A Girl and Guy in Uruguay

Chau Che!

2008-03-31T04:16:00.000-07:00

Today is our last day in Uruguay. The adventure won't stop, but the blog will...at least until mid May or so when we make our way back to life in Portland. Then, with luck, we will find time to keep adding stories and pictures to this blog...

Thanks for following our adventures! Besos, Adam and Leandra

Adios Amigos...

2008-03-30T05:41:00.001-07:00

Our last week in Montevideo began with Easter. We decided to spend the gorgeous morning in "El Cemeterio de Buceo", one of the city's oldest and and most ornate cemeteries located on a wonderful bluff along the Rambla and Rio de la Plata. We went early for Uruguay, around 10 a.m., but the flower vendors outside the large arched entrance were ready for the slow parade of living relatives that would come throughout the day to visit loved ones...
Take a walk with us on one of our last looks at life in Montevideo...

Leandra carried some fresh holidays flowers...

The towering outer wall was filled with sarcophagi, some pristine, some decrepit, but life and time keeps going by just outside the gardens...

We stopped for a photo in front of the Policeman's Mausoleum...
And another of a deceased bombero, a fireman carrying an infant from danger...
After a long slow amble, reminiscing about our year in Uruguay, we came close to the caretakers quarters, where, apparently, some branches are not so sacred that they don't still have some practical purposes...
And, neither did some old tombstones, now forgotten or replaced, their fragments being used as stepping stones...
And then we left...

Big Men and Bigua...

2008-03-27T08:39:00.000-07:00

Being a Portland TrailBlazer loyalist, I couldn't help but stop this young man in front of Palacio Salvo, and capture his grin with his Rip City T-shirt. He was as surprised to be stopped as I was to see my team's logo walking around Montevideo. What a small world...
It was early March, I was getting the basketball "madness" that's famous in America--and I still hadn't gone to a Uruguayan basketball game. I really wanted to see one in their big indoor stadium, El Cerrado Cilindro Municipal, but it was closed for repairs...

I had played several times at a local gym--I'd just show up and get "gringo privileges", the old members just letting me play for free. Several of the guys were former pros in Uruguay--which isn't saying a lot--basketball skills here are still several notches below the typical player in the USA. Although, Uruguayans do play with much more teamwork and fundamentals--something that's been replaced with smack-talk and show-boating in my home country--but they do have a competitive spirit that is often more fiery and feisty than you might guess. Anyway, I was amazed to learn that one of the older men was on the Uruguay Olympic team in 1956--when the USA won gold, USSR won silver, and Uruguay won the bronze by beating France 71-62 in the consolation round...after losing to the USA 101-38 in the semifinals! But he did play against hall of famers and NBA legends Bill Russell and K.C. Jones!

Also, after starting work at the Uruguay American School, I became friends with Jeff Granger--Uruguay's most famous and endeared foreign player. Jeff is still playing in veteran leagues, coaching youngsters and running tournaments. He was one of the first Americans to play in Uruguay, starting in the late 70's, he played for almost two decades, and won multiple national championships. But, what's made him a household name--literally every cab driver or kid on the street knows his legacy--is his gracious personality and his embrace of Uruguay; besides his kind nature, Jeff also became a citizen earning a spot on the national team's roster! For me, he's a friend and an inspiration--his smile shines for all to share. I often joined the high school basketball practices, or played in faculty games against other schools...

This month Jeff was playing for Uruguay again, in the 50+ league in the South America's Cup. I went to the championship game against Brazil to support my foster country and my friend...

Jeff is running lay-ups with his team, while the opponents are gathering for their team photo--which is a big tradition in South America; they take a snapshot every game. They also traded small gifts of flags and shirts before tip-off...
Jeff had a slow start, but was also guarding Brazil's best player. And, in the third quarter, when his team needed a boost, Jeff scored several times, grabbing the momentum, before clamping down on defense through the fourth quarter, forcing overtime, and stealing the championship from Brasil...

Jeff's son is currently preparing to go pro himself, and the scouts see NBA potential...

I watched the game with another friend, Gustavo, who just happened to be at the game. He's one of the lead revelers after Uruguay's victory in this video I made...

The next week, the Uruguay League championships, a best of five series between Club Bigua and Club Hebraica y Macabi, was taking place. Bigua, with the two best foreign players in the country, Kevin Young and Mark Bortz, both American big men, dominated the series thus far with two 20+ point victories. Which was cool with me--Club Bigua is one block from our apartment in Punta Carretas, Leandra is a member their, and it's one of the best and most popular recreation centers in the city.

So, Bigua was like my team, my Uruguayan "Trailblazers". I went to Game 3, to see what was widely predicted to be the final game of the season...
Estadio Peñarol was the substitute for El Cilindro. News crews waited outside the side entrance...Mascots are rare in Latin America, but a "bigua" is an aquatic bird, like a duck, and his cartoonish personification was there rallying the crowd which was filled with kids and families just as raucous and boisterous as a the soccer games...
Club Hebraica y Macabi huddled up under their smaller balcony of fans...

The polished trophies, for first and second, were on display before the game...And, the obligatory force of cops was surrounding the court...

The stands erupted with screams and streamers as soon as the teams prepared to start, which was followed by five minutes of sweeping the spilled rolls and confetti to the sides--which was then followed by dozens of little kids wanting to play in the paper spaghetti and search for unspent spools of paper to throw later...
The cops seemed ambivalent to everything...
So did this cute kid--but we loved his T-shirt...
I sat with Hebert and John (right). John and his wife were in town visiting Uruguay and we spent a few afternoons showing them around Montevideo, and John asked to join me for the game. Hebert is an Uruguayo and part time tour guide I met in Ciudad Vieja. But his real job is radio commentator for the Uruguay basketball league. Tonight he was free of work because the radio station signed a contract to broadcast carnaval performances, and one conflicted with tonight's game. But, even more interesting, Hebert has travelled with Uruguay's Olympic basketball team several times. And, again, small world, he was in Portland, Oregon--at the same time I was there--in 1992 for the Olympic basketball qualifying tournament. That was the year the Dream Team played--Hebert met Micheal Jordan, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Clyde Drexler, and all the rest of that legendary team!...

Well, as Hebert predicted, Bigua easily won this game and their first Primera Liga championship...

Although the crowds are smaller and the caliber of play is a bit lower, the celebrations are no less enthusiastic. In fact, the crowd, knowing the game was over well before time ran out, rushed the court with a minute remaining! The midcourt mob was already moshing when the final buzzer sounded...

And after things calmed down in the stadium, the party continued in Club Bigua and the park by my apartment all night long...

Behold the basketball mania...

Cowboys And Coins...

2008-03-25T09:38:00.000-07:00

Another famous sculpture called "El Entrevero" by Jose Belloni graces the fountain in Plaza Fabini along Montevideo's main boulevard, 18 de Julio. We went for a stroll through downtown toward the old city to stumble across more of the hidden historical gems of the city we would soon be leaving...
In the right rear of this picture is the building that houses the Museo Gaucho and Museo Moneda--two museums for the price of one, so we trotted over there for a look. (jeje, puns--and that's how they spell 'hehe' down here!)
A closer look at the building...
An older look...
An even older look...
The ornate entrance, decked in onyx, oak and granite is just the beginning. Ascending into the interior is like stepping onto an Escher canvas, with banisters and stairs winding and combining into an optical illusion of elegance...
The uppermost floors are dedicated to the history of the gauchos, filled with every ornate buckle or saddle or knife or mate cup you can imagine. The primary floor holds a combination of paintings and a smaller museum that details the history of money throughout civilization, from ancient Roman coinage to today's Uruguayan currency. Meanwhile, the wonderful architecture is omnipresent, from the tiled floors to molded windows...

We recently learned that mate, the national beverage, was not nearly as popular as it is now--everyone in the city enjoys walking and talking with their thermos and yerba in hand. But, in the past, only the gauchos imbibed regularly...
The horses were decorated with as much pride as their masters...
From stirrups...
To spurs...
To bolas...
To daggers...
To drinking horns...
To metallic mate cups...
Downstairs, in the Museo Moneda, an antique balances its in equilibrium, much like the symbolic one on the Uruguay coat of arms...
Modern notes...
Ancient coins...
And commemorative brass plaques of Uruguay's first minted peso, with Artigas on one side, and the new coat of arms--including the scale for justice, the city's founding hill of Cerro, the horse for strength, and the bull for prosperity--on the other...

The Country's Poet...

2008-03-25T07:20:00.000-07:00

Twenty-five years into independence, a boy named Juan Zorrilla de San Martin was born in Montevideo. He grew up in Uruguay while the British were busily improving the cattle industry and helping the country's economy thrive. Zorilla was a highly educated, well respected, multi-faceted local luminary--a lawyer, poet, anthropologist and ambassador among other occupations--by the time that President Ordonez was elected in 1910. At this time, Uruguay's economy held first world status and the new visionary president was about to transform the cultural landscape into one of socially progressive modernism. Education, health care, and sufferage would become universal for all citizens...

During the height of Uruguay's renaissance and prominence, from 1910 to the 1930's, Zorrilla would spend his summers on the Rambla entertaining prominent guests as well as his family and friends. By then, his son, Jose, had become the preeminent sculptor of dozens of civic monuments. Palacio Legislativo would be complete and Palacio Salvo erected. The national soccer team would win gold in the 1924 and 1928 Olympics and the newly built Centenario Stadium would host the first World Cup, which Uruguay won in 1930. Even in death he continued to inspire, with parks, monuments, museums and schools all dedicated to his memory...

Regarded as one of Montevideo's greatest citizens, his summer home, just a few blocks from our apartment, is now Museo Zorrilla...

A self portrait in his latter years...
And one as a younger man, with a sculpture in front, created by his son...

Taking Freedom For Granite...

2008-03-25T06:57:00.000-07:00

Palacio Legislativo is the home of Uruguay's parliament, a bicameral body known as the General Assembly--it consists of an upper and lower chamber, 30 senators and 99 representatives respectively. The Legislative branch shares power with the Executive and Judiciary branches...

With one of the oldest two party democracies in the world, this humble republic has been a model for the governments of other countries...

The building itself is probably the most grandiose and gorgeous structure in Uruguay. We went to take the tour, and were fortunate to be guided by Mabel, the best possible tour guide. Not only has she lead the tours here for 30 years--starting when the military dictatorship was in power!--but she also primarily works as a translator for the government. So, she knew everything, and once she learned about Leandra and I, and our interest and affection for Uruguay, she gave us the extra-special in-depth not-everyone-gets-to-see-this tour filled with historical tidbits, architectural trivia and secret spots!

If you want the whole story, go to www.parlamento.gub.uy and, on the left, read the history of the Parliament, Palacio Legislativo, and their Constitution of the Republic. Each section is incredibly detailed and fascinating--just click the 'English version' under each section title...

Meanwhile, let me show you around inside...
Starting with the grand central hall, resplendent in colored granite--all quarried in Uruguay-- ornate columns and arches, mosaics and statues, and misty stain glass and skylights...

Leaving the main hall we entered...
A side chamber with two desks in alcoves for Uruguay's primary political parties--the Whites and Reds, los Blancos and los Colorados. They both preside over a central room with a grand meeting table resting on a Persian rug under a ceiling of gold leaf surrounded by paintings of famous leaders and events from Uruguay's history...

Today, however, the spectrum of political party membership is much more colorful than the two party system. In fact, several others, including socialists, communists, social democrats, Tupamaros, joined with the Frente Amplio party to claim a majority in the legislature and elect current president Tabaré Vázquez...

Next, we moved into...
The meeting halls of the two legislative bodies. First, we gaped at the chamber for the ninety-nine representatives--it's as impressive as any congressional hall in the world. Above the presiding chairs, carved in granite with huge golden letters are the now immortal words of the national hero, the great liberator who envisioned and inspired independence, General Jose Artigas:

"My authority emanates from you and it ceases before your sovereign presence"

Both halls are open to the public when in session...
To reach the senatorial chamber we had to cross theg reat central hall again, this time from the second floor...

And, halfway there, we came to the government's library and archives, also made available to the public..
In the centerpiece is a copy of a document that has General Artigas' signature...
Leaving the library, we entered the other congressional hall...

Mabel told us she would take us to the tunnel that leads under the streets outside to the Annex, where the Senators and Members of Congress have their offices--a special treat that normally is not part of the tour...
Along the way, we got to see the intricately decorated inner walls of Palacio Legislativo's courtyard...
And a close-up of the symbolic watchtower, supported by two dozen statues of Greek goddesses of justice...
The long subterranean tunnel is lined with historical photos on the right which give a walking slide show of the construction from the rural quarries, to the railways and barges that brought the materials to Montevideo, to the architects, engineers, and everyday workers that planned, positioned and polished every piece of this national treasure...

At the end of the long hall, we took an elevator to the fourth floor of the Annex for a glorious view across the bay...
Montevideo's only modern skyscraper, the Antel Building, towers between the old fort atop Cerro--a "mountain" that supposedly lead to the city's name. No one is sure, but there are two solid theories that smack of the conflict ridden history of this region:

1) It's from Portuguese for "I see a hill", or "monte vide eu"...
2) It's from the Spanish, whose map making navigators labeled this harbor according to the natural landmark, "Mountain 6 from east to west" or "Monte VI deo", the last three letters being "de este a oeste"
Then, the tour was over. After more than a year in Uruguay, we had finally seen the most magnificent building in the country...

We went outside for some final shots...

Mate First First Mate!...

2008-03-22T04:39:00.000-07:00

We went to the port of Montevideo where we found several naval relics from the past and present...Outside the port authority building, treasures that have been saved from sunken ships, like masts and cannons from centuries ago, sit in a safe dry monument garden...
Despite its humble appearance, any sailor knows the practical importance of a ship's bell--to sound the time, for meals or watch changes. But, the bells take on extra symbolism when they are from famous ships whose crews often died in battle. This one is from the HMS Ajax, the flagship of the twenty-five boat British fleet that hunted down the infamous Nazi pocket battleship, the Admiral Graf Spee. She was a fast Leander-class light cruiser of the Royal Navy, and on December 13th, 1939, the Ajax squared off with the superior German ship--the Third Reich's most famous boat beside the Bismark. Despite taking seven hits from the Graf Spee's guns, the Ajax and her support vessels inflicted more damage, forcing the wounded Graf Spee to seek repairs and refuge in neutral port of Montevideo...

This exchange is well chronicled and known around the world as the Battle of River Plate...
A few steps toward the wharf and we discovered El Capitan Miranda--Uruguay's historic naval training boat--which we first saw a year ago floating off of Punta del Este. We asked for permission to come aboard and the sailors, despite being busy prepping the ship for a trans-oceanic voyage, were more than proud to show off their ship to some curious gringos...
Several of the sailors spoke excellent English and walked us around her decks, cabins, mess, and even the bridge...
The current Uruguay Navy was moored nearby...
Built in 1930 as a cargo carrier, this ship became an Uruguayan survey vessel in the 1960's. In 1978 it became their naval training boat and also serves as an itinerant embassy for its country...
It is 64 meters long (205 feet) with a Staysail schooner's rigging and can do 10 knots...
It houses 80 to 90 sailors--five of those are currently women, all officers. Leandra was made an honorary crew member...
Our guide was a hospitable and well-spoken officer named Maximilian...
Despite having most of its original equipment and controls still in use, the bridge is also decked out with the latest in technology. Of course, a picture of the ship is on the desktop...
The shipmaster, or pilot, the third highest ranking officer on board, was present and working. The ship was covered with sailors painting and polishing every brass fixture or wood molding--they were preparing for a seven month journey to North America, Europe, and back...
We asked how much mate they would need for the trip. Our guide smiled, his eyes rolled back and he started thinking...

"Well, 80 crew members, most of which drink a kilo or two per week, let's see, that's about...well, a LOT of mate!"

I did the math--they are going to need 2000-3000 pounds of mate!

We thanked our hosts and walked down the gangplank waving goodbye. A few steps later, we discovered another small monument park, where the range finder and anchor of the Graf Spee were on display...
After three days to attempt repairs, the Graf Spee was forced, according to international maritime code, to leave port. Captain Hans Langsdorff, being a man of honor, not only released all of his British merchant marine prisoners in Montevideo, but followed the laws of war, and headed back into open water, where he knew that British guns were waiting to sink his still injured ship. Instead of sacrificing his crew, he saved them by scuttling his own battleship, before the British could destroy her. They all escaped to Argentina where the captain committed suicide...

The telemeter, or range finder, from atop the ship was recovered in February 2004. The entire ship--a navigational hazard just outside the harbor--is slowly being raised, funded both privately and by the Uruguay government, and the process is being filmed by famed director and producer James Cameron. According to plans, the ship will eventually be the prized piece in Uruguay's National Marine Museum...
The ship's anchor sits nearby...
In the same plaza sit two old pieces of steam-powered port cargo equipment, surely more colorful and quiet than they originally were...
It's likely that these machines, among millions of other items, helped move the thousands of tons of granite that were shipped here to build Palacio Legislativo, Uruguay's gorgeous parliament building...
With our last few steps Leandra and I found the dock where our future boat, the Star Princess would park on March 31--and we would embark on our journey home...

A Feria Nice Day...

2008-03-21T07:34:00.000-07:00

Most newcomers to Montevideo think that Mercado del Puerto is the best market in town. Truth is, every Sunday, the city's most marvelous outdoor market, Feria Tristan Narvaja, is held over twenty-five city blocks halfway down its main street, 18 de Julio.
Once you enter, you quickly disappear into a sunny sycamore-lined maze with walls of dilapidated outdated architecture , towering ornate doors and shuttered arched windows. Every possible item in town is on display, from antiques to asado, baubles to books, collectibles to candles, flowers to furniture, harware to hand-me-downs and produce to pets...

Join us on a walk through...

Living And Sharing...

2008-03-20T04:29:00.000-07:00

I was one and a half years old in October of 1972, just moving to Portland, Oregon, USA, with my family. Other than some crew and family, they were mostly young men from Uruguay, students and rugby players flying to Chile...

And, two months later, while I was recording my first faintest Christmas memories, they were embracing their families and friends--who had long considered them dead--after 72 days of suffering, surviving and sharing an ordeal that tested the human limits of life...

It was 1993 when Leandra and I first heard the story. The Hollywood version was in the movie theaters, played by famous actors, but we never knew that one day we'd meet the real men. Now, in a surprise twist of fate, our paths would cross with three survivors of this catastrophe. We would hear them speak, and we would see their eyes--still panged with those difficult memories as they retold the details. But, despite the pain, their wrenched souls, the burden of knowing what they saw, what they did, what they had to do--and what others might think--there is also a beautiful sense of pride hiding behind their glossy eyes. And, an exuberant child like joy glimmers when they recall one of the small victories, or the silent meditating moments alone in the sunny mountains, or hearing and then seeing the rescue helicopters. They lived, they survived, they continue to survive, and continue to bring that appreciation for life to others...

In the auditorium of the Uruguay American School, Eduardo and Adolfo Strauch, brothers on the left, and Daniel Fernandez shared the story with an audience that included an international collections of parents, students and guests, including the US Ambassador, Leandra and our good friend, Javier. Here are their pictures from 1972...

In short, their charted Uruguay Air Force plane was off course over the Andes when it clipped a peak at 4200 meters on October 13th. The wings were torn off, the tail section was lost along with some people, and the fuselage sailed like a rocket, skidding to a snowy stop on a mountain top. Of forty-five people aboard, seventeen were dead within a day, dying from the crash or mortal wounds. While they awaited rescue, the pitiful food supply of airplane snacks was rationed, but quickly depleted. Days passed. Water was collected. A transistor radio was found, and after the eighth day, they heard the search was over--they were presumed dead. On October 22nd, the grave realization was made that their was only one way to live. Eventually, after pacts and promises and prayers, everyone reluctantly took part. Then, on October 29th, an avalanche in the night buried the fuselage, killing eight of the twenty-seven, burying the dead and alive together inside the plane for three days. Throughout November, minor "expeditions" lead to discoveries of the tail section, suitcases, small amounts of food, cigarettes and some batteries, but attempts to repair and power the two-way radio failed. On December 12th, two survivors began a what would be a ten day walk west before being found by a Chilean farmer. By December 23rd, all sixteen survivors had been helicoptered from the crash site...

Here's our video tribute to their story...

During their presentation, it occurred to us that this miraculous story may not have come true, if the people involved were not from Uruguay. Javier concurred and said many people have made the same comment. Having lived here, learning about Uruguayans, it seems that certain cultural characteristics may have helped them survive. First, Uruguayans are strong, being hardy in spirit and body--they know adversity but also have remarkable optimism, which they call "garra Charrua", the "win or die fighting" attitude. Second, they are familial, united, with a deeply rooted brotherhood that makes them such a wonderfully friendly and unified culture. Third, Uruguayans are incredibly resourceful, often making or repairing things without having the proper parts or tools--in this ordeal alone, they created water melting mechanisms, hammocks and clothes, radios and sleeping bags, shoes and signals, and of course, finding food when there was none. On the other hand, many of them had never known snow or its hidden dangers, had never experienced extended sleep deprivation, altitude sickness or sub-zero temperatures--but instead, came from a life of warm beaches, palm trees, and the "tranquilo" streets of Montevideo...

I recommend you visit the official website, read the detailed story yourself, watch one of several films,or purchase one of the many books that retells the triumphs and tragedies...

At the end of the presentation, they took questions from the audience. With a nervous pulse, I raised my hand, and asked about the moment the men who walked out first encountered another person. But, before I did, I said, "Thank you for living, and thank you for sharing." While the others waited for the translator to rephrase my question in Spanish, Adolfo, apparently being bilingual, looked right at me with a small smile, and nodded...

A Stay In Punta Del Este...

2008-03-12T04:23:00.000-07:00

Soon after driving northwest, we headed northeast, where we had reservations at the Conrad Hotel and Casino--a last, luxurious chance to see Punta del Este...No, we didn't take a helicopter tour--I borrowed this photo from the hotel website...
This one too! Unfortunately, the weather was completely uncharacteristic for late Uruguayan summer--completely socked in with clouds and drizzling rain...
But, for two nights, we did have an excellent room with magnificent views...
And we decided to concentrate our efforts on fine food and relaxation...
A year ago with Justo, we lounged on this pier watching boys high dive into the sea, wondering if we would ever get a chance to stay at the Conrad...
Perhaps some of the same boys were enjoying this game of beach soccer along Playa Mansa...
A cruise boat and Isla Goritti were slowly hidden by the fog...
With the help of the concierge we honed in on some marvelous restaurants, most of which are down by the marina and yacht club, where hundreds of wealthy people mingle over cocktails and moor their boats...
As we sat for lunch at an outdoor table, a woman--who was either very rich or vending fashionable leather purses--caught the curious eyes of both us and a parking man...
Lunch on day one was a classic: chivitos, papas fritas, and an ice cold Pilsen...
On day two, at another classy afternoon eatery, the salmon and tuna sushi was divine...
And so were the grilled giant prawns...

We walked the Rambla...
A troupe of girls were gathering with a photographer, undoubtedly celebrating a "15th birthday", a huge tradition in Uruguay that involves extravagant all-day parties...
A lone fisherman tested the stormy seas...
And so did this snowy minnow-eating egret...
Along Playa Brava, Punta del Este's seaward side, stood a bronze statue of a bull and woman...
And, of course, the hand in the sand, La Mano, the iconic sculpture of this famous resort city...
Back at the hotel, we tested the third floor jacuzzi and pool of the hotel...
Leandra read and relaxed in the warm water...
While I swam and discovered the mosaic on the bottom of the pool...
At night, lights illuminated the scene. The Casino is actually underneath this terraced outdoor recreation area...
The fog got thicker, but only made the nightscape more wonderful. After early evenings of wine on the deck, we found more amazing restaurants for romantic dinners...
Some included calamari carpaccio and crab cakes on the shell...
Our first dessert was an array of all things dulce de leche...
The next night, fois gras and fresh fish hors d'oeuvres were served...
Before entrees of lobster...
And medallions of chicken...
Our last meal in Punta del Este, at this world class French restaurant was impeccable...
And so was the sampling of chocolate desserts...

Termas Of Endearment...

2008-03-11T13:39:00.000-07:00

We hopped in our car and left Paysandú before noon. We had to drive an hour north, almost reaching Salto--Uruguay's second largest city--before turning down another gravel road to reach Las Termas de San Nicanor, another famous Uruguayan estancia that also has thermal pools.
The entire northwest region of Uruguay is dotted with hot springs that landowners have converted into attractive tourist destinations, surrounding them with lavish, rustic or basic accommodations for travelers.
As we rolled along, palm tree and eucalyptus clusters offered shady respites to some of the country's twelve million cows and thirty million sheep. We saw the Blocker microbrewery, spun around and pulled in for a picture, nothing more, tours wouldn't start until afternoon.
Continuing down the highway under some murky dark clouds, large fuzzies began skittering across the street, nimbly avoiding the tires of cars and trucks. At first, we didn't recognize them, but slowing down, we saw the furry bodies, limber eight legs, and black eyes: tarantulas, who hoped to avoid drowning in their burrows. We also passed a frisky herd of cows at a watering hole, and giggled at their silly mooing an wooing.
A construction worker, in the middle of nowhere on the empty road casually stopped us with his red flag, then stared off into the bushes for a spell, before moving a pilon and waving us past. Then, after a dozen kilometers of red dirt and gravel and an ambush by a grasshopper, we found the entrance to San Nicanor.
A long drive lead around a pond fringed in lily pads and pink white water flowers. After a gaucho's wife answered some questions at the central food hall near the pools, we wound up a muddy road, around another lake to our lodging--a faded adobe red villa among the estancia ranch houses, where gauchos did work under hidden leather brims while flocks of peacocks patrolled the grounds with an occasional croon and the inferior pheasants.
We met "Mo Mo", the owner, who, hosting an afternoon tea with some other guests in the breakfast hall, quickly showed us our room and bid us welcome and free range of her ranch. We thanked her, and after the familar luggage flop, we took liberty to give ourselves the tour of the old home and its historic features and furniture.
Then, we returned to the eating area, where guests nonchalantly gathered for a leisurely late lunch of lamb and an assortment of fresh and grilled vegetables. Water, bottled from the same free sources that fill the thermal pools, came in tall cool clear bottles. We added a liter of Blocker for extra flavor.
As we ate, we watched an array of colorful birds--parrots, woodpeckers, cardinals, swallows, egrets, falcons and others. Then we wandered the gardens and grounds, following the tiled paths between buildings and pools, before claiming a bench under the unpredictable clouds, and taking our first soothing soak.
Except us, the estancia was soon deserted of tourists although we could tell that this place is accustomed to having hundreds enjoying their rural atmosphere and steaming baths. Rusted farm equipment from days gone by posed as sculpture between the flowering palms, campsites and assorted structures. Distant lakes looked like clouds on the ground.
After an hour we were completely relaxed. We went back to our villa, returning to our room to take the requisite siesta on our antique hand built bed. Waking up, we decided to explore the farm's fields and buildings. We started by moseying down a long two rut road that lead through a tunnel of sycamores and juniper.
The symphony of outdoors sounds--birds, buzzing things, and the breeze mixed with occasional sounds of gaucho work--eventually became an unnoticeable white noise, broken rudely by the alarmed caw of neck stretching peacocks, or maybe a long, worried moo.
We found subtle viewpoints that looked over wire fences with natural wood posts, staring across the grazing herds who moved without moving, like a sunflower, almost imperceptibly, as heads would dip, chew, rise, take a step and repeat.
A dog joined us, one of those clearly clever cowhands that immediately illustrated that it was the king of the farm animals, nipping at any quadruped we passed--seemingly just for the fun of it, or the power trip. Despite trying to mind their own business, horses, cows, and sheep kept a keen eye on the policing pooch, who would bark and mush them on for no reason. However, a leg rubbing cat who also sought our affection, was treated more like a playmate than a wayward four legged duty to attend to, resisting all attempts by the dog to be playful with that leave-me-alone blank feline stare.
Now in our own little man-woman-cat-dog herd, we walked around--dog trotting ahead to check things out, cat trickling underfoot, purring--stumbling across all kinds of estancia treasures: a freshly cleaned sheep skin stretched by wires on a fence, a bewitching hen coop hiding under three spooky ombu trees, mushrooms happily nesting in a cow paddy, some perfect peacock tail feathers in the grass, horses grazing freely after the morning's work,
horned skulls on a rusty gate, a small flock of nappy brown and white sheep, a warm swampy pond where wetland birds and nocturnal amphibians hid from sight but not our ears. Eventually we meandered back to the pink house circled in arches and its private pool that faced east, to the dusk developing behind the clouds.
We opened our reserve bottle of Falcone anniversary wine on the veranda, with two glasses stolen from the breakfast building and another transparent bottle of cool water. We lounged around the warm water, getting in and out on any whim. The natural orchestra played in our ears, until the sun set, pink, then purple.
At night, we revisited the food hall, having steak, potatoes and flan dessert while under the outdoor tables, giant frogs gorged and belched on the suicidal bugs that fell from the nearby flood lights. Ironically, fire flies flickered in the trees, being far smarter--and less eaten--than their unenlightened insect cousins. As we took a night walk on the long way back to our room, we found "Mo Mo" meditating alone in the mist of a perfectly still steaming pool. And, after a long, deep sleep followed by a silent sunrise alarm, we waded into the breakfast hall, alone with our biscuits, coffee and freshly harvested honey--except for the peacocks occasionally passing and staring, cock-necked in the open entrance, before crooning and high-stepping out of sight. We took another walk around the grounds in late morning, repeating yesterday's walk, but backward. In a distant pasture, we could see ñandu jog in a flock--even after a year, we have yet to get a good close look at Uruguay's native rhea. Before packing our bags we managed one last soak in the villa's private pool, a hot blue rectangle of geothermal liquid and vapors, then we waved goodbye...

On the drive home, we found the factory of Leandra's favorite yogurt, Claldy, in the town of Young. Further on, before reaching more downpours on the horizon, we drove the bridge that crosses the lakes of the dammed Rio Negro, Montevideo's main source for power and water. Eventually, we came to the Montevideo department toll booth, the last "peaje" of three, and sixty minutes later, we were home...

Here's the same story in pictures...

A Piece of Paysandú...

2008-03-07T09:35:00.000-08:00

Zipping north across the grassy green waves, we landed in Paysandú, Uruguay's third largest city of about 100,000 people...
It's located along the Rio Uruguay, tribuatary to Rio de la Plata, midway up the country's western edge, where the General Artigas Bridge crosses to Argentina...

But we were headed for Plaza Constitución, the main town square...
We parked among more colorful cars before hefting our bags into Casa Grande, the town's best hotel...
And, "con suerte", with luck, we were given the best room with a private deck over the rear gardens. If you plan on going, ask for room number ten...
Our estancia host, Anne, had arranged for a personal historical guide to meet us at the hotel, and our tour began in the plaza where a statue of General Leandro Gomez stands, towering over a fountain and a subterranean mausoleum where his ashes are entombed. In 1865, he lead the Uruguayan military in a famous defense against an invasion by the Portuguese. Although the city never conceded, the heroic general was executed by the occupying forces...
Nearby, a young citizen of Paysandú--maybe...maybe three years old--proudly enjoyed her silver cup, bombilla, and herbal tea of mate...
Across the street, outside the town basilica, sat a large brass bell, willingly forged in 1689 by Guarani Indians who had been converted by Jesuit missionaries. It once hung in the wooden tower of a humble adobe chapel, and was rung when Uruguay signed its constitution July 18, 1830...
The town cathedral was built in 1860, added a clock tower in 1880, a new altar in 1881, new frescoes in 1898, and a marvelous Walker organ--a rare 24 register 3 keyboard instrument with over 1750 pipes--all after surviving the Portuguese assaults of 1865...

We enjoyed a tourist sign of sunblockers and mate-swappers as much as the billboard encouraged us to "Enjoy the new beaches of the Uruguay River"...
We walked down main street, which had an unusually unique bustle under the cluster of protruding signs--it's not the usual subdued appearance of other small Uruguayan towns. We quickly noticed that most commuters chose motorcycles, mopeds and bicycles, and long lines of two wheelers would form a skirt along the curbs, leaning on their kickstands like dominoes frozen in motion...
The performing arts center also began construction in 1860, opened in 1876, and was renamed in 1921 for one of Uruguay's famous writers...
The current Police Headquarters served as the command post during the seige of 1865...
Inside, an elegant marble sculpture that appears to be a well, actually lead to a tunnel...
...where people could escape into a underground network. Now, the room below the courtyard keeps police and military relics safe...

After our walk, we took a drive through town, seeing more historic, industrial, recreational and commercial sites, eventually idling along the Rio Uruguay where fishing boats bobbed, boys jumped from the piers, and in the distance floated the faint elevated line that is actually the cantilever international bridge named for Uruguay's most famous historic figure, their liberator, José Gervasio Artigas, whose main span is just over a kilometer long...
The final stop on the tour was the Leonardo Falcone Winery...
The current matron is Rosa and she, along with her husband and daughter, showed us around her family business, built in 1886 by the Italian immigrant great-grandparents...
The original grape press still sits in the welcoming lobby--Rosa joked that they don't know how it's still in one piece after seeing decades of dust. Locals steadily dripped in, saying their "holas" and "buen dias" before filling their re-usable containers with red wines from a selection of giant jars...
As one of the oldest and most elite vinters in Uruguay, the walls were covered with awards for every variety: chards, cabs, blancs, merlots, malbecs, and of course, the regional specialty, tannats...
It was harvest time, so most of the modern vats were filled with fermenting juice...
Others were being cleaned for the late harvest grapes. This guy was inside the monstrous metal can spraying down the walls with a massive pressurized hot water hose--like working in a gargantuan inside out shower...
Outside, the full leaves matched the landscape and contrasted with the colorful clay homes and gray skies...
A modern press was busy turning hand selected grapes into liquid, and spitting out the skins...
Palettes were stacked with wines, ready for transport, both nationally and abroad...
Speaking of bottles, Leandra threw me her "Magnum" look--a highly sophisticated modeling maneuver that only the greats, like Zoolander can perform--as we strolled into the tasting room, where breads, meats, cheeses, reds and whites were breathing--or should I say, taking their last breath?--before we would skewer them with toothpicks, or pour them in thin glasses, swooshing and sniffing them before swallowing...

We bought a bottle of their 120 year anniversary wine that came in an ornate hand carved and crafted box with a fired painted tile on top...

Later that night, we had reservations at Los Tres Pinos, "The Three Pine Cones", the town's best parilla, for a mouth watering steak dinner in the outdoor courtyard...

(I've put in so many pictures of my beautiful wife smiling over our most amazing meals--well, now you know why...Mmmmmm, gulp!)
We strolled the streets back to the hotel and found the city lights bathing the basilica...

And, as we sleep walked down the sycamore paths to the Gomez monument, the previously still fountain spit and squirted to life. ...

It sure is tough touring all the time, but some one has to do it. Thank goodness tomorrow's stop is an even more remote estancia just south of Salto surrounded by open countryside, spotted with cows and horses, birds, lakes, palms, and, most importantly, hot steaming thermal pools...

Ganadores III

2008-03-07T08:49:00.000-08:00

Click on the comic for a closer look!

La Paz The Salto Please...

2008-03-06T10:34:00.000-08:00

It's late February, and with a month remaining, the clock is ticking to absorb as much of Uruguay as we can, so...

We headed to western Uruguay for three days of estancias, vineyards, and thermal pools...

Our route was north from Montevideo through San Jose, Trinidad, Young towards Salto. Our first stop was just south of Paysandú where would stay at Estancia La Paz...After a year without "wheels", it was liberating to be in the driver's seat again, with four hours of open road...
We hit some wet spots along the way, but the Uruguay highway system is well maintained...
...even if their traffic laws are a little looser--we passed this family in Trinidad...
The drive was beautiful. The typical scenes of soft rolling hills spotted with bovines were mixed with various crops and grottos of palm trees under perfect conditions for rainbows--dark clouds showering in the distance and beams of sunlight piercing through to the surface...
We came across occasional construction crews--these workers, like all Uruguayos, smiled and waved as we slowly crossed a bridge repair project and pointed our little digital image grabber at them...

After hours of smooth pavement, the last ten miles was down a gravel spur road. Then, we reached the entrance to the estancia--a long driveway of sycamores that formed a natural tunnel over us, with fenced pastures on both sides...

We were the lone guests this night, adding an extra sense of ownership and tranquility to our stay, as we explored and enjoyed the grounds all alone. Our host, herself a member of the proprietor family, gave us the best room, at the end of the upper floor of the lodge...
Surrounded by butterfly filled gardens, orchards and grape vines, a windmill slowly turned overhead as horses grazed nearby and gauchos performed their daily tasks...
It was afternoon, and we were soon seated for a traditional lunch of estancia steak, fresh chutney, and creamy mashed potatoes...
After a dessert of poached pear in champagne, we went for a gentle walk around the grounds...
Cacti and ivy shrouded century old structures...
A pool and tennis court sat silent and still under the water tower and cobble walkway...
...and the windmill posed as a flower trellis dripping with bumble bee and hummingbird bait...
Outside the main confines, through a dale, stood a modest chapel. It's doors creaked open with a push, and we made the organ hum some long, churchy chords as we worked the foot pedals that pushed air through its pipes...
Long before light bulbs, this chapel held weddings, baptisms, and communions. Later we would learn its name, Chapel of the Good Shepard, named for the stain glass window over the altar...
The sun began setting as we removed and replaced the wire that held shut the grazing yard gate. We mingled with the mares that nibbled the green grass under the purpling skies. Lightning too far off to make thunder flickered on the horizon...
Inside the community hall we found a fireplace and dozens of relics from decades past...
Outdoor banquet tables waited under a vine roof by the grill. A skunk snuck by as we sat for dinner just inside the double doors...
A picture history of the estancia's family history hung on the wall...
And a more practical collection of cowboy knick knacks were nailed to another...

During dinner, between dishes, Ann told us more about Estancia La Paz...

In 1857, an Englishman named Richard B. Hughes bought the land from it's Spanish owners, changing the name from El Rincón to La Paz, to reflect the peaceful setting. During the mid 1800's, many British moved to Uruguay, improving the cattle and salt industries, and through their export, made the national economy thrive. Cottage architecture evolved into homesteads that included lookouts where owners, using a light and mirror, could communicate quickly about dangers across the long expanses of Uruguay's terrain--to report on lost or sick livestock or to warn about wandering ne'er-do-wells. For a century, the church served as a local social center for both religion and business. In the 1960's the Wynaux family, of Dutch descent, purchased the property from the Hughes heirs. Twenty years ago, Ann's family opened the estancia to tourism...
After dinner, Leandra and I returned to our room to find the sheets turned down and on our pillow, a chocolate mint and a lavender sprig. We lit the candles ourselves...

In the morning, after a breakfast of bread and honey, coffee and tea, we strolled the grounds again before taking a last dip in the pool and watching the doves and sparrows chirp and flit about...

Then, we thanked Ann and left, raising a thin dusty cloud as we drove down the drive...

Carnaval Y Candombe...

2008-02-25T05:30:00.000-08:00

For many Uruguayos, the highlight of carnival season are the Llamadas--the seemingly infinite parades of candombe groups, flag wavers, floats, dancers and traditional characters that each represent their own barrios in a comptetion to see who is the best. Last year we caught a glimpse from curbside, fighting through the crowds...

This year, we were invited to one of the exclusive roof top parties where a premium view comes with drinks and food. Our host was Luis, a friend and owner of Montevideo's newest and best hostel, the Palermo Art Hostel. Javier came along and we arrived to find a group of excited locals, tourists, and and friends waiting to make the short walk through the Palermo neighborhood to the party...Outside the hostel, I met Raul, Luis' friend and professional photographer. Uruguayos are always eager to share their mate...
An hour before sundown, a lost drummer hustled down the street looking for his troupe...
Moments later, everyone walked to the venue, entered someone's house, climbed their stairs, then a ladder through a crawlspace entrance to the roof, and we found ourselves at a fully catered fiesta...
Besides all of the wine, beer, and liquor you could want, delicacies like foie gras with fresh bread were served...
Meats, cheeses, pastas and salads were regularly replentished by the wait staff...

And, of course, the asador kept barbecue beef coming all night. This man was such a master with meat, that I unknowingly enjoyed numerous tidbits of intestine, thymus glands, and kidney, having mistaken it for sausage and steak....Mmmmmm...
Meanwhile, this was the point of the party: to have a perfect view of the oncoming parade...

The "mani" man, selling his sugar coated peanuts made rounds between groups, while kids danced around and sprayed unknown foamy stuff from aerosol cans at any parade participant. It's quite the tradition for kids to kick, smack, slap or spray people--especially the floats, flag carriers or anyone in costume--that are performing in the parade...

Floats came early, but most of the parade were competitive candombe groups lead by their flag bearers and dancers...
Javier and Nico, the son of Ramon, owner of the El Fortin Hotel that we visited a week earlier. Montevideo truly is a town that looks like a city--everywhere you go, you see people you know. Even, if you are a couple gringos that have only lived here a year...

The feathered and sequined dancers, the baton twirler, the old man and woman, all lead the drummers...

More friends we barely know appear at the party. There names are forgotten, but we had dinner with them half a year ago in Punta del Diablo with Brian and Heidi. After this picture, without warning, the skies openend up and unleashed a torrential tropical downpour...

But soon the rain stopped, and the party did not. And neither did the parade...
Enjoy the parade...

Cómo Se Dice "Groundhog"?

2008-02-21T10:08:00.001-08:00

Apparently, the word doesn't exist in Spanish...
February 2 is one of Leandra's favorite holidays. It's Groundhog Day in the USA. Around America, on this special occasion rodents called Marmota monax,--also known as woodchucks, whistlepigs, and land beavers-- are unsuspectingly ripped from their dens, snatched by zookeepers and snuggled by town mayors in an ill-conceived effort to predict the coming of spring or continuance of winter based on the appearance or absence of the varmint's shadow...

I still can't figure out what it would mean for those of us in the southern hemisphere...

This year in Uruguay, Groundhog's Day was going to be extra special. By some cosmic coincidence, this is also the day that pagan Uruguayans gather at the beach to worship Iemanja--the goddess of the sea. On top of that, soccer rivals Nacional and Peñarol were scheduled to play the first "classic" of the season, "El Classico", which means Centenario Stadium brimming with chanting, flag waving, flare burning fans...

This Saturday started normally enough: breakfast, work, lunch, checking some emails. Around seven we started the long slow walk down the Rambla to Playa Ramirez, in front of Parque Rodo, the most popular place for the Iemanja festivities. Along the way, we passed the Holocaust Monument--the only one in all of Latin America. While not large, Montevideo has a visible Jewish population whose history dates back as far as 1770, with gradually bigger immigration movements occurring in the 1880's, 1920's and post-World War II era. In December, a large menorah was one of many holiday decorations in Punta Trouville park near Playa Pocitos...

The monument itself is a 120 meter wall set along the water that symbolizes Jewish history before and after the war. Two plaques of dedication mark the exit...

Walking backward in time, the wall represents the post-war return to peace, before coming to plaques that describe the horrible outcomes of the holocaust. A small bridge crosses a chasm...
This chaotic gap represents the period of Nazi atrocities that threw Jews into a world of fear, confusion, and suffering. Prior, is the long slow descent toward World War II while the wall still represented order and peace...
The monument's entrance is marked with a simple slab describing its purpose. Between this sign and the esplanade walkway of the Rambla, one hundred feet of green grass hide railroad track that represent the trains that lead to the concentration camps, and now lead people to the memory lane of the monument...

It was a beautiful day. The sun glinted off the wind blown river and shone through a warm breeze. As we continued on, we came to our first set of Iemanja worshippers. Apparently, long white flowing robes, gowns, blouses and pants, along with turban like head wraps are the proper dress, along with combinations of blues and seashell jewelry...

Our first encounter was with two dozen people standing on a cement dock where the waves meet rock. With eyes squinting, hands open and out in a "thank you" posture, they stood there happily soaking up the spray with their clothes, and letting waves rush through their shoes...
Soon, they began returning to shore with empty baskets of spent offerings. Apparently, prolonged sea goddess worship might lead to hypothermia or influenza...
Iemanja--whose name is spelled and pronounced many different ways--is the sea goddess from the Yoruba religion, a West African religion brought over with slaves to the New World. Typically, she is a beautiful woman rising from the sea, protecting sailors and shipwreck survivors, and bringing all of the seas benefits and bounty to mankind...
This small group appeared quite serious, as they were observing their beliefs privately, enjoying the solitude far from the main celebration further down the shore. Afterwards, the high priest looked ready to go worship the god of warm showers...

Meanwhile, at the beach named Playa Ramirez, the crowds were thickening, stalls were set up to sell the numerous offerings that Iemanja appreciates, while music, dancing, sand sculpting and candle burning were happening everywhere. A small boy in the corner of the bay, worked hard, repeatedly, to push his styrofoam boat and it's cargo of offerings out to sea, but a steady onshore wind prove stronger than his desire to please Iemanja...

A statue of the goddess was surrounded by worshipers, who took turns thanking her and giving her gifts of white and blue things--mostly flowers, fruits, candles, perfume and any objects to appease female vanity like combs, mirrors, soaps and beauty products...
Although it was a mild night, only in the mid 70's and breezy, several normally cold-a-phobic Uruguayos were shoulder deep in the wind driven surf...
While others crowded the beach which already had a thick line of white and blue styrofoam flotsam as all of the attempted offerings were quickly deposited back on shore. "Iemanja is angry with us!", "No! She is happy with us and has returned our gifts in gratitude!", "Yes! She loves us, so we must show our appreciation by drinking the river water!", "No! We have insulted her with our small offerings--we must give more watermelon, candles and shampoo!"...
One simple tradition is lighting candles--but with such a steady breeze, a solid protective shelter must first be built...

Iemanja effigies were everywhere as everyone had their own interpretation of her indescribable beauty. As we walked along the beach, it was like a make shift contest of sand sculpture to see who could build a better shrine to worship from. And, people continued to walk out into the waves in a stupor of gratefulness...
Many of the would-be boats to deliver ocean going offerings were quickly dismantled and turned into decoration...
Young generations of water worshipers were quick to learn the ancient ways of yesteryear, and carry on the tradition...
Flower vendors and candle makers compared theories on Iemanja's powers while a rather large worshiper, with rather large pantaloons, with a rather large boat, seemed rather lost, his expression seeming to say, "Can anyone point me to the Iemanja asado?"...
Meanwhile, candombe drummers disguised as Yoruba followers sang and played on the beach wall over a group of dedicated dancers who spun around their offering covered altar--when they weren't busy handing out blue and white cups of who-knows-what to the onlookers...

As Iemanja oversaw the proceedings, the ceremonies started. Multiple high priests had scratched out plots in the sand where they could offer blessings to people low on sea goddess power. Some groups would be forming great circles of worship around their Iemanja sand castle, sending one member at a time around the circle in a semi-possessed trance. A lot of hand shaking, hip twisting, spinning, and a dizzying amount of neck rolling is involved. Other groups simply became infatuated with improving their Iemanja monuments with more and more soap bar decorations or watermelon or candles or designs drawn with hair conditioner...

Eventually, the sun began to set, making the scene even more weird and wonderful. The events would go on--like all Uruguayan celebrations--well past midnight, and likely until dawn...
And, although we needed to leave for the soccer game, it was fun to be part of the Iemanja festival, and imagine the candle lit boats trying to make their way on the river at night. Of course, tomorrow, the beaches would be covered in all the garbage as it invariably washes ashore...Oh well! Hooray for Iemanja, the sea goddess!

We got to the game just before kickoff...
Flares were already raging in both endzone sections, where the rowdiest of the crowds chant and drum throughout the game...
Despite this exuberant pre-game display by the black and yellow supporters of Peñarol, Nacional won this time. But the teams would play again--oddly enough--in a week. And, Peñarol would have seven new players, purchased from other countries, to bring back the former glory of the Carboñeros...

After the game, Leandra and I had a late Groundhog Day dinner at Tranquilo Bar--well, "late" if you're a gringo, "early" if you are Uruguayo--of sorentinos, ravioles, and a bottle of wine. Again, like Christmas and New Years, this holiday, this Groundhog's Day, filled with more combined culture and tradition than you can possibly muster back in the US, will always be one of the most unique memories we take with us...

Música 101

2008-02-21T03:35:00.000-08:00

"When the music changes, so does the dance" ~African Proverb

Before the beginning of Uruguay's Carnival season--which lasts for 40 or more days from February to mid March, making it the longest celebration in the world--we were invited to El Milongon, a first class milonga, for a steak dinner and tango show. The words "tango" and "milonga" both derive from African languages, much like the origins of carnival. The musical style itself is a fusion of Native American and European influences set to an uptempo 2/4 beat that is shrouded in syncopation. This genre developed simultaneously around the Rio de la Plata in the 1800's, in both Uruguay and Argentina. The most famous tango, "La Cumparsita", was written by in Montevideo by Gerardo Rodríguez Sotelo, although the lyrics were later added by poets from Argentina. We all recognize this song after the first few notes--it's just another way that unknown Uruguay is a bit more historically ubiquitous than you might know...
Both inside and out, the restuarant and theater were adorned in soft colors, cursive script, and wrought iron sculptures of old men from days gone by...
Candles filled the niches of the rubble and concrete walls. A tannat wine--the specialty of the growing Uruguayan wine industry--was the only choice of accompaniment for dinner...
Singers appeared first, crooning about the love of their life that was lost to another lover, or some other variant on the traditional tragedy...
Tango couples, in fishnet stockings and slick hats, appeared through doors and down staircases, stopping to stare into each other's eyes, posing like stautes, before bursting into the kicks and spins that characterize this passionate style...
Live music of Spanish stings, horns, accordion and piano cascaded from the upper corner...

After a half dozen tango numbers of song and dance, we were surprised to see another genre emerge on stage: the musical traditions of gauchos. We learned that this famous South American cowboy culture, renowned for it's proud dress and horse handling prowess, also has strong musical heritage. The dance style involved more clapping and stomping to a steady rhythm, and most reminiscent of an older style of Spanish baroque, folk, or even square dance. It was very percussive, and part was performed with both men and women taking turns beating some big drums while the others performed...

And then, the Carnival history lesson began. Throughout the lively performance the leader explained the history of the traditional parade characters in Uruguay's celebrations. First, came the flag bearer--one of many who leads each neighborhood's group of performers--waving his flag, tossing it and catching it, to the delight of the outstretched hands of children. Second come at least four types of dancers: the baton twirler, the old woman, the old man, and the exotic girls. And third, the candombe drummers, pounding out a rhythm as they march and move the troupe forward like a musical army...While the old African woman dances gently, waggling her well dressed behind, fanning her broad smile...
The bearded old man moves like a rickety rocking chair, regularly planting his cane while putting a hand on an apparently arthritic hip...
The candombe players are called a "cuerda". They have four drums: chico (small, high timbre, marks the tempo), repique (medium, syncopation and improvisation) and piano (large, low timbre, melody), and bajo or bombo (very large, very low timbre, accent on the fourth beat). Again, the origins of this tradition are African, but unlike carnival and tango, the candombe style is unique to Uruguay...

And, of course, the scantily clad women, in glittering outfits of sequins and feathers, wiggle and giggle all around, waving and blowing kisses to the crowds...

We always learn more and more about this amazing country...

"Experience, travel--these are as education in themselves" ~Euripedes

Bar, Bar, Bar, Bar , Bar, Bar And...

2008-02-19T07:38:00.000-08:00

Our return to Punta del Diablo would be noticeably different. It's summer now versus our winter visit six months ago. Back then, we were among a dozen inhabitants of the entire town and the beaches were ours to wander in solitude. And, we met new friends, Brian and Heidi, a young couple following a dream, to build a first class hostel and bar...

Now the beaches were packed. Surfers and sunbathers sipping mate and slicked up in sunblock were scattered across the crescent bay beach. Nightlife raged past sunrise. And, our friends dream had come true--El Diablo Tranquilo was built and booming with business....

The corner suite was reserved for us--with fireplace, private bath, and upper decks adorned in swinging chairs and sweeping views. But, with only one night in town, we didn't mess around, and immediately went to visit the bar and restaurant, the beaches, and wander the town until sunset...
Welcome to El Diablo Tranquilo Hostel...
Wonderful boardwalks lead down to the restaurant, the indoor/outdoor bar, and down to the water...
But before going for a walk down the beach and through town, we made sure Brian and Heidi took a brief break from their demanding duties to let us catch up on life and sample their services...
The small fishing boats that are the icons of Punta del Diablo were still idle, but now were surrounded beach-goers...
The view from a dune above Playa Brava, the southern beach were breakers hit the sand hard...

A long lazy late afternoon of wandering and watching the waves from our suite, soon became an early evening. We decided to dine at nearby restaurant with, what else, steak and wine...We were surprised to learn that the cook was the president of the Uruguay's Association of Chefs. Not surpisingly, dinner and dessert was delicious. And, after a walk under the stars we snuggled into sleep...

Sunrises in Uruguay are always epic as the the light explodes across thousands of miles of ocean. This morning, we strolled through town again--there's nothing else to do in this quaint fishing town--and snapped more pictures of interesting sights and sites...

By noon, we found a rustic pizza shack on main street, and watch the local movers trot their cart back and forth with supplies for the clusters of pubs, shops, stalls and restaurants, that line the packed dirt waterfront road...Punta del Diablo is known as one of the best surfing spots in Uruguay. The waves in the bay are long, smooth arcs refracting around the point that juts into the sea. The results are consistent, mild pulses of perfect two meter waves over a sandy beach...

Meanwhile, a couple fishing boats actually trolled out to into the Atlantic to scoop up some fresh food--undoubtedly for the hordes of hungry tourists who were packing the town...

At the end of our afternoon, we waited for our bus by enjoying the umbrella shade on the El Diablo Tranquilo deck. Just watching people play...
We got a shot of Brian and Heidi's staff as we waited for our friends to join us for a final lunch...
Today's menu included lemon-soaked calamari, muscles, fish, salads, baby squid and cerveza...

Meeting Brian and Heidi is one of the many blessings of friendship that Leandra and I have found during our year abroad. Like us, this young couple has thrown away their inhibitions and are pursuing the dream of living abroad--something that many people talk about but never find the courage to do. And, although it's never easy starting a new business, it does amaze us that they have accomplished so much in such a short time, with two buildings, dozens of employees, and hundreds of happy customers...

As we rolled our luggage across the dirt roads of town, to the "open air" bus terminal--really, just the first intersection into town, where dozens of dusty hungover youngsters leaned on their backpacks and sleeping bags--it was a bit bittersweet. Sure, we will always have email, but we may not return here, ever. But, if we do, we know we will find our memories of friends and sunrises and stars and sandy feet...

And, if you decide to go to this hidden gem on Uruguay's coast, be sure to find Brian and Heidi, and tell them Adam and Leandra send "hellos and besos"...

Borders, Birds, And Bolas...

2008-02-17T04:27:00.000-08:00

Back in July we tried to stay at El Fortin de San Miguel, a historic hotel on the border with Brazil in the hills west of Chuy, after first hearing of it while in Punta del Diablo. But, at that time, the hotel was filled with bird hunters--a lesser known tourist industry in Uruguay. No vacancy...

Now we were returning with an open invitation from Ramon, El Fortin's owner and father of a friend, Nico, in Montevideo. For three days we would bask in the green hills and pink granite walls of this historical and ornithological paradise...

Nestled on a knoll near an actual fort, Fuerte San Miguel, built for the New World border-wars between the empires of Portugal and Spain, the hotel was designed to resemble the architecture that defined that era. Part castle, part villa, the long two level stone structure includes a tower, arched verandas, collections of art and weapons, all surrounded by a manicured landscape where hidden paths lead to the wisdom of life--seven hewn wood signs that suggest how to live life to the fullest. Ramon believes this place has a palpable energy source...

While colorful birds chirp through the trees, pheasants and fowl stroll the grounds while horses and cows graze in the distant fields. Our oak decor room includes a four post bed draped in lace curtains. The halls and common rooms are filled with paintings, some by Uruguay's most famous artists. Breakfasts are fresh fruit, breads and cheeses, coffee and hot cocoa. Lunches are chicken sandwiches and cerveza under palms by the pool and a good book. Dinners are pastas, steaks, and wine with a breeze blowing in from the moonlit courtyard...

And when we weren't enjoying a meal and mellow afternoon, we could birdwatch our way to the historic fort, or a ranch that held the creole museum, or a quiet pueblo down the dusty street...

After one of the three glorious sunrises, we ventured to Fuerte de San Miguel, hidden behind trees on a slightly higher adjacent hill. Climbing a pair of lookout towers we had great views of our hotel to the north and the fort looming to the south...

Built in 1734, in the midst of two centuries of border disputes between the Portuguese and Spanish, Fort San Miguel rests ten kilometers from the coast, on one of the rare lumps in Uruguay's topography, and just meters from what would eventually become the border with Brazil.
With the classic star shape and walls as thick as they are high, the fort's vista afforded excellent range for cannons and observing enemy movements. Once built, the fort was soon sacked by Portugal's forces, only to be rebuilt and fortified in 1737. As we walked, it wasn't hard to imagine the crack of gunpowder, the soldiers suited in tight blue vests and brass buttons, ram-rodding their bayonets, encroaching on the hill...
A cemetery outside the fort still holds the memories of war. This tomb is dated 1796, and, dwarfing the other gravestones, likely holds one of the more important members of the military...
A rock outcropping outside the fort had an excellent vantage point over the immediate slopes. Stairs, long ago chiseled into the side, lead above this sign, while a another slab of granite below this flower was clearly hollowed out for a fire pit...
Just before the moat and drawbridge, this obelisk, placed here in the 1780's, mentions the Line of Demarcation--the "line" drawn by Pope Alexander VI in 1493 to divide the claims of the two Iberian Empires--and formally marks the border between what was the land of Spain and Portugal. It would be decades before Argentina (1816), Brazil (1822), and finally Uruguay (1828), achieve independence...
The drawbridge still operates. Notice the canon slot that could only be used for blasting soldiers just outside the gate...
THe fort sat in ruins until the 1930's when it was painstakingly reconstructed by archeologists...

The company kitchen...

Inside the central chapel, Saint Michael himself, field commander of God's army, stands victorious on Satan. The priest actually had private quarters that were nicer than the highest ranking officers. It's ironic that three centuries of war between two Catholic cultures--that dotted South America with amazing architectural structures like Fuerte San Miguel--followed the attempted arbitration of the Pope himself...
At the exit, cannonballs provide counterweight to the fulcrum powered bridge, and then both bridge and lever sandwich and strengthen the closed gates...
Nearby, a farm was converted into the Museo Criollo--the creolo heritage museum. Drawings and artifacts from the Charrua Indians were in collections along with carriages, leather presses and tools from the colonial days. The large wagon to the right of Leandra was for carrying lumber...

We also learned more about the natives. We knew they had been obliterated by the 17th century--which is why there are no native populations in Uruguay. They violently resisted colonialism despite the superior weapons of the Spanish and Portuguese. Upon first contact, conquistadors with horses, armor and swords--finding it impossible to negotiate--began slaughtering the Charruas who, despite impossible odds, defiantly fought back with "bolas"--a weapon made of stones and leather straps, used for battering or wrapping around the neck or limbs of the target. Amazingly, when Europeans returned, the Charrua had taught themselves how to ride horses that had been left astray after the initial battles! This proud, aggressive, and never-give-up attitude is one of several ways that the extinct Charrua culture lives on--in fact, Uruguay's national soccer team is nicknamed Las Charruas for having the same attitude when they face Brazil or Argentina--soccer's equivalent of the two empires--for showing valor in the face of a greater enemy, like in 1950 when they defeated Brazil in Rio in front of 200,000 fans to claim their second World Cup. Indeed, "charrua" is a compliment among Uruguayan culture. Likewise, the bolas were adopted by gauchos. And mate, the national drink, is an indigenous beverage of the Charruas...
And, that same sense of national pride--whether it be for a silver bombilla and mate cup or favorite soccer teams, Nacional or Peñarol--permeates every corner of Uruguayan culture. Even in a small store in a tiny gaucho village near El Fortin...

On our third night, we went into the duty free border town of Chuy to try some new culinary delights. We found a restaurant called "Fusion" and enjoyed appetizers of quail eggs and caviar, entrees of sushi and salmon in an onion reduction, and a death by chocolate dessert...
Then, it was back to our fortress lodgings for another late night amble under a sky full of stars and a half moon...

And one more unforgettable Uruguayan sunrise with the birds and border of Brazil...

Navidad, Año Nuevo Y Muchos Amigos

2008-02-15T09:49:00.000-08:00

Exactly fifty weeks after meeting Javier in the port market, Mercado del Puerto, we returned for the same reason that we came that fateful day: the midday fiesta in Ciudad Vieja. This time it was Christmas Eve. We found a nice table outside at one of the many restaurants, El Peregrino, ordered the usual doses of carne and cerveza, and enjoyed an overcast day of celebration...
Although the weather was a tad damp, the bottles wars and Sidra spraying (hard cider) was in full force, and more than once we had to duck behind the line of trees dividing us from the rowdier crowds to avoid something incoming...

Some showers and backed up drains created the opportunity for puddle fights or 'free refills' and quite a few flying plastic liter bottles were filled with a rather nasty swill of street water and sweet spilled cider...icky!

Afterwards, Uruguayans take a siesta before preparing for Christmas Eve celebrations, that normally involve big meals and midnight fireworks. Although we had several invitations from our close friends, we decided to take the rare opportunity to have a quiet Noel night to ourselves. We lit our lights, shrouded the apartment in white sheets, and proceeded to have paper-towel snowball fights before a wonderful romantic dinner. Just us and Christmas in Uruguay. Clink! "To us! Feliz Navidad!"
We knew what would happen when the clock struck twelve. But, after a long day we were already nearly dozed off when the sounds began. Fireworks--being lit in every intersection, park, or beach, all across town. The firework vendors, including one camped outside our apartment, had been selling explosives for weeks. Everyone everywhere had loads of ammo. By ten past midnight, with the growing din and flashes coming through our curtains, I pried my weary eyes open, nudged Leandra awake on the couch saying, "We have to see this, let's go to the roof"...

The elevator ride was like being in a tank entering a war zone. Every floor higher we went, the bombs became more deafening. After all, fire codes and safety regulations in South America are --well--a lot different than in the States. In other words, nonexistent. Not only are rockets and flares exploding right next to the tops of all the ten story buildings, but there isn't any sign of police or firemen anywhere...undoubtedly, they're all celebrating the same way with their families...

When the elevator doors opened, the booms and bangs broke our ear drums, echoing, amplifying and reverberating through the cement walls. And now, the purple, red and blue flashes that accompanied them, were filling the final stairwell to the top deck...
As we slid open the glass doors and stepped outside, Leandra leaned out in awe, and I leaned back in fear, keeping my back against the wall, while she bent over the railing saying "WOW!!!" I said, ""C'mon babe, get back a little, one of those could hit you!" To which she replied, "You big baby, this is AWESOME!!!" These things were literally blowing up within arms reach, and the swirling night wind off the Rambla and Rio de la Plata made them frighteningly unpredictable...

"I'm scared," I said. "Ohhh, ok," she said, and we watched the rest in a hug...The show lasted all night, but after an hour or so, we retreated back to our third floor hideaway, hung our stocking--we shared one this year--and snuggled into bed while the cracks and flashes continued. It was magical...
And, somehow, Santa still found our milk and cookies and stuffed our single stocking in the night...

A week later, on the anniversary of meeting Javier, we repeated the process. But this time, the weather was perfectly summery, and we had reservations at another restaurant with a second floor balcony. Upon arrival, we found another friend, another Javier, a neighbor in our building who had the same idea...
Although some of the carne was a bit overcooked, and Budweiser was the only cerveza, we did have the best view in town for our third, and last, opportunity to watch the hijinx in the courtyard behind Mercado del Puerto...
Down in the touristy part of town, they do their best to translate the menus. But, sometimes, they might just be better off leaving things a mystery..."Mmmmm, more bowel please!"
Another new friend from Australia, Mark, managed to find us in the fray, and get his first dose of Uruguayan party attitude just days after moving to Montevideo. After one year, and a wealth of friends, Leandra and I are quite the experts on what to see and do, and how to do it...

Minus any rain, plus tons of sun, the champagne spray wars of Sidra were in full force today...

Random attacks are far from rare...
Long distance drinking is another challenging sport...
It's all part of the sticky, stinky, sweaty fun...
Occasionally giggling guys and girls would answer one caveman-style kidnapping with a nice long cider douche of the derrière...
The freshly soaked seek revenge, but against whom, nobody knows...
Some try the "Just ignore it" defense...
Meanwhile, a temporary barrier set up to divide the revelers from the restaurants quickly becomes the war front, and one side starts hurtling semi-empty green plastic recyclable grenades at the "enemies" across the fence. At least they can't fill bottles with street swill this time...
Between swarms of volleys, people catch their breath, cheer and celebrate good naturedly, or break into chants and clapping. "URUGUAY! URUGUAY! URUGUAY!" rings out followed by laughter and rounds of candombe drums...

After one such stoppage, the entire army simultaneously turned toward the innocent onlookers who were chuckling and enjoying the spectacle unharmed. Specifically...us! And both sides united, launching their bottles up to our patio perch--which prompted the manager to invite a police officer up to join us. He looks like he's enjoying the view as much as Leandra...
It was all in good fun--although the table full of tourists next to us actually got spooked, and took the precaution of lowering their awning, which, of course, only made them the clear focus of the attack! But, once the bottle hurlers got weary of a target that wouldn't respond--if we had they would have never let up!--they laughed and returned to pelting each other...
Then, the west made a move. The east tried to counter strike. But, the west conquered the wall and brought the war face to face with the recoiling eastern front...
Some self appointed mediator announced the victory with a spray of Sidra and, simultaneously, the drums came within earshot. The war was over. The pulsing crowd gathered around them and moved like a giant rhythmic amoeba behind the marching beats. Peace returned and the people celebrated as one...

Soon, inebriation set in, and an impromptu game of "King of the Kiosk" broke out. Apparently, whoever can climb the highest and take the biggest pounding of bottles, thwacking off their brains and bodies, was the winner...
This guy came in last....
This dude was runner-up...
And, in a supreme display of drunken coordination and insubordination to the mob, this was the undisputed champ. And, the bottles stopped flying, applause thundered, and the drums began again...

And soon, we left after an entertaining afternoon...
And, just when you think you've avoided a serious soaking, and you've cleared the raucous port market, walking through the quiet old city streets, children suddenly attack from above, with buckets of water...
Javier drove us home in deja vu, precisely one year from the moment we first met. Again, we chose to be independent this New Year's Eve, declining the numerous invitations of Uruguayan friends, and Javi dropped us off at home...where the other Javier, our neighbor, was spending some quality time with our wonderful and overworked doorman, Sergio. In the lobby of our nearly empty apartment building, we joined the toast for all he does to keep our building safe and clean...
For tonight's fun, we had accepted an offer from Jan and Liz, two more new friends from Germany, and spent the evening in the suburban and affluent neighborhood of Carasco, between their pool and parilla and another mix of multinational new pals...
David dancing with daddy...
Leandra and Shirley enjoying barbecued brochettes...
The guys doing their best version of an oldie but a goodie. "It's fun to go to the..."
About an hour before midnight, we made our way to Ken's, yet another new friend who had a place on the Rambla over Pocitos beach. We knew it would be the best place to see the firework sparks fly for "Año Nuevo"...
We chose well...

After another hour of watching the night explode in a friendly war of anything you can blow up we can blow up better, we ambled home for another smiling slumber...

But, the holidays weren't over. In addition to all of these traditions, New Year's Day is one more chance for big get-togethers. This time we did accept an Uruguayan invitation, and went to Alvaro's house for an afternoon asado with his extended family. Alvaro has become, along with Javier, the best of my Uruguayan amigos...
Alvaro's brother ran the grill...
His wife watched an array of little ones, from nephews and nieces to sons and daughters, while the grandparents and neighbors relaxed around the outdoor tables, sipping mate and enjoying cheese, bread and olives before the meaty meal...
Alvaro and his adorable son...
Me and Alvaro's wonderful daughter...

After hours of stories, both in Spanish and English, and quite often translated between the older generations, the gringos, the kids, and the bilingual ones (Alvaro, his wife, and brother), we finally returned to our apartment after a week of peak Holiday Season...

It will always be one of the most unique and unforgetable experiences in a lifetime of wonderful Christmas memories. Despite the warm weather, it was as cozy and comfy as any up north. There is one difference though...

You know what January means? Summer break!

Out Of The Pan de Azúcar, And Into The...

2008-02-11T07:18:00.000-08:00

In late December, early summer, we were invited by some friends out to their ranch and tree farm for a big family asado to enjoy some roasted flesh over an open fire. The combination of forestry and raising livestock is a growing industry in Uruguay, that maximizes the use of land and resources. We invited Javier, and he drive us an hour outside of Montevideo and into the hills behind the small town of Pan de Azúcar, which means "bread of sugar"...

Although the four seasons are less distinct in terms of weather, vacation time--like many cultural patterns in Uruguay--can not be more obvious. The roads were packed--well one side was--as everyone's cars were loaded up and heading out to the glorious beaches in the department of Rocha, from Piriapolis and Punta del Este to La Paloma and Punta del Diablo. One little known sport in Uruguay is sand boarding--there are some impressive dunes along the beaches and we passed a vendor along the highway selling some boards...Another sure sign of summer traffic was the long lines at the transportation department toll booths along the route. And, even more classic, are the girls in matching outfits, all pushing promotions for various companies from MacDonald's to Tienda Inglesa to 7-Up. They line the meridians along the lanes, and literally hand out piles of fliers and free samples...

Once we turned off the highway and cut through an de Azúcar, it was twenty kilometers of rolling green hills before we found the ranch hiding in the woods...And, despite an eventual tropical downpour of sweet rain, we first enjoyed hours of meeting and making old and new acquaintances, everybody practicing Spanish or English and enjoying the potluck of food, followed by a ferocious game of family soccer, before relocating indoors under a thundering sky...
Racks of roasted cordero, lamb, and some freshly toasted pan, bread...
Fiesta familia...
Estadio Campo...
Por la casa, por que...
Poca lluvia...

Spirits were not nearly as damp as the earth but just as bustling as the din of the tin roof...

Before everyone said our thank yous and goodbyes to the process of piling back into our various modes of transportation, I took a look at the chicken coop which was a practical piece of art...
Lines of eucalyptus in the background, and a cargo of people in the pickup...
Then, we were back on the road, rocking to some Uruguayan bands, rolling home to Montevideo...

There's nothing like the perennial hospitality of this place and its humble but proud people. It was just another time well spent with family and friends, a special treat, like sweet bread, in the cerros of Uruguay...

Fuego, Cielo, Y Montevideo

2008-02-05T05:44:00.000-08:00

It wasn't long after our return in early December that Montevideo's bevy of summer celebrations began. The first one is called "Noche de las Luces" or Night of the Lights. It happens just two blocks from our apartment on Pocitos beach and Punta Trouville. The Rambla is closed and cordoned off, stands and stages are assembled, and hundreds of police and hundreds of thousands of people crowd the waterfront boulevard and beaches for a night of revelry--all in anticipation of the biggest fireworks display of the year...
Leandra and I walked down as the sun began its descent. We are always awestruck by the deep neon colors of sunsets here--I assume it has something to do with the flat landscape that allows the latest of light to penetrate across the sky...
Every inch of the esplanade wall was taken as people crowded the streets and sand...
Soon, a short parade of floats slowly threaded the throngs, spewing confetti and song...
As children enjoyed the spectacle, we made our way to the water and got comfortable wiggling our butts into the beach to form seats, slipping off our sandals and digging our heels into the cool sand. While we waited, watching people talk and share their mate, we practiced Spanish by translating the commercials and songs that were blaring from a pair of scaffold speaker towers at both ends of the bay. Then, ten seconds before ten o'clock, the announcer started the countdown with 400,000 excited Uruguayans joining in...DIEZ, NUEVE, OCHO, SIETE, SEIS...
CINCO! CUATRO! TRES!! DOS!! UNO!!!...
The onshore breeze brought the clouds of sulfurous smoke our way as explosions ripped in synchronicity with a mixture of classic rock songs and classical anthems...

The finale was incredible--definitely one of the best fireworks displays we've ever seen. The applause afterwards was almost as long and loud as the half hour of mortars...

Walking home among thrilled children who yanked at the arms of aunts and uncles saying "Did you see that!?", we held hands and felt more a part of the culture than ever. And, we looked forward to the next three months of holidays...

Enjoy the show...

Say Less, Telmo...

2008-01-30T11:49:00.001-08:00

Before the afternoon ferry back to Uruguay, we spent our last half day of the dreamy trip visiting the famous Buenos Aires barrio of San Telmo--a historic district named after Saint Elmo, patron saint of sailors--and its acclaimed antiques market, nineteenth-century architecture, freelance entertainment, and cobblestone streets...
Subterranean...
Station...
Streets...
Stilts...
Statues...
Strings...
Strange...
San Telmo...
Sanctum...
Strolling...
Significance...
Signatures...
Cervezas...
Snickering...
Scrumptious...
Sailing from...
Sailing to...
Safety?...
Steak...

To Us!

Summers, Cool Breezes, And A Sting...

2008-01-26T04:15:00.000-08:00

Waking up with another spring sunrise, we're almost back to Buenos Aires. From terminal to taxi to hostel, we stored our bags and stole the last of the coffee and cereal, and headed for Hard Rock Cafe to collect our tickets to The Police concert...Nearby, the famous obelisk, built in 1936 to mark the 400th anniversary and first founding of the city...
Named for the date of Argentina's independence, 9 de Julio, the world's largest street, was seeming extra spacious on this sunny early summer Saturday. Deciding to walk the two dozen blocks to the Recoleta neighborhood, we passed Teatro Colón which unfortunately is under repair for it's centennial in May, 2008...
After outlasting a long line of anxious ticket takers, we headed back to the hostel to finish check-in and find something fun to fill the afternoon...
Café Tortoni is a historic tango bar and restaurant--in fact, home to a tango museum--and we enjoyed a long lunch...
Sketches, paintings, and sculptures of famous folk from the passionate past are displayed everywhere, while mannequins masquerade as reality...
Our waiter told us that The Police actually had reservations here the previous night but never showed--as musical aficionados, it was undoubtedly a delay due to the double concerts scheduled for this weekend. Our friends from Montevideo, Aaron and Emily, were also in town to see the famous rock trio perform in Estadio River Plate tonight, and they arranged to pick us up in their rental car...

Now, for Aaron and I, both thirty-somethings who reached high school as The Police reached the pinnacle of world wide popularity, having front row standing room VIP tickets to a concert that was twenty-years in the waiting...well, it was a special opportunity. While other older or more obscure bands had been making reunion tours for years, this trio had held out and given no intention of selling out for the easy millions they could make. After all, they disbanded at the peak of their stardom.

But, on February 11, 2007, they performed at the 49th Grammy Awards, and to the delight of unsuspecting fans, also announced a world tour...

We arrived at the 66,000 seat stadium early, easily staking a claim a few feet from the front wall that provided a bit of a buffer between the stage and screaming fans. The opening act was Beck, named for the lead singer and song-writer, who's more well known numbers include "Loser" and "Where It's At"...
The stadium was still half full and comfortable when the eight o'clock concert began under dusky daylight...
River Plate Stadium is a historic site itself. Officially named Estadio Monumental Antonio Liberti and considered the national stadium, it is better known as El Monumental de Nuñez or Estadio River Plate. It is the home field of the famed red and white team called Club Atlético River Plate--one of two Argentina teams revered among futbol fanatics. Interestingly, it's inaugural match in 1938 was against Peñarol of Uruguay, and--five decades later-- became the second club of famed Uruguayan footballer Enzo Francescoli Uriarte, "El Principe" (The Prince), a South American superstar in the 80's and 90's, the all-time leading scorer for River Plate who's worthy of mention among Pelé and Maradona (star of River's arch rivals, Boca Juniors). But, indisputably, Argentinos will always remember winning their first FIFA World Cup here in 1978, 3-1 over the Netherlands, and becoming sixth nation and the second in South America, after Uruguay, to claim the title...
Anyway, Beck rocked. Especially, his boisterous afro-bearing bassist, his giddy guitarist and skin slapping drummer. Despite delivering a great mix of licks and lyrics, Beck himself seems as subdued as the brim of his eclectic hat...

Things were going great, the crowd dancing, the sides of the stadium filling in with people and darkness and a murmuring anticipation after Beck's band left stage right...

And then...
It's almost impossible to explain the combined effects of the impassioned people packing together, with a decades-long build-up of love for an infamous rock band that recently re-united, and exploding in hysteria in the general admission area of front row, when the spotlight's flash flooded The Police who bound on and broke into "Message In A Bottle", one of many many top hits that they would medley through for the next three hours...

In short, the crowd crushed itself into human soup as the music failed to out-rock the deafening applause. For the next five minutes, you were fighting for your life, your "personal bubble" completely popped, as you moved meters this way and that--and your feet weren't even on the ground. Even being a big guy with years of experience battling bigger guys on basketball courts, it took every ounce of shoulder and elbow to hold on to Leandra whose expressions quickly changed from fun to fear, as we were literally obliterated during the next two songs, "Synchrocity II" and "Walking on the Moon"...
Finally, after five minutes of moshing, some slower songs allowed everyone to enjoy the show with a bit less need for their survival instincts. During the concert, more than one fainting fan was dragged out by friends or over the front wall by paramedics. Even though it was a perfect partly cloudy day with a cool breeze, man, was it still hot and sweaty...

But boy, was it awesome...
Back in Iguazu, a tourist from Buenos Aires told us an fascinating story about Andy Summers, the least famous of the blond trio. In 1980, the last time the band visited Buenos Aires, the people were suffering under the post-Perón era dictatorship. Soldiers were used as concert security and when a frenetic front row female fan was being brutally beaten back by a military policeman, mid-song, Andy stepped forward and kicked the cop in the head, to the roaring approval of the crowd. This simple act of humanitarianism not only made an infamous public statement against oppression, but it vaulted the lead guitarist deep into the grateful hearts of Argentinos. And when Andy came on stage, sizzled a psychedelic solo, or took his final bow, the applause was thick with admiration...

Stewart Copeland is still considered one of the best percussionists in rock history--a master of the syncopated beat with his signature sharp smack on the snare, maintaining steady grooves while adding awesome fills. His kits are as elaborate as his super skills, and he has string of creative achievements ranging from operas to soundtracks. Fittingly, he's used the pseudonym Klark Kent. The Copeland family has been a seminal force in modern music. His oldest brother and band manager, Miles, founded the IRS--International Records Syndicate. Ian, the family's second son and decorated Vietnam vet, started the FBI--Frontier Booking International, a break-out talent agency in the 80's. After Ian died from melanoma, Stewart borrowed Ian's army nickname to start the "Leroy Coolbreeze" Fund to fight cancer, a charity advertised on his t-shirt...
Sting, whose fame completely shrouds his real name, Gordon Sumner, is most recognized. Not only are his singing and songwriting skills--and good looks--adored by millions, but his bass lines are hypnotically strong in their apparent simplicity. His hits--and its hard to say if his solo career outshines his days with The Police--have been praised for four decades, including several collaborative efforts with other famed performers. But perhaps greatest of all, like all those who turn fame into an opportunity to help others, are his contributions to combat world suffering and save the environment--from starvation in Africa to preservation of the Amazon. For this reason, he even has a Colombian tree frog named after him: dendropsophus stingi...
By the way, their signature fair hair image is an inadvertent gimmick, gained after bleaching themselves blond for a 1978 Wrigley's commercial. But it stuck like gum under a picnic table...

From that year until 1983, they produced five albums that earned six Grammy Awards including, most notably, Song of the Year for "Every Breath You Take"--beating out "Billie Jean" from Michael Jackson's Thriller. They were pioneers of the new pop-punk-reggae sound, and one of the first major groups to tour Mexico, India, Greece, Egypt and Thailand among others. They broke The Beatles' New York City ticket sales records on their Synchronicity tour, the final album. Then, they just stopped...

They went out on top...

And while other aging groups took multiple grabs the golden goose of reunion tours, they never even hinted at having any interest in it...

They were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in March, 2003...

Then, the year that we were in Uruguay, they came together and aimed at Buenos Aires...

I took a little sign. I wrote some of my favorite songs down--ones that weren't singles, ones most people don't know: "Bombs Away", "No Time This Time", "Any Other Day", "Be My Girl". At the bottom I wrote "play a tango". But between twenty years of rust and a rabid crowd demanding the most famous singles, they didn't see my little cardboard wish list. But, as I stood there, watching my favorite band from childhood for the first time, mentally muting the cheering crowd, glancing at Leandra in front of me as she enjoyed the show, thinking of my friends who would love to be with me--it was neither more or less than I hoped for. It was exactly what I imagined--my second dream come true in the past two weeks...
Message In A Bottle, Synchronicity II, Walking On The Moon, Voices Inside My Head...
When The World Is Running Down, Don't Stand So Close To Me, Driven To Tears, Hole In My Life...
Truth Hits Everybody, Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, Wrapped Around Your Finger, De Do Do Do De Da Da Da...
Invisible Sun, Walking In Your Footsteps, Can't Stand Losing You, Regatta De Blanc...

The encore was Roxanne, King Of Pain, So Lonely, Every Breath You Take...

Then, after extended ovations to the darkened stage, Andy re-appeared to renewed applause and flew into one more song to his adoring Argentine fans: Next To You. Of course, Stewart and Sting jumped out and joined in. Afterwards, as the clapping cacophony turned into classic soccer chants of "Ole, ole, ole, ole", the three men waved "muchas gracias" and blew kisses goodbye...As we exited, just two of tens of thousands of sweaty and exhausted fans, we found one more lovable memory of life in Latin America...

Tell you what, why don't you watch the concert yourself. This video is for Marc and Michael, Eric, Mike, Jon and Javier--and any and all of my friends, old and new, from Oregon or Uruguay or elsewhere, who wish they could have been there with me...

Two Of A Kind...

2008-01-22T08:48:00.000-08:00

The Best Things In Life Come In Pairs Contest: Count and identify all the things that clearly come in pairs in the photos below and post them in the comments. The winner gets 2 pesos or 2 cents--whichever is worth more--and a possible appearance in our next blog contest winners section!

We were blessed with a beautiful view from our fourth story room that looked out on the town hall tower and the cathedral steeple. We spent our first full day in San Martin de los Andes wandering the streets and eateries, the "playas" and plazas, sampling more local morsels. Like most of the buildings in San Martin, the interior architecture of the church was wooden, reflecting the natural resources and the notably European flavor. We lunched along main street by day, and by night we dined on swine and chicken brochettes with fine wine followed by creamy chocolate desserts...

Between meals we spent the afternoon on horseback, ambling through the foothills behind our gaucho guide, Juan. We found sheep nibbling in the dales, chirping birds darting between trees, and falcons silently circling on the updrafts. We also liked Luli, Juan's smart little farm dog, who trotted along for fun. The unexpected surprise was a Mapuche man leading his timber-toting team of oxen down a steep rutted rode as we strode higher. It was a marvelous sight that seemed straight out of a history book--a living example of an artist's would-be drawing of native life...

Combining the words for "earth" and "people", the Mapuche still live according to tradition in the mountainous region of northern Patagonia. Prior to the Europeans, the Mapuche successfully thwarted Inca attempts to conquer their territory and assimilate their culture. Then, again, for three centuries they foiled the encroaching efforts of Spain, eventually managing to retain their autonomy once Chile and Argentina achieved independence. Seeing the hand carved wooden wheels and powerful hooves lift the dust as they rocked and rolled downhill was a special sight. Feeling out-matched and without orders, our horses quickly cleared the way...

Juan posed for a picture and pointed out distant peaks. We took a break from our saddles, stretched our legs, and absorbed the scene while petting the necks of our ponies. Behind the rolling forest vistas lie the rugged range of Lanín National Park, where it's namesake, a world famous conical volcano, has slumbered for five centuries, tempting scores of summer climbers with its smooth slopes...

Leaving San Martin the next morning, we got an excellent view of Mt. Lanín, on the right, resting it's head in a cloudy pillow...

In addition to a hilarious horse smile the day before, we had a few laughs on the long bus ride back to Buenos Aires. First, in a pueblo about mid-way, a young local lady's T-shirt tickled us with irony. At another small town terminal we got a kick out of the complimentary thermos-shaped super tanker of "aguas calientes" so that no one would be left sipping lukewarm mate...

And, for possibly the last time, we nodded off into an another Argentina sunset that painted the pampas in pastels...

Seven Wonders Of The Word...

2008-01-20T10:48:00.000-08:00

Leaving Bariloche, a white wooden post blessed the rest of our journey with a common saying in Spanish...
This translates to "good travels", "happy trails", "journey well", or, perhaps you would have your own linguistic enlightenment if it said "bon voyage"...

Throughout our time in South America, we have studied the intertwined genealogy of Mankind and Mother Nature, their cooperation and conflict throughout Earth's history. But, also, we constantly discover new connections between our native tongue and other relatives of romantic language...

Patagonia, with a perfect mixture of ancestry and environment, embodies this idea...
Aboard a bus bound for San Martin de los Andes--another epic outdoorsy town of Argentina--we rounded the shore before snapping a "so long" photo of San Carlos de Bariloche below Cerro Catedral, surrounded by its mountain peak parishioners...

Before leaving the scrubland side of the lake, my hawk-eyed wife piped "Look!", pointing out a horned huemul, a South Andean deer just like this one. It bounded off a rock, over the sage and sedge, and disappeared in dust and green-brown bushes. A year before Leandra was born, this herbivore made the protected species list--for all the usual reasons: habitat destruction, poaching, non-native animal intrusion, deforestation-- and are now considered critically endangered, their extinction imminent...

Our route was the famed Seven Lakes Scenic Drive, but first we made a short stop to sip foam topped lattes in Villa La Angostura and stroll by the rustic structures and historic sculptures along main street. Named the "Village of Narrowness", this small skiing and fishing town saddles a land bridge between lakes, which made it a mandatory passing point for the European pioneers, once the the natives were forced to reveal it's existence...

For the next few hours we would float by seven heavenly bodies of water that polka-dot the low spots in the northern Patagonia's Andean mountains, known as the Lake District, located in Nahuel Huapi National Park--the oldest protected area in Argentina...
Lago Nahuel Huapi From the Araucanian Indian language for “island of the jaguars”, this lake and the last, Lago Lácar, are both number seven depending on where you start. So, for us, it's number zero. Some interesting legends surround the Siete Lagos region including "Nahuelito", the Patagonian plesiosaur, Latin America's Loch Ness monster, named after this lake but also observed in Lago Lácar. Another myth is "El Ucumar", the South American sasquatch, the man-bear bigfoot who's reported presence pre-dates the pioneers. Lastly, the "Duendes" are mischievous shape-shifting fairies that take forms like forest dwelling elves, goblins, and dwarfs...
Lago Espejo Can you guess what an "espejo" is in Spanish? Although the English name is Mirror Lake (from the Latin mirare, "to look"), the Spanish name actually comes from the Latin word specere, "to spy, behold". This picture still amazes me--since it was snapped from a speeding bus through tinted windows...

Lago Correntoso From the Latin for "to run", currere, like a current or a courier, this small lake shares its name with the short rushing river that flows through Villa La Angosture, filled with trout...

Lago Escondido Hidden Lake's name comes from abscondere, Latin for "to hide", with the prefix for "away from" and the root "to stow", like the English word "abscond"... Lago Villarino As if you can get smaller than a village, this name is the diminutive version of villa, Latin for "rural house". I assume there was one here once, perhaps pioneer or native Mapuche...
Lago Falkner An Englishman, Thomas Falkner, an apothecary's son and former surgeon whose Jesuit conversion led him to this region, provides this medium lake's moniker. Even more impressive than his 38 years abroad, from 1730-1768--living with and learning the language of local tribes--is his scientific compilation of all natural things, published in his 1774 book, "Descriptions of Patagonia"...

Lago Machónico The origins of this lake are elusive. It might mean "like pillars" in reference to a marker or rock formation or the cypress pines. Or, perhaps it implies a rugged masculinity, as in "macho". It's sister lake, Lago Hermoso, implies beauty and loveliness...

Along "El Camino de los Siete Lagos" we made several stops. One was at a wonderful farm, at which lake, I've forgotten. But we were greeted by grazing sheep and a gaggle of geese as we poured out to stretch our legs. Everyone bought some traditional fried cakes, "tortas fritas"...
Apparently, the birds know the benefits of tourists with bread, and they formed a honking brute squad that encircled the giggling crowd...
Leandra and I snuck along the lake where a pair of rare looking ducks tried to shroud their proud raft of ducklings...
Even back aboard, there was far more to ponder than the tarns. Much of the road was unpaved, under construction, with temporary spurs needling through the thick forest. When we weren't peering at peaks through green thickets, we might watch the puff of dust and listen to the trickle of a rockfall caused by a back wheel hanging halfway off the brim of the dirt shoulder, as the bus brushed back branches while the driver masterfully navigated around a blind bend...

After each breath-holding maneuver, our group would sigh in audible relief, add a smattering of claps, and the driver would raise his hand in recognition, then grip the steering wheel again...

Horses--who knows if they were wild or just loving the liberty of free range--would cross the highway in a dashing herd, then stop instantly to nibble the grass outside some farmer's fence, and stare at the metal coach changing gears...
We passed an otherwise ordinary creek, only to learn that this stream sits on the continental divide and splits accordingly--one fork goes to the Pacific, the other, the Atlantic...

We also stopped at Cascada Vuliñanco, another mysterious name, to watch the forty meter fall of water. Eventually, we reached lake number seven...And discovered San Martin de los Andes hiding by the shore...
Lago Lácar A little etymological research says that the name derives from "laca" in Spanish meaning "lacquer" in English. This could refer to the shimmering appearance of the east-west lying lake or to the useful tree sap abundantly available to finish fine wood. Correct thoughts or not, this long thin lake has an ideal bay to harbor another slumberous town hewed in lumber...
As we decelerated in, a speed boat accelerated out...
After a quick hotel check-in, we checked out the beach and bought tickets for an afternoon tour to the hidden shores of Quila Quina and a walk to it's waterfall. Leandra's obsession with cops has morphed into any and all things in uniform...
Most likely a Mapuche descendant, this captain has a pretty cushy job...
A natural testament to the power of plate tectonics towered a few minutes from Quila Quina's dock...

Before departure, the ticket lady told us the walk to the falls was closed--two people had drown there weeks before and they hadn't re-opened the path since. We decided to see for ourselves...
A cute little three-toothed Mapuche woman named Veronica was waiting in a small "security" shack near the trail head. A couple pesos later, she smiled and personally guided us in, making sure we stayed on the path...
Perhaps two hundred meters of cascades, it was more like a diagonal river, a elegant log-jammed staircase of water...
Afterward, we continued the short hike around the foothills above town until we reached the mystical--if not typical--life-giving waters of a natural spring. Planning her hundredth birthday, Leandra spritzed herself...
Quila Quina and dusk approached, the wharf and our boat hiding behind some spring blossoms...
Sporting the lake's name, you have to say "Danke schön!" to the Deutschlanders for bringing the beer brewing know-how with them when they found this Alpine piece of paradise...
What a wonderful non-near-death-experience day...
Along Lago Lácar and the lakes of Argentina....

Avoid Death, Buy Chocolate...

2008-01-18T14:42:00.000-08:00

Bariloche is heaven for outdoor enthusiasts. And, naturally, photographers too...

In the early morning of day two we shoe-horned into a shuttle with a dozen tourists, all anxious to do some world class whitewater. As you will see, the photographer that followed us along the riverside, racing from van to vantage point, running up and down rugged paths, furiously zooming in and clicking away as we ripped downriver, captured some shots that literally took our breath away. In addition, the post-paddling CD we purchased included some favorites from his professional collection...

In Spanish, "manso" means "meek" or "mild". Apparently, we wouldn't be rafting the stretch of river that earned Rio Manso its name. In fact, not only would we be running the hardcore class IV section, but--without realizing it--we would be running it in late spring, when rivers are swollen by melting snow...

This would be our fifth South American river, and it was almost our last, ever. Though we didn't know it yet...

After a gorgeous drive that wove through thin valleys that threaded the Andes, we arrived at a stunning forested campsite, complete with wood lodges and a suspension bridge. After feeding us a late breakfast of breads, jellies, coffee and teas, we stretched on our wetsuits, clipped on our vests and helmets, and hoofed it down to the edge of a glacial blue backwater bay...
Notice the number of class III and IV rapids, which are not for novices--then imagine them being a class higher due to the river level. Class V is the most difficult level there is: big, turbulent, difficult, dangerous, and potentially deadly, even for pros...
One novelty of this run was that it ended at the border. Although there was no immigration office, we would actually exit Argentina and enter Chile...
Most people were rafting rookies, including the two couples closest to us, our future fellow crew members. Fortunately, they were eager and able, and we quickly became a capable team of paddlers...
The put-in was a beautiful wooded campground...
Steep cliffs protected the snow fed flora and fauna...
Matias was our exuberant enthusiastic guide. Thanks to our paddling skills and his reckless passion for thrills, he would nearly kill us all...
After listening to our safety lectures, the support kayaks headed out, and we shoved off...
The water was high. Notice the submerged bushes. The current was stronger and faster. The photographer had to hustle from one picture point to the next, often almost missing his mark...
Twelve kilometers of action packed between the peaks would pass in just over an hour--at normal flows, it takes two...
Seated mid left and front right respectively, Leandra and I lent our experience and helped our team work toward solid uniform strokes. Matias would lead us in paddle-smacking helmet-cracking cheers each time we conquered a rocky hole or rolling wave. And, every time we successfully tackled an obstacle, his confidence in his crew grew...
Soon, he started guiding us down lines that the other rafts avoided...
He prepared us to practice "high-siding"--an advanced skill used to prevent the raft from flipping. Basically, all of our weight needs to be on the "higher" side of the boat which is being lifted by a powerful wave. When needed, it is a split second decision, that, even when done correctly, doesn't guarantee success--especially if you consider a series of rapids, and you and your crew are trying to hold on to your paddles, lunge in and out of position, regain your balance, and brace for the next raging crest or turbulent trough. Above, you can see Matias, Leandra and the other two crew members on the left side lunge properly across the laps of the right side, preventing disaster on a normally cushy class II+, which is now a deceptively devious class III+....
Try to appreciate the size of the waves relative to our four meter craft. See how the currents wriggle and writhe like stirred spaghetti. Notice how many waves are actually cresting upstream--a particularly dangerous characteristic if your boat doesn't have strength and speed and a straight line...
But, for most of the way, the ride was outrageously fun and powerful and challenging--and we met every challenge...
Guides know there are two types of tourists. Normally, it's the stupid questions from first-timers that tell guides they will need to work harder and play it safer. But, it doesn't take much more than a couple of the right comments to let your guide know that you've done this before, that you love it, that you are an asset to the crew, and that you will make the guide's job easier. Matias had me figured out about five minutes from Bariloche. Earlier, I asked him which rapid was the "best"--which is a river-lover's way of saying biggest, craziest, gnarliest, or most dangerous. With a hidden smile, a wider-eyed look and a whispering spanglish voice he said, "The last canyon, eighty percent rafts being flip-ed". The photographer got there early this time...

The quarter kilometer class IV canyon--named "Huevo Revuelto" or "Scrambled Eggs"--now acted like a class V egg beater. It was like being a chocolate sprinkle on angry meringue in motion...
Javier, our safety kayaker, plunged in first. After submerging and re-surfacing, he positioned himself in a nasty eddy against the right wall, ready for any needed extractions. Meanwhile, we waited, back-paddling, and watched another raft carefully hug the left side of the river, cautiously avoiding the thickest parts of the thunderous churn...
Matias yelled over the din, barking instructions about "if this" and "if that" happens, psyching us up. Our efforts had built up his confidence. We trusted him. And with screaming commands of "ALL FORWARD!!! ALL FORWARD!!!!" we plowed into the 'V' and driving into the heart of the three meters walls of water...

In short, we both almost drowned.

Being front right, I went in first and deepest, pile-drived down by a crew member. And, despite having experience in these situations, knowing how to position myself, how to relax and let my life vest lift me, I almost didn't resurface--the water was so bubbly there was nothing to float on. I reached the point of fear and almost inhaled underwater...just before I barely emerged at the peak of a wave only to plummit into the next trough, under again, with half a breath. I finally came up coughing and spitting and spinning and clawing for the rope on the upside down raft. Two fellow rafters already clung on. I saw others floating safely or being snagged by the safety kayak, but I didn't see Leandra...

Leandra, mid left, was airborne before she went under, deep. But, she too knew what to do. Relax, get your feet down river, and wait to float up. And like me, she finally did--but under the raft, which is not a calm compartment of air when your crashing through a class V monster. It was probably Matias who put the finger shaped bruises on her arm, trying to pull her out, but she fought the groping hands, not knowing if it was someone else clawing for their own life. When she did escape the trap she was holding on to the upside down raft opposite of me. We couldn't see each other. And, her life jacket had loosened, making it ride up into her face. Even when Matias uprighted the boat, he couldn't pull her in until the ninth, tenth try...

Ironically, Rio Manso almost claimed the only two paddlers aboard that had rafting experience, while the four first-timers popped up like corks, enjoying the wild ride like kids in a water park...

If you go back and take a closer look at the pictures, you might notice in the second and third ones that Leandra and I both had attempted to "high-side", the only two who reacted to Matias' command when the raft began to turn to the right. But, maybe you're still studying the first photo, calculating the height and grade of the water, noting Matias' position compared to mine, and seeing the shadow between aft and the water below. Maybe you're stuck on number four, the boat perpendicular, and something beautiful about the water splashing across, that split second between control and chaos. In frame five, you can see my paddle handle cracking into Leandra's nose--it's a sin to let go of your handle, and that's the reason why. It's also the last place you see me, until frame number eleven. Leandra is gone by frame seven--at the same time the mate to my left has his legs in the air, his body on top of mine, driving me down. Eight, nine and ten--especially the ninth picture--really give perspective on the voracity, volume and viciousness of the water. Compare the raft and the waves. Study the depth of the shadows, the speed of the currents, the twisting taffy of water. Imagine being under all that while trying to "relax". Imagine that and count to ten...

"The last canyon, eighty percent rafts being flip-ed"

That statement described the difficulty and danger at normal flows--not flood stage...

In retrospect--and looking into the eyes of my wife, now safely aboard, brave but noticeably bothered--it was irresponsible to have run us through an impossible rapid...
Nonetheless, Matias put on the positive spin, with a smile and a "Great job!". Which is all part of a whitewater guide's job when risking the lives of others. Being a tad more tactful, Javier chose the peace sign...

The walk out was steep. And slow. And contemplative...

As the staff broke down the rafts, horses descended with local gauchos, no doubt doubling as four footed movers...

Meanwhile, we were last to arrive at the border, marked by a buoy-like post with a two sided sign: Chile/Argentina. Keeping our poker faces, we mustered smiles for the obligatory shot by the photographer...

Click.

The bumpy ride back was a bit quieter than normal. We re-lived the final rapid with others, especially those in the first raft that watched from below as we faced our peril. Back at the put-in, we were treated to a wonderful wine and beer barbecue before Leandra and I took a stroll around the grounds, discussing the adventure, and the reckless finale. We tried to figure out where we were, how we got this bruise or that sore nose--which we finally solved a week later, with our computers and the photographer's CD...

The shuttle to Bariloche was even quieter. Leandra slept on my shoulder. Everyone eventually dozed off. But I kept watching, grabbing my own memories of the mountains and waterfalls to which we'll probably never return...

It was our last evening here. Without a doubt, we filled it with a fine dinner: smoked deer, onion soup, and another magical Malbec from Mendoza. A long slow walk through bustling Bariloche with it's picturesque streets and wooden frames was garnished again by a pale moon over the lake...

We started counting chocolate shops, and eventually the romance of it all replaced the frayed nerves of a day of "recreation", and soon we were smiling like two Swiss kids in a candy store...

Before turning in we explored another outdoor store. We found this...and decided that if we ever go rafting again, it might come in useful...

Just Fondue It...

2008-01-08T09:33:00.000-08:00

Small Argentina towns surrounded by endless pastures streamed past until the horizons grew dark and we slept...

After a yawning stretch, we awoke to a rare sight. To the east, a silvery full moon was setting. To the west, a blazing sunrise was starting to scorch the slumbering landscape...

A large mechanical monster in an oasis of irrigated green stood tall the now barren desert brownness--it was too bright to tell it's exact purpose. But, for the next few hours, we followed a thread of highway across a desolate wasteland, while far off mountains began poking up in the distance...

All of a sudden, the wasteland gave way to water, where sapphire lakes glittered in the golden sun surrounded by emerald trees set below spires of weathered stone...

After a a day's drive across the flat lands, it took us minutes to meander into the eastern Andes mountains and emerge on the edge of Lake Nahuel Huapi in the northern corner of Patagonia. Our next destination, the world famous ski and outdoor recreation town of Bariloche, waited on the far side...
Arriving at noon, we had three days to enjoy the "Alps" of Argentina. After checking into our lakeside hotel, we went out to explore, knowing that we would find a cozy burg with German and Swiss heritage characterized by wooden architecture and shops serving wild game, fresh fish, melted cheese and endless concoctions of chocolate...
We arrived on a beautifully blue blustery day along the lake...

First we found the towering town church. Then we ambled to the primary plaza and civic center, complete with stone lodges, clock tower, holiday lights, curio market, street performers, bohemian musicians, contented tourists, all surrounded by wood sculptures carved by the nearby woodworker's guild...

Sunsets would approach...
And, their was a festive glow of old Europe each night...

Back in Brazil we enjoyed some cuisine unknown in Uruguay. Bariloche was no different. Specialties included fondue, wild boar, fresh berries, venison, crawfish, mountain trout, microbrews and endless choices of chocolate...
Our first meal was a four star serving of German goulash and raspberry reduction Jabali, the Patagonian pig, with a Malbec from Mendoza and a local artisan's beer...
For dinners we could go Swiss, with a basket of bread to dip in our cauldron of queso, assorted veggies and a Warsteiner to wash it down, with an epic view of the lake...
Searching further we found a microbrewery with a selection of prize winning craft brews worthy of Europe and Oregon. One night, we even found authentic Mexican food served with a complimentary round of margaritas...
And every day, we had our choice of chocolate shops with every imaginable delectable form of the romantic sweet...
And more sunset walks along the lake...
Day two was simple enough: a guided tour along Chico Circuito with lakeside stops, panoramic points, and ski lift and gondola rides to the tops of Cerro Companario and Cerro Catedral...
Our first full day began with a full moon across the lavender lake, waking us like a silent alarm ringing through our bedroom window...
Continental breakfast followed with mysterious marmalades, buttered bread, English teas, French pressed coffee and "submarinos"--steaming milk with chocolate bars to melt and mix in...
A fun summery ski lift took us to the summit of Cerro Companario for some spectacular shots...

At Punto Panarámico, a fantastic falcon perched on a stone, then a branch...
While the infamous Llao-Llao Resort nested on it's isthmus along Lago Moreno Oueste...
Built in 1938, burned in 1939, and rebuilt in 1940, the Llao Llao resort has housed presidents, princesses, and prestigious travelers for decades, despite decades of difficulties from changing governments and owners...

Thirty-five years earlier, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid crossed these lakes, evading pursuant Pinkertons all the way across Patagonia...

Our next stop was the top of Cerro Catedral, named for numerous rocky crgs that resemble gothic church spires. It is one of the largest ski areas in South America, capable of carrying up 22,000 skiers an hour to its 2405 meter (7890 feet) summit. From there, magnificent views over Nahuel Huapí National Park spread out in every direction...
First, a twenty person gondola takes you two-thirds of the way...
Then, a high speed quad-lift zooms you to the top...

The wind was ripping. In fact, while we ate burgers and fires inside the summit lodge, the waitress told us they were closing the lift, and when we finished we needed to descend. But, good luck had gotten us here first, and we were some of the last tourists that day to see the magnificent vistas...
For us, the lakes and forests and mountains really were reminders of home. And, we have seen plenty of snow before. But, for many visitors--especially the Uruguayans on the same trip--seeing snow for the first time was a wonderfully new, childlike experience. Leandra and I, dressed in shorts, sandals and light shirts, got the giggles seeing people dressed in full body down-stuffed snow suits, gloves and winter hats--us and them, thinking the same thoughts: "Crazy (fill in nationality here)!" As we watched them trek onto the snow, kicking it, picking it up, throwing their first snowballs, posing for fraudulent pictures with skis and poles, we felt like parents watching a child, and imagined them saying in surprised Spanish, "It's cold!" or "It's slippery!". Their enlightenment and amusement was palpable...
The wind was so strong, the ski patrol removed the "real" plastic eyes, nose and mouth that enlivened this burly snowman when first trundled off the ski-lift. So, after lunch, we jammed some rocks in his face to give him that "realistic" look and pop a picture...
"To us!"

Then we followed the melting snow back to the lake shore...
And another late afternoon walk along the white-capped water...
And another evening stroll, searching Bariloche for fondues and brews and chocolate delights...
And another full moon, another "luna llena"....

And now, amazingly, no matter how beautiful the setting, when I see a full moon it takes me back to Iguazu with Leandra...