a dirty city.  Montevideo has a recycling program.  There are large attractive receptacles placed throughout the city.  On the corners are attractive bins where the buildings place their garbage.

At the corner of 18th de Julio is the Chivitos place.  Chivtos are the most popular food here in Uruguay.  It is like the cheese steak of Uruguay.  Most chivitos are flank steak on a bun with all the good stuff - red peppers, lettuce, onion, and whatever else the place wants to put on it.  In some restaurants I noticed that chivitos could also be chicken.  In reality chivito is baby goat.

What I really want to show you here is the beauty of the architecture in Montevideo.  Although it has all the advertising on it, the building is beautiful.

This is probably not the best picture I could have taken of 18th de Julio.  What I want you to see is that they mix in beautiful old buildings with new buildings.  The streets are wide and clean.  There are lots of trees.

I walk to the Plaza Cagancha.  Just like Buenos Aires, Montevideo is full of plazas.  People here drink mate like coke.  You see them walking down the street with their mate and a thermos.  The mates here are big.  Mate is everywhere.  They even have take-away mates for sale.  You get it in a plastic cup with a straw.  It is pretty safe to say they are loco por mate here.

There so many beautiful buildings here.  They also seem to be well maintained.  This is something else that does not happen frequently in Buenos Aires.  Many owners let their buildings go rather than maintain them.  While I am sure there is a part of Montevideo that this happens in, I am not sure where it is.  So far all the buildings I have seen are beautiful and in good condition.

Plaza Independencia is a large and beautiful plaza just before the section of the city called Ciudad Vieja.(The old city)

 

                                                    

There is a beautiful theater called Teatro Solis.   The theater was built in 1856 and has undergone an extensive renovation.  The theater has been home to Shakespeare plays and concerts.

This is the gates to the old city of Montevideo.  They remind me of some of the gates in the city of Florence in Italy.  You can see how massive it is by the size of the people going around it.

Montevideo also has many special tourist police in this area who are bilingual.  They are there to not only oversee, but to provide information.

The old city of Montevideo is the historical center of the city.  At one time the city was surrounded by walls.  You kind of have to feel sorry for the Monteviedians.  They were getting invaded even with those big old walls to protect them. In 1804 the British invaded. Then from 1843 to 1851  the Argentines invaded.  Eventually the walls were torn down and the only thing left is this gate with the emblem embedded on it.

Calle Sarandi is the main street in the Ciudad Vieja.  In 2005 it was turned into a pedestrian mall.  The area has undergone a renaissance.  It is now known for its cafes, restaurants, and shops.  There are artists who sell their crafts along side the street and in Plaza Maritz.

In honor of Georgie's visit to South America and specifically here in Montevideo, the street artists rolled out the welcome wagon.

The pedestrian street in the Ciudad Viejo is beautiful.  You are surrounded by incredible architecture.  There are sidewalk cafes all over the place.

I walked through the old city down to the Mercado del Puerto. The area is charming.  More beautiful architecture.  The Mercado del Puerto was not what I expected.  I thought it would be a fish market with restaurants like in Santiago.  It was instead mostly parrillas y places for empanadas.  I got there around noon and I was not hungry.  I walked through it and looked around.  Then continued on my walk back towards the hotel.                           

This is an example of the row houses I saw on my walk in the Old City on my way back to the hotel in the center of the city from the Mercado del Puerto.  It kind of reminds me of what La Boca would look like if it was cleaned up.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Once I get back to the hotel I rest a bit and then decide to walk to Pocitos and Punta Carretas.  I walk through neighborhoods that remind me of my neighborhood here in Buenos Aires.  I like that Montevideo is clean and that they have maintained the old buildings.

The Pocitos neighborhood is the wealthy neighborhood of Montevideo.  It is on the Ocean.  There are lots of shops and high rise apartment buildings.    It is quite different from where I was in the morning. Not only by the buildings, but by the cars.  I am amazed to see so many BMWs and Mercedes.   The shops are more upscale, and the fruit and vegetable stores seems to have a better quality.

I notice that the furniture here is more Scandinavian in design.  There is the lighter woods and the modern look to it.  I see none of that horrible phony French look that is so popular in Buenos Aires.

Pocitos Beach was a big surprise.  The Beaches in Montevideo are beautiful.  Spectacular really.  They have clean sand and beautiful blue water.  You can rent umbrellas, have a meal, and enjoy the sun.

I can easily see coming here for a weekend.
You could enjoy the city and the beach.  I think it would be much more relaxed than Mar del Plata.

After I leave Pocitos, I walk through Punta Carretas.  By this time I have walked from one end of Montevideo to the other.  I look for a taxi.  The driver is really nice.  He takes me back to the hotel along side the ocean.  I am still aghast at the beauty. 

I had a great time on my vacation.  Now it is time to go home.  I miss the noise and food of Buenos AIres.  Mi Buenos AIres.....Querida.

On the road again..Montevideo

So many people told me that Montevideo is boring and depressing.  They told me not to go.  Only my friend Jerry told me he liked the city and goes there often.  I figured I should check it out.  So I spent my last two days in Montevideo.

The day I left La Pedrera was a torrential downpour.  This is not to be ignored in a pueblo that does not have paved streets.  Because it was Sunday the owners do not work and therefore no one could drive me to the bus.  There was no way I could walk in the rain.

La Pedrera along with no bank or post office also does not have a taxi service.  The hotel has to call La Paloma to get a taxi.  Because they have to come from La Paloma they charge 125 pesos!!  (About $5 USD) I was only going to go 3 blocks but I had no choice.

Although they were not working that day, the owners of the hotel came down to say good bye to me. They were very lovely people.  I told them I enjoyed my stay.  They told me to please come back.  I would like to come back to La Pedrera but with friends.  I think it would be fun to rent a house and stay here for a couple of weeks.

The taxi comes.  The driver is delightful.  When I tell him where I want to go, he insists that we go to the station in La Paloma.  The price will be the same and there is a real station.  I will have somewhere to sit. He entertains me by singing old Elvis Presley songs on the way to La Paloma.

Because of the rain, the bus will be late.  Not a big surprise.  The roof leaks in the bus station.  There are baskets and cans everywhere to catch the water.  A maintenance woman is kept busy with a mop and emptying the baskets and cans.  I find a seat that is dry and pull my book out.

The Uruguayans are drinking mate and chatting in low voices.  I am amazed at how they are always drinking mate.  They are really nice people, so amiable.  So low key compared to the Porteños.  The Argentines are so easy to spot.  They are loud.  The Porteño accent does sound aggressive.  They make me laugh.  There are a few European and American backpackers.

Finally my bus comes.  I got lucky.  There are two buses to Montevideo.  I get on the express bus.  This means we will make no stops.  My trip is uneventful.  I chat a little bit with the woman sitting next to me.  She lives in La Paloma.  She is going to Montevideo to see her grandson.  I get to see pictures of the little guy.  She offers me some mate.  She asks me how I liked La Pedrera and La Paloma.  I don't tell her about my "Last Picture Show" fantasies.  She probably would not understand anyway.

I never tire of looking out the window.  There is lots of green.  Lots of cows.  I find the scenery to be beautiful.  After two years of city life it is nice to be in nature.  Normally I am not a nature kind of girl, but the change is good.
   

This time when I get to the bus station in Montevideo I am comfortable.  I go to the tourist office to get a map of the city and to find out how much a taxi should cost to the city.  They are very nice as most tourist offices are.  She tells me I should expect to pay around 90 - 100 pesos.

I get in line for a taxi.  One thing I notice about Uruguay is that tipping is completely unexpected. Much what it is was like here in Argentina before the crisis.  People are so nice and helpful you want to tip them.  When you do they act very surprised, but happy.

Finally I find a wise guy.  The taxis have windows between the passengers and the driver.  It makes it very uncomfortable to sit as the front seat is almost in the back seat.  I tell my driver where I want to go.  He is the first person in Uruguay who cannot understand me.  I want to smack him.  I gave him the address with the cross street and he pretends he does not know where this is. Duh it is in the heart of the city on a main street.  So then I give him the hotel name.

He tries an old trick on me.  He asks me if I have  a reservation at the hotel.  I tell him yes. He tells me that the hotel is full, that he was just there and they have no more rooms.  Funny, before he did not know where the street was, and now he is an expert on the hotel's rooms.  I tell him not to worry about me, just take me to the hotel. We drive in silence. I love the architecture. To me the city seems beautiful.  Not like Buenos Aires, but its own beauty.  We arrive at the hotel and I pay him.

I like the hotel. It is very nice.  The staff is friendly.  I speak in Spanish to them and they are speaking in English to me.  My reservation was made through the U.S. because the rates were cheaper.  They ask me for my passport.  I give her my Argentine DNI.  She hardly looks at it and then again asks for my passport.

I tell her I live in Argentina, and she can speak Spanish with me.  She has not seemed to notice that I have been speaking in Spanish and she has been speaking in English.  She picks up my DNI, "You live in Argentina?"  I want to roll my eyes.  I just say yes.  She then starts to speak in Spanish to me.  She ends every sentence with "Entendiste?"  (Did you understand?)  It is almost comical.

I go to my room, change, and come down.  I am ready to explore the city.  I want to find out where the milongas are going to be that night.  There are two within walking distance of the hotel.  I set out with my map and umbrella.  I love the architecture.  It is beautiful.  The streets are lined with trees.  The city reminds me for some reason of Chicago.  Like if Buenos Aires is New York, then Montevideo is Chicago.  I  don't know how anyone could think that this city is depressing.

I find the two places where the milongas are to be held.  They are an easy walk.  Now I go to find a place to eat something.  I walk around.  Not much is open.  What is weird is that the restaurants seem to be full of men.  There are no women in them.  I feel too weird going into a restaurant full of men.  I hate when they look at me.  Finally I find a restaurant that is mostly men but there are two couples.  So at least I will not be the only woman.

The food in Uruguay is pretty uneventful. If foreigners in Buenos Aires complain about the lack of variety they should come to Uruguay.  Buenos Aires would be a cornucopia of food varieties. The other thing I have found is that food is not as well prepared as it is in Buenos Aires and it is more expensive. 

I go back to the hotel to get ready for the milonga.  All of the people who I know who have come here for tango have told me not to.  They say it was terrible.  But then most of these people did not like Montevideo either and so far I really like it.

At 8:00 I walk into Joven Tango.  It is in the center of an old market that has been turned into a food court.  The floor is horrible.  It is a sticky tile floor.  No one has thought to clean it for the milonga. I look around.  I seem to be the only woman wearing tango shoes.  I am dressed very simply,but these people are much simpler.

People are very nice.  They come to introduce themselves to me.  They tell me that here in Montevideo you can ask who ever you want to dance.  It does not matter if they are in a couple or not.  That would have been nice, but once the dancing started, there was no one I wanted to ask.  My big chance! 

I am blown away by the dancing, or the lack of it.  I do not want to dance with anyone.  But since they are so nice, I feel I have no choice.  This man who has been very solicitous asks me for a dance. Oh my god, tango horror story.  He is not just leading using his hands he is actually pushing me through the dance. I mean his hands are like levers and he pushes me from one side to another. Ihav to look down to see what he is doing with his feet since there is no lead. He starts to bark at me how to move.  This is so freaky.  Finally the tanda ends. 

I barely get to sit down when I am asked again.  OK.  Here I go.  They dance a sort of show tango-nuevo-whatever goes tango.  This guy leads by command.  As he pushes me through the dance he is barking at me what to do.  Am I really here?  What am I doing here?

When this tanda ends, I don't even get to sit down when I am grabbed again.  The women tell me I am dancing with the best dancers in Montevideo...oh lordy, what in heaven have I done to deserve this?

This man precedes to critique my dancing.  I am ready to thrash him,but I keep quiet.  He knows I am from Buenos Aires.  I have decided that if there is a tango hell, I have just found it.  The thing is the people are so darn nice.  So on one hand I hate it here because the dancing is horrible.  On the other hand they are so nice I want to stay and talk.  But because they keep asking me to dance, I feel like I am being punished.  What to do, what to do.  I decide to stay a little longer and listen to the music, which is excellent.  (Thank God for that.)

I ask them about the other milonga.  They assure me that they all will be going there.  That does it. At 11:00 I tell them I am exhausted from traveling.  I say good night.  I am sure they think I am just another weird foreigner.  That is OK.  One thing for sure, I will never complain about dancing in Buenos Aires again.  (Well for awhile, anyway.)

 

On the road again....La Paloma

After 2 days in La Pedrera I am ready for the booming metropolis of La Paloma.  La Paloma is 15 minutes down the road.  I figure it would be good to check it out.  Since it is a bigger town it might be better to stay there if I ever come back this way.

I go to the bus terminal in La Pedrera.  There is a different chica working.  Like everyone else here she is surprised at how well I speak Spanish.  She thinks it is interesting that an American is living in Buenos Aires.  She asks me how I like it there.

I tell her that I like it a lot.  I do tell her that I prefer the Spanish spoken in Uruguay.  This starts a long conversation about Argentines and Americans.  She tells me that the Argentines to her always sound angry and that they speak in such a high pitched voice.  The Americans she says are always demanding something.  Oh well.

The bus comes and the driver is nice.  He agrees to drop me in La Paloma for 25 pesos.  This is not the normal price.  He mumbles something about it being the least that he can charge me.  I had been told it was 35 pesos, so the 25 sounds fine to me.

  The bus station in La Paloma is like a real bus station.  It is in the middle of a clearing before you get to town.  There are places to sit and there are bathrooms.  You can even buy a newspaper there.  Not much else.  If you are hungry you have to walk across the street and go to the little "restaurant".

These kinds of restaurants are common in South America.  You see them off the highways.  Entrepreneurism at its best I suppose.  I have never stopped to eat in one, so I cannot give you an opinion.

From the bus terminal you need to walk up to the corner, turn left and go 3 more blocks to get to town.  On the way there I saw a horse hanging out across the street from where there were shops.  After a nice 10 minute walk I was finally on main street in La Paloma.
To me La Paloma looked like the Uruguayan version of the "Last Picture Show."  I expected to see an Uruguayan version of Cybil Shepard driving down the street.

The town is bigger than La Pedrera.  In the middle of main street is the huge skeleton of a whale.  I think this is one of the main tourist attractions in this city.

I stopped to take a picture of it.  There was one other family where I was.  The town seemed to be deserted.  No one was on the street.  The Uruguayan Cybil Shepard still did not appear.

I could see the ocean from where I was at.  So I decided to go down there.  I had worn my bathing suit under a dress if I decided I wanted to have a beach day in La Paloma.

This is a working lighthouse although you are allowed to go up in it. I was too lazy.  I saw people on the very top.  I probably should have gone over there to see if there was an elevator. Instead I decided to walk down to the beach.

The beach in La Paloma is not as nice as the beach in La Pedrera. They are a little rocky or pebbley.  They are very clean like the beaches in La Pedrera.

The other interesting thing is that when I went to check out what looked like rocks, I realized that it was more like wood that was petrified.  You could not really walk on it.  Well maybe you could, but what for? Anyway I spent about 2 hours on this beach turning into a blond tomato.

 
I went back towards Main Street.  Still no Uruguayan Cybil Shepard.  I did manage to find the bank.  This is important since no one takes credit cards and there is no other ATM except for the one at this bank.

La Paloma also has its own Casino.   It´s possible the Uruguayan Cybil Shepard was in there, gambling away daddy's money.

I guess if you were totally bored you could always go to the movies. The Cineplex in La Paloma is not like one I had ever seen before.    This picture makes  it look a little better than it actually looks.   I think I would rather stay in and watch TV.   

I am glad that I went to La Paloma.  I think if I go back this way, I would love to stay in La Pedrera again.  I would skip La Paloma as for me it was very depressing.  It just did not have the same feel as La Pedrera did.

On the road again....La Pedrera Uruguay

I just got back from Uruguay.  I was there a week.  I seem to be doing a good job of seeing everywhere but Argentina.  I need to stop this.  I spent 4 days at the beach in La Pedrera and 2 days in Montevideo. I had no idea what to expect.  People told me all kinds of things, especially about Montevideo.

Many Argentines have the attitude that Uruguay should just be another province of Argentina rather than its own country.  The Uruguayans have no desire to become a part of Argentina.  Uruguay resents the unstability of the Argentine economy as it reflects on theirs.  The two countries share an interesting relationship.

I decided to go to La Pedrera for my beach holiday.  I am not a Punte del Este - Mar del Plata kind of girl.  I am in not into high rise hotels, overpriced restaurants, and beautiful people.  I like calmness, clean beaches, and few people. 

I asked lots of people here about beaches in Argentina.  No one seemed to be able to recommend anything outside of the popular crowded touristy beaches.  That is when I decided to check out Uruguay.  When I was walking down Cordoba one day, I saw Boquebus advertising trips to La Paloma and La Pedrera.   Not knowing anything about either place I turned to my most trusted travel allie; Google.

After driving myself crazy I decided to go to La Pedrera.  It seemed like a place that had everything I wanted; beautiful beaches, isolated, and few people.  I made reservations at a hotel (There are only 3 in the city) and reservations at a hotel in Montevideo.  Rather than do Boquebus, I decided to fly to Montevideo and then take a bus to La Pedrera.  Boquebus was going to take too long.

Thursday came and it was time to go.  Areolineas changed my 8:30 flight to 7:10.  Lovely.  I just love getting up early.  Not only that it was pouring outside.  I had never flown out of Newberry or what we call Areoparque here.  It is a nice airport.  It reminded me a little of Oakland International.

The flight was uneventful.  When I got to Montevideo I looked around for the bus lines.  I had read on the Internet I could take a bus from the airport to La Pedrera.  The best laid plans...one bus a day and it would have meant waiting in the airport 5 hours.  Instead I jumped on a bus to go to Tres Cruces the main bus terminal.

The first thing I noticed about Uruguay is that it is way mellow than Buenos Aires.  It is also cleaner. Not just the streets, but the air.  I noticed on the bus ride through Montevideo that there were recycling bins for plastic, glass, and organic materials.  The trash bins were a normal decent size and people used them.

Once I was in the bus station (which is also a shopping center) it seemed like every person was drinking mate.  People walk around with their thermos and huge mate cups.  In Argentina mate is share between family and friends and not in the street.  I checked with all the bus lines and booked a seat on the one leaving soonest.  I would have a 90 minute wait.  Although the schedule was posted on the bus terminals website, none of the times were correct. Welcome to Latin America!

My bus ride to La Pedrera was almost 4 hours.  I was content to look out the window.  It was raining. My bus was mainly empty.  At 4:30 I finally reached La Pedrera.  They weren't kidding when they said it was a small pueblo.  When I was getting off the bus I asked the driver if he knew where the hotels were located.  He told me they were far away.  (This turned out to be a real joke!) There did not seem to be any taxis or anyway to get to the hotel, wherever it was.  I decided the best thing to do was to go into the bus station and ask.

This is the bus station.  I went inside to ask about using a phone.  Inside was an American surfer dude and his girlfriend.  What is it with surfers?  Why do they act so dumb?  This guy was an embarrassment.  They wanted a bus ticket to Montevideo and they wanted to pay with Argentine pesos.  Hello....you are in Uruguay.  Finally they clerk accepted his American dollars.

When it was my turn she seemed relieved that I could speak Spanish.  I was obviously a foreigner.  After every sentence she would say to me "Entendiste?" (You understand?)  After I reserved and paid for my ticket back to Montevideo on Sunday, I asked about how to get the hotel.  She was clueless.  I asked if I could use their phone and she was nice enough to let me.  The hotel was happy to hear from me and told me they would come for me at that station.

In a matter of minutes a man drove up and jumped out of his car.  He introduced himself as Jorge. Before I could introduce myself he asked me in English if I would prefer he speak English. I told him no, not unless he wanted to practice. Before going to the hotel, he wanted to take me on a little tour of the city. (Little being the operative word)

I was not prepared for the breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean. La Pedrera has 30 km of coastline and beaches.  There are few houses. There are no businesses on the beach. The beaches are pristine, the water a clear blue, the sand a clean shade of beige, almost white.  I had not been to a beach like this in ages.  Probably when  I was last in Mexico 7 years ago.

This is exactly the kind of beach I like.  One that is not full of people, bars, and high rises.  Jorge informed me that La Pedrera is so small they do not have a bank or a post office.  If you need money you need to go to La Paloma.  There is not even an ATM here.

The hotel was wonderful.  There are only 3 hotels in La Pedrera.  I was staying in Las Terazzas.  It is rated as a 4 star.  The rooms are either small suites or apartments.  My small suite was more like a one bedroom apartment.  I had a full kitchen, living room, separate bedroom.  My balcony looked out to the ocean.  The staff was very friendly.

There is not a lot to do in La Pedrera except enjoy the beach.  This is a picture of main street.  I almost missed it on my first walk through town.  They have a very very small market, a few restaurants, a bakery, some assorted strange looking stores that were mostly closed.

Every morning I was here I would get up and walk around the town.  It is very secluded.  You are really back to nature here.  There is really nothing other than the ocean and green trails.  I realized when I walking down a secluded trail the first thing to pop into my mind was would I be safe?  All those years of living in California and reading about rapists who prey on women walking alone.

Every morning would bring some surprises.  This was the bakery. You could either go in a and buy bread and the few pastries or you could sit outside and have a coffee.  There always seemed to be a few local characters outside at the table. While the bread and pastries were good, they were nothing like what you get in Buenos AIres.  I was finding out over all, the food here was just OK and much more expensive than Buenos Aires.

This is a restaurant I found while out walking.  It was in the middle of no where.  I think that all total there are less than 10 restaurants in this town.

One of the more interesting things  I learned about this town is that the rocks on the beach are millions of years old.  They say they are the oldest rocks in the Americas. I was told that these rocks were the floor of an ocean that was before the Atlantic Ocean was formed.  The rocks eventually became the two continents of South America and Africa.  It is difficult to tell from this picture, but the rocks were massive.  They were breathtaking.

I think La Pedrera is wonderful.  I enjoyed my stay there.  It is a good place to go to relax.  You can rent all kinds of houses there.  Everything from stark modern to thatched huts.  I would definitely come back here, but not alone.  I always travel alone, but this was one of the first times I found it lonely.  There were not many people here.  The travelers were either in families or couples.  Usually I find people like to talk to me out of curiosity.  Here  this did not happen.  I just blended into the woodwork as they say......

La Moda de Santiago - Part IV

Saturday morning.  I run into Roberto, Juan Carlo's son in the hallway.  He is a little surprised to see a strange woman walk out of his sister's bedroom, but he only grunts like a normal teenage boy.  He is to go get his sister Isabel.  Then we are to drive to the family's second home outside of Santiago.

Juan Carlos' children are beautiful.  Isabel, the daughter is gorgeous.  Tall, dark, and beautiful at 16.  His son Roberto (Why does this name follow me everywhere?)is thin and very good looking.  As he matures he will be a handsome man.  Neither kid has attitude.  They are natural and sweet.  Juan Carlos tells me the main reason he and his ex left the US was because they did not want their children to be teenagers in the U.S.

We are to drive an hour or so outside of Santiago.  This is to be a good size party of family and close friends.  Juan Carlos´dad is 87.  I look out the window.  Deja vu.  It looks like Seattle here.  Maybe parts of the South Bay in the Bay Area.  The people remind me of people from Oregon.  Very friendly and wanting to please.  The country side rolls by.  I keep seeing things that are a little disgusting with names like "Starbucks, MacDonalds, Dominos, Pizza Hut."  Where is Target when we need them?

Soon we turn off.  We are in a small town that reminds me a little bit of Stinson Beach (only no Beach here) or maybe Andersonville.  In any event it is beautiful.  As we drive further into this small pueblo it has a more Latin American feel.  There is a small feria en the town center.  People are milling around.

We turn down a road.  Grandma Brown would be proud.  The lawns are well manicured. (Sorry inside joke, only I am sure none of my family reads this blog, so it is lost in translation...) We pull into a driveway with a locked gate.  Juan Carlos goes to the security pad and punches in some numbers.  We drive through the gates.  We come to a driveway and pull in.  The place is magnificent.

The house is beautiful  Juan Carlos called it a cottage.  Yeah right, depends on your frame of reference.  The grounds are spectacular.  A lush green with all kinds of beautiful trees and plants. There is a swimming pool in the middle, a barbecue area, caretaker's home, and a recreation area as well. 

I meet his parents.  His dad is amazing.  Sharp as can be at 87 nothing gets by him.  I am introduced as being from Argentina.  He speaks English to me.  I answer in Spanish.  He welcomes me to the family home.  I meet his mom.  She is stunning.  No is sure what her age is, even her brother and sister are not sure.  This is the most guarded family secret.  Regardless, it is obvious where Isabel gets her beauty.

I stroll the grounds.  Juan Carlos joins me. He tells me that his family's place is what most upper middle class and upper class families own outside the city.  This "small" cottage is on 10,000 meters of land.  There are peach, plum, apricot, walnut, apple, and orange trees.  They have blackberry and raspberry bushes.  Juan Carlos says his father tried to plant different kinds of the same species of trees.  The swimming pool is in the middle of this lush haven of green.  This might be normal for him, but for me it is a small paradise.

I am sitting in the shade watching the people when this older woman makes a grand entrance.  She is like a duchess.  She makes her way over to where I am seated and sits down next to me.  She waits to be introduced to me and then says "Porque estas en Santiago, que haces aqui?" (What are you doing in Santiago and why?")  Nothing like being direct!

Over the next hour I proceed to have a very fascinating conversation with this dama.  She is amazing.  She tells me that she was teaching in the university when Pinochet called her to tell her to stop teaching immediately.  She asked what would happen if she did not.  He asked her if she really wanted to find out.  Instead she was reassigned to teach Spanish until she could leave Chile to go to Switzerland.

At this point some new relatives came and she was deep in conversation with them.  Juan Carlos asked me if I knew who Irma was?  I told him no.  It turns out she is a reknown sexologist and M.D. She was a thorn in the military coup's side.  This is why she was told not to teach her courses at the University.

Irma later floats back to converse with me.  This woman is absolutely incredible.  I paste myself to her side listening to every word that comes from her mouth.  She has had 3 "official" husbands and others, well, they were others as she puts it.  Her life is fascinating.  She now lives with 7 dogs down the road from this summer house.

The food at this party is spectacular.  I am served Chilean empanadas which are very different from the Argentine ones.  I hate to say this, but I think I like this version better.  They are larger and filled not only with meat or chicken but with olives and eggs and many other delicious things.  I sit at a long table next to my new friend Irma and with other relatives from Juan Carlos' family.

I am amused that people find it interesting that I speak Spanish.  It seems though every time I open my mouth here in Chile people laugh and respond with "Che, Che."  Outside of Buenos Aires people compliment me on how well I speak, and they almost always think that I am Argentine.  In Buenos Aires I am treated to "No entiendo" at least twice a day. (I don't understand)

It seems that everyone at this party speaks at least one other language besides Spanish. The second language is either English or French.  Some people speak all three, and then there is Juan Carlos who also speaks Portuguese.  I don't think I know any Americans who speak more than two languages and usually they do not speak the second language very well.  What a shame as my life as been very enriched by my speaking Spanish.  I cannot imagine living in South America without the language.

I walk into the house to see Juan Carlos' sister putting the birthday cake together.  It is thousands on miniature cream puffs stacked in a tower.  She is drizzling a sauce over it that will become a hard candy.  Very decadent.   It will be brought out blazing with candles.

We spend the afternoon eating, drinking, and talking.  I feel like I am in a movie.  Maybe I am.

¿Como Va en Santiago? Part II

JC hails a taxi as we live the market.  I am wiped out.  He finds it very humorous that one pisco sour and a glass of wine put me under the table.  "I was always known as a cheap date."  I tell him.  "I don't drink or eat much." 

We are going to take a short tour of the city by taxi.  Then back to his place for a siesta, then to the Internet.  He has no Internet or phone since leaving Sun.  He is enjoying his hiatus from technology.  I am in fear of the 9 million emails I will have waiting for me.

He points out to me in the taxi there is a receipt dangling from the meter.  All taxis have this.  It is a system which tracks the time they take from one place to another and the charges.  The eliminates the famous taxi trip around the world. You take the ticket to the business and complain.  The taxi driver can be fined heavily.  My, I wonder how this would work in Buenos Aires.

Juan Carlos is pointing out the sites.  I am still in awe of how clean it is here. He tells me how the rest of the days will go.  Tonight he tells me we are to meet with his girlfriend Isabel, have dinner, and then go dancing.  Before he can continue I ask him "Am I going to have a problem with your girlfriend?"  He laughs and says "No, she cannot wait to meet you."  I am amazed.  An Argentine woman would have us both in the crosshairs.  Me looking like me staying in his apartment. In B.s.A.s. I do not even have to breathe in the direction of someone's husband or boyfriend and the claws are ready and waiting.  Here it seems it is more like California or really how the Latinos I knew were in the U.S.

"Tomorrow" JC tells me, we will go to the summer home of my family for a party. My father is turning 87."  He continues with the rest of the weekend.  Now he starts to talk about his business plan.  I am trapped in the taxi.  He has two of them.  One is not for me and the other is the same old song.

JC hates that I am in "retirement."  Many of my Hi-Tech buddies think I am wasting my talents.  Maybe so, but I was sick of the stress, of always being the messenger who was getting shot.  JC is trying to entice me back into consulting, but here in South American.  RIght, here they would not shoot me, they would bury me alive - big mouth and all.

As we drive around JC points out the highlights of Santiago.  It is so modern and clean.  Set against the Andes.  As much as I like it I do not have the feeling of belonging here like I do in Buenos Aires. There are few bookstores, beauty salons, and fruiterias.  JC tells me that while Chileans are very pleasant and into customer service they are more like the Japanese.  They do as they are told.

"Argentinians" he tells me, "are individualists.  It is what makes them so unique in South American, and it is also what makes them so difficult. Chile is easy to do business with.  Chileans are organized.  They know what needs to be done and they do it.  Argentinians are the opposite.  If you have 5 Argentines to decide the project," he says, "Only one will agree.  They other 5 must give their opinion about it and argue with you.  Nothing gets done, or it takes forever.  This is the main reason why no one wants to do business with Argentina.  The problem," He continues, "is that the Argentines are so intelligent and intellectual it is difficult to argue with them.  It is much easier to walk away."

He tells me that he misses Buenos Aires for the intellectualism.  We both agree that it is one of the few places in the world where you can discuss philosophy with a cab driver.  Chile does not pride individualism in its people.  He says you get punnished for it.  Well I guess that means I don't live here.  I have enough problems in Buenos Aires with being wierd.

After we get back to JC's apartment, he lays down for an hour.  I am reading in Spanish.  Once he is back in action he grabs his computer.  We walk to a cyber cafe.  I notice that people here drive sanely.  There is no NASCAR driver on crack antics here.  I can actually cross the street without worrying.

JC points out the colored horses.  The city places these statues of horses all around and pays artists to paint them.  They are incredible.  As wonderful as the painted hearts in Plaza San Martin in Buenos Aires.  JC tells me we are close to the cyber cafe.  I look forward and have heart failure.

STARBUCKS!!!!  Oh my God, I think I am going to die.  My worst nightmare come true.  Starbucks in the middle of South America.  I make JC take my picture.  I am choking myself.  I tell him I cannot believe that I am entering the Microsoft of Cofee.  He cracks up.

I go inside.  Yep, this is Starbucks, down to the last stir stick.  I decide to test the waters.  I ask for a Latte Grande with an extra shot of expresso and non-fat mill.  OHMIGOD, I get it.  This is scary.  That is when I realize I am surrounded my the worst of the USA.  Starbucks, Dunkin Doughnuts, Pizza Hut, Dominos, Burger Kind, MacDonalds.  (Subway...well OK, but I like Subway.)  I ask JC "Why can't we export good stuff like the Gap or Target?"  He laughs, "You never export the good stuff."

With that I check my email and we head back home.  Tonight should be fun.  I am eager to meet Isabel.

Santiago...or Bust - Part I

I am waiting in line in immigration to leave Argentina.  I look at my passport.  This is the first time I have left the country in almost a year.  For me, this is amazing.  I have never been so long in one place.  Everyone who knows me from my old life knows that I am a travel maniac.  I was always either out of the country or out of the Bay Area.  Work was just something I did to support my travel habit.

I had all these plans this year to travel Argentina and South America.  A running a red light put all those plans on hold.  The accident kept me from doing many things this year.  Amazing how 30 seconds can change your life.

My friend J.C. now lives permanently in Santiago.  He worked for Sun Microsystems.  While he was here in Buenos Aires we would have dinner and geek out.  I was his only geek friend that was a girl. (Imagine that!)  I was his sympathetic  ear for his divorce and being overworked and stressed out.  He insisted Sun move him back to Santiago.  He wanted to be with his kids.

For the last year he has invited me to come to Santiago.  Finally, with no guests, I decide to go.  It feels good to be on an airplane again.  Juan Carlos (AKA J.C.) and Sun have parted ways.  He tells me that he will have time to show me around Santiago, and he wants me to read his business plan.

I land in Santiago.  In true Deby fashion I create a minor disturbance in immigration.  Chile has a law that says anyone from the U.S. Britain, Canada, and one other country I cannot remember must pay a one time entry fee of $100.  I do not want to pay this as I am a resident of Argentina.

The immigration cops are divided.  Half say I do not need to pay it and the other half says I do.  They are in a stalemate.  Finally they decide to look up the law. What a unique concept.  It does not work in my favor, but after living in Argentina 2 years where conflicts are a way of life I find it amusing.  The law says it goes by your passport not by where you live.  Darn!

I pass through customs and out into the airport. AYEEE!  I am besieged by men screaming in my face "TAXI" .  Been a long time since I was a tourist.  I politely say no and continue to look for J.C.  He forgot to tell me where to meet him.  I look around, I go outside.  Everywhere are men pursuing me for taxis and tours.  I am beginning to lose my patience.  This is actually worse than Argentine men talking about my body parts.

A tall man passes me and asks me if I would like some help.  I tell him no I do not want his help.  I push by and then realize it is J.C.  I am thrilled to see him.  He tells me I have not changed.  He has always found me some what comical.

We go to his car.  He apologizes for being late.  I tell him not to worry.  I am struck by how clean the air is and how clean the whole area seems to be.  The Andes are in the near distance.  We chat about our lives, mostly his, as it has changed so much.  We exit off the freeway into Santiago.

My first clue that we are not in Argentina is a man selling raspberries on the side of the road.  I have not seen raspberries in ages.  JC buys me two plastic containers.  I am thrilled.  I love raspberries.  Santiago is so modern. It is also very clean.  JC tells me all Argentines always say the same thing to him.  He says Chile is a combination of Europe, the U.S., and Latin America.

After we drop my stuff off we head for the market.  This is where we are to have lunch.  We take a the subway.  It is modern and clean.  Very much like Spain.  Nothing like my beloved Subte.  I comment to JC how orderly people are.  He tells me there is a reason for this.  The government gives companies all kinds of tax credits to send their employees to school.  Employees get better jobs with the more certificates they have.  Chileans are crazy to take courses.  He tells me that customer service courses have changed the way businesses act.  Before he said it was just as bad as anywhere else. 

We arrive at the market.  It is full of fish stalls.  Wow!  I have not seen fish like this in a year.  Everywhere I look is seafood.  I am excited. This is the one thing I miss in Buenos Aires.  We are walking through looking at all the different fish and shellfish.  JC points out this really ugly looking thing.  He says it is a worm.  It looks totally gross.  He insists it tastes really good.  I tell him fine, but don't order any of that for me.  I make a mental note of the name.

Intermixed with the fish stalls are restaurants.  As in Tijuana and other tourist destinations they have barkers out front trying to lure you in.  JC tells me I am creating quite a sensation.  I don't notice as no one is talking about my body parts or giving me leering looks.  I realize I can walk holding my head up and looking at people.  Chile does not have the same rules for women here. 

Barkers ask him where he is from.  He tells them Chile and that I am from Argentina.  Several call out to me "Che, Che" all in fun.  I feel very comfortable here.  A man asks me where I am from, I respond "Yo?" but with the porteña accent.  He immediately bursts into "Porteño".  I laugh and ask him how he knew.  He laughs and goes "Jsho".  He is an Argentine living in Chile.  JC tells me that there are many.

We finally get to the restaurant JC has in mind.  The owner greets him.  They seat us at a wonderful table.  I am able to people watch.  People here look healthy.  Again I realize how clean it is here.  Nobody throws stuff on the floor.  They actually put it in the trash cans.

The waiter comes with menus.  JC asks me if I trust him.  "Ha! You are a man, and a Latin American man, you want me to trust you?"  I tease him.  He shoots back, "Yes, but I am Chilean and not Argentine." I laugh, I tell him no worm and no eel.

He proceeds to order a feast which includes pisco sours.  Uh oh.  That  is trouble.  I never really drink anything but wine in Buenos Aires.  I love pisco sours.  The waiter brings a salsa and bread. Itaste the salsa.  It is spicey hot!!!  I am so happy.  JC is amused.  He asks the waiter to bring this other salsa which is even hotter.  I have not lost my taste buds for hot food.

The food JC orders starts to come.  I am blown away.  I feel like a kid on Christmas.  Razorback clams, sea urchins, barnacles, mussels, calamari.  Many more dishes that I cannot remember.  I am delirious.  I take pictures.  JC is amused. 

I cannot believe it.  In the middle of all this food comes two mariachis.  Apparently they are crazy for Mexican music here.  The two guys are not bad.  The words of the songs come back to me.  They are singing Mexican drinking songs.  The pisco sour is really making me drunk and JC insists on me drinking wine too.  I forget that most South Americans drink alot  Buenos Aires is very different in this way.

I realize looking around, how Argentine I have become.  Every time I open my mouth someone mentions to me that I am from Argentina.  The way I dress.  I think I am the only woman in Santiago in  skirt.  Women here remind me of women in the Bay Area.  Very natural, more casual.  In Buenos Aires I would never leave without makeup, jewelry of some sort, and my hair in place.

The mariachis are in front of a table.  An older man seated at the table is singing with them.  He is singing his heart out.  I look at him, he winks at me.  I smile at him.  He begins to dedicate songs to me.  JC is amused.  "You are charming the hearts of the Chileaños and you are here less than a day." he tells me.  I tell him I have this problem everywhere, regardless of the country.

Finally after an hour, the singing man comes over to the table.  He asks JC for permission to sit down.  He tells us he is Chilean, but he lived in Mexico City for many years.  He has come home to retire.  He is a handsome devil and charming in the Mexican way men are.  He tells us that he loves to sing, and in Mexico he found his passion.  He wants no interaction here, he could care less that I worked in Mexico, he wants to tell his "story".  So we listen.  And listen. And listen.

In the end he tells JC he is sorry for flirting with me.  But I ignited his passion to sing.  He could not help himself. (I am rolling my eyes.)  The gentleman leaves.  I am drunk.  On pisco sours, on wine, on wonderful seafood.  How great it is to be traveling again.