Chiropractic for everyone.

I know first-hand that Brent is especially good at what he does, but then stuff like this happens and it really sinks in.

In addition to people, he has also been adjusting horses and is starting to develop a clientele among that population, especially as the summer draws to a close and the horse-owners return from their vacations.

One of his first patients was Coco, a horse so dis-eased that her owner thought she was going to die. One day, the poor thing felt so bad she wouldn't even get up so Brent could adjust her. So he did it with her on the ground.

A few adjustments later, that little horse is back on her feet, moving around and eating normally again. 

We're looking forward to a thousand stories like that one.

Adjusting a horse seems almost impossible -- I had a hard time imagining it until I saw it, and we have a friend who I'm not sure actually believes that it can happen -- but Brent says adjusting horses is easier than adjusting people. They don't complain. They change and improve quickly. They give energy rather than suck it away (we all know some of THOSE people...).

And they're super pretty.

The summertime trade-off.

As the stifling heat and humidity threaten to turn me into a winter girl, after all, I have taken refuge in the fact that at least the city is empty. Not great for business, granted, but FANTASTIC when it comes to grocery shopping.

Until yesterday.

We've been told repeatedly that February is the slowest month in Buenos Aires, so I was expecting at least another four weeks of grocery-store ease. I was blindsided yesterday when I went in for a few items, not at all prepared for the lines that awaited me. And it was hot in there.

I came out grumpy and sweaty, and I wonder if the days of quick shopping are already over for another season.

Speaking of business, I have taken on a group of four girls as private yoga clients. We've done two sessions thus far, and they are loving it. I am reminded of the great joy that is my work, and the fact that what I do is, well, kinda important. It's easy to fall away from that when it's hot and you're not as busy as you'd like to be, but their shining, enthusiastic faces, new to yoga, bring it all back home.

The Nation History Museum (eh, the visit took 15 minutes...I'm gonna write about food)

We wandered down to the neighborhood of San Telmo to visit the National History Museum. We were the only people there, which means we were outnumbered by security guards 12:1. No sword- or other-old-artifact-stealing possible today, folks. On the way back we stopped for Indian food.

The absence of ethnic food options here is alarming. In a city the size of Buenos Aires, you'd think you'd be able to find whatever you wanted. And it's not that you can't, necessarily, it's just that you might have to travel a long way to do it. We've come across three Indian restaurants (which we found out today are all the same one, in three locations), a couple of Thai and Chinese restaurants (not counting in Barrio Chino, where there are a dozen or more within a few blocks), a few sushi places, and two Mexican establishments. Twelve million people, but they're all eating steaks.

Spicy is just not on the menu here. The first time we went to the Mexican restaurant down the street, Brent asked for hot sauce. The waiter looked puzzled and pointed to the red sauce already on the table. Nope. Not spicy.

Sometimes we buy peppers at the vegetable stands, and the vendador swears up and down that they're muy picante, which we usually find to be untrue when we get them home and chop them up in our food. (Except for the time I found jalepeños, a rare treat in these parts, and I blended half of one into a curry. Brent was sweating.)

At the bar, locals consistently ask for picante aparte or no hot sauce at all on the chicken wings. Just the other night, I cleared a plate of wings that had hardly been touched, and the woman explained to me that they were just too hot, with a look that clearly said I should do something about that. (To be fair, that sauce actually is pretty hot.)

The apartment hunt is ON.

Things we would like to find in our new apartment that are lacking in this one:

• No mold.
• Access to sunlight.
• A balcony.
• Ceilings that are high enough to walk under without hitting your head.
• A functioning stereo.
• Space for OUR stuff amidst the owner's stuff.
• Windows that are not broken.
• A non-leaking toilet.
• Kitchen cabinets or shelves.
• A faucet that stays attached.
• An oven with actual numbered temperature choices.
• Non-slip stairs.
• Outlets in logical places.

Picking up the tab, and the waitress.

The other night at the bar, I waited on a table of three men and one woman. They were there for three or four hours, spent about AR$300.

Toward the end of the evening, the woman gestured for me to follow her down the hall. It's quieter back there, so I figured she needed to tell me something important, though I couldn't fathom what that might be.

"My English isn't very good," she said, which, of course, means that it's fine. She proceeded to explain that her friend, not the one in the hat but the other one, wanted me to call him, and he put his number on this bill. However, if I should decide not to call, I should take care to scratch out the number, since he doesn't want just anyone calling him. Understandably.

She handed me the five-peso bill (that's just a little more than one US dollar, for those keeping track at home) with his number on it, and the party of four left the bar.

Three things:

• I´m not going to call, because I'm blissfully coupled already, thank you. 
• If you wanted me to call, it would´ve been nice had you made some sort of effort to smile at me and say "Adiós" as you left.
• If you wanted me to call, you should´ve written that number on a $50.

Introducing...Bod•ē from Vemma

As a fitness instructor, I'm usually the one telling people to get off the couch, especially if they're trying to lose weight. And I still say that, and will always say that, whether you're trying to lose weight or not. Movement is an art, a great joy of life, and the best way to celebrate your body is to use it.

But now Vemma has come out with Bod•ē, a weight loss product and program with all the Vemma science we know and love. Yes, you need to eat right. Yes, you need to exercise. But there's help! And it's from Vemma! And it makes me very happy and excited.

The success stories and before-and-after pictures are impressive and inspiring, and I can't wait to see some members of my own team with similar tales to tell.

Just stand on your head and sing the national anthem, you're good.

Every time I meet an ex-pat or extended-stay tourist, I ask them how they went about doing it the legal way. And everyone has a different answer.

We've been told that we have to spend 72 hours outside the country every three months, that we can just leave and come back in the same day, that we have to have residency to pay taxes, that we'll never get residency and we can just pay our taxes, that we can overstay our tourist visa and pay the fine, that we can go to the airport and get a 10-year visa (like the one they give in Chile for $140), that we can go to the airport and get a 3-month extension, that we can visit the immigration office (only once) and get a 3-month extension.

We're about due for another trip out of the country. While as of the last one we had hoped to have more figured out by now as to how to go about staying here long-term, we do not, so we will probably be taking this second trip to Uruguay (possibly Montevideo this time!). After that, I'm leaning toward our bar-owner buddy's advice: just pay the taxes for your business and stay on a tourist visa. Clean and simple, unlike the removal of the mold from our bathroom wall.

Another happy new year.

This holiday season was both strange and wonderful. Brent and I shared our first Thanksgiving (falafel, strawberry champagne, and movies), our first Christmas Eve (traditional Argentine sweetbread, amaretto sours, and working at the bar), our first Christmas (pancakes, opening presents, and movies), and our first New Year's Eve (no food, champagne, and getting violently ill in the bar bathroom).

Side note: I have decent alcohol smarts, and am still not sure what caused me to get so sick. I hadn't had very much to drink. One minute I was fine, the next minute it hurt to open my eyes, hurt to stand up straight. It was a sickness that seemed more like food poisoning, but the only suspect was a couple of chicken fingers dipped in some sauce at the bar. After an hour, Brent was ready to carry me home on his shoulders, but luckily the bartender stepped in and talked me to my feet, and I was able to walk to my own bed.

Which brings us to our first New Year's Day (water, blueberry pancakes, and movies). Today I'm fine, more or less, with a slight fever and a general inclination to stay on the couch.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, there wasn't a lot of indication that Christmas was coming. There were very few decorations around the city (though there was a mall Santa), and none of the stores had any impressive sales. Only a few special-for-Christmas foods showed up in the grocery store, none of which included egg nog (to my lasting disappointment). I can't say I miss the snow, but I will admit that it was kind of weird that it was 90 degrees outside.

The whole season was different and delightful (and could have been improved only by the presence of egg nog, fudge, and the handful of people who read this), and I got to spend it with this really cool guy I know. 2012 is going to be fantastic.

Please repeat that another six times, I have no idea what you're saying.

Last night was my second night working at a bar. Second night ever.

The place down the street where we watch fútbol americano was in need of some assistance. Summer plus holiday time means that a lot of the employees are leaving, so Patrick, the owner, needed some seasonal help. Enter me and Brent.

Last night I was waitressing, not only for the first time in my life, but also in Spanish. I surprised myself by doing okay, even though there was more than one customer somewhat irritated by my requests that they repeat what they said, as I tried to pretend that it was simply too loud to hear them. In my homeland experience in the service industry, I discovered that 98% of people are pretty cool, and 2% are assholes. Here, I'd say it's closer to 75% cool, 25% asshole, and not just because I have crappy Spanish, but because they walk in that way. That's just my assessment after one night. I'll let you know if further research and observation indicate otherwise.

The pay is abysmal, and only a few people leave tips, so it turns into a long night for not a lot of reward. But, it gives us something to do, and Patrick is a great guy so it's nice to be able to help out. On Sunday he's going to teach me how to bartend. I have a feeling this is going to take more than one day.

Change, please.

The other day, I bought a couple of lemons from the fruit and vegetable vendor down the street. "Seis pesos," el hombre me dijo, and I handed him a 10-peso bill and waited for my change. (Which, for those of you who do not know either math or how to say numbers in Spanish, should have been four pesos.)

He came back with a five and said that, since I was so pretty, the lemons would only be five pesos, after all.

Now, undoubtedly this is partly true, since I was wearing short shorts that day. However, I've been in Argentina long enough to realize that the main reason for the extra peso in my pocket was that the guy didn't have the proper change to give me.

This lack of small bills and coins -- in a country whose largest bill is worth about US$25 -- is epidemic. When you pay, you will almost always be asked for the exact change, or at least for a smaller bill. When you happen to give exact change, you will almost always be thanked for it. We've talked to business owners who have said that the hardest part of doing business in Argentina is that it's so hard to get your hands on change.

I once had to buy two more pesos worth of dried kiwi because la vendadora didn't have any combination of bills or coins to give me two pesos in change, so we had to round it to the nearest-sized bill I had. It's not unusual to wait -- and wait -- at the checkout at the grocery store, because the checkers don't keep enough change in the drawer and they have to beckon the woman who is in charge of small bills and coins to bring them some every time a person needs it. Brent realized that they are doing this on purpose, because having to wait 10 minutes for 50 cents inspires some people to just say "olvídalo" and walk out without their change, giving the damned Disco a little unearned profit. (We shop there as rarely as possible.)

It's so nice to take a class rather than teach it for a change.

We're a month into our membership at our second gym, and this one, I think, is a keeper. Despite its higher cost, we chose it due to its proximity to our apartment and its extensive group fitness schedule.

I've attended several classes with a variety of instructors in the morning and early afternoon. Although I'm not a big fan of the instructors not using a microphone in such a large room with such loud music, the classes are still easy to follow. The instructors don't tend to make a lot of individual corrections, but if someone is way off base, they make an effort to put him or her back on track. Eh, the fitness floor could use some refinishing, but otherwise I'm pretty impressed by what they're offering. In fact, fitness instructors and fitness goers at home could learn a thing or two:

1. So far, I've seen more male fitness instructors than female. At home, the vast majority of instructors are women. And women do a great job; I should know, as I am one. I'm just saying that it would be nice to see more male fitness enthusiasts stepping up, saying, "This is a valid way to exercise," and encouraging more men to attend classes.

2. The fitness instructors are in shape. Good shape. They could not be mistaken for a potential couch potato; it's obvious that fitness is a major part of their lives. At home...this is true about half the time. Walk the walk.

3. Classes end with a long stretch. At home, the final stretch usually gets squeezed into the last minute or two, and some participants leave before it's over. Which leads me to...

4. No one leaves early! The only time I've seen people leave early is when it's obvious they have to go somewhere -- they acknowledge and thank the instructor on the way out. And they often quit working out a few minutes before that and go stretch by themselves in the corner. At home, people will walk out -- in a huff -- if the class is not what they expected. Sometimes you have to do that, but you never have to be grumpy about it.

5. The only prechoreographed classes (classes designed by a company, which instructors get certified in and are required to teach exactly as they are) are from Les Mills (huge fitness organization, with challenging workouts). Everything else on the schedule is freestyle (planned by the instructor). And the classes are very well attended.

Wait, I had a BIRTHDAY!

I was so excited about celebrating my birthday that I forgot to write about it.

Brent was full of surprises, which I love, even though none of them included puppies. Flip flops, chocolate peppermint candy (not a JuniorMint, but possibly the closest thing you can get to it in this country), and coconut milk were only the beginning. He also took me to a tango show.

The funny thing about the tango, this iconic idea of Argentina, is that Argentines don't so much care for it. Oh, there are huge, beloved tango names scattered throughout history, you can find lots of lessons around town, and there are places you can go to tango the night away, but the dancing is really for the tourists. We love that stuff.

But even though every tango show in the city is performed with the turistas in mind, they are still awesome.

Brent did his research and chose a fantastic venue. Not only was the show incredibly impressive, it included a dinner that was as good as any regular restaurant. I even ate meat, since with the choices available it was either break the vegetarian streak or have pasta, which is never on my list of birthday favorites. Dessert beat the hell out of birthday cake (depending, of course, on the amount of frosting), but it was a bummer that both choices were made of lots and lots of milk, so that Brent couldn't have much of either one. Bummer. Big birthday bummer. (Fun fact: one of the desserts, flan with caramel sauce and caramel ice cream, included a slice of cheese and a slice of what must have been jam. A slice. Of jam.)

The highlight, however, was the tango lesson before the show.

In understanding the significance of this, it helps to know that Brent doesn't dance. Not because he can't -- I know he would do fine after a few of the salsa lessons I'm hoping for on my 30th birthday -- but because he considers it not fun, which I mock him about a little bit because I find it incredibly hard to understand. But, because I love him, I halfway respect this life choice and only try to talk him into dance lessons when the timing feels right.

And he arranged this evening for me knowing full well that he would have to learn dance steps for up to 45 minutes.

The tango lesson was awesome fun, though Brent assures me that it was a one-time birthday event.

I told him this, but I don't know if he believed me: this birthday was the best birthday I've had since Mom put chocolate dinosaurs on my cake. For real.

I love the unknown (and the universe is working hard to remind me of that).

I trust in the due-timeliness of the universe, and it's certainly not that things are going poorly here, but I've started to feel a little uneasy.

I know myself well enough to know that this is due, 100%, or at least 99%, to the fact that I am not busy enough. The working situation we had envisioned before we ever boarded a plane has not worked out. This was fine, because I went to Spanish school instead. But now that's over, and even though I study every day on my own, I have come to realize that I am putting the bank CEO´s kid through college thanks to all my atm fees, and I need to work.

I have been browsing job listings here, which are limited for me with my lack of Spanish. Plus, it's the same problem I always ran into in the motherland: I don't really want to work for someone else.

Having just celebrated (awesomely, thanks to Brent) my 29th birthday, I can't help but reflect a bit. I am excited to be here, excited to get Vemma up and running in this country, but the truth is that I simply haven't found my driving force yet. I feel weird about that, almost guilty, but although there are many things I enjoy doing, I haven't found one that I'm willing to give up all the rest for.

I know it's out there. This might be the year. I don't believe in being ordinary, so something will come about. In the meantime, my head is rattling, I'm spending all day looking for ideas (breaking only to go to the gym, study the español, or make pumpkin bread), and counting on my survive/thrive genius to pull me out of what has become a little slump.

Weekend getaway.

It's nice to escape to a new country for a three-day weekend. We went to Colonia, Uruguay for the last one. It was a trip inspired by the necessity to renew our 90-day visa in Argentina, and when we made plans last week it felt like more hassle than fun, but that changed as soon as we got off the ferry.

Colonia might indeed be the exact opposite of Buenos Aires. Don't get me wrong, we love our new home, but this place is chaotic. Colonia was quiet and clean with wide stone streets, well-kept buildings, and traffic that honors the pedestrian. We crossed streets whenever we wanted, danger-free!

We were thrilled to be able to buy a four-museum pass for US$2.50. We love museums, so it seemed the perfect way to spend an afternoon out of the hot, hot Uruguayan sun.

Yes and no, as it turned out. The museums weren't so much good as they were hilarious. One of them took about two-and-a-half minutes to see. Another was nothing but old stone weapons from one of the indigenous tribes that lived there long ago...and all the weapons were round gray rocks, some of them with notches if they had once served on the end of a hatchet. This place took about four minutes to go through. The other two were much better, and the workers who stamped our tickets were so friendly and welcoming, but still. Museums. Hm.

If you read a guidebook, it most likely calls Colonia a ´´day trip´´ and indeed, if you were on a tight schedule, you could easily see it in that much time. But we spread it out, walked around, lingered over fantastic meals, and could have probably spent another week there if the real world hadn't been calling us back.

The view from the sitting room above our sleeping room:

A playground. That is a barrel. You can crawl inside to swing. This is not the only place we saw them.

The Uruguayan flag also has a sun with a face.

First time in Uruguay!

Gainful employment.

At long last, Brent's Argentine chiropractic office is up and running. And he already had to replace his receptionist.

A few weeks ago, I manned the door while Brent and his chiropractor friend and partner conducted inverviews to find the perfect assistant. The woman they chose was the obvious choice amongst the applicants: she was friendly (a rare quality in service employees here), retired (no danger of her running off to find a better job; also, no danger or her having child or boyfriend or husband drama), and she had been under chiropractic care already (so she already had a basic understanding of the philosophy and what is involved).

She started training, and the guys had a couple of hiccups with her in the first few days, but they thought she was just nervous and overwhelmed, and after speaking with her determined that she would be fine.

Unfortunately, after about three days of official work, she called Brent and the others aside to say, in short, that she couldn't do it.

Thankfully, the chiro team had another woman in mind for the job, and she was able to step in after just a couple of training days. So far so good with this one.

We've heard consistently that finding good help is hard work around here. The laws protect the employee, making it very hard to get fired, so there is no real incentive to do good work. (In fact, another one of the chiropractors here fired one of his receptionists because she was stealing -- but she sued him and won, anyway.)  This is why it's possible to go into a department store for something specific, stand around for 10 minutes, finally catch sight of an employee, ask the employee for assistance, be told to wait a second, then see that same employee chatting it up with his employee buddy, and leave the store empty handed. Of course, this is a generalization, and we have had some very good service on some occasions, but we've seen this enough times (and had it confirmed by enough Argentines) to realize that bad service is the norm.

So, we're counting our lucky stars and loving the receptionist. She's going to be great.

Look for me in the kitchen.

It's no secret that I'm not outstandingly domestic. I finally admitted to myself in college that I'm a bit messy, I hate doing dishes, and if you were reading this circa 2006 and the four Dutch kids, you know that I had as many bad days as good. But lately, I am cooking like a champ.

We are not without the expected hiccups, at least the hiccups Joel would expect after the bus cake fiasco of 1999, but in the last few weeks we have eaten pad thai, curry, split pea soup, hummus and guacamole by the bowlful, pecan pie, and accidentally fantastic squash with stir fry vegetables. Yes, once the hummus was too thick and yes, once the pad thai noodles were like rocks, but overall I'd consider my latest cooking adventures successful.

I suppose some day I will get a job, which seems to have its benefits, and then maybe I won't cook as often, but for now we are eating like kings.

Get out the vote.

The Argentine presidential election is this Sunday. I knew it was happening this year, as there are a lot of billboards and posters around the city, and the televisions ads have started, but I didn´t know it was on Sunday until someone in Spanish class asked the teacher. Maybe it´s because the campaigning feels rather mild here as compared to the US -- the TV commercials, for example, seem to be largely positive, each candidate just has one or two, and they´re not shown that often. There are a handful of candidates, maybe six or so, at least who have commercials.

The front runner is Cristina (yep, just like Madonna, she goes by one name), who is the current president. Our teacher rolled her eyes and said she wasn´t even going to vote, she´s so sure Cristina will win. From what I could understand, it seems that Cristina is heavily supported by the poorer areas of the country, as she backs a welfare program that makes getting a job seem like a poor decision. This sounds harsh, but I´m translating to you from what I heard in Spanish. I might have just made all that up, I don´t know.

It is illegal for any store or restaurant to sell alcohol this Saturday and Sunday, because we don´t want drunk people deciding the future.

A Happy Birthday

Yesterday was a very special birthday, perhaps more special even than my own and the 25 Days we take to celebrate it (I REALLY need you people to get behind that...): Brent´s.

A very happy birthday to you, my love.

P.S. We went out for sushi, Brent´s favorite, and I didn´t hate it.

High fashion, or maybe they were just high when they got dressed.

You can't say that the Argentines don't have a sense of fashion. It's hard to determine where that sense comes from.

Before we got here, I had read that Argentines are very concerned about their appearance. There is more plastic surgery here per capita than in any other country in the world. It's not unusual to see women walking down the street with bandaged noses. There is a plastic surgery information kiosk in the mall. On the four-block walk to school I pass more beauty salons than I can count.

I haven't gone shopping here yet because, at the moment, there are more important things to spend money on than new dresses (weird, right?). But I've looked in plenty a window, and not only am I disappointed that it seems impossible to buy a pair of shoes for less than US$50, I'm disappointed in the so-called ''inspiration'' that the window mannequins are providing.

Not to generalize. This is a HUGE city, and I've seen many beautifully dressed, perfectly put-together men and women. Many stores sell shoes and purses side-by-side, so you will see many women with a handbag that exactly matches their shoes. However, there is also a trend toward boots, some goofy and some classy, that may or may not match the rest of your outfit, and tights with weird floral patterns. Worn with off-color boots, of course.

Not that I have room to be judgmental, me of the two-suitcase closet and minimal fashion sense of my own, but come on. Floral tights are always a no, as far as I'm concerned.

Camping at the post office.

The best part about living, well, anywhere is receiving packages in the mail, and we got the news on Tuesday that the packages Brent´s parents sent us had arrived.

Since there were three packages, we waited until I was done with school on Wednesday so Brent and I could go together and pick them up. In and out job, right? Pick up packages! Easy! We should have known better.

We walked to the post office and were surprised to see a dozen people standing outside the entrance to the international section. Bummer, we´ll have to wait a little bit. Then we walked inside -- where a couple hundred people were waiting.

We took a number. 86, and they were on 40-something. Okay.

Until 86 was called, and we realized we had the ticket 86A. They were on 86E.

It´s not as bad as it could have been -- E was as far as they went with letters, so we were excited to have only 100 people left to go before we were called again.

When 86A came around, Brent handed in the three notices that we received at our apartment. They were accepted and stamped and we were given -- you betcha -- some more numbers. These numbers corresponded to the numbers assigned to our packages, and we had to wait for them to be called, which happened in random rather than chronological order.

Some hours later, the numbers were called. Rejoicing, we walked through a door into a warehouse-like customs area. Even though the tracking information on the packages said they had cleared customs on September 23 or something, a customs official opened one of the boxes and went through it a bit, asked us how long we were staying here, and whether the things were used or new. After he approved the transaction, we took the boxes past another man, where Brent signed for them, confirming that we had indeed spent four hours at the post office to pick them up.

Two things: #1, if you want to send us a package, ask yourself if the contents are worth spending four or more hours in a post office for. #2, these definitely were worth it. Thank you, thank you, Jody and Larry.

Back to school.

I started Spanish school on Monday, and I´m loving it. It´s four hours a day, five days a week, and I enrolled for five weeks...which I might extend at that point, we´ll see how it goes and what else I am busy with.

They put me in a level that´s a little bit easy for me, but it has been great review and practice. The classes are small, 3-5 people depending on who shows up. My only regret is that I didn´t start this four weeks ago, but we only just found this school last week, and it´s really close to our apartment, so in the end I´m glad I held out for it.

In other news, yesterday was the first day of spring, the official start of dress weather.

You can take the rat out of the gym...

At last, we have joined a gym.

It was not an easy task. There are a lot of them, and when we think of joining gyms, we think of paying about a dollar a day to do so, since you can join very decent gyms at home for that much. Here, every gym we visited was more expensive, so we kept brushing them off, thinking we'd uncover a better deal. Not so much.

The good news is that most gyms let you go month-to-month, and many don't even charge a registration fee -- like the one we decided on. It's about six blocks from our apartment, not the gym of anyone's dreams but perfectly adequate.

It's a little on the smaller side, particularly the weight room. On the first day, there were four of us in there, and it felt packed. Luckily, working out during the day means you won't see it much busier than that. They also have a variety of fitness classes, though most of them are in the evening -- when it is much busier.

It feels so good to be sweating and sore again. The break was good for my system, as I was definitely overdoing it for the last year, but as I learned through some weird bug bites under my arm and on my back (Chile, circa the entire month of July) that also resulted in my face breaking out in fury, and a weird stomach unrest right after we got to BA, I don't know the out-of-shape body very well. It's been gymified for so long, for really most of my life, it becomes very unfamiliar when it goes two months with little more than long walks. I understand it from a fit perspective, and I feel that if I had been running through the bug bites and tummy trouble I would have known how to handle those things and get over them quickly. As it were, I did not. So, I am relieved to be getting back on good terms with this body, and back to a state from which we understand each other.

Really, Argentina? Really?

We love living here, but wherever in the world you go, you will come across a few things that make you go, ''Oh, come ON!''

• Buses will hit you. Cars will hit you. Taxis will hit you. They are not afraid. Your best chance of survival is to be in the crosswalk when there is a pedestrian light, and it is set to ''go'', but even that is not a guarantee. And not all crosswalks have those. And some intersections don`t have official crosswalks. Good luck.
• Some restaurants have a cover charge. It's just a few dollars, usually, and it is mentioned on the menu and added to your bill at the end. According to my guidebook, this covers the use of utensils. What if I bring my own?
• You need a note from a doctor in order to join a gym.
• You need someone who owns property in Buenos Aires proper to sign off on you if you want to rent. We got around this with our apartment because we are renting from one of Brent's old friends, and there are ways around it with the office, but they are painful things like paying someone to sign off on you, or paying six months of rent up front.
• The dinner hour is very late here, 9:00-midnight. The awesome Mexican restaurant down the street opens at 8:00, and we have been the first people there at that time on two occasions. We're hungry!
• Breakfast is sort of a non-thing, so if you want to go out for breakfast, you have your choice of coffee or coffee and a croissant at any of the many cafes around the city. We haven't been out to breakfast, but we love breakfast and do miss the opportunity to go get some killer french toast. Well, the french toast part, that's mostly just me.
• The cinnamon is a joke. In Chile, too. I don´t get it. It looks different, smells different, and tastes different than the substance I have known as cinnamon all my life. It's still recognizable as cinnamon, but it's not as powerful and not nearly as good. This is a blow to a girl who is used to eating and loving cinnamon every single day.
• Clothes, shoes, and electronics range from kinda to silly expensive, and there is no Kohl´s equivalent.

A quick back-track.

In the excitement of getting to Buenos Aires, I glossed over the bit about how we got here. We crossed the Andes on a bus, after all.

And it was majestic. Rock and snow, so big, so beautiful. For the first two hours especially. The last 10 hours weren´t as fantastic, especially since three or four of them were spent at the border, waiting for the immigration officials to get their act together. Apparently the pass had been closed for the previous five days due to snow, and there was quite a backup of cars and buses wanting to get through.

That brought us to Mendoza around 9pm, where we visited seven hotels before we found one with a room to spare. We ate six different kinds of grilled meat (minus the intestines) and called it a day.

The next day, a Sunday, was Argentina´s Día del Niño (see previous entry). We wandered around Mendoza, a very cool little city, and boarded the bus for another 14-hour journey to Buenos Aires.

A beautiful day in the neighborhood.

If this is winter, Buenos Aires, I'm in love with you already. I have been wandering around coat-free today, as has been possible on most of the days since we've been here. On the other days, I've felt totally comfortable in my winter coat or light jacket. Finally, the kind of winter I've been dreaming of my whole life.

It occurs to me that I've never lived in the city. Denver is as close at it comes, and I lived in the suburbs, not the city itself. I've visited many, but with just a few days in each one they were novelties to be enjoyed, not jungles to be survived. It's madness, really. So much traffic, most of which has no concern for the pedestrian in the crosswalk. I wanted to go running the other day, but realized that I would have to walk to the park to run, since it's impossible to run down the street when there are so many people out and about.

Nonetheless, it's pretty awesome. Within a two-block radius you can find several gyms, countless restaurants, a store that sells dried melon (among other fruits, but melon quickly became the most important), a couple of convenience stores (perfect for picking up a beer or alfajores), several specialty stores where we buy meat and quinoa in bulk to avoid the grocery store, and a grocery store.

Ah, the Disco. The other day, Brent went to meet up with a chiropractor friend of his and I went off to run errands and do some housework. I needed four things at the grocery store. Quick trip, right?

An hour or more later, I emerged and beelined for my apartment, not to emerge again for the rest of the day. It was impossible to compare prices, not only because the aisles are narrow and I spent most of my time getting out of the way of the millions of other people, but because the price tags are never under the appropriate product, if they exist at all. Exhausted, I got in line to checkout, where I stayed for the better part of the day as it backed up behind me. This was the middle of a weekday!

So I will try to survive on dried melon. I don't want to go back to the Disco again for a long, long time.

Buenos Aires

One week in Buenos Aires and we´re incredibly happy to be here. Between Brent´s friends and some good luck, we have an apartment in a really nice, safe part of this enormous city. Furnished apartment, I might add. With adequate heating. No sleeping with fifteen blankets or cooking on a hot plate, people.

It´s actually more expensive here than it was in Chile, and that will take some getting used to. We´re scouting gyms today, having already rejected two for their outrageous, by our humble standards, prices. They were nice gyms, though.

There will be more to share when, well, more stuff happens. For now, what I´m saying is, for the first time in two months we have an actual home, so you can safely purchase plane tickets to BA.

Blizzards and tear gas: Adios, Chile.

On Wednesday, we arrived in Valparaíso, a very cool city on the coast that we rather wish we could stay in. First, it was all business -- Operation: Luggage Retrieval.

You might remember that most of what we own was still in Santiago as of Wednesday. We could have taken the bus to Santiago, metro-bus-walked to the suburbs, expensive taxied it back to the bus station with all those suitcases, and then taken another bus to who knows where. Or, we could rent a car. So we rented a car, drove to Santiago, gathered our things, and were back in sunny Valpo by lunchtime.

We´re relieved. Finally, officially, we are done with those people who turned our lives upside down from the day we got here.

It was snowing in Santiago. This is a very rare event, and we drove through it. Luckily, it was not rush hour.

We got back to our hostal to see on the news that ít was snowing in Santiago, and also that there was a big protest going on in Santiago -- and right here in Valparaíso, as well -- about higher education in Chile. This was not the first of them, as it´s been going on pretty much since we arrived in the country, but this was a big one. As we walked home, the cops were shooting water cannons and, as we discovered later, rubber bullets and tear gas. It had been hours since the tear gas, but as we walked down the street our throats and eyes were burning. Even this morning, people were still walking around with their mouths and noses covered.

And with that, we bought bus tickets to Argentina. We´ll be in Mendoza by tomorrow night, and then it´s off to the gigantic city of Buenos Aires. How´s that for a change of plan?

Conspiracy theories.

Not to be all dramatic and self-centered about what has been going on here, but...we´re pretty sure we´re being plotted against. Examine the evidence:

Our #1 contact in Valdivia is good friends with the enimiga mentioned in previous posts. This contact is a wonderful woman who had introduced us to lots of Valdivians who were either excited about chiropractic, able to help us get legal to stay here, or both.

After the negative event in Puerto Montt a few weeks ago, we wondered if our Valdivian friend would still speak to us. She did! And she was still very nice! We thought she was able to see the event as something that was between us and her friend, a very unfortunate misunderstanding.

And then the phone stopped ringing. Appointments for adjustments were canceled. People who said they´d call us back didn´t call back. It´s like they all disappeared -- and the one thing they all have in common is our #1 contact in Valdivia.

I mean, what would you think?

We´re unsure at this point if we´re being patient or inactive, but we can´t take it anymore. So we´re leaving Valdivia tomorrow, getting on a bus and heading north to see what happens. Look out, Buenos Aires, you might be next.

¨So far, Día del Niño...sucks.¨

Brent´s words, around 4:00 pm on Sunday. August 7 was Día del Niño, a holiday we gathered is basically like Mother´s Day or Father´s Day, except for children. Like they need another one.

It looked about like any other day at the mall, except the kids hopped up on ice cream were also wearing cardboard crowns and carrying balloons. The food court workers were all wearing costumes, and the movie theatre had 14 screening times for Los Pitufos.

Which is another conversation entirely. ¨Smurfs¨ is a made-up word, is it not? Did the word ¨Smurfs¨ exist prior to the creation of the little blue creatures? Because here, the Smurfs movie is called Los Pitufos, and we couldn´t figure it out. How do you translate a made-up word? What is a pitufo?

So we looked up pitufo in the dictionary. It means, ¨Smurf¨. Really.


We went to Capitán América. Dubbed.

Which reminds me of a couple of expense report items I missed. Movies only cost about US$5 (slightly higher on weekends, at least at this particular theatre), and popcorn is even a little cheaper, too. Laundry, however, costs about $12 per load.

Expense report.

We had characterized all Latin American countries as being relatively inexpensive, but we´ve found that Chile is more or less on par with home. The good news here is that we´ll be able to charge prices for our services that are similar to what we charge in the States. The bad news is that we´re not working yet.

Restaurants are slightly more expensive, although most of them offer great set lunch menus for US$5-7. Produce is much cheaper than at home, but most other groceries are comparable or more expensive. City buses seem reasonable, though I have no basis for comparison.

We´ve asked around, and it seems rent is quite a bit cheaper, but we´ll find out how it comes out after the water and electric bill when we get our own place.

Our most important purchases so far, in order of awesomeness and survival necessity, include:

1. Hedgehog slippers
2. Space heater
3. Raincoat

In other news, I am making consistently stellar cookies, which are not only delicious but provide for an excellent excuse to stand over the oven, which is the warmest place in the house.

Making a grocery list and tearing it up.

Something that reminded us of home -- at first glance -- were the giant grocery stores. With names like Jumbo, Bigger, and Lider (Leader), we were pretty sure we would eat happily ever after.

Then we shopped in them. Granted, right now our main shopping trips occur at a store with a much less promising name -- UniMart -- but I´m thinking they´re probably all about the same. The size is grossly misleading.

There is an entire row of flour, an entire row of sugar, an entire two rows of wine. There is an entire row of rice -- but no brown rice. There is an entire row and a half of milk -- but no soy or rice milk. There is an entire row of mayonnaise, for heaven´s sake. That one is probably my favorite, because there aren´t even different brands of mayonnaise. It´s the same brand in the same size container on every shelf for half the row. And they don´t have jalapeños, either.

Not that we aren´t eating well. We´ve found some fantastic restaurants and cooked some wonderful meals, even without jalapeños, and part of moving to a new country is abandoning some of your old favorite things (jelly beans) in exhange for finding new ones (dried pears, porotos y fideos, rosehip tea). I can´t say I´m not a little disappointed in the rice situation, though.

At least it isn´t boring.

I´ve been thinking for the last three days about how to make this long story short.

We came down here to meet a friend who was going to help us with a lot of the moving-to-another-country stuff. From the day we arrived, something seemed a little bit off, and it went steadily in that direction over this past month. We´ve spent most of our time waiting, because even though nothing was coming through, there was never a solid indication that it wouldn´t if we were just patient.

Until Friday. It was ugly. But now we know, which is all we have really wanted since the beginning.

Now we´re starting over, which is made somewhat more difficult by the following:

1. Most of the people we know are connected by two degrees or less to our amiga-turned-enimiga.
2. Three-quarters of our luggage is a 10-hour bus ride away in Santiago, at the home of this woman´s brother.
3. It´s still cold.


More difficult, but not impossible, and in a way we´re rather relieved. Now we can just get on with it, whether here or in Argentina or whatever.

I´ll admit, this kinda sucks. But I still wouldn´t trade it.

You can´t bake cookies without a recipe, baking soda, and an oven.

We moved out to Niebla, an hour-ish bus ride from Valdivia, to live in a delightful ocean-view cabin that a new friend is letting us borrow until the end of August. Delightful and cold. It serves as more of a windbreak than a warm haven, but we are happy after piling every blanket in the house on the bed.

Our first night there, Brent set about to light the parafin heating unit and I set about to make cookies, which I´ve been dying to do ever since we realized we might never feel warm again. I improvised oatmeal cookies without butter (we had olive oil instead) and baking soda (substitute: more oatmeal!). I went to start the oven and, new to the process of the gas stove, I couldn´t get it to light.

By this time, Brent was also not getting the parafin stove to light. As our last hope of decent heat was dwindling away, this was not the time to be asking for help. Instead, I lit a burner and ''baked'' my cookies in a frying pan, which resulted in a pleasant granola-bar-like creation that managed to be both burnt and under-cooked.

I find myself here without my Pepperdine sweatshirt, fleece pajamas, or slippers. During the packing process, I thought, ''I haven´t worn these in ages, and I can fit three dresses, which I wear all the time, in the space it takes to pack one Pepperdine sweatshirt. I usually wear shorts to bed, anyway, and socks make perfectly fine slippers.'' 

I failed to consider, however, that there might not be another country on the planet that heats its homes the way America does. Furthermore, I do not wear dresses all the time in southern Chile in the winter, so I´ve been laying Brent´s sweatshirts on top of my thin (and easy-to-pack) gym-bound hoodies and cooking dinner in my coat.

The Bikram Experience

One of our friends here is a Bikram yoga teacher, and she owns a handful of studios in Santiago and Puerto Montt. We attended a couple of classes when we were in Santiago, which I almost forgot to tell you about because it feels like years ago at this point.

Brent took a couple of Bikram classes a few years ago, but I had never done it before. I was surprised to discover that the workout itself is not that challenging. Some of the poses are in the tougher spectrum, but you don´t hold them for very long. What makes the whole thing damn near impossible is that oppressive heat.

It felt good for about 30 seconds after first entering the room because it was so cold outside, but that novelty quickly wore off. I was totally overdressed in a tank top and cropped yoga pants, and it still only took about five minutes to sweat through them completely.

Í wouldn´t say I dislike it, necessarily. I even went back for another round three days after the first. I would do it again. But not regularly.

P.S. We live in Chile now.

Brent and I moved to Chile, which I forgot to tell some people. Not that those people are any less important, it just came together quickly and it didn't feel like there was much time for telling things. But now I am telling you! And this is exciting!

Upon arrival, July 1, we stayed out in the suburbs of Santiago for about a week. How far out? When we decided to head south (in the southern hemisphere, heading south in the winter is not the best idea), it was a two-hour walk/bus/metro to CENTRAL station, where we hopped on a 12-hour bus ride to Puerto Montt.
While we were there, sometimes an entire day consisted of walking to the internet cafe, having lunch, and walking home. Santiago. Is. Not. Small.

On our second day in Chile, we went exploring. We were going to catch the bus, but when the bus wasn't there when we wanted it to be (i.e. immediately), we said, what the heck, let's keep walking and see what we see. So we walked. And walked. And 10 hours later, having not yet reached the center of the city, we got some dinner and took a bus home. Santiago. Is. Not. Small.

Now we're in Valdivia, a lovely city with less rain than Puerto Montt. We're almost thinking of calling this one home, but we are waiting on a few things, one of those things being paperwork, the kind that permits us to work in this country. Once the paperwork gets going, it could be up to four months before it's official, but at least we'll know it's happening. The main focus now is just getting it started.

In the meantime, we're eating food and walking in the cold and meeting fantastically kind people. And speaking Spanish, some of us better than others.

Flameshield Film Festival

Remember when I made a super-short horror movie promotional piece? It's going to be showing at this festival on October 15, along with Jimmy Drain's short film Stealth Eye (the short version of the upcoming feature The Dead Rose) and a few other short pieces. If you're in the Denver area, come on by! This is the first thing I was cast in after moving to Colorado, so I'm terribly excited to see how it turned out.

And there was a short trip to St. Louis somewhere in between feeling the need for a break and feeling the need to move....

My "brother" Joel (of From Bohemia to the Balkans fame) got married a couple of weeks ago in the St. Louis area. Thus, I vacationed to Missouri, and then to Nebraska. It's no Europe, but I wouldn't have missed this wedding for the world.

In the movies.

Very excited about this -- the website for a short film I shot a few weeks ago!

www.tmdfilms.com/the8thinning

Check it out for production stills and behind-the-scenes photos. They'll have a trailer up there soon, too. The film itself should premiere in January or February if all goes well.

If you have time, check out the websites for the other four films in Twelve Monkeys Dancing Films' Monkey Tales Project. I'm excited to see them all.

Moving as a hobby.

The sublet on my delightful and large Constitution Ave. apartment was up on the last day of May. I started looking for a new home in March and was down to the wire two weeks before I had to move.

There's a long story involved here, and it's boring to me nowadays, so suffice it to say that there was a place I wanted to move and I found out I could move in there three days before I had to be out of my first Fort Collins home.

I moved in on a Saturday. Another long story short, I moved out on Sunday amidst a lot of crying on my part. Seriously. I was a pansy.

But you would have been, too. It was not pretty. But it's done. And I have my new little (temporary) home close to work, very cheap, one roommate, one giant pile of stuff in the middle of my bedroom floor. My stuff, mind you. But I have no where to put it at the moment.

And it's making me restless. I'm already packed. Maybe I should just....move?

Action.

The life has been non-stop. Which is non-stop good.

Since January?

Worked.

Started teaching my own yoga and athletic training classes at The Gym. Still teaching at The Other Gym.

Painted for two shows at local theatres and was asked to charge their latest (I turned it down due to time constraints).

Several auditions in Denver which led to several acting gigs, some paid, some not. For the next two weekends you'll find me in the Mile High City shooting a student film about a female assassin (that's me). The weekend after that we're shooting a promotional segment for a horror film, which you'll be able to watch on youtube. This summer I'll play a chica named Melanie in a short film. I. Am. Excited.

Played some tennis.

Took some salsa dancing lessons.

Modeled for an uber-talented photographer in Greeley.

Joined a volleyball league (1-1 so far).

Went skiing. (I'm not even kidding.)

Right now, I'm attempting to find a new place to live (my sublet is up on May 31) and balancing all the crazy fun stuff without doing too much damage to my paychecks (the downside of the flexible schedule) and without neglecting my new friends.

Summer's comin'. I don't know what that means.

They threatened me with benefits.

My job at The Gym, as we'll call it (as opposed to my job at The Other Gym), has expanded greatly. I got on board as a fitness and yoga instructor -- actually, not even that. A fitness and yoga SUB until the expansion got done, when I was to get my own classes. I bullied my way into working with the kids program. Then I was subbing in the gallery (the BAR) and before long I had my own gallery shift. I started doing weight room orientations this week. Rumors started to fly that the owner wanted to get me on full time.

That chance came a few days ago.

The XRKade opened last week. For those who don't know, the XRKade is FANTASTIC. It's the first of its kind in Colorado, and one of the first 20 in the country. It's interactive video games: Playstation racing and snowboarding -- but you have to pedal the bike to make your car go faster, or shift your weight right and left on a board to make your snowboarding self navigate down the hills. There are also Dance Dance Revolution pads and other neat-o games designed to get kids and adults alike MOVING. I think it's brilliance, and the club members love it.

Well, the fitness director has been running it, but he has his hands full with so much stuff that the XRKade has not been living up to its potential, which is huge. They needed someone to be in charge of the XRKade programming.

And that someone is now me. XRKade Director. Folks, I'm the head of my own department. I have a staff. I could have opted for a salary instead of an hourly wage (but did not). And the biggie: I SET MY OWN SCHEDULE. Plus, I still get to teach yoga classes, which will be starting in another month or so.

There's much work to be done. It would have been one thing to be running it from the beginning, but player habits have already formed, a standard has already been set, so now I have to go about undoing all of that. But it should keep me busy for a while. Very exciting.

This looks to me suspiciously like normal life. I'm skeptical. But I did make it well-known that my demands include extended periods of unpaid leave.

The Highlights

Despite my come-and-go resistance to being here, there are a lot of good things happening.

1. Work. I love teaching at both gyms, and they so love me back at the one place that they work really hard to get me hours working with the kids, pouring beer (BEER! AT THE GYM!), and showing people around the weight room. I might even piece together a 40-hour work week.

2. Painting. There are some lovely little theatres here, and I'm volunteering at one right now. The guy I work with is super-talented, and he's got a couple of projects on the line that he has asked me to help him with. Yes, please.

3. Acting? What the hell. I found a guy who did new headshots for me for free, since he's building his portfolio. I've got an audition in Denver on the 26th. I love it because nothing's riding on it. No part? I'm no worse off than I am right now. Part? BONUS LAND!

4. Good people. They're all over the place, and I'm lucky enough to call some of them my almost-friends.

5. Hair. I had it dyed darker. Love it.

Notes on traffic.

1. People drive really fast.

2. There are more speedbumps than Starbucks, which is really saying something. In explanation, I can only say, "see #1."

3. The roads are pretty crappy, I25 included. Cracks, bumps, you name it.

4. The lights are loooooong. The first light I get to on my way to either workplace is obscenely long, and I'm consistantly the only car I can see from horizon to horizon.

5. Canada geese. Everywhere. It is not in your best interest to hit them.

The Coloradoan Life

So far, so good. So little. Moved in Tuesday. Went grocery shopping Wednesday. Yesterday....not really sure. And in between there have been a lot of phone calls and emails trying to get someone to fix the light above our sink and figure out how to go about teaching private yoga lessons and put together the painting portfolio I should have been putting together all along.

This is where I am. And that is okay. For now. I know myself well enough to know that some part of me must want to be here, otherwise I just wouldn't be. And some part of me must not want to be in South America right now, or else you could visit Santiago for the new year.

I do, however, need to find another job. You just can't teach enough hours of fitness in a day to make it work. At least until the private yoga lessons get going, but who knows how that will go.

I'm thinking of a Christmas party. Busy next Friday?

Making a move.

After two years of non-stop excitement on the ever-hot adventure trail, I'm moving to Fort Collins, CO.

Looking back over the last couple of weeks, I'm not really sure how this came about. The notion popped up nearly a year ago, and I beat it down with other, cooler notions of South America and cruise ships. But it persisted, despite my annoyance with it.

And somehow, here I am. I visited earlier this week (my first real trip to the place) and came away with two jobs. Everyone who speaks of Fort Collins does so fondly. I'm calling it temporary for now -- I'm subletting an apartment until the end of May. If I like being in one spot and having access to my entire closet all the time, I might stay. But the world is so big and beautiful -- seems a shame to settle in one corner already.

I'm a little moody about it right now. We'll talk later.

The Long-Awaited Organized Thoughts

It's hard to talk about India without getting into a discussion that lasts for hours, maybe days. It's most interesting when there is direct feedback from other people. So I don't know how writing about it will go.

There are two things: India and yoga. So, India. I didn't get to see much of the country, but what I can tell you is that it took 9 hours to drive a couple hundred kilometers from Delhi to Rishikesh. Traffic is wild and includes cars, trucks, buses, tractors, motorcycles, bicycles, horse-drawn wagons, pedestrians, and cows. If you blow your nose in Delhi, you will turn the kleenex black. The people near Rishikesh were happy and friendly. The kids loved to have their picture taken and loved to ask you for chocolate.

Rishikesh is a yogic community, so there is a lot going on that deals with that and spirituality.

Which leads us to "So, yoga."

There is so much to yoga that the average westerner doesn't realize. And we covered the beginnings of much of that. There's still so far to go, of course, but it's a start. I could talk your ear off about the yamas and niyamas, metta meditation, chakras and energy, ayurveda and the constitutions, and of course reincarnation -- but at best, you might get confused and at worst, you might get angry. Sometime, when we're hanging out over a bottle of wine (except not wine, because that's not a yogic thing to do to your body), I'll get into these things and more. For now, here are some pretty pictures, in no particular order:


With my teacher after the graduation ceremony.


Natarajasana.

At breakfast after the naming ceremony with Naomi and Jessica -- er, Mukta and Ujaisa.

During the naming ceremony where we were given our spiritual names.

The Ganges.

My first attempt at jal neti, a cleansing technique.

Getting on the bus in Haridwar.

Making wishes and sending them afloat on the Ganga.

On graduation day with some fellow classmates, Amy and Marta.

Monkey! Danger!

Explains itself, huh?

Shiva statue at the arti.

Tuk-tuk (a taxi -- they pack them with people). We had to get out of it so it could make it up the hill.

Waterfall.

Locals near our ashram.

Om, India.

I'm back in my country again, after an eight-hour car ride, a six-hour wait in the airport, and a 15-hour flight.

There is so much to share. A book's worth, at least. And my thoughts aren't yet organized enough for that.

So for now, the basics: I completed the yoga course, so I'm a certified yoga teacher. I learned so much, perhaps more than I even expected to learn. I'm eager to put this to work.

India is quite a time. I enjoyed it, and would like to return at some point to see more of the country and eat more of the food.

Off and running....to India.

On Saturday, my darlings Adam and Regina go married, one year to the day after getting engaged. If ever two should be one, it is them.

By noon tomorrow I'll be on my way to Chicago. From there it's a mere 14-hour direct flight to Delhi. Half-way around the world. Off I go. Tomorrow. Noon.

Then you won't hear much from me until November 12. I'll be immersed in the world of the yogi for 5.5 days per week, and hopefully doing something other than swimming in the Ganges during the other 1.5 days.

Wish me luck.

Mail Call

It has arrived. After three tense weeks of wondering (and two days of not being able to get a person on the phone at the consulate) my visa to INDIA has landed safely in my mailbox.

On October 9, I will take a 14-hour flight to Indira Gandhi International Airport to begin my month of studying yoga in India.

These last weeks have been busy with preparations. I've done the required reading. I'm immune to a handful of diseases, some I'd never even heard of before they injected me with them. I have a prescription to prevent malaria and bottles of high-powered insect repellant. Ready? Not even close. But I'm working on it.

Working Girl

To eat the time between now and take-off (October 9, remember), I took a job at the Hotel Alex Johnson as -- get this -- a bellboy. Er, bellperson? Bellgirl? Bellhop is what they usually come out with, but my time log says, "bellperson," which I think is really funny.

It's quite a time. I enjoy it for the most part -- lots of people to see, lots of luggage to haul, lots of brass to polish. The guests seem to enjoy my presence, as well, as it is unusual to meet a female bellhop. "Do you lift weights?" "Don't hurt yourself." "Did you grow up on a farm?" "Will you come wash my windows?"

I also get to do the valet parking, which has led to numerous quietly experienced adventures that I will keep to myself. I consider it an opportunity to test drive a lot of vehicles. My favorites thus far?

1. Lexus
2. Kia Spectra
3. XTerra
4. Highlander
5. Hummer

Just kidding on number 5. I drove one today, but we can't call that a favorite. I couldn't see a thing -- I probably ran over half the city just driving it down the block.

As for the quickly approaching October 9? I'm still waiting to get the visa. I'll keep you posted.

A Tourist in my Homeland, and Rumblings of the Future

Bas and Rik left last Saturday after a fun-filled week of horseback riding, mountain carvings, museums, a rodeo, hiking, and every traditional mid-western food I could think of.

Ruud stayed on, and will be here until Tuesday. We've kept busy near and far with Devils Tower, Storybook Island, Reptile Gardens, and more hiking.

Unfortunately, I don't think I've been the easiest person to live with these past few weeks. I was rather grumpy, because of all the things I could think to do with the next few months, none of them were striking me as THE thing. I was restless.

But then. One day. It came to me. And now, two days later, I've put the wheels in motion. It'll only keep me busy for about a month or so, and there are a few things that have to come through before it's a definite, but it's looking good. I'll tell you more as things come together. For now, just know that by October 9, I'll be out of the country.

The "where I'm from" home.

I got back to the Hills region after a delightful week-long journey that started in Las Vegas.

I rode to Vegas with my roommate Diana and stayed at her house for a night while I waited for the Dutch boys to catch up. They got there the next day, and we stayed at the Circus Circus until I caught a flight to Denver and they began their drive through Bryce, Zion, and the Grand Canyon.

So these days have been tourist days. Mt. Rushmore, Crazy Horse, the winery. A day at the ranch -- shooting, riding, roping. Mammoth Site, Evans Plunge, Custer State Park, the Playhouse. Hiking Harney Peak. Shopping at WalMart. You know. Everything a foreigner should experience.

And we've had some fun. Bas and Rik are leaving already on Saturday; Ruud will be here another week.

And then? Your guess is as good as mine. I have been browsing some job listings in Bahrain, Singapore, Chile, and Fort Collins.

One DAY?

There have been some good moments these last few weeks.

I taught a class last week we call Cardio Queens. It involves a lot of drills, running, stadium stairs -- intense, not for pansies. One day, I led them in ins and outs (jog one minute, pace 45 seconds, sprint 15 seconds) for 15 minutes. I had two girls complete the entire thing running. "Great job!" I said. "We covered about a mile and a half."

"What?" one said. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"I haven't run a mile in four years."

Not only that, we did another 15-minute running workout, which she completed without stopping. She went on to run -- RUN -- the 5K that weekend...in under 30 minutes.

She came up to me the day afterward. "It's because of class! I didn't know I could push myself that hard."

I LOVE this job.

And I leave it after tomorrow.

One week? One week!

I'm approaching the beginning of my last week at work. After a killer workout schedule this week (1: Strength training. 2: Kickboxing MWF, sprints on the track THS. 3: Free, but they have indoor volleyball this week, so I've been playing along and spiking like a champ. 4: Glutes and abs -- meaning lots of stadium stairs. Add in a late night after a trip to Pageant of the Masters on Wednesday, and...), I'm dragging like you wouldn't believe. Next week, however, my final week, I'm teaching pilates, yoga, and glutes and abs. So hopefully, after having this Sunday off, I'll be able to recover.

Last Saturday I made my very own yoga DVD -- the perfect combination of my two favorite things. Today we took pictures for the cover. It will be sent out to camp participants throughout the year.

And last Sunday, I journeyed back up to Santa Monica with Aunt Cathy for one more visit with Aunt Dolores. We made tentative birthday plans, in case I can swing a trip out here in November.

Tonight I'm hitting the baseball game with Uncle Omar and Aunt Cathy. Will Bonds break Hank Aaron's record tonight? Stay tuned.

My beautiful friend Anja (you might remember Anja because I stayed at her apartment in Slovenia last January) is here in San Diego! HERE IN SAN DIEGO! I can't wait to see her. Hopefully this weekend.

Also this weekend, I'm hoping to catch up with my two lovely LA friends before I leave this part of the country.

Or will I? It has been suggested that I leave my resume with the head honchos in case an office job for the camp opens up this fall. Um.

This small world.

Yes, I'm the only counselor here from South Dakota, but there is a camper from Sioux Falls.

There is also a woman here who is originally from the Netherlands, but she spent six years living in Rapid City before she moved to wherever she is now...I can't remember where that is.

But better than that. There are two women here from Australia. They were placed in the same room, and when the second one
walked in, she said, "Dani?" And Dani said, "Michelle?" Yep, they went to elementary school together, though Dani was three grades above Michelle. They had lost touch with each other by high school and now, some 15 years later, had no idea they were both going to the same camp for the summer.

And the latest, I got a new girl in this week, also from Australia though she has been living in California for the last couple of years. She sat down at the table and another counselor introduced her to her fellow Australians. Dani said, "You went to (such and such a college, I can't remember), didn't you? I remember your face."

So, the Australians are feeling very much at home. And so am I, for that matter. This job is FANTASTIC.

A Day at the Races

You know I'm not much of a gambling kinda girl. At least not with money. My life, sometimes. But those are different stories.

But yesterday I went to the racetrack with Uncle Omar and had a blast. I was looking forward to it from the get-go, thinking it was something I've never done and it would be a nice, new, probably one-time experience. But I would go again. And again And the fact that I came out of it $0.20 ahead of the game? Well, that's just a bonus.

We also went to the baseball game, where the Phillies wiped the field with the Padres -- and we left before it was over.

Big week coming up. Yoga on the beach on Tuesday, more tennis on Wednesday, on duty in the office Thursday AND Friday -- and my dear friend Ryan coming for a visit on Saturday, followed by a trip to Santa Monica on Sunday to see Aunt Dolores. More on all of that after the fact.

Even the backhand.

Last night I attended the Nike tennis clinic, where I actually learned how to swing a racket. (Which, I've just learned, can be spelled that way, as well as "racquet," which is how I would normally spell it.) I ended up losing the championship round, even though by that time my partner had left and I had joined up with the professional, Herman, a delightful (read: gorgeous) young man from somewhere in Africa.

But it doesn't matter. I'm finally on my tennis way. People with rackets, watch out, because if you play with me, you're probably still going to end up chasing the ball for a while.

Breathing space.

Last night, my director took me and two other yoga instructors to her yoga class on the beach in Coronado.

I don't know where to start.

This was....phenomenal. Melissa, the instructor, was an outstanding teacher, possibly the best I've ever had. There were about 10 of us, men and women, holding poses on beach towels, staring out into the ocean. As we completed our dolphin pose, the real dolphins started hopping in and out of the water, quite close to the shore.

Halfway through the class, as the clouds rolled in, we took the practice into the water and held our tree poses as the waves crashed against our knees.

There are definite challenges to yoga on the sand. Balancing goes to a whole new level. I probably wouldn't recommend it for beginners. Luckily I was wearing sunglasses, or I would have ended up kicking all kinds of sand into my eyes. It's also a little hard on the wrists, as the heel of your hand tends to sink into the sand.

But that's all minor. The class lasted an hour and a half, but I had no sense of the time. It was over before I knew it; all I could think was that I wished she would keep teaching well into the night.

Amazing. I was overwhelmed. Yoga on the beach is certainly among the top ten experiences of my life.

Happy Holiday

I had a delightful Sunday off in which Aunt Cathy picked me up, drove me to her home, and we decided to go Bodies: The Exhibition, which is actually at the mall three miles from where I live. So we drove back and did it.

Amazing. Truly fascinating. If you don't know what Bodies: The Exhibition is, it's actual human remains carefully preserved. There are entire bodies. There are parts of bodies. There are displays that focus on the muscles, others that focus on bones. There are diseased organs and healthy organs. It's amazing. If it next travels to a city near you, don't miss it.

We also stopped by the beach to see the seals. I got splashed when a big wave hit the rocks, so I spent half the morning wet and smelling like seal water.

I had yesterday off, as well. The group went on a field trip to Sea World, and I would have gone, too, except

A) it was my day off and I felt I should do something very much mine.
B) I figured the park would be wildly crowded on July 4.
C) I was still drying out after Sunday's visit with the seals.

So I went shopping with my roommate and bought $15 jeans and a new skirt. Days like that are nice.