The Count Down...

Yes time is nearing to say farewell for now. I open my email to queries of availability for last good-byes.

Patricia, the Uruguayan who sells Herbalife says "you must be busy...I broke up with my boyfriend, sad but...please stay in touch."

Facundo, my spinning instructor, asks for my email address and says "why do you have to leave?"

Marcela, an Argentine, with her four year old daughter Paloma, meet me in Palermo Viejo on Friday night for wine, sushi, and the latest stories. She asks how I feel about leaving...I say sad. She says "you seem so comfortable here."

Carlos, the Argentine pilot with Areolineas Argentina from the bus, asks for time before my departure. "I leave for Mexico Monday", (the schedule of a pilot) he says, "so maybe we could have dinner this weekend." I say, "sure...Saturday night would be good."

Then Ermes, the woman from Paraguay says, "my husband is out of town for the weekend on business, do you want to go dancing on Saturday night?" I say "well maybe I could meet you at midnight after dinner with the pilot. Can I send you a text message later tonight to let you know?"

Then Gabriela, my Argentine Spanish instructor, calls to schedule time...dinner for sure on Monday night before D-day (departure day) and maybe we can fit in a movie on Sunday night.

Then Brigitte from Colorado writes with last minute questions and a come back soon message.

I am doing my best to spend time with all those who have enriched my life here. And I am doing what I usually do when the intensity of the emotion requires time and space to let the dust settle. I get the hell out of dodge. So Monday, the day before D-Day I will be on the buquebus to Colonia, Uruguay. By the fast boat it is just and hour across the river. I will be traveling with the Argentines who are also leaving town for ferriado (the holiday). Monday is the day they remember the Malvinas war, not a pleasant memory. So we may all be a bit solemn.....

Brigette

The Expat Community...

Tuesday for lunch at the Empire Thai restaurant in barrio retiro I order my stir fry veggies and fish picante (spicy). The taste is excellent. A man appears at my table and queries "sufficiente picante?" (spicy enough), "Si, perfecto". We talk a bit in castellano and then he poses the question "De donde sos?" You guessed it. He's from the states and he tells me in English he is from "New Joysee". Kevin, the owner of this wonderful restaurant, came here 16 years ago when he was working as an accountant for a bank. Yes, an accountant. His bank was bought out by another bank, he lost his job and didn't want to leave Buenos Aires. Five years ago he bought into this restaurant. It is now his and if you don't have a reservation for lunch at 1:30, forget it, you are dining elsewhere.

Then Tuesday dinner I am in barrio San Telmo at Laurie's apartment. She bought two apartments a few years ago on Chacabuco in San Telmo. She tore down walls and constructed this incredible place. The dinner party was the four of us, Laurie and Bergitte from Denver Colorado and Beauty, from Georgia. The three have their stories to tell and have varying degrees of comfort with calling this place home. One is in the process of establishing residency with the next step being dual citizenship. We laugh, talk and share stories of aventures throughout the world.

On the bus home I think about this eclectic community I am claiming as my own...

Mis Gloriosos Hermanos...

Now I am over the top... watching a French Canadian movie with Spanish subtitles and understanding it! If it is available in the U.S. see it...My Glorious Brothers... It won several Canadian awards and is a beautiful movie. I told you I would squeeze in a couple more movies and why not challenge my language ability.

Selling Herbalife to Succeed or Just Survive...

I remember in the 80's people wearing buttons that read "Ask me about Herbalife." Maybe you remember, depending on your age, and it may still be big in the states. I haven't noticed. But it is growing here. And Patricia, from Uruguay, in her thirties, is a distributor and just signed her first downline she tells me. The story is a familiar one. She is the mother of two and divorved. The father barely pays support and rarely sees the children. There are no laws here that enforce support. So women are often on their own to support themselves and their children. Three years ago Patricia decided she no longer wanted to be an employee. There was no future for her. She wanted to be in business for herself. Then Herbalife came along and she hustles. She sees this as her way up and out. I am told that at 35 you are considered old in the workforce and that once retired later in life one lives in poverty. It is not a pretty picture economically.

Ermes, from Paraguay, echoes the sentiments of Patricia, though she is in a better position. She is married to whom it seems is a good guy and between the two of them they are more secure. Lars, a german man, living here for three years and in the real estate business tells me his observations are that the women work very hard and that is not what he sees of the men. Now he does admit this is a generalization but more true than not, he says. I connected him with another German looking for an apartment and he tells me if it works I get a commission...that is the way it is done here. I am not really looking for another gig but...

Guefilte Fish Festival

Tacha los ingredientes que no corresponden a la Receta de Guefilte Fish... It is a contest, "cross out the ingredients that are not in gefilte fish" and submit your entry to YOK judaismo tu manera...judaism your way! I am wandering the streets of Palermo after my usual Sunday morning walk and happen upon a festival. I see signs for kosher this, kosher that, and my eyes are drawn to kosher wine! Yes, there is a jewish community in Buenos Aires but I have yet to see them out in force. Then it dawns on me that Passover starts in eight days and these are preliminary festivities.

Though a relatively quiet weekend, as I prepare for my departure I have made it a point to hang out with the people and in the places that I want to hold most vivid in my mind. Palermo is one of my favorite barrios. If I were to choose another location to live instead of Recoleta it would be Palermo. It is quiet and lovely plus filled with the most avant garde restaurants. It is the up and coming area. I have my favorite cappuccino haunt there... Mama Racha....and my favorite seat outside looking at the park. Today after my cappuccino and in memory of my trip north I stopped for a light lunch at La Paila-cocina del norte argentino, in Palermo Viejo. It was humita en chala and empanada con albahaca, tomate y queso. The humita is mashed corn with cheese, red pepper and spices served in a husk. The empanada is a baked dough, in this case, filled with cheese, basil and tomatoes. I hate to think that the end of these easily accessible meals is in sight. So I choose to pull a Scarlet O'hara... I will think about it tomorrow!

And tomorrow I will tell you of coffees shared this week at different times with Ermes, Patricia, and Lars. There stories paint a picture of the struggle here for the Argentine as well as for the ex-pat. But that is for tomorrow....

Writer's Block

Last night at the Cine viewing "Mas Extrano que la Ficcion", "Stranger than Fiction", I am watching Emma Thompson thinking, that's my problem...I have writer's block. I have resisted writing because the creative juices are blocked and the words are burried. But I am not struggling with how to kill Harrold Crick. I am struggling with how to put words to my good-byes. And I am thinking I will NOT say good-bye to this cinema just yet. I have time. I can squeeze in one or two more films for sure.

At Fundacion Leer on Wednesday I announce when I arrive that it would be my last day of volunteer work in Buenos Aires for now. I say in Buenos Aires because I have already committed to do translation work over the internet while in the States. And I say for now because I know I will return. After my three hours of work Vicki hands me a large envelope "Para Maureen De Fundacion Leer" with a smiley face. Inside are many hand written messages..."Fue un Placer tenerte aca, espero verte pronto de vuelta. Gracias". "Muchas gracias por haber compartado tu estadia en Buenos Aires con Fundacion. Muchas Gracias y Suerte." "Muchisimas gracias por colobrar con nosotros! Y mucha suerte en su regreso. Esperamos una nueva visita! Carinos." "Besos"... And there are many more. Must I truly leave this office that for just a few hours of my time in Buenos Aires has been a place for me to give back to a country that has given me so much. I should be writing them the thank you!

I felt the same as I left the Academia Buenos Aires this week. This institute has been one of my sources of learning this trip. Remember the beautiful building with Francisco, the man who appreciated my accent? I said another good-bye, again for now...Hasta luego...until later. One of my instuctors requested that I consider seeing her as a client/patient when I return. I have always considered my business to be regional and at times people would laugh at me when I called my business Healthcare Consultants International. But I have seen myself as a world citizen for a long time, so why not!

If I continue with the stories of my good-byes I will be weepy. So for now I say good-bye to you with the same promise... Hasta luego. Besos.....

Saying Good-bye Slowly...

It is a process you know, these good-byes. It shouldn't be hurried, but savored. And with every good-bye there is varying degrees of pain, for of course, with good-byes there is loss. I am beginning that process here in Buenos Aires and protecting the days, hours, minutes remaining. I think about the places I want to revisit before I leave. The new places on my list of desires I still want to see. The people with whom I want to spend my time. And when I walk the streets I replay the words, "falta poco tiempo", there is little time left. Today I see Marcelo, the man with the hands, and wonder, will this be the last time? And Facundo, my spinning instructor, is going on vacation. There are many more whose faces run through my mind and I am quite sure their impact on me has been far greater than mine on them. I am the one leaving this beloved Buenos Aires, they are here to stay. But this is a process and I have time yet to savor the moments.

Back to La Terapeuta, Psicologa, Analista

I am sitting on the colectivo (bus) last night enroute to an art exhibit in Belgrano. I met a woman about a month ago from Belgium now living here. Her opening last night was at Braque Galeria de Arte on Cabildo and Monroe (pronounce Moan-Row-Ay). I am not familiar with Belgrano and turn to the man sitting next to me to ask.... "How far to Moan-Row-Ay? He looks at me and says "Speaka English...." And the conversation begins....

He is a pilot for Aerolineas Argentina and has been flying for them for some thirty years...flies to the States and all over the world. He loves Buenos Aires but prefers Paris... is married, has four children, the first by his first wife, and the other three by his current wife. One of his daughters who is 23 teaches skiing in Utah during our winter, their summer, and is studying Economics in Buenos Aires. The middle daughter is into design and will be in New York shortly for a fair. The son(by the first wife) is into music. I don't know what the daughter does. Oh, he says, "and what do you do?"

Then we are really off and running...."My psychotherapist is in Barcelona. You know I thought I would have to stop flying this year. I will turn 60. But there is a new law that I can work until 65. I had to take a Cognitive test. You know there are many things to consider as you get older. Would you like to celebrate St. Pat's Day with my wife and I? I can show you the results of my test....." I love it here. Everyone's craziness is just out there in full view with an open invitation for examination. So I may be drinking green beer tommorow and discussing Cognitive function while mine is diminishing with the beer!!!

The Best and the Beast of Bolivia...

The best of Bolivia is that it is undeveloped...and that too is the beast. Many roads are impassable in the rainy season. But this country also claims ownership to the World's Most Dangerous Road according to the Inter-American Development Bank. This is the road between LaPaz and Coroico. Though I did not travel this road I was very curious and did some investigation while in Bolivia.

One travel guide states..."This road is a gravel track of 3.2m width, the width for one vehicle, 1000m drops, hulking rock overhangs and waterfalls that spill across the road and erode the highway. On leaving La Paz to cross La Cumbre dogs stand like sentinels awaiting handouts. Camion drivers feed them in the hope that the achachilas (ancestors spirits who dwell in the high peaks) will look after them on their way down. At the pass, drivers also perform a challa for the opus (ambient mountain spirits), sprinkling the vehicles with alcohol before beginning the descent."

A new road was recently built thanks to a $120million loan from the International Development Bank but the old road is still in use. This is the best and the beast of Bolivia. Even when development takes place it is slow to grab hold.

The Salar and Heading South...

Before the view of the Salar passes let me capture it in writing...Driving 10 kilometers through water on a bed of salt I see nothing but piles of salt periodically amidst the open spaces of an expansive salt lake. There are several jeeps headed to the salt hotel and on my right I see a bolivian bus pass carrying commuters headed to the next town. I kid you not, crossing the great salt lake. It was a sight to behold. And the salt hotel was another adventure.... everything made of salt...the building, chairs, tables...everything...all salt. Now mind you it was rustic but you could truly spend the night. Though I didn't spend the night I ate lunch at the salt table. I will return to Uyuni..it has a special energy.

But when I return I will be prepared with patience and time. The road south was out. The only way back was the train. And a landslide delayed the train 8 hours. Of course the border crossing was also an exercise in patience...three hours, standing, wondering, what could they possibly be doing with our passports (which they took 2 hours previously). Hoards of people just standing, waiting. A Bolivian man tells me they expedite the Europeans and North Americans that is why they took our passports. I can't imagine the wait for everyone else. Now Bolivia gets the bad rap, but that was a piece of cake next to Argentine Immigrations. Then of course there were the check points along the way south where the Argentine police stop the bus in the late night hours, wake us, lead us off the bus and search our bags. They are looking for drugs from Bolivia... but do they have to wake me twice? What is the problem the second guys don't think the first one's did their job? So next time I head north I will remember what it is like to head south and prepare to wait.

The final stop before returning to Buenos Aires...Jujuy, Argentina

Uyuni, Bolivia

When wandering off the train from Villazon at 1:00AM with a handful of backpackers in search of a place to sleep, a small bolivian woman appears in traditional garb offering clean rooms and bath. I say fine... un bano privado y habitacion simple no para compartir... basically I want my own room and bathroom. I mean for $5 US I think I can splurge. It is brisk but not nearly what I expected. The 8 hour train ride here was breathtaking. We traveled the Altiplano and through areas that were much more lush than I expected. The train itself was an experience, filled with bolivians, argentines, and a myriad of backpackers from throughout the world. I saw the sights, dined and drank wine with a man from Malta, then slept a couple of hours covered in a bolivian manta.

From one of the available guide books in the restaurant this morning I read "Bolivias bottom left corner is the most remote highland. With few roads, unpredictable weather, few scattered settlements, and unreliable transport, travel here is an exercise in patience and creativity. But the rewards for the adventurous travel is first-hand experience of other worldly landscapes. Mention Uyuni to a Bolivian and the response is likely to be harto frio-extreme cold. Nevertheless, Uyunis isolated position and outlook elicit an affectionate respect from both Bolivians and foreign travelers. The Bolivians have nicknamed it La Hija Predilecta de Bolivia...Bolivia's favorite daughter. "

I am hanging here for the day. When walking this morning I happened upon an interesting restaurant with granola and espresso. I know it doesnt sound like the roughing it thing. It was my choice after a long day and night. I am carrying on a conversation with the man behind the counter in castellano knowing full well he is not bolivian nor argentine. So I ask him where he is from... he says Boston... I say Chicago... he says No Way! While studying at Amherst he met his wife from Uyuni and has been in Bolivia for the past ten years. So tonight I am staying at the family's hotel which is wonderful by Bolivian standards. To give you a comparison I am paying $20 US for the night and think I am in the lap of luxury.

Tomorrow I will head to the Salar de Uyuni, the highest and largest salt lake in the world at an altitude of 3,650m, about 10,000feet and covering roughly 12,000sqkm making it twice as big as the Great Salt Lake in the U.S. So tomorrow it it Uyuni north to Colchani.

I am thinking more of Bolivia is on my list for next year or maybe I will just keep traveling now...just kidding, sort of....

Humahuaca...

I arrived on bus after dark last night. The taxi to the Hostal Azul cost less than a dollar U.S. A small quaint hostel with 8 private rooms. "What time is breakfast", I ask. "Cuando quierra, senora." Whenever you want, maam. Late, I am sure. After settling into my room I head back to town, a fifteen minute walk, in search of dinner. I hear music and follow it to the Cabildo Restaurant. There are 5 people seated, eating and listening to two musicians play music of the Andean highlands. Between numbers one musician introduces me to those already seated.. a couple from Humahuaca, two men from Salta...and you he says...me parece Italia... I think Italy. No, I confess...los estados unidos, Chicago. I always still claim the city of my birth as home. Shortly after my arrival two more men arrive and are introduced... one from Buenos Aires and the other from Malaga, Spain. The music was fabulous and the dinner wonderful. As I walk back to my hostel I thought, I am going to like it here.

This morning after breakfast I walked out the door of my hostel and for the first time took in the magnificent view... la cordillera de los Andes...is always breathtaking no matter what country one views its magnificence. As I make my way to town I pass the many indigenous peoples in traditional garb about the business of the day. They are at times walking in tandem with those dressed in the typical western garb that we know. This small pueblo with cobblestone streets and adobe buildings is enchanting. Once again ... me encata!

I don´t know when I will be able to make another post. I leave tomorrow morning for the border and if I am lucky will be on the train to Uyuni in Bolivia tomorrow afternoon. Hasta luego...

Los Gauchos...

So at 6:00AM I arrive at my pension thinking "what was I thinking...I have to take a bus in a few hours! How do those gauchos do it. They have to be up with the cattle, don´t they?" I thought it was just the tango dancers that could move those hips with such ease. Some of those gauchos are stiff competition. And yes, I was dancing until the very weeeee hours of the morning with them. Last night was an immersion in the folklorico experience... and I mean immersion. Now I am sucking on coco leaves in prepartion for the trip to Humahuaca... I hope to prevent altitude sickness as I climb to 9000 feet!

Salta...

De donde eres? Eres de Francia? Where are you from? Are you from France? I am rarely guessed as American... usually it is European, often French. What a relief! Given the current political situation I am thankful to not have to spend much time apoligizing for my country of origin. When traveling the world it is striking the view of our govenment. As an aside, I met a woman at the ExPats gathering who bought a place in SanTelmo (a barrio of Buenos Aires) immediately after the election of 2000. She has lived in Argentina since that time. But back to Salta.

This is a beautiful city, located in a valley at the foothills of the Andes. People do look different. One can see the indegenous influence. I have spoken to several people from Bolivia already. The trip is shaping up. What also struck me is that I am not speaking the porteno castellano. In Buenos Aires the words would be...De donde sos? The minute I heard "eres" I knew I was north. My pension is gorgeous...a small museum. The teleferico to the cerro in the park provided a breathtaking view. And after walking the streets of Salta, visiting the artesan market, and the contemporary museum of art, it was time for a rest. Sipping vino tinto from the Cafayate area I ordered a salad with soya... a form of tofu. It looked strange when it arrived. I querried the waiter about the tofu. Oh, they were out of tofu so they substituted a chuncky looking ham. Smiling my most engaging smile I requested a change, like maybe a nicoise salad with tuna. I am very happy to be here.

Disculpame...mucho tiempo...

Translated.... I am sorry it has been so long! Preparations for leaving town the week prior are no different no mater what part of the world one resides. Though only thinking I'll be on the road for a week the "did I remember this or did I remember that" list remains. Sometimes these week journeys are even more complicated since I travel very light and in this case have to plan for varying temperatures. But I booked my flight...depart tomorrow around 6:00PM for Salta and this morning reserved a room for the first two nights. My thinking is then I will begin the bus trip north but have no set timetable in mind nor reservations made. I am just doing as I said in my pevious email...."Heading North..." I must add my body is also ready for the long commute in bus. Marcelo, the man with the hands, has worked on my hamstrings. He may become a habit that is hard to break. And I could create several episodes of that telenovela dedcated just to him.

ExPats dinner tonight.... We'll see what new comes my way here. I will keep you posted.