Crying for Argentina

Running Riot at the Hyatt

There's something quite civilized about having a proper tea with cream and biscuits, served on silver and china. We've been planning this afternoon tea at the Park Hyatt to celebrate Sofi's birthday for nearly 2 months now and I must say it was absolutely worth the wait. So we put on fancy dresses (mine being a crazy pink and green dress actually from the 1960s) and pampered ourselves at one of Buenos Aires finest hotels.


The Park Hyatt is GORGEOUS and the service was top notch. The afternoon was absolutely beautiful so we sat outside on the balcony looking over the garden. We pretended we were "ladies who lunch." By the time the cream puffs and cucumber sandwiches came out though, we were squealing with delight and all sort of poshness was wash away with the yummy tea. It was a great way to catch up on everyone's gossip and really treat ourselves. I'm lucky to have found such a great group of girlfriends. We may only have known each other for a little over 2 months, but they feel like life long friends. I find myself contemplating my departure more and more these days and I'll be very sad to leave these friends.

Every good tea of course should be topped off with a bit of champagne in the garden. The hotel gave us complimentary champagne and a yummy chocolate birthday torte for Sofi. By the end, I was not feeling quite so elegant, busting at the seams of my dress from all the goodies. Cheers darling!



PS. Credit for the funny title is given to Sofi who posted this as her facebook status.

Genetic Counseling Field Notes

My dear friend and co-worker, Julie Mak and I worked on this article which will be published in the next UCSF Cancer Risk Program newsletter. This is actually the article I was working on when I met the waiter from the "musical cafes" blog entry.


Clinical Meeting with the ProCanHe Team:
Dr. Carlos Vaccaro, Nicola Stewart, Dra Denise Cytryn, Alejandra Ferro, Paola Bertorelli, Jose (Apellido)

Field Notes: Exploring Hereditary Cancer in the Land of Steaks, Malbec and Tango

Genetic Counselor Nicola Stewart recently commemorated five and a half years of service with the Cancer Risk Program by taking a sabbatical in Buenos Aries, Argentina. Consistent with Nicola’s spirited and adventurous style, she has been busy forming international friendships, learning Spanish, and of course, the Tango.

While you can take the girl out of the Cancer Risk Program, you can’t take the Genetic Counselor out of the girl. In between exploring museums and cafés, Nicola found time to work at the Hospital Italiano in Buenos Aries, where she has been collaborating with Dr. Carlos Vaccaro, MAAC, MSACP, a colorectal surgeon who founded the “ProCanHe,” or Progama de prevención y tratamiento del cáncer hereditario (Program for the Prevention and Treatment of Hereditary Cancer).

Although separated by over 6000 miles, the concerns of patients in Buenos Aries are very similar to those in the San Francisco Bay Area, Nicola found. People in both places share a deep concern about their family members, and they struggle with the decisions they face when they learn they are at increased risk of cancer. The administrative challenges are also very similar. Like the Cancer Risk Program, ProCanHe is exploring ways to reach out to patients and other healthcare providers to spread the word about the work they do.

A major difference Nicola found is the availability of genetic testing. Genetic tests from Argentina need to be sent to the US or Brazil or to be done part of a clinical trial. This limits the options available to healthcare providers and patients. In addition, the economic crisis of 2001 and the devaluation of the peso, make the relative cost of a genetic test (U$S3000) in Argentina insurmountable, in a country where the average salary is U$S10 000.

The experience at the Hospital Italiano, like the rest of Nicola’s journey, has been both rewarding and challenging. In her words, “As genetic counselors, we act as a liaison between the medical community and the patient. We take pride in dealing with the psychosocial aspects of care. Although, given the language barriers, I haven't been able to be as empathetic as I would like to be. I feel I am either over-emphasizing something, or under-emphasizing. We throw around a lot of scientific terms, medical diagnoses and patients have to really think to follow along. In my sessions here, it's the same, although the patient is struggling to just understand me in the regular language, not even the scientific language!”

Besides working with patients directly, Nicola has been training a health educator, Alejandra Ferro, at the hospital to take family histories, recognize patterns of hereditary cancer, and develop new approaches to find families who would benefit from their services.

Flodding

I haven't seen much rain since I've been to Buenos Aires. Supposedly the rainy season was in October and November, but I hardly noticed it. Most of the rain is dumped on the west side of the Andes Mountains, into Chile. But today we got more than our share of it.

My day started in the afternoon by taking a taxi to work. I was running a bit late and thought the colectivo (bus) might cut it a bit short. It had been pouring in the morning, but was finally clearing up with blue skies in the distance. We couldn't cross Ave. Juan B. Justo through, a major street bisecting the city. On the radio, I could hear that there was a meter of water blocking several roadways. The taxi driver and I went on a semi tour of the city, trying to find a thoroughfare. All streets were blocked and drivers were getting ansty.

After about 30 minutes, the taxi driver suggested I take a bus as they were the only ones who seemed to cross at Ave. Santa Fe. This of course was way out of the way from the hospital. Even the Subte (subway) had stopped. Once on the bus, we still didn't seem to be moving, It was a sea of Colectivos though, as most cars had been diverted back to where they came from. Slowly but surely, we made our way though. Wow, I thought, this reminded me of New Orleans. (Of course, I recognize this pales in comparison to the amount of flooding New Orleans had after hurricane Katrina.)

After crossing Ave Juan B. Justo, I hopped off the bus and grabbed another cab. This was one long and expensive journey to work. But at lease my toes were dry.

Doing the Right Thing

Latin America is not the safest place in the world. There are people who are robbed either by simple pickpockets or more frighteningly, at gunpoint. People have their bags stolen when they don't clutch them tight enough. Regardless, I feel safe in this city. I think it actually has a lower violent crime rate than in the States. It is said that you should carry an extra $2o pesos in your pocket so that if you are robbed, you can throw the $20 peso note (about 7 U$S ) at them and not have everything else stolen, including your precious bank cards and additional cash.

When I first arrived her in early October, I navigated with streets with a quick pace and a scowl on my face. "Stay away from me", I conveyed through my body language. But then I got tired of being an angry/no nonsense person and carried myself more naturally. I don't smile at strangers quite as much as I usually do in San Francisco, but I've long lost the scowl from my first few days. I've also long lost that extra $20 in my pocket. It was spent a long time ago.

Today I rode the subte (Buensos Aires subway) to Plaza Congresso, to meet some friends for a visit to the Casa de las Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. It was crowded as we all pushed ourselves through the entrance gates just in time for the arriving train. I was behind a short man holding a long sleeved shirt behind a woman. He seemed to be trying to hide what the woman in front of him was doing. She seemed to be tapping the side pocket of the man in front of her. I was taller than them all, (so I could see most of this.) The man, I assume was being pick pocketed, was oblivious. I just kept watching, somewhat in denial of what I was actually witnessing. Things seemed to move in slow motion as I thought: What are my options for trying to stop this, what would I want if I were being robbed, isn't it safer to just walk away? I hugged my timbuktu bag closer to my chest. Suddenly I found myself leaning over the suspicious couple and tapping the shoulder of the guy being robbed.

He turned around, looking a bit agitated (after all, he didn't want to miss this train), the couple turned around and glared at me, 2 other people stared at me. "Oh crap", I thought! "What am I thinking" I just shrugged my shoulders and shook my hands as if to say, "oh, no...nothing, I didn't mean anything", turned away and walked along the platform. I passed several open doors of the train, but just couldn't enter any of them. I just didn't quite know what I was doing. My only thought was to walk away. As the train took off, more people filled the platform waiting for the next train. I looked down the platform. The suspicious couple didn't seem to get on the train either. All the more reason to think they were up to no good.

I'm still not sure if it was the right thing to do, but I wouldn't change a thing if I could do it all over again.

Smart Girls Guide to Clubbing

I'm sure San Francisco has some good dance clubs, it's just not the scene I'm typically involved with and thus, I don't know the good clubs. Once a year, I might venture out. It's usually for the SF Tri Club year end party. We wrap things up around 11pm and suddenly you can tell when the club opens the doors to other night revelers. The patrons are usually much skinnier with tiny arms and legs (men and women), lots of makeup, and they wear clothes that you typically can't find in Sports Basement. As they enter the club, we leave, after all, it's early to bed so we can wake up fresh for the morning run.

But my sabbatical from work has also been a sabbatical from triathlon and thus I find myself becoming an expert on the club scene, at least here in Buenos Aires.

1. Attire: I think athletes are onto something. Dance clubs are hot and sweaty, kind of like an aerobics class. Tennis shirts are cute and flattering, and best of all, made from DryFit®. So, in order to look your best while in the sweltering smoking club, I recommend wearing tennis shirts. The Williams' sisters are onto something with their new design line.
2. Flaunt one good asset, not all of them. It's great to show off your nice long legs in a short shirt, or your flawless back in a open back top, or flash a little cleavage with a low cut top and your favorite jeans. Just avoid doing all of this at one time.
3. Don't get frustrated with the bouncer when he lets all the younger girls get in the door ahead of you while you keep on waiting outside. You'll learn later on in the evening that they are "working" that night and thus get free entry into clubs.
4. Wrap up the evening with friends watching the sun rise at a local coffee shop, drinking a strong coffee cortado, eating medialunes or tostados, and already recounting the evenings festivities.
   

(This post was a collaboration between Rob and Julia Evans and me.)

Musical Cafes

There's a confiteria (casual cafeteria place) a few blocks away from me that has WiFi. I have gone there occasionally to work online when I don't want to be stuck at home. It has air conditioning which can be a nice relief from the sweltering heat. The other night, after exchanging typical pleasantries with the waiter (how long are you here, what are you doing here, do you like Argentina, etc.) the waiter said to me, "you are muy bonita." I just said thank you and went back to chatting online with my sister. The next time I went there, I think he asked me out, but I'm not sure I understood him. Just before I left, he asked if I had a boyfriend back home, then a boy friend here. I sort of made an excuse saying it was harder to date here given the language barrier. Then he said something and I just kind of nodded and didn't say anything back (which is when I think he may have asked me out.)

I haven't gone back since. Not that I was particularly avoiding him, it's just not one of the places I frequent. I also have no idea how old he is, anywhere from 25 to 45! And while he was certainly a handsome Argentine man, I just thought of the encounter as a typical Argentine interaction where the men are constantly trying to pick up any woman within a 50 yard radius.

This afternoon I went to a nicer restaurant in the neighborhood to spend some more time on the computer working on an article with Julie and have a nice lunch. After sitting down and chatting with the owner (yes, I'm here to learn Spanish, I'm from California, I've been here for 4 months, yes, I love Argentina..........), she complimented me on my Spanish. At that moment, the waiter approached and said, yes, her Spanish is excellent and she's doing all sorts of interesting things. It was the SAME waiter from the other place!! I was shocked. So much for not really avoiding him.

Global Voting

I don't think of myself as a very political person. It's not something I'm super passionate about, but I do feel it's important to know about local and world politics and it's also very important that people exercise their right to vote and not take it for granted.

I'm excited about this election year mostly because the Democrats have two very strong candidates for President and I'm very optimistic for what 2009 will bring. I'd be happy to have either Hillary or Obama represent me in November. I'm ready to feel proud of my country again because our government is not something I've been so proud of recently.

So when I learned that the Democrats Abroad would be holding the first ever Global Primary, with their very own delegates representing them at the National Convention, I knew I wanted to participate in this historic event. Sure, global expats would have far fewer delegates at the convention than California, but perhaps my single vote would represent a bigger percentage of the delegates say there. The global primary would also be testing an online voting system which could be used in future elections. The picture above is of me casting my vote in Tazz Bar. (Maybe the US would get more voters out if they held elections in the local pubs! By contrast, in Argentina, all pubs are closed the day of elections.)

Around the world, on Super Tuesday, Democrats Abroad were having parties to watch the results streaming from US television channels and casting their own votes. I joined expats from Hong Kong, Bangkok, Dublin, Berlin, Lebanon and more for this exciting night. It was a great party too. There must have been over 200 of us in Buenos Aires. While discussions are usually about where you can find the best Mexican food, or navigating the Immigration office to renew a visa, we were in full blown discussions about national health care, fundamental beliefs of Libertarians, and how the electorate college functions, all while sipping Argentina's Quilmes beer.

After placing my vote, a woman from Reuters approached me for an interview. CNN, Reuters, ABC, and Argentine Newspapers were there for the event. Read more about the election here and my 15 minutes of fame. Maybe I should pick a different country to live in for each election!
http://in.reuters.com/article/worldNews/idINIndia-31789020080206

Casa Felix

Much of the food here is steak, potatoes, pizza, and pasta. The steak indeed, is some of the best steak I’ve eaten, perhaps ever. But after awhile, it becomes a bit monotonous. There’s a sense that there isn’t much imagination in the average Argentine restaurant. It’s good, but even too much of the same good thing gets old.

And then my friends and I went to Casa Felix. This is a “closed door” restaurant, also known as a private restaurant. It sounds a bit exclusive, but on the contrary, it was a very intimate, laidback setting, for a close group of friends. There’s no sign on the door, in fact, it’s not really a restaurant. It’s the cook’s house. Diego Felix, invites people into his house creating the most imaginative meals in all of Argentina. For starters, he has a garden in his back yard where he collected fresh herbs for our meal. We had an Argentine/Mexican fusion dinner, starting with marinated beats wrapped in zucchini, a mint sorbet palate cleanser, a main course of white fish tamale with Mexican mole and guacamole mango garnish, and dessert was a type of flan with mate dusting (Mate is the popular “tea” drunk in Argentina and Uruguay and parts of Brazil.) Such flavors! Fresh fruits and veggies! My mouth was going into shock after being confined to boring gastronomic isolation. We will be back.

1/16/2008

Seduced by Tango

This blog entry takes place at La Viruta. Click to play the song by my favorite tango electronica group, Otros Aires, which happens to be about a night at La Viruta.


Tango is an intense love affair. It is an emotion, an experience in and of itself. Tango has never been "just a dance." I have taken over a dozen classes, had private lessons, and attended a few milongas. While I would love to say that I have mastered this dance, I still have a long way to go. But I finally started to hear some of Tango's sultry and seductive calls last weekend.

One is not asked if they would like to have a dance. There's a secret form of communication between men and women in the Milongas, (tango dance halls). Across the hall, a man will make eye contact with a woman. He will slightly lift his head, raise an eyebrow, and then perhaps glance towards the floor. In response, the woman will either hold eye contact and offer the slightest smile back, or demurely nod, moving her head only a centimeter at most. It's the tiniest nod back. If you didn't know what you were looking for, you'd miss this whole exchange and just see people meeting randomly on the dance floor. "How do they all know who they are dancing with?" I exclaimed to myself when I first saw this. People were pairing up magically, while I was oblivious to this under current communication. There's also no talking. I suppose you communicate through the dance. When you agree to dance, you agree to the whole set of songs which may be 3 or 4 in a row and can exchange a few pleasantries in between songs, but certainly not during the dance.

So last week I went to La Viruta with my friends. Saturday nights are busy, bordering on too crowded. We had a table off to the side which wasn't ideal for finding dance partners. But late in the evening, I noticed an attractive man way over at the other side, looking at me right in the eyes. He held my gaze, and then I saw the tilt. Yes, that was definitely a head tilt. Yes, he was asking me to dance. I froze for a microsecond and then found myself gently nod back, as if I were the Tango pro I pretend to be. My mates of course missed all this and just saw us silently meet by the dance floor, like a scene from a movie.

There was silence between us. I started to lift my arms up to him to get ready to dance, but he just continue his intense gaze. Was this still part of the secret language? I don't remember anything about this. He stepped closer to me, really close. I took a small step back. He just kept staring. For a brief moment, I though, "Am I supposed to know this guy?" I met someone here a few weeks ago and we exchanged emails, but I was pretty sure this was a different guy. I was wondering if he was expecting me to recognize him. More staring, he took another step towards me, I took another step back. Um, what is this, I though?

Then he dramatically, and slowly, raised his left hand for me to take and I put my left arm all around his shoulders. Our heights were a perfect match. He pulled me in closer and we started melting around the dance floor. I felt like I had been dancing Tango my whole life. I was Tango. We were Tango. My inner voice laughed at myself. "Usually we have at least exchanged a hello and our first names when I dance this close with someone." Yes, this is the love affair part of Tango. But really, our bodies were moving as one. Round and round we went all over the dance floor. We turned, walked back and forth, legs tangled but moving in perfect coordination. I could feel his heart beating through my chest. Or was that my heart? I had been seduced by Tango.

Our series of songs ended. I thanked him for the dance, still wobbly in the knees. I walked back to my table with my friends in awe as much as I was. "I think I need a cigarette" I said to them. And I don't even smoke!

I’m married……… (or tired, I can’t remember which one)

My friends with young children have blogs full of funny things their children say and I seem to be following in their children’s footsteps. We either confuse similar words, or use a word in the wrong context. Here in Argentina, I am no stranger to this.

In Spanish, the word for tired is cansada and the word for married is casada. That small little letter “n” added in the middle of the word certainly changes the meaning. After intensely working my brain out in Spanish class, and then traipsing around in the muggy heat to find the best cobbler for custom made tango shoes, I sighed, “Augh, I’m so very married.” "Estoy muy casada." It wasn’t quite what I meant to say. Although I hear marriage is hard work, so maybe these words are long lost synonyms.

Verduras (vegetables) vs. vidrio (glass)
And then there was the time I was biking through the busy streets of Buenos Aires and said, “There sure are a lot of vegetables in the road, watch out you don’t get a flat. Glass is dangerous for bikers, so we frequently point it out to people riding with us so they can avoid it. Although I've never heard of any biking accidents due to vegetables in the road, I'm sure it could also be considered a road hazard.

There are plenty more mistakes I've made, some probably just as funny. Maybe being oblivious to them is good.

Armpit Inspection

It is HOT. It is swelteringly hot. Temperatures have been around 40 Celsius, which is near 100 Fahrenheit! I think living in San Francisco for the past 7 years has weakened me to such extreme heat.

So Drew and I decided to cool down with a dip in one of the many city pools while at the same time getting in a workout. Club de Amigos is located in the Woods of Palermo, the largest city park I've found so far. It has everything! It seems like a huge country club. There are all sorts of fields for futbol, field hockey, basketball, , sunbathing (the second national sport here, second only to futbol.) Getting in was a challenge. On line, their entry was listed as being $7 pesos. This had then gone up to $10 pesos, and there was a separate fee for the pool, $25 pesos. Everywhere we turned, the price started going up! It is the new year and inflation is at about 20%. In the end, it was about U$S 11, so a fair enough price.

The two outdoor pools were packed with people and didn't have lap lanes, so we checked out the indoor pool. It seemed like a decent pool, with plenty of space in the lanes. But before I could get in, the life guard came up to me and said I needed to get a doctor's note. What? Around the corner there is a small medical office. I waited for Drew to come out of the men's dressing rooms to explain this to him. He had already gone through this whole scenario. When trying to check in his bag, the guy asked him for a certain piece of paper. Drew's Spanish is excellent when it comes to ordering food or asking for directions. It's everything you need to get by driving your motorcycle through Mexico. Being told he needed a doctor's note was not in his vocabulary. after multiple attempts to explain this to Drew, the bag-check clerk jumped over the counter and walked Drew to the medical clinic. With a clean bill of health documented on a piece of paper, Drew was ready to swim. He gave me a quick update on what to expect. I sat on a bench in my bathing suit, waiting for the door to open. It was a small room with a guy in a white coat. He asked me to raise my arms to check for fungus in my armpits. I hesitantly raised my arms, fearful of offending him with my sweaty pits. It's been a hot and sticky day. This is the last thing I want to do! Then he checked my feet for athletes foot or toenail fungus. Augh, what a job this guy has. I hope it's not his full time job. I can just see his resume "armpit and toe inspector!"

Then it was back to the pool to finally do some swimming. Drew was at the other end of the pool and shouted back to me, "Hey Nic, check this out!" He stood up and the water came up to his knees. The water was only 1.5 feet deep at the other end! So in swimming my laps, every time I came to the far side of the pool, my fingertips would graze the bottom of the pool. This would be perfect for triathletes as this signals the time to jump up and start running out of the lake or ocean.

In the end, it felt great to swim a few laps and use muscles that have been resting for quite some time. And now I also know that I officially have clean armpits and toes!

Happy New Year

The invitation to the New Year's Party said to come after midnight. How can you have a New Year's Party that misses the count down? Apparently this is normal in Buenos Aires.

Parties in the States are more about leading up to the New Year. You ring it in together and then the party tends to end sometime after midnight, maybe around 1AM. Contrast that with Buenos Aires, the New Year seems to represent the start of the partying. The night of the 31st is more about spending time with family and having a big dinner together. Then, after midnight, people disperse to dance in the street, light fireworks and then head to various parties.

Drew previously met the owner of Limbo and Limbo Club when we were out having drinks (early one other morning). A call to the owner got us a roof top table at his restaurant and we were seated about 11pm. It was midnight and the temperature was still around 40 Celsius, or 100 Fahrenheit. It was a sharp contrast to typical New Years in the Northern Hemisphere. At midnight, fireworks lit up the sky above our heads while Love Generation blared from the speakers. The fireworks were directly over our heads. Glowing embers were falling down on some tables. These fireworks were not a organized city event, but rather set off by anyone who bought them at the many firework stands on the street. At times I stepped back under the small awning hoping to get a little protection from the sky that seemed to be falling.

We met two girls from Holland, Lisette and Annelies and at about 2am, decided to head to our New Years party. On our way out, there was dancing in the street, so naturally, we joined in. There was an alcohol check point at the end of the block, so Drew managed to persuade them to check his blood alcohol. It registered at 0.38%, nearly 5 times the legal limit in the US. The surprising part though, it that they told him he'd be fine to drive. Now I know the laws are a bit crazy in Argentina, really only suggestions, but that's crazy. Drew said he felt pretty good, but a 0.38% is close to death and serious alcohol poisoning. Percentages are percentages, so there shouldn't be a difference where it's measured in metric or British units. They must be measuring something different as driving with a 0.38 BAL would be crazy, even for Argentina.

Around 3AM we finally made it to the New Years Party on a beautiful roof top terrace. There was a full view of the city and a swimming pool for dipping our toes. The party continued on until we started to see the sun peaking up, lightening the sky with a dusty pink color. I finally strolled on home and made it to bed by 8AM. It's just as well I'm only here on a 6th month sabbatical because I honestly don't know how long I could keep it up. I find it hard to recalibrate my sleep schedule when I wake up at 5PM the following day (or really the same day). Regardless, I'm optimistic for a great 2008, full of dancing and celebrating.

The group with the tall guy.....and partying with Nicola

It's 6:30 AM and I'm on my balcony watching the sun rise after a night out with friends. The birds are chirping, the sky is clear, and I can't believe I've just come home from a simple night of dinner and dancing with friends. The Argentines very much work on a different schedule!

Last night...or do I describe it as tonight, was a great evening joining friends from different circles. My two Swiss girlfriends were celebrating their last night out before heading to Chile for 3 weeks. Karina, a girl from London whom I met at the South American Explorers club, brought 2 fellow English girls, including another Nicola (the first ever Nicola I've met in person!), and then there were two Argentine girls we met the previous night while out in Palermo SoHo, and then there was Drew, my college buddy who has spent the last 2 months on his motorcycle riding through Mexico.

So any time a tall striking man enters a bar with 8 women, it's sure to draw attention. Several hour later, while waiting to order a drink at the bar, two men from South Africa started chatting with me. "So, are you part of the group with the tall guy?" I looked at them a bit surprised when they assumed I spoke English. I think I see myself as blending in better than I really do. I'm starting to feel like a local and forget that I have fair features and curly hair. A bit later, a young porteno said, "oh, you're with the guy with the girls!" It seems we had made a name for ourselves.

The men in Argentina are known for their love of women. No woman has walked by a table of men without being checked out. Men never hide their gawking, or pretend to just be glancing in the general direction of the object they seem to be inspecting. But it seems tonight that the men were noticing the one male counterpart of our large group. Perhaps they were trying to figure out his secret.

Meeting another Nicola was a bit surreal. I somehow felt that I had found a long lost twin. We immediately hit is off. Her wonderful wit and sense of humor and the tall elegant way she carried herself reminded me of my friend Jane, also from England.

The sky by now is clearly blue and there is no denying that it is fully daytime. I'm off to bed to catch a few zzzzz's so I can at least wake up in the early afternoon and not feel like I've completely lost my Sunday.

Blocked by Tape: A Letter Home

Dear Family,
AUGH, I love Argentina, but dealing with bureaucratic government agencies such as the post office is maddening. But anyway, my rant really has nothing to do with the government. It's more of a Christmas apology for your not getting gifts from me. Unless I can figure something else out.

Here's the story. I just returned from a long time at the post office with a package of gifts. I put everything into a shoe box, used a paper bag turned inside out to cover it, and was off. Actually I did that yesterday, walked to the post office, only to learn it closed 5 minutes before. This morning I returned. Well, did you know that you can not have tape on the outside of your package? I don't know why. They were happy to supply me with a glue stick. When I pointed to
other packages that had tape, they said, "Oh yes, but those are for within Argentina." Now the post office does have boxes of their own. But they only had really big ones. Another issue is that the package needs to be under 2kg. My package is 2.2 kg So even with the right box and magic glue, I still wouldn't be able to mail it.

Within my package is a 600gm box of 12 alfajores, a super rich Argentine cookie sandwich filled with dulce de leche. They have about a million calories each. To deal with the weigh issue, I envisioned myself sitting outside the post office eating about 4 of these, but then I would probably go into a diabetic coma and the package would really never be mailed.

Finding the right box: The post office sent me to a papeleria (paper store) to get another box. After walking a few blocks only to find it was right around the corner they told me to come back in 4 hours, someone would package it all up for me. But they don't have a scale, so I still wouldn't be sure it was under the right weight. I went to another papeleria, who said I should go back to the post office and use their boxes. Or keep trying to find another post office (each
with a 60 min wait or more) to get the right size. He also said that the post is not secure here at all. I should use a private carrier. I checked with fedex a few days ago, but at U$S 95, more than the value of the gifts, I thought that was just crazy.

Anyway, I don't think our family is the superficial type that needs to have some sort of commodity under the tree from each person. So I truly believe this is more an issue for me than it will be for you. I just really wanted to have some unique treasures from Argentina to share with you all on Christmas morning since I wont be there.

So in the end, I went home, frustrated and upset, and ate an alfajore.
Love Always,
Nicola

Uruguay for Lunch

On the other side of the river from Buenos Aires (Rio de la Plata), is Uruguay. There's a quaint little town here called Colonia, so Emily and I took the ferry over to have lunch and explore the town. Plus it would add another stamp to our passports. After clearing through customs and immigration, we boarded the ferry. WOW, this was a huge boat. I felt like I was on a cruise ship. (Clearly I haven't been on a real cruise ship!) We were joined by a large group of Harley Davidson riders as there was an event going on in another Uruguayan town, Punte del Este. Harley riders look the same around the world: jeans, white t-shirt, black leather jackets, chains and tattoos.

Officially known as Colonia del Sacramento, the tranquil town dates back to 1680 when it was originally a Portuguese settlement. It acted as a contraband port to Buenos Aires for goods that were restricted by the Spanish government. I found it interesting that Buenos Aires and Colonia are literally right across from each other, but one grew to become the 3nd largest city in Latin America and the other one is a tiny tourist village. They seem centuries apart.

The historic district is located on a small peninsula jutting out into the river. There are quaint tiny homes and narrow cobblestones streets. We found an outside cafe for lunch, dining on fresh fish, which not commonly found in Buenos Aires, and some good wine. After chatting with a bookstore owner, she sent us to a local artist. He was working in his studio when we arrived, but invited us into his house to see some of the beautiful Chinese kites he makes, and amazing photography. Emily and I then strolled the town until it was time to catch the ferry back home.




The cobbled stones streets were treacherously rocky. Crossing the street was more like rock climbing!

Breaking the bank

A few years ago, I came to the realization that I was no longer a poor struggling graduate student. I hadn't been for quite some time now and was finally making a decent salary, and really needed to start taking my finances a bit more seriously. So in an effort to keep my mind focused on saving, I wanted to get a piggy bank. No, not to store my life savings, but just a little symbolic something to put on my bookshelve to remind me of the importance of saving.

The cute little chrome piggy banks are popular baby gifts. Somehow though it seemed a bit silly to be in my 30s wanting a baby's gift. So I kept hunting around trying to find an urban chic model of the more typical christening or baby shower gift. I never found anything. (Maybe that's the reason I don't have better investments!)

The other day I was searching through the Craigslist's "for sale" items as I wanted to get a bike and desk. I met a girl leaving Argentina to heading to Denmark. Turns out she's actually from Chapel Hill and her grandparents live in Cary. It's such a small world. I made plans to hit her moving sale.

So imagine my surprise when I entered her apartment and found a cute terracotta piggy bank. It's exactly what I didn't realize I had been searching for all this time. And.....wow, I really hit the jackpot....this one came with money in it! SOLD!

But there's a catch. See, this little bank only has one opening at the top to insert your money. The only way to get your money out is to, literally, break the bank. He's too cute to ever break. Well see how long this feeling prevails when I'm searching for exact change to ride the colectivo (the bus).

ADDENDUM:
Two days later, Emily and I went to Uruguay for the day and I found an even better piggy bank, painted gray with pink spots. Hmm, I liked this one better. So now I have two piggy banks. I'm taking this as a good sign about my future finances.

Cerre Torre, El Chalten (Patagonia)

Today we did a longer hike, 22km total, to see the Torre peak, glacier and lake. There’s was a large tour group from the south of France doing the same trek, so we gave them plenty of lead so as not to feel too crowded on the trails. Despite the fact that there are only a few trails and everyone must stick to these specific paths, it never felt crowded. In fact, most of the time we were on our own except at occasional lookout points.

The start of our trek was beautiful. Not as sunny as yesterday, but most of the trail was protected from the strong Patagonian winds. It started drizzling as we got closer to the turnaround. By the time we made it to the lake, the rain picked up, but not enough to dampen our spirits. We ate some chocolate and granola bars and admired what view we had. I put a pair of Lyle's woolly socks (a clean pair, not the pair he was wearing!) over my hands to stay warm.



11:30 on a Thursday. Normally I'd be at the UCSF Cancer Risk tumor board. This is so much better! (Why am I even thinking about work???)


Part of the trail was along the Torre river which is fed from the lake. Similar to the water at the Perito Moreno glacier, this water is a milky turquoise blue from the sediment that accumulates from the passing glacier.


If you are with a guide, you can cross the river and then hike on the glacier. This is Lyle attempting his own river crossing. A bit of the glacier is in the back ground.


Heading back home with ominous weather trailing us, but still a great hike.
(All photos from Lyle)

Fitz Roy Trek, El Chalten (Patagonia)

We left this morning for the northern part of the Argentine Glacier National Park, to El Chalten, a major trekking destination. The bus ride there was along the infamous Rt. 40, which has the same sort of draw as Route 66 does in the states. But that’s where the comparison stops. Just like much of rural Argentina, this “highway” was a bumpy gravel road, winding through dusty barren Patagonia. We were surrounded by mountains, large mesas, and snowy mountain peaks not too far in the distance. This first photo is of Cerre (peak) Fitz Roy as we approach El Chalten, in Patagonia.


Route 40, Patagonia, halfway from El Calafate to El Chalten. There’s a hotel here, La Leona, where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid hid out for a month after robbing the Bank of London and before escaping to Chile.

Upon arriving at El Chalten, we were all briefed by a park ranger about the rules. I was impressed with how well this park was run. Camp sites are free and the water is drinkable, something they want to maintain with our cooperation. We were strictly told to stay on trail and make sure we carried everything back out with us. This area only get about 65 nice days a year, so with great sunny views of Fitz Roy, we were encouraged to get out there as soon as possible and take advantage of the clear skies. So after checking into our hostel, we headed out onto the Fitz Roy trail to Laguna Capri.


(Photo courtesy of Lyle)


Taking a siesta at a mirador (viewpoint) of Fitz Roy.


A close up of the Cerre (peak) Fitz Roy


View along the Fitz Roy trail.
(Photo courtesy of Lyle)


Figuring out where to go.


At Laguna Capri along the Fitz Roy trail, El Chalten, Patagonia.


Lyle heading back to El Chatlen after a beautiful day on the Fitz Roy trail.

Perito Moreno Glacier, El Calafate (Patagonia)

As much as I would have liked to stay in Bariloche, the southern part of Patagonia called. This is a wild area with strong winds, large glaciers and some of the most beautiful landscapes. There’s a lot of wilderness and not many towns. We flew into El Calafate yesterday and visited one of the most popular glaciers in the world, the Perito Moreno Glacier, near the boarder of Chile. The Perito Moreno Glacier is fed by the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, the third largest reserve of fresh water in the world, after Antarctica and Greenland.

Perito Glacier is on of only 3 glaciers in Patagonia that is not retreating. It advances about 2 meters per day, but also loses the same amount at it's terminus, so it's somewhat in a state of equilibrium. The water is a beautiful milkly green color due to the suspended sediment from the glacier grinding rocks into a find powder as it moves.


When I was in Spain, Kathryn lent me her Penguin socks, which I thought would be appropriate for the glacier trip today! The socks felt right at home!


Free advertising for Sports Basement.

Despite taking over 231 photos today, Lyle and I were still not able to capture the immenseness of the glacier in our photographs. I’ll spare you all 200+ photos and have selected a few of my favorites.


Overtime, snow is compacted at the source, either forming or adding to the glacier. The fewer air bubbles suspended in the ice, the bluer the hue. (Photo courtesy of Lyle)



Lyle does his best GQ pose in front of the iceberg. With his long shaggy hair and Italian features, Lyle blends right in with the Argentine locals.


We were going to take a boat excursion to get up close to the glacier, but there were some small icebergs blocking the boat dock, so the excursion was canceled. This was a bit of a disappointment, because I think you get a much better perspective with just how massive this thing is when you are right up front. However seeing that a ship recently sank on its way around Antarctica after hitting a submerged iceberg, I thought being on the more cautious side was alright. I didn’t feel like an afternoon swim. The boat did try moving the iceberg as you can see in the photo, but wasn’t successful.


This boat (a tiny dot in front of the iceberg) must have come from another dock. Looking at the boat gives a slightly better perspective of the size of the glacier. The glacier is over 60 meters high (above the surface of the water!) with a total depth of over 170 meters. This is HUGE!!! The front part of this glacier is 5km wide. It was awesome in the classical sense of the word.

Is was really peaceful just sitting and listening to the glacier. We constantly heard cracks sounding like thunder and witnessed several pieces fall into the water. Look carefully at the picture above and you can see a bit falling into the water. (Photo courtesy of Lyle.) This is one of the most “active” glaciers…meaning that there are frequently large chunks of ice falling into the water. This was certainly one of the highlights of the trip!


(Photo courtesy of Lyle)