Tag Archives: argentina

The Haimish Line

I had never heard of a Haimish Line before reading this New York Times article but after reading about it, I totally understand it.

This article points out the exact reasoning of why I enjoy staying in locally owned bed and breakfasts, and try to partake in locally owned business for tours and activities. It’s all about the local experience and the truly familial feel.

Do the boyfriend and I remember Malania and her husband, the owners of  the B&B in Arenal, Costa Rica and their kindness? Do we remmber Malania’s husband, who spoke zero English, who kindly drove us to his favorite restaurant down the road from the B&B in the pouring rain (because we didn’t yet have a rental car)? Yes.

Do we remember Alejandro, Marta, Elda and Elda’s husband at the family run B&B in El Calafate, Argentina? They repeatedly brought me fresh ice for my knee after my glacier hike and told me the word for knee so I could get a brace for my aching knee. Do we remember how Elda kept telling me I would be fine when she was booking our horseback riding excursion, and not laughing when I asked her if she would come to the hospital if I happened to get hurt? Do we remember being dropped off by the Alejandro’s brother (Elda’s husband) at the airport, not just at the curb, but inside at check-in where there were hugs and handshakes and tears? Only my tears, but still. Of course we do.

What about having breakfast in the kitchen of the family, with the family, in Monteverde, Costa Rica where Reina, the mom, easily handed the boyfriend their baby daughter while she made our eggs…straight from their neighbor’s chickens. Again, yes.

What about Zoran who picked us up in Dubrovnik and drove us to Bosnia-Hercegovina, with one other couple from London in his family’s van? He took us to a local restaurant, did the ordering and introduced us to local Bosnian fare like burek (amazing doughy goodness stuffed with cheese or sausage or spinach) and cevapcici (spicy sausage sandwiches with a red pepper paste).

 

 

Zoran was our own personal guide and because we were such a small group, he was able to take us to see several towns along the way to Mostar. He spoke about the turbulent history from an extremely personal perspective (to be fair, everyone we met in Croatia that spoke about the war, had a very personal perspective). And as he handed over all of our passports at the border, he knew we all (well three of the four of us – guess who was indifferent) coveted a stamp from Bosnia, so he asked Border Patrol in the local language to stamp each of our passports, which they did.

What about Ana and Ralph at Delta Unplugged in Tigre, Argentina? We had an amazing day with them at their home and on their boat. In fact we are still penpals.

What about the feeling at some of the wineries on the Finger Lakes where they treat you like family, and not just another taster? Yes agains.

And what about Bube and her mother in Dubrovnik? Her mother, who spoke a few words of English, was the only one there to greet us after our 13 hour expedition to get from Newark, NJ to Dubrovnik, Croatia by way of a race through the airport in Frankfurt.

Bube’s mother showed us to our cottage where we dropped our bags, and then she brought us up to her roof, for an amazing view of Dubrovnik.

Once we realized that the walk up 300 or so steps (cars were not allowed where we were going) was absolutely, positively worth it, she asked us “Drink?”

After spending ten minutes with this lovely woman, we realized that her English vocabulary was limited. Wanting to make this as easy as possible I replied, “Water?”

She replied “Beer?”

And that was that! Yet another resounding yes.

These are just a few of these memories that make me smile. You don’t, typically, have these experiences in hotels where you are one of hundreds of guests. There are very few fond memories from my time staying in hotels. Do I remember the kindness and the hospitality they had? Yes, of course. But do I remember those memories as fondly as these truly personal touches of kindness and local hospitality? No, of course not.


Holy Moly!

Check out this water. The Hudson River has been this lovely shade of brown for days now.

Am I back in Argentina? Am I in Tigre, to be exact?

Unfortunately, no. And while Tigre’s water was brown, the locals took great care to keep it clean. This water…I wouldn’t dip my toes in much less wash dishes in.

Note: In order to get the full gist of this post, you will need to click both links!


Airport Insecurity

Ah so.

Setting: International Departures. Near gate for JFK flight at San Jose airport in Costa Rica. June 2008. [For one to be at this point, one had to go through airport security already.]

Main Character: A man (we’ll call him shopper man) shops at duty-free before boarding his flight (incidentally, it’s also my flight). He buys a huge bottle of Jack Daniels.

Act 1; Scene 1: Boarding starts. But before passengers get to the actual gate to get on the plane, travelers must go through a second round of security. Tables, wands, security is at the ready to search bags again. 

I didn’t see shopper man purchase the bottle of JD, but I am nosy, and right behind him, and he told security that he bought it at duty-free…he even showed his receipt noting the purchase just a few minutes prior! But security takes away his HUGE bottle of JD. The duty-free shop was probably less than fifty feet (I’m bad at math but the boyfriend said that’s a good guess) from the gate. In fact our gate was next to duty-free. It was RIGHT.OVER.THERE.

Both of our mouths, as observers, drop in shock. Shopper man’s mouth did a little more than drop with some key phrases and emotions. He was given the option to check the bottle in his luggage. We moved through and left the poor guy at one of the tables not knowing what he would do.

Act 1; Scene 2: Shopper man boarded sans bottle.

He was seated near us and the boyfriend asked what happened after we went through. Shopper guy told us he was given the option to check it (which we knew) but what we didn’t know was that the process to ‘check it’ required him to go back to the main terminal so they could try to retrieve his bag. Then he could put the bottle in and check it. 

Because of the time and uncertainty involved, the likelihood that he and his bag would both make the flight was not worth it to him. With the departure time closing in, shopper guy declined and basically donated the bottle to the security team at that gate at the SJO airport for their after work party I am sure. Cheers.

***

 There was no way to know. And there was no way to argue. If he had chosen to check it at that point, who knows if it would have made it on the flight since we were already well into the boarding process. I’m pretty sure he dropped a nice sum on that bottle thinking it would be okay to bring home. Alas, it wasn’t. It was an expensive lesson for him, and a good one for us.

We also experienced the unexpected during a layover in Frankfurt. After flying from Newark to Frankfurt, we had to go through security before we could make our way to the gate for the Frankfurt to Dubrovnik leg. At Frankfurt’s security we were scrutinized for having carry-on approved (via US standards) liquids in our carry-ons. Mind you, this passed muster on the flight from Newark. So major screening ensued.

More recently, we had some extra pesos to spend before boarding a flight baack to the States from Buenos Aires (EZE). Like shopper guy in Costa Rica, we were drawn to the Malbecs at duty-free. We had quite a bit of money to spend (failing miserably at my mission to spend all funny money before arriving at any foreign airport) so we loaded up on boxes of famous Argentine cookies, and one bottle of wine. We both had the Costa Rica incident on the brain and we were only willing to gamble with our funds to potentially lose one bottle. Lucky for us, we didn’t lose it. At EZE they package the bottle in a sealed bag that once broken, you’re safe. That seal must not be tampered with and remain as is until you pass through US Customs to avoid confiscation.

Security screening is not consistent within the US. Don’t expect it to be elsewhere around the world. I’ve seen it first hand and I know that you’ve got to take it in stride. Because the rules are inconsistent across the board, and the world, there’s nothing you can do about it.

Traveling is all about expecting the unexpected and sometimes you are simply at the mercy of what that particular airports rules are that day, at that time. It’s all for our safety anyway, isn’t it?

What have YOU seen in airports that makes you go hmmm?


Translation Trouble

This has the potential to take a lot of the fun out of traveling!

Isn’t a big part of the fun not knowing?!

What about the time in Brussels where I ordered fondue and out came mozzarella sticks?!

Isn’t part of traveling trying things you don’t know?

I spent the good part of an hour at a cheese counter in a supermarket in Switzerland just trying different cheeses I had never heard of before. The person behind the counter even got a kick out of it.

Would you ever try centolla? Or are you afraid of the name? Because it’s actually crab legs. And I had them in Argentina. And they were yummy.

Of course there are times when this back fires. There was a trip to Italy. We were in a town called Greve in Chianti. The restaurant was full of locals and if there were any other tourists, they blended in just fine. The boyfriend decided to try the daily special. The daily special was an array of meat, meat so fresh, the plate had an overwhelming smell of wet dog. But to the restaurant, they were so proud. And to not insult, my boyfriend ate the better part of the plate. Every bite was chased by a gulp of water and a sip of wine. But he ate.

I should say my gnocchi, the other house specialty, was delicious and required no such chasers.


I Have a Disease

Last night I met up with a traveler the boyfriend and I met in Argentina. We met towards the end of her trip, and the first night of ours.

It was really fun to talk about the different parts of the country we each visited, and it makes me want to go back to see more of the country, and South America as a whole.

This week in NYC, it seems to be field trip mania. Walking down the street in NYC I hear lots of languages. But I’d rather be somewhere I’m in the minority with regards to language, or even dialect. And that means on the road, and traveling.

Time to think about the next getaway!


Who Would Have Thought?

After weeks of hobbling up and down stairs, along with the knee, leg and achilles pain since we returned from Argentina, I decided to visit one of my bff’s…the orthopedist.

I tell him the story and he doesn’t seem surprised that I am in pain. He also tells me that my achilles is swollen. Of course I ask about it popping and he said the chance is so minor. Hello, do we not know my luck?

He did the exam and then took some x-rays of the left knee. He also had me hop on my left foot. Before I do it, I ask it if could pop. He said if it does, you are already in my office. This is not comforting.

Diagnosis: I have tendonitis in both my knees and in my achilles. He wrote me a script for physical therapy. The left leg pain, just under the knee, is just a massive bruise and we’ll just have to wait that out for the pain to go away.

What a relief. Don’t get me wrong because clearly this is a pain – pun totally intended. But, as I’m a bit of a hypochondriac I had actually been anticipating emergency surgery to repair whatever it was that could have been broken, torn or otherwise damaged. So tendonitis? I can take that.

What is surprising is that I must have injured both knees at the time of hopping over crevices and hiking up and down the glacier but then, the pain on the right was so much more. Who knew I actually screwed up both.

Back to physical therapy!


Dinnertime or bedtime?

While I loved Argentina, the hardest thing to get used to was dinner time. 9pm seemed like the early bird special.

One night we were ordering dessert just before  11pm and a family with two young children had just been seated. By the time we left, they had already ordered, and received their proper meals. And by the sound of their conversation, they were definitely locals.

I’m sure as a foreigner if you lived there, or were traveling longer, the late hour of dinner would be easier to get used to, but that was the hardest adjustment we had to make on our trip. I’m not complaining but as we did not do much sleeping in, it was definitely the hardest thing to get used to.

So much so that we ate bigger lunches when we could, and something light, like ice cream, or a cheese plate, for dinner!

I purposely scheduled this post for 9pm EST…which is 11pm local Argentina time…and the Argentines usual dinner time hour.


A Family History

I had traveled to Argentina with a copy of my great grandma’s birth certificate from 1908 as she was born in BsAs. I had hopes that I would be able to trace some of my family history as there was a number imprinted on the barely legible birth certificate. I was hoping that number would be the key to getting information.
I had told one of the guys at our B&B what I was hoping to find out and he directed us to the national office of registering people. Once in line at that government office, I was able to tell the worker in Spanish what I was looking for but I didn’t understand his response. He asked his office if anyone spoke English and a girl hesitated but came over, and in nearly perfect English, she told me where we needed to go…to another government office just a few blocks away.

This second office was a much bigger office than the last. It was a mix of City Hall, the DMV and any government office you dread going to. Crowds of people in the waiting area were waiting for their numbers to be flashed on the electronic board to determine which counter they needed to go to. Happy couples were outside taking pictures as they had just gotten married.

I explained in Spanish what I was looking for. After five minutes, he told me to talk in English. First, he told me that he could only get me a copy of the birth certificate – which I would have to come back for in two weeks. Which was great, because the original is tattered and taped together. I mean it IS over 100 years old. But I was determined, and I had the number on the birth certificate, which had to mean SOMETHING to SOMEONE and just getting a copy of the original was just not going to be good enough for me.

So he talked to another woman and they told me to go see Mercedes on the fourth floor. I was concerned about getting past security since we have no other documentation other than being told to go to the fourth floor. This was not a problem because there was NO security. We walked right to the elevator that held only three people at a time – literally. We had four and someone had to get off.

There were no nameplates on the doors so we had to knock on a few doors to find Mercedes. She spoke ZERO english, except for the word happy because thats what she made me….BECAUSE…

After 20 minutes of explaining what I wanted and her giving me a little history of immigration — NO paperwork for those that came to Argentina. NONE. There are no Ellis Island-like records, no boat they came on, country they came from, NOTHING. The only records were for babies born there, and even that has a loop hole. They only kept records in the early 1900s and only for men. Once Evita came into play and what she did for women, only then did they start keeping records for women. That was in the 1950s.

After this very informative history lesson, in Spanish, Mercedes took the birth certificate and told us to come back in one hour, at 2pm – her siesta time. We werent sure what she was going to show us but I was hopeful, boyfriend was doubtful. We went for a coffee (yes, I even drank coffee on this trip!) and we had no idea what we were going to get.

We went back to her office at 2pm. She gave us a copy of the hand written document of a verbal recount from my great grandma’s dad that must have been pulled from a book of records. He had to to come to that same government building and tell his story with two witnesses. It tells us that my great grandma was born the day before. It tells us she was born in the house, with the address, and the time of birth. It tells us my great grandma’s parents names and ages. It tells us their parents names and it tells us where they came from. And it is signed by my great grandma’s dad and the two witnesses.

The apartment building was not far from where we were so we took a walk over. It is a main street, and near the water. The building looked old. Probably refinished but it easily could have been a building from back then. The McDonald’s next door, probably was not there then 😉 From the plaques on the building it looked like a lot of law firms are in the building now. My new best friend Mercedes told me a lot of immigrants settled there because of commerce and it was near the water. Later, immigrants moved to other parts of the city, but it’s not likely there is any paperwork to know where.

So the only info they have on women before the 50s was the birth certificate and this verbal recount at the office where her dad had to explain his past and that he had a new baby in the house. Literally.

Awesome find. I told her that we didn’t have much information and I was so excited to share with my grandma, so she said the information would be ‘un regalo por su abuela’ (a gift for my grandmother). Then, I couldn’t think of the word so I said in ‘bad grammar Spanish’ that she made me very, and then I smiled and pointed to my mouth, and she uttered the only English word I think she knew – happy.


Vendors venden en el subte

People sell stuff on the subway everywhere. Here in New York, I’ve been asked to buy movies, batteries and chocolate. On the subte (subway) in Buenos Aires, we were asked to buy children’s books, flashlights, coffee, pens and pencils. I think they are more trusting there.

The children’s book seller actually handed out the childrens books to everyone in the subway car, and then came back to collect money, or take back the book. Everyone on the train that was handed a book actually thumbed through it and it looked like they had some sort of interest. The stops between stations were not long distances but people who did not make a purchase were very honest about returning the goods before disembarking the train. The seller did well in the train car we were on.

In all the time I have been in New York, I have never seen a seller hand anything out, unless money had already exchanged hands.

The pen and pencil guy did not hand anything out in advance of a sale. And yes he was selling them individually.

The coffee guy was hilarious. Literally he was walking around with a shoulder bag with cups – taped together with duct tape and he had this ‘tool belt’ contraption that held a few canisters. Some canisters were full of coffee, others held milk and sugar. It was hot, the guy next to us ordered one and you could see the steam. The coffee guy moved fast and people were buying.

In case you were wondering, the coffee guy sold a whole lot more than the pen and pencil guy.


Size 1, 2 or 3

Something I noticed in Argentina was body shape. Young or old, we saw very few heavy people.

Shopping in the stores we found out that clothes came in three sizes – 1, 2 and 3 for small, medium and large. Funny how in the States, we have several sizes for each.

It’s interesting because Argentina has by far the highest consumption of beef. And mayonnaise. Every time we sat down for a meal, something we ordered was accompanied by a side of flavored mayo. It tasted REALLY good, so I am sure it’s not healthy mayo.

Mayo

We were served breakfast in each place we stayed, which was typically, croissants, toast, yogurt and a selection of meats and cheeses. In the last place we stayed we were offered omelettes. I was nervous because I wasn’t starving as I had grown accustomed to the Argentine breakfast. I was expecting something you’d get from Denny’s so I said please make mine small, with only one egg.

He must have thought I was crazy because when they all came out, they were all made with one egg, maybe two. It was simply a scrambled egg folded over. Which was fine. Funny what we expect coming from the States.

This is why sizes 1, 2 and 3 work just fine outside of the United States.