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Spooky Milonga

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One evening in late June we jumped on a bus and rode it all the way down Rue Tolbiac, almost to the end, a block from the François Mitterand library. Looking for a milonga, we walked past the funkiest trashiest old building I’d ever seen. It had a medieval tower whose top was wrapped in netting… some kind of restoration? Keep the hunckback from flinging rotten fruit on passersby?

tower tour, anybody? Eiffel Tower it ain’t!

A set of windows on the 2nd or 3rd floor was painted into a giant gaping mouth with sharp monster teeth, waiting to devour anyone who dared enter. Silly us, we hadn’t yet realized that scary building was our destination!

Who’s hungry? I am!

We kept walking, not seeing any place that looked like a milonga. Around the corner the sidewalk sloped down to the level of the ground. There was a big chain link fence, a parking lot full of junky cars, graffiti everywhere, weeds, broken windows, trash… where the yada yada were we going?

colorful graffiti…

Ben spotted an opening in the chain link, with a paper taped to it that said Milonga Los Frigos and an arrow pointing to a trail leading around the side of the horrific palace.

boho chic?

We ducked under some trees and plunged into the semi-darkness of a shady overgrown courtyard slash/ abandoned side yard.

the spooky path

After a few steps we saw the twinkle of tiny lights through an opening in the brush. Three young people sitting around a card table came into view, smiling and looking completely normal. Could these be the demented gatekeepers of a horrific palace? Had we just entered the Twilight Zone?

We paid our €7 each. Apparently still having that deer-in-the-headlights look about us, the slim young Parisian (she spoke a little Spanish) led us along a dirt trail that led to the cobblestone patio and then, happily, towards what looked like a bar in a cave. Emerging from darkness into light is always a little confusing. We thought maybe the bar was the milonga, but she said it was just the bar, and so we walked past it (you could hear Billie Holiday singing softly) to yet another cave-like room on the ground level. By now we heard the music and saw open doors on a small wooden deck leading into — you guessed it — the milonga! Couples were dancing, and others sitting around small tables lit with candles. The ceiling was a series of stone arches paved with brick (we were right under the overpass) and the dance floor was, well, not great, but … what else do you expect at a monster’s ball?

trés jolie!

….and so we danced happily ever after in the remodeled troll cave. With French champagne in hand we toasted the classic sounds of Orquesta Sans Souci, Sexteto Milonguero, Canaro, Troilo, Biagi, Caló, de Caro, Pugliese, Enrique Rodríguez and other Top 100 Tango Tunes. We drank to bat caves, badger dens, rabbit warrens, hobbit holes and other warm snuggly hideaways. We danced underneath Rue Tolbiac, left bank of the Seine, 13th Arondissement, and we kept dancing until we dropped. Perfect, blissful, tango exhaustion: you try to pace yourself, but another favorite song comes on and a mysterious underground force compels you to get up and dance some more!

BOO!

Happy Halloween!

Sitges Tango Festival July 18 – 22

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warm tropical nights… milonga under the stars… the crowd watches a demo by Sebastian Arce & Mariana Montes

We carried the rain with us as we flew from from Paris to Barcelona one gray day last July. From the airport we drove through the midsummer drizzle 30 km south to Sitges. By sunset that evening the skies were clearing, though the wind continued through the night. In the morning the sky was still cloudy, but, intrepid beach-goers that we are, we walked half a block to the beach with our giant sunbrella and his & hers beach towels. After an hour the clouds had flown away north (to drench Paris again, no doubt, as they’d been doing all spring) and the day turned sunny and hot. Here’s my personal bodyguard testing the water…

the water is warm!!!

captured web photo… it actually wasn’t this crowded!

Known as the St. Tropez of Spain, Sitges is a small city known for its beaches, nightspots, and historical sites.  A wide boulevard winds along the Mediterranean, with cafés, restaurants (fresh fish! tapas! clams oysters mussels calamari, lobster…) beautiful old houses, historic churches, alcázars, plazas… tango on the beach, anybody?

white sands, white tie…

and Tango.

Sitges became a counterculture city back in the 1960s… and it still resonates hip and cool. One of the hottest gay beaches of Europe, too. Franco was still in power in those days, but apparently rebellious Sitges managed to skate by … or maybe I’m just desperately under-informed.

main beach and plaza

pretty tiled fountain

in the historic center

a beautiful old portal

I really go for historic buildings, and Sitges is full of them.

looks Art Deco to me

This retro wedge-shaped building was one of the landmarks I used to orient myself while walking around the old part of town. The streets are winding cobblestone paths, most not even wide enough for cars, and even though they mostly all lead down to the beach, it’s easy to get lost in the maze (unless you’re looking for the beach, of course). But since being lost is my normal state, I actually felt pretty much at home. Everywhere you look are restaurants, cafés, colorful shops and marketplace stalls selling tango-fashionable loose trousers, and loads of more pretty things.

Every day is market day in a tourist town, and the food on display was appetizing and delicious!

CJS pizzas (just say “CJ’s”)

the olive seller

CJS deli

CJS salmueria

a portal in the historic center

la Sirenita de Sitges

Our room in a small hotel a half-block from the beach overlooks a beautiful house, three floors, dazzlingly white walls with blue shutters, an intense cobalt blue (one of my favorite colors!) with a terracotta roof. Classic mediterranean. Sorry! I didn’t get a picture. But here’s a serene spot on the hotel terrazza, where breakfast is served till noon, and you can order drinks and/or snacks the rest of the day and evening.

Hotel Los Globos

If you’ve had too many mojitos you can just hang out and talk to the resident parrot.

Pieces of Eight! Pieces of Eight! Isn’t that one of the last lines in Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic, Treasure Island?  The Hotel Los Globos resident parrot-greeter talks and whistles loudly whenever anyone walks by. He seems really sweet, but then I didn’t risk sticking my finger between the bars. We humans always want to believe animals have thoughts and feelings just like us. I guess we just can’t imagine anything different, but… birds will be birds! And they have brains the size of a pea. Of course it helps if you use all the brainpower you have!

The afternoon we arrived we walked all around town. The main church is perched on a high point of the malecón, the walkway along the waterfront.

la iglesia principal

There was a wedding party outside the church, with lots of chic people standing around, waiting for the novios to exit. I felt like I’d stepped into an episode of La Reina del Sur, but fortunately there was no exchange of gunfire. I should have taken a few photos but, shy me, I didn’t want to be the intrusive tourist. Later, as we walked along the beach, we happened upon the sweet ending of yet another wedding! The couple was wrapped up in a big piece of  cloth which was then knotted around them, like a giant pretzel. Trapped forever! or so it would seem. A day of domestic mergers in sunny Spain.

Sitges evening milonga

The Sitges Tango Festival had world-class teachers: Miguel Angel Zotto, Sebastian Arce & Mariana Montes, Rubén & Sabrina Véliz, Sebastián Jiménez & María Inés Bogado  (winners of the 2010 Mundial de Tango in Tango Salón), Marcelo Ramer & Selva Mastroti, and Marcela Troncoso. All Argentines, all professional tango dancers and teachers. Miguel Angel Zotto was flying solo — he had a lovely assistant who was filling in for his wife, who had just given birth to twins! Way to go, Miguel! Nice guy, by the way, totally unpretentious, the way I like my tango teachers. <www.festivaltangositges.com>

Ensemble Hyperión under cover at the Jardines de Terramar

Classes were held every afternoon (no morning classes, thank you! you gotta sleep sometime!) at three locations, organized by the customary levels of beg-int-adv. (Or is that beg-int-tango teacher? ja ja) I took one class per day… my usual limit. Ben took lots… the Energizer Bunny. I took a DJ class with Gabriel Sodini, also Argentine. More of a chamuyo, really, a question & answer session, but informative. Gabriel is buddies with our old friend Gato Valdéz, who DJ’d the all-nighters on the beach, starting at 2 am, after the official milonga ended. What a fun time we had!!

the gala Saturday night milonga & show… fabulous!

I highly recommend this tango festival. Super location, super teachers, great shopping, cheap street food, tapas, fish… sun and sand… and reasonably priced classes!

dinner on the beachfront

Life is Good.

Ciao from Sitges!

On Getting Lost and Finding Dalí

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In the last week we’ve covered a lot of territory: the Luxembourg Gardens, the Paris catacombs, Notre Dame, the Louvre, Pont Neuf, Montmartre, Sacre Coeur and Espace Dalí. We’ve also found time for milongas, checking out more boulangeries and patisseries, and getting our Paris Metro passes. First rule of thumb for Paris newbies: try to avoid getting lost in the Luxembourg Gardens. I wandered off from Ben one fine day, looking for the w.c., and I couldn’t find my way back!

a beautiful day near the Luxembourg Gardens

This beautiful fountain (Fontaine de l’Observatoire, 1874)  reminds me of the Fontana di Trevi in Rome, which predates the Luxe Garden’s fountain by 112 years. The Romans tended to build fountains where their aqueducts converged. This fountain is a natural spot to meet up with someone, cause it’s so large you can’t miss it. Plus, it’s right at the south entrance to the Gardens.

the horses have fish-tails!

The water spilling over the edge and into the still pool is just lovely. Above them four nymphs are circling, symbolically representing the earthly sphere, with its four directions and four colors of humankind. The figures hold aloft a circular band with the 12 symbols of the Zodiac. Pretty cosmic stuff! You might say it prefigured the hippie era. Farther on is a long strip of green lawn edged with shade trees and dotted with sculptures.

give the guy a drink! he’s thirsty!

The lawns were busy with families, kids playing, couples romancing, and teenage girls in bikinis on beach blankets getting a head start on their summer tans.

The Luxembourg Gardens were built in 1615 by Marie d’Medici, Queen consort of France. She was the second wife of Henry IV. The palace was modeled after the Palazzo Pitti, in Marie’s hometown of Florence, Italy. Following the assassination of her husband in 1610, which occurred the day after her coronation (yikes!) Marie acted as regent for her son, King Louis XIII, until he came of age. She was noted for her involvement in the ceaseless political intrigues at the French court, and also for her extensive artistic patronage. And we thought our era was full of Sara Palins, Andy Warhols and Sarkozys?

Club Luxe Med?

If you walk past the huge reflecting pool, where pint-size sailing ships stage battles, there are acres and acres of trees, planted in straight lines that crisscross like a grid. Beneath the trees are dozens of park benches, also set in rows and interspersed with more sculptures, fountains, a carousel, an apple orchard, a café, pony rides… it’s an enormous invisible labyrinth! Every time you stop and turn around, it looks the same… trees and benches all around you. Are you getting that lost feeling yet? A bit dizzy? Like, too many giros? Not to worry, along came an avenging angel on horseback to save the day!

with his trumpet blazing!

With his cell phone beeping, is more like it. The tall guy was glad to find me, and plenty pissed off about my being lost for two hours! Here I am looking lost (but not really lost) on a rainy day in our neighborhood:

I admit I get lost easily..

especially if I walk into a Macy’s or even Target! Right brainers have more fun but we get into more trouble, too!

stay in your cubicle or get lost in the garden!

Anyhow, he got over it and his reward was a beautiful baguette!

make ’em eat bread!!

After my traumatic day I was in serious need of caffeine and sugar. Luckily, that’s not a problem in Paris.

how about a latte and a little something…

passionately sweet!

the fruit is real!

And if you really want to get lost, how about a delightful cobblestone street to find yourself in?

just follow the path!

So one very pretty day we found ourselves in the Metro, heading up the hill to Montmartre. We got off at Abbesses, and a big elevator took us several flights up to a beautiful plaza. We walked up curvy cobblestone streets, past dozens of adorable cafés,

Chez Marie

tourists by the dozen

more cafés

climbed up hundreds of stairs

you’ve got to be kidding!

are we there yet?

past free art on display

Adam offers God a drag?

finally arriving in the artsy tourist mecca, with its plaza packed full of artists sketching, painting, and displaying their works.

plaza des Artistes

Montmartre is a charming picturesque art enclave. Of course, it was a real artists’ zone back in the late 19th / early 20th century, and later re-engineered as a tourist destination. And there really is a population of artists making a living every day in Montmartre, though the game has changed. A village of artists, by artists, for artists, now that’s a different animal. Unfortunately there are precious few such places left these early 21st century days. Maybe in San Telmo? San Luis Obispo?

a busy painter

The Plaza des Artistes is just a stone’s throw away from the huge white monolith of Sacre Coeur, built into the top of the hill.

Sacre Coeur Cathedral

Dazzling!

returning home from the Crusades?

We blinked as we caught sight of Paris spread out before us in the distance, huge and glittering like a medieval dragon about to take flight.

After somewhat restoring our much abused strength with some crunchy sweet pralines purchased from a street hawker, we walked up a few more flights of stairs into the cathedral. Mass had just begun, and we weren’t sure if we should take seats and pray or just follow the tide of tourists coming in one set of doors, circling and gawking (no photos please!) before exiting out another set of doors. But then we saw a regiment of nuns who began to march up the aisle singing, followed by six priests walking their timeless procession. The singing was beautiful, as singing by women who have the time to practice and rehearse should be, so we found seats, stood up, and sang along with everyone else. It was quite stirring and wonderful.

After partaking of free blessings on the house, we made our way back to the main plaza in search of the Musée Dalí. Properly known as Espace Dalí. We found the petit musée and spent a couple of hours looking at some of Dalí’s best drawings, paintings and sculptures (bronzes). We took time to read all the commentaries (in French and English, side by side, how thoughtful!) and we both enjoyed learning the background and thought processes of the artist on each piece. I didn’t know that he illustrated several books, including an edition of Alice in Wonderland and the Romance of Tristan and Isolde.

Alice in Wonderland

Dalí also did some work for Walt Disney and created the dream sequences for the Hitchcock movie Spellbound. I’m a fan of Hitchcock too, so it was interesting to learn of the Dalí connection.

Salvador Dalí 1939

I already knew something of Dalí’s friendship with Spanish filmmaker Luis Buñuel (check out Los Olvidados, his classic 1950 documentary on street kids in Mexico City), along with Man Ray, Garcia Lorca, Picasso, Modigliani and the other artists and assorted groupies who lived in Montmartre in the early 1900s.

Dalí & Man Ray, 1934

It was noted that the long twirling moustache Dalí developed (after the above snapshot) resembled that of 17th century Spanish painter Diego Velázquez. Perhaps Dalí appropriated those curls to call forth Velázquez’ ancestral artistic spirit as a kind of inspirational muse? Or maybe they were proto-rhinoceros horns? Dalí called his method of creative design a “paranoic-critical method” of “accessing the subconscious” for creative inspiration.

Velázquez self-portrait

Is that the Jungian collective unconscious or the artist’s personal subconscious? According to exhibit notes, Dalí’s iconic “melting watches” are “a rejection of the assumption that time is rigid and deterministic.”

We think Dalí was influenced by Einstein’s theory of relativity, which was published in 1916 (remember MC2?) and won Einstein the Nobel Prize in 1921. Einstein postulated that time is relative and not fixed. Their paths may have crossed. Einstein emigrated to the United States in 1933, due to the rise to power of the Nazis in Germany. Dalí had his first New York gallery opening in 1934, entitled Persistance of Memory. Let’s just say it’s possible that Einstein was aware of the Surrealist Movement, and Dalí had most certainly heard of Einstein.

father of modern physics

self-portrait with butterflies

Dalí is so much fun! He is portrayed as being wildly egocentric, but I don’t really get that from his work. Sensitive, yes… creative — wow! off the charts!! but also loving… of nature, of women, of literature, of classical painting, of humankind’s creativity and contradictions.

I see… a rhinoceros!

I was delighted and astonished by actor Adrien Brody’s portrayal of Dalí in Midnight in Paris. He really brought Dalí to life for me! Apparently he saw a kind of cosmic geometry unfolding in the horns of a rhinoceros; as others see geometric designs in crystals, snowflakes, drops of water, honeycombs… you name it. And I don’t doubt that the universe truly has been formed in a perfect, geometric, yin/yang sort of unfolding. If the fundamental nature of matter in our universe can be traced to a handful of subatomic elements, then even the molecules of your mind spring forth from the patterns instilled in us from the beginning of time. As authors of our own stories, we play a director’s role, enabling us to pursue the perfection of our selves in a search for meaning that evolves in the context of natural harmony. I admit I’ve always been a fan of surrealist art–some of it LSD induced. “I don’t do drugs… I am drugs!” proclaims a t-shirt at the Espace Dalí gift shop.

I am Dalí!

I could go on and on about Dalí, but our 20th century genius is not in need of PR. The Art here in Paris is absolutely dazzling, to say the least. There is an amazing Degas exhibit at the Musée d’Orsay right now:

a woman bathing

First Sunday of the month is free admission day at about 150 Paris museums, so that will only take us, let’s see, 12 first Sundays a year…. 2 museums in a day…. no way, that’s too tiring…. 1 museum per month… looks like we’ll have to stay here another 12 and a half years to see it all! The pressure is on!

Dalí’s St. George and the Dragon

Looks like I don’t have enough space in this post to cover the catacombs (spooky!) Paris milongas, Paris tango fashions, Paris tango etiquette, Paris DJs and Paris milonga music! Stay tuned for all that and more. And what about about springtime in Paris? She’s a fickle one, to be sure. Sunny and up into the 80s one day, absolutely gorgeous; chilly, windy and rainy the next; then hot and humid with thunderstorms! Isn’t that just like a woman?

Au revoir from Paris!

Paris! week 1

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Here we are in gay Paree! Until yesterday I was still trying to finish my last blog from Buenos Aires, and feeling rather behind in keeping up with my own life. That sounds strange, no? Am I both the actor and spectator of my own life? Aren’t we all?

Beautiful Paris, you’re as grand as they say! After a frenetic front seat Grand Prix ride on the traffic-jammed boulevards of Paris, and thrilled to have finally made it to the City of Lights, we find our apartment on Rue de Tolbiac, 13th Arondissement. It’s a comfortably wabisabi turn-of-the-century building located in a charming neighborhood called Butte des Cailles (Quail Hill). There are 2 sets of winding wood stairs separated by a small bare courtyard: we climb six flights up with luggage. The steps are old and worn but not worn out. Just polished by time. Judging by the effort going up, I’m guessing we won’t need a gym! The Stairmeister!  But lovely views from our windows. Church towers, rooftops, courtyards.  Nothing homely in sight. We’re in Paris!

towers of St. Anne’s from kitchen

Our apartment is small but plenty of room for 2 traveling tangueros. We have a cozy living room with green tiled fireplace, wainscoting, plank floors, “french” doors opening onto a small terrace  that looks down to a cobblestone street. So quiet compared to our neighborhood in Buenos Aires!

home sweet home

The bedroom has the same view, looking out at rooftops, a pretty marble fireplace, a comfy queen bed with a big pouffy duvet and pillows in blue & white, and a small desk and chair.

charmant

The only closet is in the hall. We call it the Barbie bathroom. Like everything made by Mattel, it’s ridicuously cute and always on the brink of coming apart.

teeny tiny

Our kitchen is a pastiche of eras and trends, but has roomy chopping-block counters, and a decent 4-burner stove with an oven which unfortunately burns your toast before you can blink. There’s even a washing machine! The kind with the hobbit door that can whoosh a small flood into your kitchen if opened in an untimely manner — speaking from previous experience, naturally.

our petit kitchen

The day we arrived we scouted the neighborhood, walked up to the Place d’Italie, and spent a pleasant hour at O’Jule’s, a popular outdoor café across from the plaza, a relaxing and comfortable spot of green in the midst of the 13th.  St. Anne’s chimes the hours and half hours: We’re not in Kansas anymore!

la Place d’Italie

I love the sound effects of Paris: the rumbling Metro, traffic, church bells tolling the hours, people speaking French, police car sirens; I feel like I was slipped into a Pink Panther movie! Ben likes to venture out before I even wake up, and he usually comes back with croissants or breakfast pastries. He does this to give me a reason to get out of bed before noon. Believe me, he had me figured out in a split second! He is taking photos of bakeries, lots of photos. He says if you want to call your bakery a boulangerie you have to bake on the premises. It’s the law!

sweet pastries on every corner and then some

Yes, that’s all sugar, in its myriad forms. Another fan of french cuisine is this guy, France’s new Socialist president, Francois Hollande:

Power to the people

No doubt he runs on sugar and caffeine too. I have no idea what his campaign promises were, but like every other politician, he’s given to mouthing sweet nothings. Let’s hope he can keep France out of the euro crisis and his hands off random women.

Sarkozy’s booty

Hollande appears to be less of an egomaniac and philanderer than his predecessor, Sarkozy, who ruled France in the timeless tradition of that other famous French blueblooded egomaniac, Napoleon. These days I could care less what labels politicians use: they’re all dancing around the same glittering fountain of gold, projecting pretty false promises of unreach- able achievements onto whatever size screen you are tethered to. Hollande will have at least four years to make his claim to fame. Napoleon did it in 10.

I am da MAN!

Old Napoleon must be rolling with laughter about how much trouble these 21st century politicians can get into. Back in his day, the French “badboy” could do just about anything he pleased, from expanding his empire and war chest through aggression, trade, and diplomacy (like royal marriages, insults, alliances, trade embargoes, you get the idea…) to giving license to his capos to abscond with valuables and antiquities from all over Europe. But, hey, the French love him!! I trust Texan Molly Ivins on the subject: “Never trust a man who doesn’t like whisky and women.” Way to go, girl!

To get a better picture of the royal lifestyle, we toured Napoleon’s apartments in the Louvre. Gold leaf, precious gems, mirrors, sculptures, carpets, tapestries, silver, china, swords, treasure chests… you name it! Everything for the royal family.

just a wing of the Royal Palace

All hail the Conquering Emperor!

how about a little Napoleonic bling?

menage a trois, anybody?

He and Josephine liked to throw lavish parties:

Honey, can you set the table?

As soon as I’m done fixing my hair…!

After only two days of marriage, Napoleon left to conquer Italy. Way to go, Emperor! Josephine, already mother of two by a previous marriage (her first husband was assassinated), assuaged her loneliness with a lover. When Napoleon found out, he was furious but, being a player himself, he somehow found his way back to France and his young bride.

Napoleon and Josephine at a party

Could they be a previous incarnation of Sonny & Cher? Amazing! But their union bore no children, so Napoleon, heeding the biological imperative of reproducing one’s DNA, eventually divorced her and remarried. Apparently they remained friends, so I guess Napoleon has the high moral ground over Sarkozy, IMF exec Dominique Strauss-Kahn, and the U.S. Secret Service.

You’re toast, boy!

The Louvre: what a place!  Echoing halls, all glitz and glam, cool polished marble, the musty breath of ancient art and treasures of every description. Paris writer David Downie says that previous French president Francois Mitterand’s biggest and most successful endeavor was the makeover of the Louvre, transforming it from a dusty, dreary place into a modern labyrinth of Art, complete with a 72 foot pyramid of glass and criscrossed steel that rises above the central plaza, leading down into a giant arcade with theater, shopping concourse, Metro stop and parking lot. I like the way he describes in a nutshell the 9 million tourists who visit the Louvre every year: “Here were smiling hordes stuffed with exotic delicacies from the merry-go-round of Louvre restaurants, casting beatific glances at skillfully lit artworks before loading up on reproductions, CDs, designer sportswear, computers, and gadgets.”* Ka-ching, ka-ching!

Walking around the galleries, the quiet, awestruck murmurs of your fellow museum-goers and art lovers becomes a soothing white noise to foreground your art experience. It really is breathtaking, though, all jokes aside. In just our first week here we’ve been to the Musée d’Orsay as well, and we’ve seen the most awesome art: Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over the Rhone, Degas’ The Dance Class, Cezannes, Renoirs, Monets, daVincis, Goyas, Leonardos; all of it spectacular! (*Paris, Paris: Journey Into the City of Light, 2005)

sweet girl

Paris really does make all other cities pale by comparison. Ben got us both Friends of the Louvre photo-ID passes, good for a year including all special exhibitions. Our first day at the Louvre, new passes in hand, we celebrated with lunch at Angelina’s, a lovely café a few flights up in the Richelieu building.

I had to tweak it cause the background so bright

Standing guard outside the windows are a long lineup of gentlemen in stone:

Dante?

a bookish kinda guy? a writer?

Another day we followed the crowd to La Giocanda (AKA the Mona Lisa). Finally seeing her was rather anticlimactic, after all the other exquisite portraits on the same level — early Italian painting from the 13th to 19th century. Of course she does represent a major breakthrough from the medieval two dimensional portrait (of mostly saints, Christ and the virgen) to what we call modern: a face whose eyes look right into yours, a face with psychological depth that engages you immediately and gives you cause to reflect on all its complexities and layers of meaning. For me, there are many other portraits just as striking, without the lines and layers of bulletproof glass.

a Leonardo? I’ll go back and check…

Ben likes it all, but prefers sculpture to portraits. He thinks this carved marble throne is fit for a king! (cushion sold separately)

throne programmed to repel bad vibes

with matching queen’s throne!

this throne more user-friendly

Outside in the huge plaza a bronze maiden is always ready to provide a fetching backdrop to the tourist portrait:

are they talking about me again?

My favorite Parisien horse stands guard over the Musée D’Orsay:

(back to you, Autumn!)

While a black-spotted golden leopard stalks its marbled cage:

cousin of Romulus & Remus?

Today we were going to walk to the Luxembourg Gardens, but it’s raining and blustery! Darn this Paris spring weather! But tomorrow is supposed to be sunny and warm. Paris is a truly walkable city. Every block has interesting shops, and the bars and cafés are most excellent! My favorite outing is to take the Metro to a point somewhere on the Left Bank, get off, and wander your way back. SO much to see! Even though we will be here 2 months, the pressure is on to visit a museum or tourist destination every day… and even then we know we’ll never see it all.

That’s All, Folks!

Over and out for now. Stay tuned for a piece on our neighborhood, Paris bakeries, and a guide to Paris milongas by a pair of opinionated norteamericanos!

Ciao from Paris!

Sexteto Milonguero and Wild Women of San Francisco

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The other night we had the pleasure of listening to the high lonesome sound of SEXTETO MILONGUERO! These guys and gal can really throw down some dancing music! The celebration was the 6 month anniversary of a new milonga, La Coqueta de Recoleta. Here in Buenos Aires the milongas are usually packed, unless it’s early (before midnight) or late (after 4 am). But La Coqueta is quite danceable, the floor is excellent, table service very good, and the building is really and truly a Palace! Sexteto Milonguero plays a repertoire of  tangos, milongas and valses arranged in the classic 1940s tango salon style. The group was formed in 2006 by singer Javier Di Ciriaco. Their music is high-energy, and made for dancing! Good music, good friends, good vibes!

Javier Di Ciriaco flashed his trademark white lightning smile as the band cranked out high-octane tangos, valses and milongas.

they can play fast milongas!

Sexteto Milonguero ended the show with two tandas in a row of classic milonga! If you tango you know what a rarity that is. The band was simply giving the crowd what they like best! All was astir in milonguero heaven!

view from backstage

Lucky us, we had seats backstage… the contrabajo player was on the floor fixing something with his wiring…  Javier started off with a piece new to us, and he was singing better than I have ever heard him.  I admit he used to remind me of Paul English, Willie Nelson’s drummer, who acted and dressed like the devil’s little brother. But I was pleasantly impressed! The 2 violins and 2 bandoneons screamed and wailed. We climbed down to the floor and spent the next couple hours dancing Tango… our favorite pastime and addiction!

Gervasio Ledesma, piano

La Coqueta de Recoleta is located in a beautiful 1913 home built by José González Balcarce and his wife Rosa Aguirre Anchorena, both members of the vintage upper crust of Buenos Aires society of the era.

dining room

Balcarce’s father was the godson of General San Martín, who gets major credit for driving the Spanish out of Chile, Peru and Argentina in the early 1800s. The Palacio Balcarce became the residence of the German Ambassador in the 1940s (it was a Nazi hangout), and later the headquarters of the Armed Forces Officers’ Club.  If only the walls could talk…

la sala

Currently there is a restaurant on the second floor, and space is available for special occasions, weddings, and the like. The dance floor is upstairs on the 3rd floor. Pretty sweet spot for a milonga, ¿qué no?

Palacio Balcarce, Quintana 161, Recoleta

Willow, Javier Di Ciriaco

Tango is about containing and being contained, existing and coexisting, letting go of loneliness.  Tango is improvisation is Freedom.

Did you know? There ARE other things to do in Buenos Aires besides tango. There are lots of great museums, for one, and its sidewalk cafés rank amongst the world’s finest! I’ve been studying Italian at the Dante Alighieri Association. The Italian language has been a passion for me since I first read the Divine Comedy, while I was an undergrad at UC Santa Cruz. I’m Italian on my mom’s side, and we have a ton of relatives in Italy! Here’s some photos from our dopo la sparatoria festa! (post-firing squad party!)

on Corrientes

quasi tutti!

thanks for your visit!

The good news is, we all passed our written and oral exams. And I hear there’s going to be another party this Saturday night at Bar de la Rue in Belgrano! Masks are requested but not mandatory. Ci vediamo!!

Speaking of fiestas, this lovely dancer, who had just finished a tango exhibition with her partner at La Nacional, was also celebrating her birthday! Don’t you love that sweet hopeful look on her face as she makes her wish?

Make a wish!

Yes, we were there also, with Ben’s daughter Courtney who spent a week here and took tango lessons just about every day. Way to go, girl!

she likes to tango, and...

she loves empanadas!

My excellent friend Marcela Hourquebie, superb dancer, fantastic tango teacher, judge of tango competitions (you may remember her from a previous post, Back on the Radar), celebrated HER birthday last weekend at Porteño y Bailarín:

FELIZ CUMPLE AMIGA!!

This photo of us dancing at Porteño y Bailarín is for Ben’s mom Bess, who requested a nice photo of us dancing:

for you Bess!

Oops, she probably wants a photo where she can see HER SON’S FACE!! Sorry, Bess! It’s coming up very soon…. but first, our good friends Dolores and Guillermo:

wow man

Guillermo is sporting the mandatory three top buttons undone for the classic Latin lover AKA sexy tango dancer look! The tall guy, AKA Benjamín, has made it (with my help) to two buttons undone so far!

Dolores, me, and Jane from Anchorage!

She didn’t really have a big red spot on her face!  The lighting was strange last night but we kinda liked it!  Maybe Ben’s camera fell into the vino tinto?

and a fun time was had by all!

Jane and I at Fulgor de Villa Crespo

he loves the impressionist atmosphere!

And now, FINALLY, the part YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR!!

OUR FRIEND KEN NARRATES HIS FEARSOME EXPERIENCE WITH SOME  WILD SAN FRANCISCO TANGUERAS!

“Weirdly, the morning after the event, it was the alpha females who were most memorable for me.

“‘A’ kept up a running monologue of ‘okay, this is the part of the song where you do the molinete…now pause HERE, and let me play…’ sheesh!  But, she was so much fun, who could resist?

“And ‘B’ who, when we first started to dance, I asked to please not rest her head on mine because I needed to move my head for navigation…. well, that didn’t work.  We ended up head-to-head both facing straight down to the floor, and bent over in an improbable, stylized tango embrace so I could watch her feet, because at every ever-so-slight cadence or pause in the music, she would start ‘chopping cabbages.’ I laughed out loud every time she took the reins.

“There was ‘C’ who told me I must not hold her in tight embrace, that she needed to “train” me, that she wanted her right arm to be placed just so, that here she would do a dip, all the while narrating the the intimate secrets of those dancing around us.  Shocking!

“And then there was ‘D’.  She took me on a joy-ride milonga like I had never had, or… did I take her? (it was hard to tell) Absolutely like driving a Maserati up the Amalfi coast, and I’m ready to plunge off at any moment.  Suddenly she stops dead.  ‘Why is it,’ she ponders, ‘people don’t stop during the milonga?’  I thought, what the hell, so I also stopped us dead several times during the song, and each time she moaned in pleasure, ‘yes, oh yes….’ It was a milonga interruptus.

“Sometimes it’s the Wild Women who are the most fun!”

Thanks, Ken! And to MY READERS: Do you like Ken’s story?  Send in your comments!

TANGO ADDICTION GUIDELINES

1:  you keep doing it
2:  every time you do it you feel happy
3:  it turns your life upside down but you don’t care.

Ciao from Buenos Aires!

Recoleta’s City of the Dead

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Good morning everybody!  Wake up, let your Light shine, and brush away all those dusty cobwebs!  On a beautiful Buenos Aires day we decided to explore the Recoleta Cemetery. The portal to the Recoleta Cemetery is Nuestra Señora del Pilar, built in 1732 by the friars of the order of Recoletos Descalzos.

When the order was dissolved a hundred years later, the convent garden became the first public cemetery of the city of Buenos Aires. The portal to the cemetery is imposing:

Portals can be rather overpowering, and the giant “REQUIESCAT IN PACE” was no different. But at least it wasn’t that portal… you know, Dante’s portal. The one that says “Abandon all Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.”

Somebody pulled his hoodie down over his arms! Juxtaposed here with symbols of religion, servitude, and the possibility of immortality, the image with two kneeling figures is quite stunning.

a watchful presence

Though you might find sadness here, there is also a feeling of lightness, a sense of reconciliation. Things lighten up, as you are taken on a visual tour of last resting places for your earthly body, if not your immortal soul. My favorite movie on the theme of death is Ingmar Bergman’s classic The Seventh Seal, filmed in 1957. The knight plays chess with death, hoping to win some extra time. He’s depressed, disillusioned, and trying to make it home from the crusades to see his family again. Will he really cheat death?

But the knight does cheat death: the hooded reaper is so intent upon their game he doesn’t notice the innocent young couple and baby slip away. The knight has traded his life for theirs.

beautiful

These art deco tombs are streamlined and modern. Looking at them gave me a more detached perspective on death and dying. But this one pulls on your heartstrings: a young girl.  There she is, immortalized in marble.  If you step inside and look up, there is a blue stained glass skylight, and the light shining through is rapturously blue, the bluest blue, a celestial blue.

young girl's tomb

The viewer feels the anguish of losing a child. The more beautiful the sculpture is, the more heartbreaking!

see the cats?

a dead end

The crowded streets of the city of death, busy with stone saints, angels and likenesses of the dwellers below, do lend a certain spirit of solidarity. Even if your bones are resting 6 feet below, you’re not alone!

gothic spire

And you’re in the exalted company of the old guard: generals, presidents, statesmen, doctors.  Rich dead guys.  And their families.  The previous couple of centuries’ most esteemed citizens.

Ben at the chapel

The sculptures and statuary abound with angels, wise ones, laurel wreaths and holy palms.

three guardians

This intersection practically needs a stoplight!  Do angels ever have mid-air collisions?

City of the Dead

So many guardian spirits!  Amongst depictions of life’s toils, struggles, rewards and recognition.

busy neighborhood

I find this very personal interaction visually compelling.

conversation with an angel

Eva Duarte Perón found her final resting place here, though Perón is buried elsewhere.  Evita’s body took the long, scenic and wierd trip home. You will find the longest lines and prettiest offerings at her tomb.

Evita's tomb

But Kristina, la Presidenta, in her efforts to be placed upon the same cloud, consciously and opportunistically evokes Eva’s image daily. So I’m not sure how rested Evita is feeling!

Tomás Guido's cave

This rocky cave-tomb reminded me of the 49ers (NOT the team! please!). I mean the gold panning whisky drinkin’ ones! Those raucous, smelly, flapjack flippin’ miners who married mules and coined the phrase “Whiskey’s for drinkin’, water’s for fightin’ over!”

Fandango in Alta California!

church street

You see many colors of marble in the cemetery, though black and white seem to be the most common.  I get the feeling this guy left someone behind who really missed him:

pensative

I haven’t quite figured out what this angel is signaling; let’s go? your time’s up? c’mon? Andale!

solitary angel

This one with the palm fronds is hard to decipher:

palm doors

But the lock on the doors is no mystery. Keep out! This means you!

uncared for & crumbling

These neglected tombs make me think about what might have happened to the relatives. Are they all dead? Live in another country? Too poor to spend money on restorations? How sAD.

uncared for & overgrown

When will your time be up?

Our fear of death keeps us from living, not from dying.

a spirit emerging, free at last!

If you were to die today, would you be happy with your life?

Not to worry, eternity will be so relaxing!

Ciao from Buenos Aires!

Living in Tango Paradise

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Who is this guy?

I predict that Leonel Messi will be the first official consecrated and sanctified SAINT OF SOCCER!!  I don’t mean a hundred years from now, I mean, LIKE SOON! Within his and our lifetimes! Because he has a gift straight from that upstairs-place, you know, HEAVEN!!  You heard it here first! 

If you’re addicted to Tango, you’re probably interested in all things Argentine, and no doubt you already know about Leonel Messi, Argentine soccer star. Messi, currently playing for Barcelona, is golden. This kid has already made more goals than just about every soccer player in the history of the sport and, at 24, is likely to top that list before 30. Messi is not just a great player, he’s magical. He moves the ball effortlessly around, under, over and through the other team’s defenders, like Clint Eastwood shooting down 5 outlaws before they even have a chance to draw. He’s famously unpretentious, not a showoff, not a bully, just a super nice guy. Once he has the ball and is closing in on the goal, he’s not a one-man show.  He always kicks the ball to his teammates, setting them up for their own goals, but ready to take over and slide one in, and those poor goalies, they just can’t read him, and are always caught off guard. Some people have a sixth sense, others are just barely managing five, but Messi has a soccer sense! We love watching him play with his favorite toy, a soccer ball.

Uh-oh!  It’s back to that old story for a moment, yes, the ashes from volcano Puyehue, just across the border in Chile. Before we left Patagonia we took a day to drive the 7 Lakes Circuit, starting in Bariloche heading northwest. And we did drive part of it, but due to the volume of ash in the air, not to mention the bumpy dusty gravel roads, we only drove through Villa Traful, so shrouded in ash you could barely see the lake, and on to Villa Angosturas, the epicenter of volcanic fallout. Villa Angosturas is still struggling to clean up. They hauled away several feet of ash, but it’s hard to finish the job when the volcano burps and spits out another ash plume every few weeks. Tourists, the area’s main cash crop, are still visiting the lakes but their numbers are way down from previous years. In the above photo you can see for yourself. Ashy landscape en route to Villa Traful: visibility almost nil!

Hotel Llao Llao with volcanic plume

In this photo Hotel Llao Llao is to the far left on a hill. Looking across Lake Nahuel Huapi you can see a giant plume of ash. It looks like fog, but it’s not! We watched this particular plume move in our direction for about 24 hours before it enveloped us. The following day it moved on, the sky cleared, and just a trace of ash remained.

Patagonian ducks at Lago Moreno

Wild ducks were still playing house on the lakeshore, and we  took a nice walk through the Arrayanes forest to the lake pictured above. The sky was clear!

Ben in the Bosque Arrayanes

The tall guy was playing around with growing a beard, and he tried several versions which were unusual, distinctive, and even playful. Wondering how he looks now?

happy and beardless: it was collecting too much ash!

Finally back to the mecca of Tango,  we went dancing at Sunderland with good friends from San Luis Obispo!

me, Ben, Val & Mary

Do we miss our friends from the Central Coast? YES! Did we miss Buenos Aires when we were in the mountains? Yes, but we liked the quiet. Did we miss our apartment? No, not really. Did we miss a lot of tango classes? Yes. Did we miss dancing? YES!!! It’s tough to be a tango addict out in nature. Did we miss the lovely summer weather in Buenos Aires? Definitely! 80°F and humid, with frequent thunderstorms, is close to perfection. 85 – 105°F and dry with no rain for months (back home) is also very nice, but not as thirst-quenching. 65°F and windy (Bariloche) I can do without! But the cabin we stayed in was super nice: Balcón al Lago, Llao Llao.

Back in the city we have some great friends, and boy do they put on some great parties!

Dolores & Guilermo singing on a wabi-sabi guitar!

the girls are ready to go dancing!

Back in Tango paradise, we plugged into the city scene like a set of jumper cables suckin’ down juice from the Infinite Source of all Power: Tango. If you’re tired, stressed, lonely, got a headache, restless legs, whatever your issue, chances are Tango will set you straight. You know how sometimes you need to be around a crowd, even if you don’t know anybody, just to feel human again? Well I feel that way too! I prefer dancing at milongas that are not well lit. I don’t like to feel watched. There are some milongas in Buenos Aires where people dance to be seen: Salon Canning, Niño Bien, Confitería Ideal, Sunderland, Porteño y Bailarín. But I prefer the ones where you can be anonymous, like la Viruta, Sueño Porteño, Maldita Milonga, Café Vinilo, Círculo Trovador, Sin Rumbo, La Baldosa, El Tacuarí, Lo de Celia.  To name just a few. I prefer to dance with my partner, connect to my partner, connect to the music, the musicians, the floor, the community of dancers going ’round and ’round.  Then you can experience the bliss of joining the harmonious whole, the fantastic exotic universe that is Tango. You are just another pair of bodies moving around the dance floor, moving to the same beat and compás, that syncopated beat, the heart of Tango. It’s a healing, harmonious space where the music and your partner hold you close. You close your eyes and just dance.

••• Hey everybody! I hope you like my new web design, it will be even better when I figure out how to customize it. I plan to have 3 columns instead of 2. For now, baby steps!

••• Pretty soon I will no longer send out a notice to my readers. Just click the follow button to continue to receive an automatic notice when I post a new story.

••• And now you can post comments, they are visible on the home page, and I will reply! Va bene?

Ciao from Buenos Aires!

Patagonia: Estancia San Ramón

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Patagonian cowgirl

The sun was shining and hot with no hint of wind the day I went riding with Carol Jones. Carol is a genuine gaucha who grew up on Estancia Nahuel Huapi, across the lake from Bariloche. She inherited the ranch from her grandpa, Jared Jones, who was the first white man to settle in the area. He arrived over a hundred years ago, whether heading towards Patagonia or running from Texas, I couldn’t say. But this sureña cowgirl is the real deal: a life lived from the back of a horse. Carol was ranch-raised and began riding and helping out with ranch chores when she was 5 or 6. Her grandpa Jared had seven sons; so she had plenty of aunties, uncles and cousins to play with.

Carol on the trail (note the volcanic dust)

On account of the still-present and very visible ashes from volcano Puyehue, Carol had to move her livestock to another ranch the family owns higher up in the mountains to the south, farther away from the volcano. She’s already lost one horse who colicked from a gut full of volcanic dust.

After we hit the trail, Carol was happy to talk to me about local medicinal plants and discuss their uses. She says none of her horses have had shots or medical treatments except for herbal remedies, and they’ve all had exceptionally long lives – well into their thirties. She built up her knowledge of local plants and herbs through conversations with the old women whose families have lived in the area for generations. She knows which plants are which, and how to collect, store and administer the herbs to treat equine problems, and human problems too. Unfortunately, her horse’s ingestion of volcanic dust (by foraging on dusty plants and ingesting the dust) was not something herbal remedies could fix.

gearing up

Carol and I drove east out of Bariloche to the estancia of a friend, Estancia San Ramón, where she keeps a few head of horse for these rides which bring in a few dollars, as she waits for the natural cycle to restore her pastures. On the way we picked up a young English couple that had signed up to go along.

young English couple

We saddled up with the help of Miguel, the gaucho in charge of the posta, the section of ranch that’s his to take care of, and where he lives year round with his wife and family. Also riding with us was the ranch manager, an Aussie, and his two boys ages 8 and 10. The jefe grew up working on ranches in Australia before transplanting himself and family to Patagonia. The English couple and yours truly made up the rest of  the group. We hit the trail before ten am and rode till six. The Estancia San Ramón is huge – 75,000 acres – which explains its amazing variety of rock formations, creeks, canyons, and high rocky peaks. There’s an old graveyard, too.

awesome hills!

We saw red ochre Indian paintings on a rock overhang, and explored a cave.

Indian painted rocks

Carol and Miguel at the painted rocks site

Patagonian gauchos wear berets!  Takes some getting used to, I admit. Can’t turn it upside down and use it for a horse drinking fountain, either. The little flea-bitten grey mare Carol was riding had quite the personality. Don’t let the sleepy demeanor fool you: definitely a boss mare!

I'm head bitch, bitch!

We climbed up, down and around the rocky hills and steep arroyos. The sky was the bluest of blues. And the volcanic dust was, well… everywhere.

the young cowboys

We rode past a herd of goats that I might not have noticed but for the tinkle of their bells. They paid no attention to us.

goats same color as the ash

After a few hours in the saddle breathing trail dust we stopped by a creek in a lush little valley bottom. Miguel got the asado going. The horses were unsaddled and turned loose to graze the tall grass in the shade of the willows by the creek.

break time for the horses

Argentine barbecue

I loved the choripan; a piece of sausage hot and dripping grease straight off the fire, wrapped in a French roll. We fix it the same way back home, only we wrap the sausage in a hot tortilla. Mate was passed around, and I refilled my water bottle from the creek. This was my favorite time, I think, sitting around the fire enjoying good food and good company in a beautiful place.

Some more pix from the ride:

I'm really not a mule!

me and my trusty pony

dismounting to explore the cave

we saw strange looking green and white rocks

but no White Rock girl!

did the gods turn her into a rock?

here the trail descends sharply

my sturdy saddle tree and cinch

really comfy with the sheepskin!

Carol told me a story about how she saved a horse’s life with help from the ant people:  One time she had a horse that was seriously ill and two different vets told her there was no remedy and no hope. But she had heard about a treatment using ant-dirt. Ants collect seeds and whatever else they can find to eat, digest it, poop it out, and then, in true harmonic harmony and sisterhood carry the residuals outside the kiva-like hill, where they are strategically and reverently placed in the ongoing, never-ending task of renovating the community housing project. So Carol collected some ant dirt from a nearby anthill, made it into a watery paste, and fed it to her horse. She didn’t say if her horse liked the goop she poured down his throat. But guess who made a complete recovery! I had heard of using gopher dirt to make ceremonial altars, but this use of ant dirt is new to me. Blessings be upon the Horse Medicine Woman!

I wonder if Edward O. Wilson, Pulitzer prize-winning author of On Human Nature, (famous ant behavioralist at Harvard) has heard of this use of ant dirt. “If all mankind were to disappear,” he wrote, “the world would regenerate back to the rich state of equilibrium that existed ten thousand years ago. If insects were to vanish, the environment would collapse into chaos.” Wow, this prof rocks the boat!

Edward Osborne Wilson

Now, I really don’t like ants, and if they invade my space I go on the warpath, but… maybe it’s time for me to renegotiate my relationship with the tiny critters. Should I be more ant-friendly? (except for the red fire ants?)

We finally reached the end of the trail. Miguel’s wife was waiting for us with maté and fresh hot Indian fry bread. I didn’t know they made that here! Made me feel quite at home. Served with honey and jam, it hit the spot!

the end of the trail is just a little ways...

And this post is almost over, too! But I must pause to wish my daughter Autumn a very happy birthday!

Happy Birthday Autumn!!

¡Felíz Cumple Autumn!  ¡¡¡Te quiero mucho!!!!

Ciao from Patagonia!

another day at Lago Moreno

Bariloche and Lago Nahuel Huapi from Cerro Otto

CIAO FROM PATAGONIA!  Next week we’ll be back in Buenos Aires…. hasta la próxima!

Patagonia : Pampa Linda

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Río Manso near its source

A few days ago we went on an overnight adventure in the loftier regions of Park Nahuel Huapi. Heading southwest from Bariloche, we drove past Lago Gutierrez and Lago Mascardi, and then turned onto a gravel road, which we followed for a couple hours of driving slowly and cautiously on dusty roads climbing up and up the precipitous slopes. We finally arrived in Pampa Linda about 4 pm.

Pampa Linda in 1927

Río Manso on the drive up

The history of Pampa Linda dates to 1907 when a Belgian doctor from Canada arrived in Bariloche.

the good doctor

He was Don José Emanuel Vereertbrugghen, the first doctor to settle in the entire Río Negro province. Don José’s only son Benito grew up and moved a few miles away from Bariloche, to the valley that lies beneath the shadow of Mount Tronador. The “thundering mountain” was so named on account of the frequent crashing noises heard when masses of ice and snow slide down off the mountaintop.

El Tronador has 7 glaciers

Benito was a born rancher. His life was all about horses and cattle, but he and his wife Clara were also very sociable and loved to entertain visitors. In 1929 they built an inn next to their modest home, calling it the Hotel Tronador. Benito and Clara’s guests were explorers, adventurers, sportsmen and fishermen who came by boat, and then on foot or by horse. Back then there were no roads in the area, and the National Parks would not exist until 1934. But after his first visit to the glaciers, Ezekiel Bustillo, National Parks director, pushed for the opening of a road into the Tronador Valley, completed in 1940.  The original Pampa Linda lodge, now the snack bar (the gettin’ place for burgers, beers and fries), was built in 1947. We stayed in the new lodge next door, built in 1993.

Hostería Pampa Linda

The dining room’s big enough to feed an army of hungry ridge crawlers, and the cozy lounge with big open fireplace is reminiscent of the Ahwahnee but not as grand. A very nice spot to kick back after a long day trekking in the wilds of Nahuel Huapi.

Benito and Clara’s granddaughter, Patricia, who is married and has a very busy 5-year-old boy, currently manages the lodge. The Tronador Valley has lovely, meandering meadows for grazing livestock, a few acres of which are open for camping, with showers, laundry, snack bar, etc. They grow fresh vegetables in season for the dining room, and have their own dairy cows for homemade cheese and flan. Lots and lots of trails are mapped out on the website with full descriptions and drop-down maps. [www.hosteríapampalinda.com.ar.]  There are a few Refugios in the high country, which are high-sierra cabins offering, literally, shelter from the storm, right up there amidst the glaciers.

another shot of El Tronador

The peak of Mt. Tronador [11,500 ft.] is the dividing line between Argentina and Chile. They say it is a dormant volcano. Is that anything like a sleeping dragon? Scientists believe it is not likely to explode in our lifetimes, but, heck, the volcano next door in Chile (Puyehue) sure blew her top a few months ago. I don’t think I’ll invest in any property within a hundred miles… would you?

Some pretty sights on the way there:

loose horse at Lago Mascardi

a wild guanaco, cousin to the llama

We drove in from LlaoLlao, a 5-hour drive, and rewarded ourselves with (of course!) burgers and fries at the snack bar. We checked into our room, which had an awesome and inspiring view of the mountain. We climbed back into the car just before the sun went down, and drove a few km up to see the Black Glacier.  Not exactly hard-core trekkers, are we?

Black Glacier

The sun was getting ready to go down and when it finally slipped behind the crest we were able to get a few pictures of the glacier and the lake with floating dark icebergs, full of ground up rocks and dirt that gives it its color, and name.

old cabins at Pampa Linda

Later that same evening we had dinner in the lodge. We had a table next to the window. The moon rose over Mt. Tronador, casting its bright light upon the mountain, and reflecting that beautiful glow down upon us. Later we sat on a couch in the lounge, next to the fire, and chatted with a couple who live in Puerto Madryn, farther south, on the Atlantic. They rode horses up to the Castaño Overo glacier, and then hiked on foot another 2 hours to the Otto Meiling Refuge. We did the same ride the next morning, but we went down the way we’d come up: on horseback! and took lots of pictures!

crossing Río Manso

We tied the horses in a little grove not far from the glacier, and walked to the lookout. We ate apples washed down with black coffee. The Río Manso, which emerges from the glacier, has strikingly milky green waters, due to its particular blend of glacial sediment. It is very cold and swift moving as it heads on down to the valley, and later flows past the continental divide into Chile, and eventually to the Pacific.

an awesome view!

Our guide on the ride up was a Chilean named Miguel who works at Pampa Linda, and his dog Tronador (same as the mountain):

Miguel & Tronador

We learned that the caña verde that grows along the trails in the mountains is a kind of grass that looks like bamboo. It’s as if you’re riding through a drive-by feed store. Ranchers feed it to their horses in winter, dried and stored. How cool is that? My horse tried to snag a few bites as we rode along, but I whispered to him, “sorry darlin’, snack bar’s closed today.”

free for the grazing

Other fascinating sights in the high country include this old flatbed. I guess it still runs, the key was in it. Nothing a little duct tape and baling wire can’t fix!

the dog is about as old as the truck

an International?

Riding back down to the lodge we followed an old trail through the meadows and creekbed. We came across some loose horses and mules belonging to the Pampa Linda stables. They do pack trips up into the mountains for 3-day and 5-day rides. The horses work one day on, one day off during summer, unless they’re out on a long ride.

she looks pregnant to me... ya think?

Patagonian wild ducks

Ben has been enjoying the thrills of fly-fishing: waiting for trout (brown, rainbow, and brook) to swim up and nibble the hook (special non-damaging hooks) from colorful little hand-tied flies. Perhaps we could start a new trend in earrings when the current feather craze is over, with cute fuzzy flies and other insect earring and hair ornaments, realistic enough to scare off the real flies and mosquitos! Body piercers would be in avant-goth heaven! The downside of fly-fishing is, I hear, losing your flies, snagging the line, and having to throw the fish back in!

fish like them!

There are only a few spots in Nahuel Huapi where you can actually keep a full-grown fish. That should make all of you animal protectors happy. And there are fish hatcheries all over the place. The little spawnlings are released into the lakes and rivers to keep all the tourist fishermen and fisherwomen happy. I can attest that fresh grilled trout is amazingly delicious!

I have learned 5 new species of trees: the huge, straight and tall ñire with shaggy bark; the straight and tall coíhue with beautiful oak-like branches way up high in the sky (it has a smoother bark); the arrayán, a cinnamon-colored cousin of the peely-bark madrone; the lenga, tall and slender, reminiscent of birch but not so white, beloved of elves; and the jacaranda, its lilac-violet blossoms seen all over Buenos Aires.

Yes, we are having one heck of a fabulous time here in Patagonia! This is the kind of place that makes you want to saddle up and ride the Andean version of the Pacific Crest Trail. If someone organizes it, I’ll sign up! I’m not kidding, either! but we’d have to ride into town to tango.

Next blog up: I spend a day horseback on the Estancia San Ramón.

Ciao from Patagonia!

A silly post from a silly girl

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We came to Patagonia for a visit with our friend, Goldilocks, and the three Bears: Mama Bear, Papa Bear, and Baby Bear. We weren’t sure where they lived, but we saw a couple of places that seemed to fit the description:

Could this be their house?

Or maybe this one?

How cute is that?

Yup, it’s their house! And here they are:

Papa Bear reading a story to Baby Bear and Goldilocks

Mama Bear showed us the kitchen:

a real storybook kitchen

with a dreamscape view:

Cerro Otto, above Bariloche

My storybook friends do exist, right in your house (if you have little ones) and also in your imagination! Others smarter than I have noted that during our absent-minded reflections and daydreams we are processing things on another level, that is, we are giving meaning to our day-to-day existence. Have you ever noticed how your creativity and inventiveness start to kick in when you slow down enough to notice? So if you love to get out into nature, ride horses, dance, go fishing, read a good book, whatever you do to relax and let the world slip away… you’re rewarding yourself with a good healthy dose of creativity and imagination. It’s never a waste of time!

Here’s a blooper from my next post, think of it as a preview:

Oh no, his horse tried to kiss him!

Ciao from Patagonia!