Deeeeeeep south paradise

The best part of Buenos Aires was not the welcoming kindness of strangers, nor was it the trendy boutique hotels, clean modernism mixed with whispers of Italy, or even the incredible meals of chorizo, giant steaks, grilled provolone, and fantastically cheap, delicious wine. It wasn't absorbing the sunshine and contentness within its lush parks or strolling the open antique markets searching out lemon-champagne sorvettos.

My favorite was the Milonga.

Milongas are events hosted by all variety of venue on any given night -- prestigious establishments aside make-shift dance halls open their doors, ushering in a colorful cross-section of Argentinian society. The old couples, the young couples, the in between, the artists, the conformists, the bohemists, the dirty-old-men, the tramps, the ugly, the beautiful, the punks, the drunks, the coordinated and less coordinated come together to worship sound and movement until late, late into the night. And so the crowd carefully shifts, choreographed rhythms elegantly elaborated as the band watches. And I watch too, falling in love. I'm in love with the tango.

Pause. together --- Pause. Sway --- together. The humanness and beauty of movement, simultaneous with her counterpart to complete the motion, overwhelms me. I unravel the spectacle slowly -- the dancers changing partners every song; somehow, two people across the room appear and make their way to one another on the dance floor. Did she give him the eye? Its invisible to me, but somehow the dancer and dancer-to-be signal each other wordlessly. (Pheromones.) Then, never having met before, they embrace in a new sensual entanglement, somehow knowing all the steps to glide across the floor as a synchronized pair.

Ah, if only my lovers were this good. I must learn to tango.

Boutique hotel - Palermo Soho

Giant artwork - metallic flower opens by day and closes each night

Loving the park

Trees on a Buenos Aires street

The unicorn room at the audacious Faena Universe hotel (for the gays)

Ana goes to Goshen

Although you may think I lead this glamorous life, gallivanting all over.... deep down, I'm really just a country girl from the south. And so I felt right at home at the Goshen State Fair. (Give it up for Goshen!)
Apple Fritters -- its like I died and went to heaven. No really.
Gotta LOVE (I mean LOVE) the pickles.
Go ahead, carnivore, you know you want it, take it like a man!
David's not the only one who likes turkeys!
Piglets!!!!
And this guy! (Who knew that hot-tubbing was an event?)
Giant pumpkins... and real-live little Charlie Brown.
What exactly does an Adult Bakery sell? Is there a surprise in that muffin or are you just happy to see me? This blog is not for kids (while you may think this is a ... rather special cow, I have now learned -- they are all like this! Sheep too!)
I'll leave you with this.

Escape to the BLUE

If you ever feel the need to see water, just water, a pure, rich color you have never seen... come to Los Roques. A small, barely inhabited archeapelago / national park off the coast of Venezuela.

Sandbars surface in the middle of the ocean, pure pure white sand. Protected reefs, still intact and colorful (becoming rarer and rarer each year). Paradise.

Well, except for the swarms of vicious attacking mosquitos.

Birthday of Virgins and Miracles

NEAR MERIDA, VENEZUELA

Now, I've been accused of bringing increasingly ... spiritual ... elements into my blog. Perhaps we need to recognize the miracles all around us.

Like here, in Venezuela -- where its ironic that a Virgin (Mary) seems to have been so helpful bringing (and keeping) children in the world.

I hear a story of woe from a gruff, certainly unsentimental co-worker. This man and husband (who regularly boasts of his girlfriend) recalls being overcome with disappointment, try as they might, his wife simply could not conceive. So they visit the Virgin on the island of Margarita (sort of the Bahamas of Venezuela... VERY spiritual). He and his wife place their prayers before the Virgin's altar and, as a token of their desire, THEY LEAVE HER THEIR WEDDING RINGS. (I know, I know.) Later that year, behold! She gives birth to twin boys. And they've never worn wedding rings since. (Helps with the girlfriends... and, I don't know, maybe the boyfriends too?)

But the miracle that made me pause is set high in a small Andean village. There a father, consumed with grief for his 3-year old daughter diagnosed with leukemia, prayed all night to the Virgin (strangely on my birthday, Dec 8). He lit 3,000 candles, one thousand for each year of his daughter's young life. She lived. And so, each Dec 8 the village celebrates this girl's life -- last year they covered the village in 27,000 candles.

As archaic as superstitions and rituals may be in my ultra-modern existence... some gestures just strike me as beautiful. Perhaps miraculous themselves. Hail Mary.

CORRECTION: As of today, Sept 16, I discovered that Dec 8th is not the Virgin's birthday ... its the day of her death... that changes that special feeling, doesn't it?

Los Llanos: Where the Wild Things Are

Starting in the heights of the Andes, lush and green, I crossed the pass and descended into wild Los Llanos.Los Llanos means “the plains” and I expect Kansas... but it is actually a giant, invested swamp. Under a gigantic sky, these stunningly beautiful wetlands unexpectedly revealed animals on a completely different spectrum (including my guide, Alejandro – just, keep reading).

You know those international-spy-game-indiana-jones films where prisoners are taken into the wilderness to fight random, ferocious animals to the death? Now I know where they go. Los Llanos! Killer bees, anacondas, fire ants, piranhas, crocodiles, caimans (aka American Crocodiles), predator hawks, vultures. Yes, I saw my safari guide wrestle a giant, pregnant anaconda. Yes, a caiman attacked our boat and had to be beaten away with fish and sticks. Yes, we threw whole chickens into the air for the hawks to claw into in mid-flight and devour. Yes, I went fishing for piranhas (caught 4!) but dropped one and had to rescue a toddler wearing sandals as it went madly biting at her toes like a wind-up mechanical toy. It was awesome.

And then the benign creatures – the thousands of elegant birds in all shapes, sizes, and colors (bastards kept me awake all night), the healthy, active populations of iguanas, turtles, and frogs (ok, but GIANT iguanas), the pink river dolphins (which are not cute, but creepy animals that are indeed mutated dolphins living silently in shallow black swamp-canals), the white bulls running through the wetlands, poetically splashing (soon to become dinner), and last but certainly not least, the capybara or “Che-guetas”. The capybaras have the privilege of being the world’s largest rodent. Giant 120-lb rats with slitty eyes and no tails! Oh! Cute! And just like the rats of NYC, these fat, dog sized mud-covered animals lay around in packs EVERYWHERE, very prolific. (I really hope they did not become dinner… but man was that tenderloin tough).

During my stay on the “Hato” (cattle ranch), which I lovingly referred to as “The Spa” (now owned by Chavez, like everything), my guide Alejandro would take me out on converted flatbeds with flat-back benches screwed in or on canoes through the endless mangrove-lined canals. His was a “tour of few words,” in soft, deep monotone (revealing zero excitement whatsoever): “anaconda”… “crocodile” … “grey eagle“… “baby stork“… ”piranha”… … then… “piranha’s an aphrodisiac.” GOOD TO KNOW.

Alex, does your job get old? “No… just routine.”

Ah, another day, another anaconda to wrestle.

Running in Circles

ARUBA

Since my last entry, I have journeyed across six countries – seven if you count Aruba (but I found out it’s actually a colony of the Netherlands... who knew?). During my adventures, I discovered a few more things.

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND

One, Geneva has been taken over. Instead of cute French swiss, the place is swarming with internationals from all over, especially, those sheiks, princes, and what have you, just flown on their private jets, from Saudi, Bahrain, Dubai, Oman. Not only do they bring their extended families, wives and daughters shrouded in burkas, but they also bring their cars. The streets of Geneva now parade some of the world most ostentatious vehicles - Lamborghini's, Ferrari's, Luigo's and Mario's, all bearing Arabic license plates.

Sitting in the lobby of The Grand Kempinski Hotel waiting for a taxi, I meet the secretary of one such Sheik, who soon greets an elegant blonde. He soon mentions that the Sheik will need... comfort... during his visit. "Oh, of course," she responds in an exotic, refined accent. Mmmmhmmmm, I SEE why Geneva is so nice.

From there, I take a very modest Merecede's, which duly impresses my European friends because it is an automatic! I've never had the privilege of teaching someone to drive automatic. (No, not the left foot!!) On our way to Italy, I necessarily pass through France, where, two, I discover French cops pull over cars by running fullspeed into oncoming traffic - on the highway (!!!) - and then hand out speeding tickets with a “have a nice day!” – smiling and waving. I drive away 90 euros lighter in under five minutes. Very weird. U.S. Patrol-people have a lot to learn. So do immigration officials.

RIMINI, ITALY

Three, it’s more important who you’re with than where you are. (Ok, this was a discovery from India, but bears repeating.) While I had a blast spending the weekend in passionate, open Italy - and had just acquired a train ticket to return there - somehow I find myself on a direct flight to New York City less than 6 hours later. Crazy. Yes, I love, love to travel but my heart was tired. I needed to tell all the important people that they are.

It’s more important who you’re with than where you are. Love goes out to all, my inspiration - who remind me of my ideals, of what's important.

Amsterdammer meet Norky

If the windmills weren't a giveaway: I'm in Holland.

In my constant and undying search for adventures, I decided to return to Europe, where I think that I have left my heart.

Something about the winding old world streets, fuel efficient cars, cheap wine, and plenty of sense has drawn me in. I've been searching for a way inside, and finally, I've found.... magic wooden shoes!


Ok, NO. Jack and I are distant cousins but we ain't chewing the same beans. I got myself interviewed by the Amsterdam office of my company - yes a full day of IQ tests, character tests, case interviews. It was very unique. Here I am, on my final interview (with this funny guy!) on a sailboat. In another ten minutes I'll be soaking wet from a sudden downpour. I think they just thought it was humorous to put me on a boat in a suit and get water logged. Hey - check out the new girl! I just kept saying "oh yes, I'm fine!" "What a funny story!" Ha. Ha.


But am I really ready for a "a day in the life of" your standard expat Amsterdammer? Just not quite so sure. Still thinking it over, but feel free to cast your vote.

Will it be Amsterdam? Or more of Norkys Batista?
Tough call.