The not-quite-triumph of Volcán Barú.

With our friends in Boquete, we got to reminiscing about our own little trip there back in March. We had been in Panama for about a month, and things were starting to get really, really busy for us with work at the Bahia and keeping up with our social activities. We figured we'd better take a trip while we were able to do so, before it got too hard to get away.

Brent was raised a mountain boy in the Rockies, and I had the Black Hills in my backyard, so as much as we love the beach, it's a great treat for us to be in the mountains. We enjoyed the cool, misty weather; I put jeans on for the first time since we landed at PTY.

We ate a lot of good food and especially are in love with a little bakery called Sugar and Spice. Their breakfast was fantastic, and we bought a loaf of raisin walnut bread to take home. The coffee was fantastic, as well, but that's pretty much to be expected in Boquete, which is serious coffee country.

Our highlight and lowlight was the same thing: Volcán Barú. We left early in the morning and saw a lot of people gathered at the trailhead. We're both fairly experienced hikers, and we work out regularly, so we found ourselves more concerned about how some of them were going to make it to the top -- and not in the least concerned about ourselves. But, we should have been.

As it turned out, those folks had no trouble getting up there, because a lot of them (and all of their luggage) were passengers in the Jeeps that passed us by. As for ourselves, Brent's knee started hurting -- an aftershock of an old injury -- and we were forced to turn back around kilometer 9.

I'm slow to admit athletic weakness, but I can't say I was all that disappointed. I mean, it would have been amazing to see the top, for bragging rights if nothing else, but that climb is no joke. I was pretty worn out, and not looking forward to the fact that we had to go back down. It's about 13 kilometers to the top, quite steep at times. I was on my toes for much of the trip, a fact my calves were still reminding me of four days later. That same steepness is even more brutal on the way down.

Even though we came up short, we had a good time, Brent's knee recovered, and we were rewarded with some beautiful views from the trail.

Bahia Thursday: Volleyball and Happy Hour

I usually go for a margarita, but when George
said his most popular drink is a pina colada,
I had to find out why.

Our long-held vision (okay, about two months) of a Happy Hour at the Bahia finally materialized last night. We combined it with our deep-rooted love of volleyball, and had a great game going until we had to interrupt it for margaritas. What can I say? Life gets rough.

George fired up his poolside grill and offered free chicken wings before making his regular menu available to order. We had a great turn-out, especially considering that this was our first Bahia Thursday and we just managed to get the word out on Tuesday. Lucky for us, it doesn't take long for mention of good cocktails and good friends to make the rounds in the beach community.

Beaching it.

If there's one thing I can't help but love, it's a good day at the beach. We live very close to the beach, but it's one of those things you still have to make an effort to enjoy. We're looking forward to the day we can walk out our back door and hop in the sand, but for now we settle for packing up some beers and snacks and driving down.

We went to Santa Clara, near where Brent's dad lives. The beach there is gorgeous -- and popular. It was a weekday afternoon and there were quite a few people there, but we were still able to secure a little hut for our usage: two hammocks, a table and chairs, and the all-important shade.

We had heard these would cost about $5, but we were charged $10 when the guy came over about an hour or so after we had settled in. We speak Spanish, but couldn't gather why we were charged extra. Maybe our original information was incorrect, or maybe it has to do with the time of day or year.

At any rate, $10 was still worth it for the shade and the simple joy of reading a book in a hammock and glancing up to see the blue Pacific.

Plus, there are bathrooms there.

Verve BOLD

If you love Verve -- Verve Bold is just the next step: a little extra caffeine kick with the same Vemma formula. Yes, your energy drink can be healthy: this is it.

Look for me in the pool.

I grew up in a landlocked state way out in the country. There was no public pool within 90 minutes in any direction, so I didn't grow up learning to swim before I could walk. I remember that I was not, and am still not, a very big fan of putting my head under the water. In fact, when I finally learned to swim as a pre-teen, I taught myself quickly out of fear of my grandmother making me take lessons where they would, of course, make me put my head under water.

Therefore, to this day, I swim an inefficient stroke with my head held high above the surface. Brent is determined to fix this.

The trouble was, I'm still no water baby. I don't really enjoy pools as much as some people seem to. I don't love being in the water.

Rather, I didn't.

Panama is plenty warm, and we try not to run the air conditioner all that much. If I'm home during the hottest parts of the day, I head straight for the pool. And I love it.

The house we're taking care of right now has a glorious pool, as does the one we're moving into tomorrow. In fact, most houses around here do, because a backyard pool is JUST THAT AWESOME.

So Brent's faith in my ability to learn to swim more efficiently with my head under water has been renewed. I am going out to practice my bubbles.

Moving day!

When we arrived in Panama at the end of January, we weren't planning to stay very long, so our hotel room-sized casita with kitchenette at Paraiso was the perfect spot. It was a bit of a drive into Coronado, but our little home was lovely and clean and there is a restaurant right there on site, as well as lots of other guests who became our friends.

Fast-forward two months, and we were ready to spread out a little bit -- and we finally got to do that yesterday when we moved into a house!

We worked out a stellar deal with the owners (wonderful people from Canada), so we have what might be the lowest rent in Coronado in exchange for doing some work on their yard. Brent is going to landscape, and I'm going to paint some murals on the pump house.

The best part? Not the pool (though that is awesome). Not the space (though that was necessary). Not the full kitchen (though...wow. Wow, it's nice to have a big fridge and a stove again). Rather, the best part is the location: right on the golf course in Coronado, and just a ripe mango's throw from Gorgona, where we are spending an increasing amount of time...

Good Friday? Stay home.

Good Friday is serious business in Panama. The entire week is all about the party, so on Thursday (the first of the back-to-back national holidays), 66% of the city heads to the beach (that's a million people, for those of you keeping track at home).  Brent had the misfortune of taking a friend to the airport on Thursday. Getting in was no problem. Getting out took four hours from the bridge -- usually a one-hour drive -- and that was after a couple of hours just trying to get from the airport to the bridge.

First things first: no drinking, no music, no joy on Friday. Stores and restaurants are forbidden from selling alcoholic beverages.

Then, be careful not to offend anyone. On Good Friday, if someone gives you "the evil eye", you are required to go to their house the following day with a blanket. The offended person will pee on the blanket, and you have to wrap yourself in it: a small price to pay for forgiveness, obviously.

Oh, and don't go swimming, or you'll turn into a fish. Seriously, the beaches were empty.

RIP Carlito

Geckos are a fairly regular part of living here in Panama. They often make their way into the home, and I have to say they're a delight: they're fun to watch, they make funny noises, they're really fast and sneaky but you never find them in your shoe (I'm looking at you, spiders), and they eat bugs. What's not to love?

Starting a few weeks ago, every night we would hear a gecko barking so loudly that it sounded like it was inside, but we never saw him, so we assumed he was right outside the door. I looked forward to hearing him every evening, but didn't think much else about him.

Then one day, Carlito moved in:

 

We saw him first on the wall above our bed, and gradually made his way around to the light on the ceiling, where he set up his dinner table. Carlito was tiny, just about an inch and a half long (when I first noticed him, I asked Brent if it was a gecko or a bug), so there's no way he was the one barking every night from just outside the door.

He came again the next night, at about the same time.

On the third night, he wandered away from the light toward the wall above the door -- right near where we hear the other one every night. And all of a sudden, there he was: the Big One, looking even bigger in relation to tiny Carlito. 

Turns out, he'd been living inside all along, right behind the thing that holds the curtain rod above the door.  He was super shy -- every time one of us moved, he'd dart back under cover -- which explains why we'd never met him before.

Brent and I sat still and watched, and slowly the Big One came back out. Carlito was on the ceiling, the Big One was on the wall, both of them near the corner. The Big One lifted his head up and looked at Carlito, and I got scared -- I was pretty sure the Big One was going to eat our Carlito.

Suddenly, Carlito ran like hell back to the middle of the ceiling (confirming my suspicions of what the Big One was up to). The Big One ducked behind the curtain rod again.

The next day, we went on our weekend trip to Boquete. And when we returned, Carlito didn't show up for dinner -- and he hasn't since. Brent can't face the truth, but I'm pretty sure the Big One ate Carlito. We still hear him barking every night from his home behind the curtain rod.

We're saving a spot at the dinner light for you, Carlito. Just in case.

Oceanfront Property

Sometimes, when you get offered a job you didn't apply for and didn't even know was available, you say, "Thank you, universe" and get on with it.

That's how it went here a couple of weeks ago, which is why we're gearing up to be very, very busy kids, indeed.

Inside Panama is a company full of some of the coolest people selling some of the best real estate in Panama, and now we're going to play, too.

First up: managing a handful of properties in Gorgona. This activity is new to me, but Brent has a lot of experience with it. We had our first check-in yesterday, and it was fun, getting to be with people in the first few moments that they pull into town, full of an excitement that is absolutely contagious. They're going to love it here! Because it's awesome here! I love it here! Hooray!

Also first up, we get to play expert to a spectacular resort called the Bahia. We're currently spending a few nights there to get to know the property and the employees. Gorgeous condos, gorgeous views. Brent doesn't know it yet, but he's in for a fight over who gets to sleep closest to the ocean.

So, you open your eyes, without even getting up, to see this....

 

 

Then you start thinking you'll make a day of it, so you stand up, take three steps, and bring it into focus....

Mountain Weekend

Knowing that we will soon be very, very busy (more on that coming soon), we decided to head for the hills last weekend. It was a fairly quick five- or six-hour drive that led us to the mountain town of Boquete where we ate, drank (coconut water), and tried to climb a volcano:

Stick to it.

This is embarrassing: I don't know how to drive a stick.

I'm not really sure how this happened, having grown up on a ranch where you couldn't throw a fresh egg without hitting a manual transmission. I just remember wanting to avoid being taught by my dad.

Dad's a great fellow with incredible patience that didn't always carry over to us kids. Once, when I was driving (an automatic) with my learner's permit, he shouted my name from the passenger seat as I was merging onto the highway. It scared the crap out of me, and he shook his head with disgust, but to this day I have no idea what didn't happen, since he didn't explain what he was trying to prevent by not yelling any instructions as to what to do with the vehicle. What I did learn was that I didn't want to drive with Dad anymore.

Also, I knew that lurching and stalling would provide ample opportunities to be made fun of, and I was not interested.

So, somehow, I slipped under the stick radar, managing to volunteer to drive the automatics when we were out on one chore or another. Then I got busy with school, then I left for college, and now I'm darn near grown up -- over the years I spent less and less time at home, which translated into fewer and fewer opportunities for anyone to realize I didn't know how to drive a stick shift.

Fast forward to Panama, where we recently became the part owners of a manual Ford Ranger.

Somehow, my inabilities didn't go into hiding as easily here, as before I even knew we had the pickup people were expressing their surprise at what I don't know how to do.

As much as I'd just like to avoid driving, it probably won't be possible here, so Brent gave me my first lesson in the parking lot. Afterward, he kept telling me what a great job I did. He's a really great boyfriend.

Early retirement.

If this is what retirement feels like, I might be ready.

Not quite, of course, since I still burn to find my great passion and make my great contribution, and I'm looking forward to doing Thai bodywork and maybe teaching a little yoga -- and all that -- but I've got to say, for two people who aren't working, we've been mighty busy.

The ex-pat community here is close-knit, and they keep a full social calendar.  I bought a bunch of art supplies last week, thinking I'd keep myself busy painting while I waited for work to pick up, but I haven't even had time.  Our first beach hammock afternoon was squeezed in between the weekly happy hour, a community safety meeting, a chili cook-off, a real estate open house, lunch with the owners of the house we're going to rent, dinner (and the use of the gym) at a friend's condo, two markets (one of them monthly, one of them weekly), a trip to the mall just outside the city to catch a movie, a small group meditation session, and more that I'm already forgetting as I fill up the schedule for next week.

Brent is only semi-retired, actually, as he had his first full week of work last week.  ("Full week" meaning "eight hours".)  I am working my way out of retirement, as it were, having met so many great people who are excited about Thai bodywork.  Apparently, the two resident massage therapists just moved out of town, so there is a great Amanda-sized hole to be filled here.

And the people, the people.  We have met so many amazingly nice people, all with an awesome story about how they came to live (mostly retired) in Panama.  People like this are what make settling into a new home so fun and rewarding.

Toto, we're not in Argentina anymore...

I took a quick solo trip to the store to pick up a couple of things so we would have breakfast the next day.  Since I wasn't expecting to get much, I didn't bother to grab a cart or little wheeled basket when I entered the store.  I wandered around, carefully stacking the few things in my left arm as I used my right hand to gather goods and hold items for careful label study.

The stack was not unmanageable, although it was larger than I expected it to be.  I was checking for the presence of corn syrup in some crackers when a little old man tapped me on the shoulder and presented the little wheeled basket for my use.  We chuckled, I thanked him, and then we both went about our shopping.

No need to tell you there's no way something like that would have happened in Argentina. If we were there, that same little man might have tripped me so he could beat me to the checkout line.

Speaking of Argentina, you should check this out: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-21331052

And this:  http://www.forbes.com/sites/paulroderickgregory/2013/02/04/no-one-ever-learns-the-argentine-price-freeze/

Bottom line?  It's always a good time to get out of Argentina.

Excuse me, I need a plastic bag for my plastic bag.

On our first trip to the grocery, we forgot our reusable bags (which I brought from hom in lieu of an extra shirt or two, because we really do use them that often and they are that important to us). No bother.

Everything was double-bagged, and they didn't fill them any too full.  My jar of peanut butter was put in a peanut-butter-jar sized plastic bag, then put in the larger bag.  A tiny one-serving packet of chocolate candy was put in a one-serving-packet sized plastic bag, then put in the larger bag. 

We were laughing about this excessive use of plastic bags when our friends told us that when you do bring your own bags, items will be tagged and signed by the clerk, then the tags will be removed at the door by the guard -- who is close enough to see you purchasing the items to begin with.

Tags and tickets are pretty popular, too.  I went to the bathroom at a market, and it cost 25 cents (not unusual for public bathrooms outside of the US, though I may have mentioned in long-ago posts that I rarely use them because I find it hard to support the pay-to-pee idea).  I gave the woman my quarter, and she tore off a little ticket for me.  For such a suspicious operation (if I had beat her there that morning, I might have been able to charge 25 cents for each use of the bathroom), I was surprised to have such an official looking ticket.  I thought I might have to give this ticket to someone inside the bathroom door (which was wide open and about five feet away), but there was no one in there.  I held onto it, thinking I might have to turn it back in to her when I was finished, but no.

It felt weird to throw it away.  I ended up holding on to it for the whole day: a few more minutes in my hand, then it went into my purse. I finally tossed it when we got home -- into the plastic bag now serving as our garbage can.

Welcome to Panama

It's a breezy day, but hot, and I've got the air conditioner on because I've been moving about the cabin, getting things put away as best I can.  (What you should take from that is that we have air conditioning! Yay!) 

Temperature-wise, each day is like the last.  Gorgeous and sunny.  It's hot, but not unbearably so.  I went running at 8:00am this morning.  Thanks to my altitude lungs via Denver, it was delightfully easy. 

Brent's dad, who retired here last April, has been showing us the lay of the land and introducing us to so many cool people.  Already we've uncovered where to find organic skin care products (perhaps not as exciting for the guys as it is for me), organic foods, and all sorts of other fantastic things that will come in more handy when we have a permanent living situation.

Our place is really nice, but it's a cabin like a hotel room.  One big room.  Huge balcony/deck.  No stove.  We're looking around this month and deciding where we need to be.  On Monday, we're going to the city (that would be Panama City) to see if we might like it there.

On the go.

We've had lazy days in Denver, but I can't say we haven't enjoyed them.  Get up when we want.  Healthy breakfasts and delicious coffee.  Gym.  Books.  Movies.  Dinners with good friends.  It'll be worth missing when we go.

Which we're doing!  We're going!  And I can say, finally, that Panama is where we are going, because we have purchased plane tickets (one way!) and made the whole thing quite official.  From there, we will touch base with Colombia and see if that's a place we'd like to settle. 

This is all very exciting, as per usual, but especially so this time because we only have to pack for one season: hot.

Culture shock.

When I went home to visit in August, I was struck by the friendliness of all the airport workers as I made my way through customs and immigration. I kept wishing I had a question for them, just so I could talk to them.  Sorry to say it, but I had almost forgotten that some people just do their jobs, even as if they enjoy them.

This time, I was prepared for that, but it delighted me all the same. There was friendly assistance everywhere I turned! As I was walking down a long hall, there was a airport worker standing there, just standing, in the middle of that long walkway, and it seemed like his only job was to say,"Good morning to you" and "Welcome to the US".  There was a pilot walking ahead of me, and this man thanked him for his service!  I was smiling from deplaning to waiting for my next flight.

And with that, I am back in South Dakota, sipping egg nog and being so so so happy that there is no snow on the ground.

Brent wanted one more Argentinean working week, so he is leaving on Saturday. I will be interested to hear how he felt upon being welcomed back home by dozens of people he doesn't even know, and I look forward to meeting him in Colorado for Christmas.

Argentina being Argentina.

The weekend in Pinamar was so lovely, and that should not be forgotten, which I why I separated these two posts. This one is more so I don't forget why we´re moving out of Argentina.


When Brent got our tickets, he asked the clerk how long the bus ride was. She said four hours. He chose a 1:30 departure time to allow me to sleep in after my night at work and so we could take our time in the morning and walk to the station.

As we got on the bus, the man checking the tickets informed us that we would arrive at 8pm.

"Wait, what?" said Brent, in irritated Spanish. "The woman told me it was a four-hour trip!"

"That's the early and the late bus," he replied, clearly having had to explain this before. "This one takes about seven hours."

"Why didn't she tell me that?"

"They're supposed to. But they usually don't."

So, we settled in for the long trip, trying not to grit our teeth every time we got off the highway to drive several kilometers out of the way to pick one person up in a little tiny town.

But we arrived safe and happy, and we checked into our hotel.

When we checked out two days later, the woman told us how much we owed.
"No," Brent said, totally calm, "that's not what you told me on the phone."
She launched into a lengthy explanation of why the price had risen by nearly 200 pesos. We continued to look at her until she stopped and said, "It doesn't matter, you're right."
Luckily, we somehow got on the express bus to get home, so we were planning on a four-hour trip. It turned into four and a half, because we had to exit the highway at one point and get back on. A handful of protestors (we think -- there were no signs, so we have no idea what they standing for) had lit a bunch of branches on fire in the middle of both lanes and one of the on ramps. The police were there, watching and directing traffic around it while the fires burned and the pyros sat on the barriers between lanes.

And so it goes.

Out of town!

My awesome birthday present from Brent was a trip OUT OF THE CITY! to Pinamar, a beach town about four hours south of here.  (Well, supposed to be about four hours, but I'll get to all that another day.)  We arrived on Saturday night and checked into this beautiful little hotel near the ocean.

On Sunday I put on my new swimsuit and we walked a loooong way down the beach.  It was beautiful and hot, but windy enough that you didn't realize you were getting sunburned on those three little patches of skin you missed with the sunscreen, or on the top of Brent's feet, but we found some aloe and started taking care of that right after we got back.  The walk probably lasted about an hour too long, as we were hot and tired, but it was a great day.

Monday, we explored Pinamar a bit more, then had a long card-playing lunch before returning to Buenos Aires and the most recent subway strike that afternoon. It's nice to know there's more to Argentina than giant, messy city.

Call me that.

I'm a big fan of the nickname, and I've had a few that were twisted out of my own name and a few that were totally unrelated. I never got into "Mandy", and only one person ever called me that. And because it was only one person, he was allowed. If it had started a trend, I would have cracked down on that nonsense.

But here, tagging an endearing ending onto a name is almost a requirement. I've been Mandi, Mandiña, Mandita, Amandita, Amandiña, Manderiña, Amandis, Amandía, and Amanda all in the same night. I'll kind of miss that when we go.

Brent has been "Brend," "Bret," and "Bread," mostly because the "nt" sound doesn't exist in Spanish, so people have a hard time figuring out what he's saying when he introduces himself.  I'll kind of miss that, too.

An exercise in tolerance.

Today is another holiday in Argentina, although no one I've asked has any idea what it's for. I went about my usual Monday, with plans to go to the gym. However, I had a very domestic morning: sweeping the floors, cleaning the counter, doing laundry, washing and cutting the stems off a kilo of strawberries, making breakfast, and cooking up the remaining squash so I can make some bread this afternoon. By the time I was ready for the gym, it was already 2:30.

Now, being a holiday, I should have assumed that they would have different hours today. Often they close on holidays, but I saw no indication of that last week, and when I arrived they were open, so I set about my workout.

After 20 minutes, when it went silent and the TVs were off, I realized they were indeed closing early. So I ran fast and uphill, slightly bitter at having my workout cut short. Yes, I could have asked last week about a holiday schedule, but for whatever reason I did not. And why should they bother to put a sign on the door when it's much easier to just cut the electricity to the treadmill under your feet at 2:58?

In general, I have enjoyed my gym. They have hours that work for me, I like the class schedule, it's never very busy when I go, etc. I even wrote a post last year about all the things I love about it. But now, with just weeks before leaving Argentina, I know exactly what I will NOT miss:

1. The ever-changing prices. My six-month membership expired last week.  Three days before its expiration, I asked how much a one-month pass would cost. They quoted me a number that was higher than six months ago, which was too high to begin with, but that is to be expected. I went in the day after my pass expired with exactly enough money to buy a new pass, only to be informed that the price had gone up.  No big deal, the woman said, just bring the rest tomorrow.  YES BIG DEAL.  They guy who told me the price knew that it would be rising, and he should have informed me of it.  Grrr.

2. The snootiness. I've met many lovely people in Argentina, including a few at the gym, but I've been going to the same class now, two days every week, since May. Many of the women in there have been doing the same, and even now there are only a couple who will even greet me.  There are only a handful of employees who bother to greet me.

3. Cell phones. It's one thing to talk on the treadmill, which is a personal pet peeve. But far more irritating are the people -- and there are more than one -- who check their phone between every single set in the class I go to.  It's a lifting class with five-minute sets, and when the rest of us are loading or unloading our bars, stretching or grabbing a drink, these girls are sitting cross-legged and round-backed, poking at their screens.

4. The heat. Buenos Aires gets hot in the summer, but so far this spring there have only been a few days that give us a taste of that oppressive heat. And on those days, the gym gets really, really hot. Luckily, the instructor in my class keeps the fans on -- even despite being asked by one woman to turn them off because she didn't like it blowing on her. However, I heard a story of the instructor in a spinning class who, when asked to turn on the fans, informed his participants that they needed to learn to regulate their own body temperature and suck it up.  This in an un-air-conditioned room of 20 sweating cyclists when it's 100 degrees outside. 

Happy Thanksgiving

On Tuesday, I made 29 pies. In true my-cooking fashion, two of those didn't turn out -- though it was hardly my fault, as I was using an unfamiliar oven and it darkened the heck out of the tops of those two. The inside was excellent, though, which is how I found out I was on the right track, and how I sustained myself through 10 hours of baking.

On Wednesday and Thursday, dozens of people I know ate those pies, and it made me delightfully happy. I like those people a lot, and it was a great joy to spend Thanksgiving with them.

As every year, there is a great deal to be thankful for. Despite the challenges of this past year, we are a blessed lot.

Also, this just in: Singapore is out. The job offer was waaaay too little for living in a country that pricey -- it's a great opportunity for a new chiropractic graduate, which is exactly the reason they won't offer more for Brent and his 10 years of experience: they know that they can get a recent grad for that much.

Home for the holidays, and then we'll see...

On the move.

This hardly feels real, having been discussing it for months, but we are finally on our way out of Argentina.

First stop will be Colorado and South Dakota for Christmas!  We're both looking forward to a month at home with family, friends, Red Stone mead, Mexican food, and tons of planning for the next leg of our journey: Singapore.

In mid to late January, we'll fly to that super clean, super safe, super expensive little country so Brent can start a three-month trial period in a new office, a trial that is every bit as much for us as it is for them.  At three months, we'll evaluate again and decide if we want to stay or go.

Finally. Finally. Adiós, Argentina.

Bod-e Meal Replacement Shakes

Vemma is at it again, which delights us no end. This time, it's meal replacement shakes in Chocolate Ice Cream and Vanilla Ice Cream flavors, which include 16g of protein, 7g of fiber, 690mg of omega-3, and 20mL of the Vemma formula.  The pre-order period started yesterday and runs through November 16. Go!

http://amandasides.vemma.com

Happy Birthday!

Yesterday was the birthday of the Very Special Fellow, and we celebrated in good style, with bacon, eggs, and coffee cake for breakfast, and dinner out at one of our favorite Buenos Aires restaurants. Tonight we're going to Cirque du Soleil to round out the birthday weekend. A beautiful couple of days in celebration of a beautiful man, inside and out.

National Bike to Death Day

It's actually not bike-to-anything day, but two things, anyway:

1. We have bike lanes here.
2. Monday was yet another holiday.

I´m not sure where people find the courage to bike in this city, but they do. And Buenos Aires encourages it, having recently (within the last few years) set up a network of bike borrowing stations, where locals can borrow a yellow bike to ride to their destination and drop that bike off at another station.  Great idea!  Still super scary to ride in the city!

Luckily, we do have some bike lanes along some of the major streets, and a few months ago there was some minor construction as they created routes along another long street where I frequently walk.  Here, a bike lane means more than just some painted lines.  It also means a large yello curb that separates the bike lanes from the main road. 

Seems like a good idea, providing a barrier between car and bike.  However, I have seen several people -- mostly elderly people -- trip over this barrier.  It's a good six inches tall, which is quite a step to clear.  Just yesterday, an old woman was sitting on the ground on the street side of this yellow death trap, surrounded by people and a couple of cops.  I didn't see this particular fall, but I can imagine.

In holiday news, everyone was off work on Monday to celebrate Be Nice to Each Other Day.  I thought this might mean a little more freedom and safety in crossing the street, or more timely customer service, but not really.  To top it off, I could neither go to the gym nor go shopping, because both places were packed by all those people who should have been at work, but who were instead out and about not being especially extra nice to each other.

Fake value.

False currency is common enough here that every store clerk will carefully examine the 100-peso bills for authenticity.  I do it myself, in my job, so it has become quite easy for me to identify a fake.

I've never had a fake US bill, though it seems to me that if you get caught trying to spend one at home you will likely get detained and thoroughly questioned -- at least. Here, you are simply asked to put that fakey back in your wallet and produce a real bill.

The other day at the bar, an American couple handed me a 100-peso bill to pay their bill -- clearly a fake. I told them so, and the guy handed me another as Brent explained how to tell the difference. The second bill was also a fake. The poor guy was getting flustered, and said with some shock in his voice that he got those bills from his bank back in the States. He paid with a credit card, and wondered if he would be able to take them back to the bank -- I told him to try, and my fingers are crossed for him. 

To be fair, a good fake bill looks a lot like the real thing.  Brent ended up with one in his wallet last week.  The difference is in some subtle details and the feel of the paper.

Of course, a bad fake bill is downright laughable. The girls at the bar were left a fake 20 as a tip -- and the bill´s design had been printed crooked on the paper.

It's not that I wanted to stay, I just didn't want to leave.

Now having been back in Argentina for about a month, it's especially easy to admit I wish I hadn't have had to come back quite as soon as I did.  Two points of note:

• Brent lost my umbrella while I was gone so, gentleman that he is, he bought us a new one. The unfortunate part of this is that the new one is Argentine, and it broke after two uses.
• The first rule in my gym´s locker room is "No smoking."

Otherwise, things are about the same, which is to say great in the general life scheme of things, and challenging/tough in the daily life scheme of things. We are still searching for the next great adventure. Brent is still making beer. I am still finding random yoga students. We are learning more about each other every day, and there's a special sort of peace and love in that alone.

South Dakota, Nebraska, and Colorado: a vacation?

This time, yes.

Three weeks ago, I was coping with the fact that I wouldn't be visiting the States for awhile. Brent and I were both disappointed, as we had mapped out a little Denver-area festival that included all our favorite restaurants, camping, and theater, but we understood that staying put this time was in pursuit of a greater good. It's just too hard to leave a blossoming business for two or three weeks.

But suddenly the opportunity for a trip arose, and five days later I was flying standby from Buenos Aires to Atlanta to Minneapolis to Rapid City, my sister having arranged a stealthy airport pickup so I could surprise everyone else. Brent stayed home, so it's been nothing like the trip we envisioned taking together, but we'll save that one for another time.

A couple of days at the ranch were spent mostly outside with the dogs, breathing clean air and enjoying the summer. I drove with my aunt to Omaha to see Jack and Avery and my two nephews, the newest of which is just a couple of weeks old. Shauna had arrived at their place the day before, so the little boys had three days with three aunts, all of whom brought gifts (but I was the only one who brought gifts from Argentina, so THERE).

From there I drove to Denver, and spent a beautiful couple of days with Brent's mom -- girl talk, long walks, dress shopping. I had such a great time with her that I hardly noticed the dentist appointment I had to sneak in. (Except now, when my jaw still hurts. I'm noticing it now.) My CO time did feel a bit rushed, as I had several appointments to make and very little time to make them in. There are so many people I wanted to see, but I didn't even tell most of them I was there, since I knew there was no way I'd have time to see everyone.

Now I'm back in Rapid City, having lazy days and finishing up the last-minute shopping before going home, which will probably be on Tuesday.

Remembering that streets can be clean and customer service people can be helpful and air can smell good and traffic can stop for pedestrians makes it a little hard to go back to the city, but Buenos Aires is home for now. The break has been great (necessary, even), but my tolerance for that place has been reset and it's time to get back to my friends, enjoy what I enjoy about BA, and hug the wonderful man who's holding down the fort.

Something to love.

I'm vibrating at an elevated level today, and I thought I should write something, anything, while I'm feeling positive.

I am ashamed that most of what we have had to say and write is fairly bummer-like and even angry at times. Argentina can be a dirty trick, but here's the thing: we are well. We are blessed. We are living the type of life we want to live, the type that most people are afraid of living. even though it hasn't come around to the point we are aiming for it to come around to. We understand that this is all part of a greater design, and even though it might be uncomfortable at times, we know it's preparing us for whatever lies ahead.

In the spirit of my truer self, here's a list of things I adore about Argentina:

Spanish. I love that I can walk around and listen to it and it's normal now. Not that I understand that much of it. Still.

Dulce de leche. Caramel sauce for EVERYTHING! These people put it on toast and call it a breakfast! I think it's weird on bread, but I love it on apples, bananas, and spoons.

Alfajores. Just dulce de leche surrounded by cookies and covered in chocolate. Heck yeah.

Protests. Okay, this is kind of a half-and-half, because the protests are a huge pain in the ass, and often kind of silly. But look: they care enough about what's going wrong to organize themselves and create a fuss, and I can appreciate that.

Open-mindedness. People are receptive to yoga, chiropractic, and network marketing. They don't spout off about what they "know" about these wonderful things. They listen. They learn. They participate.

Asado. A traditional summer Sunday in Argentina takes place in a backyard, surrounded by family and friends and way too much grilled meat. Even though most restaurants here revolve around steak, pasta, and pizza, and we long for Thai, Mexican, and Chinese, I do love the chorizo and the cheese they put right on the grill.

Puerta Cerrada.  I mentioned this restaurant trend in the post about my friend Adam's visit. It's a seriuosly cool experience, and I can't wait to do it again.

Hidden gems. In a seriously run-down building you can find an awesome modern apartment. Around an unassuming corner will be hiding a delightful little bar or restaurant.

Rapipago. Although they aren't always very rápido, the idea is there: you go here and pay any and all of your bills, from gas and electric to cell phones. If you make it through the line, it takes about eight seconds and you know it's taken care of.

The parks. Green space is a rarity in Buenos Aires, so the parks are crowded on beautiful weekends. It's lovely to see the tai chi pracitioners, the soccer games, the fitness classes, the inline skating competitions, the dogs, and so much more.

Big development: dumpsters.

Garbage in Buenos Aires is an ongoing problem that you eventually kind of get used to. It gets piled up on the streets in anticipation of the garbage trucks, and it usually gets scattered all to hell between the pile-up and the truck's arrival during the night. BA streets are pretty dirty.

Recently, the garbage workers went on strike. (Argentines love a good strike.)  I didn't pay much attention to this, other than to notice the garbage piles were higher, smellier, and more scattered than usual, so I didn't know why they were striking.

However, as I was walking home last night, I first noticed that the biggest of the piles were gone.  Oh, good, I thought, they must be back to work. Then I came across something that made me double-take: a dumpster.

I have never seen a dumpster in Buenos Aires. We have marveled at this before, at how simple it would be to curb the garbage problem simply by providing a place to put the garbage! But there it was, shiny and new. And a few blocks later, I saw another one.

I don't know if they were brought about by the strike, but it´s possible. If so, I'm impressed to see that this national passtime made a change.

The next milestone will be if people actually use them. Brent and I once saw a man step out of his store and toss a handful of torn up paper onto the sidewalk. So we'll see.

That's one well-dressed puppy.

Obviously, the business we should have gotten involved in when we came here was the dog clothing business.  There are entire stores devoted to the miniature sweaters, and it doesn't seem to matter how hot it is outside or how much fur a particular dog has, there's a good chance he's going to be wearing a stylish overcoat.

Most of the dog clothes are of the same basic design, like a blanket with sleeves for the front legs, and they come in a shocking variety of colors and patterns.  A few days ago, however, I saw a small white dog in a knitted sweater and a tiny pair of jeans.  That's a new level.  I couldn't stop giggling for four blocks.

A year?

Last year at this time, I was sleeping on my Thai bodywork mat, having sold my bed (among so many other things) in preparation to leave the States and settle in the America on the other side of the equator.

Yesterday marked 10 months in Buenos Aires, and next week will be a full year in South America when you count the fiasco that was Chile.  Sometimes it seems that this year has been marked more by what we didn't do than by what we did:  we didn't go to Peru, we didn't go for a visit to the States, we didn't go to Brazil, and we didn't see any of Argentina outside this great city.  You'd think that in a year´s time, especially with having the intention of doing all that and more, that I wouldn't be able to make a list like that.  It's insane how quickly this time has gone, and more insane that we don't feel we've progressed much from the day we got here.

And that's not entirely fair.  We have met a bunch of amazing people, we found an awesome apartment, I speak some Spanish words, we both have jobs, and we have not been struck by any moving vehicles.  Nothing is wasted, and our time in Argentina has been good despite the challenges.

But we're just not city kids, and this is a lot of city.  We knew after a few months here that we didn't want to be here forEVER forever, and we've talked recently about this: why spend so much time and energy building a life here when we don't really want a life here?  Why not face these challenges in a place where we really want to be, and where we can have a puppy?  

Put some pants on.

These short, chilly days are proof that we are moving into winter.  We've had a few frigid days, but for the most part they are fairly comfortable in jeans and coat.

The locals tend to overreact, often wearing gloves, hats, and scarves while I have my winter coat draped over my arm, thinking that maybe I could have gotten away with one more dress day.

I regularly take my coat off on the long walk to work, and tend to walk the four blocks to the gym in my workout shorts. This, apparently, is shocking behavior, since the people who pass me regularly exclaim, "¡Que frio!"

I'm not talking about someone mumbling under their breath about how cold I must be.  I'm not talking about one person mentioning to their one friend that it's way too cold for shorts.  I'm talking about at least one person, during every single one of my underclothed walks, making loud mention of how cold I surely am feeling.

It surprises me every time.  Are they really that concerned?  That surprised?  I mean, can't they figure out that I'm in gym clothes and am probably not going that far?  Can't they see that I have my coat in my arms and that I would put it on if I felt it necessary?

It's so predictable at this point that it's funny.  Might even be worth leaving my coat at home for another month or so.

Stuck but poised to spring.

Argentina is a challenge, which we do a pretty good job with until recently when we realized that this country has probably stolen the July trip to the States we had been planning on.

When Brent moved the office last month, he lost quite a few clients who don't want to travel to the new location. Every time the government passes a frightening new law, which happens about every week, the people cling to their money and cancel their appointments. When the weather is cold or rainy, people stay inside and cancel their appointments. It's not a good time to be leaving for two weeks.

We're at a point where we're unsure whether we need to put our heads down and plow through this challenging time, or if we need to start considering other options.  Yes, we did just sign a two-year lease, but we're listening when an Argentine says, "You should probably move out of this country" -- and more than one has told us that.  Things change every day, but when you take a look at Argentina's history, the big crises involved changes that happened overnight: the people woke up to discover themselves screwed.  We really don't want to be here when that happens.

But we've put a lot of time and money and energy into Argentina. We don't want to give up without a fight. So every day we do the best we can do, but our eyes are open and looking around.

The farther you go, the smaller it gets.

Some years ago, when I was living in the Netherlands, I connected with another ex-pat nanny.  We never managed to meet in person, as she lived far enough away that neither of us made the effort to work around our busy schedules to arrange a meeting, but we emailed numerous times even after we both left the country.  After awhile, though, Kara and I more or less fell out of touch. 

Last weekend, I was going waaaay back through my email inbox, curious as to what I might find, and making an effort to reach out to friends I hadn't heard from in awhile.  I came across my last email from Kara (from like 2009) and thought, wow, I wonder what she's up to.

I sent her an email, asking after her well-being and telling her that I'd moved to Buenos Aires in August.

She emailed back the next day, saying that she had to read my email twice -- not because it had been so long since we had last talked, but because she had also moved to Buenos Aires.  In August.

She lives four subway stops away from me, and this time, we are planning to meet.

Ahh, a visitor.

My friend Adam got here last Saturday, and it's been such a joy -- and not only because he brought us cinnamon and York Peppermint Patties from home. Having him around has been so easy, like he has lived here all along, and it's been a great reminder of what is fun and awesome about this crazy city.

I've had to work the entire time, but we've managed to fit in some fun stuff.  The day he arrived, we took him to a puerta cerrada -- a closed door restaurant. These are a growing trend in Buenos Aires: not an official restaurant, a chef simply cooks an outstanding meal in his apartment. Most of them have seating for maybe 10-30 people, making it necessary to reserve in advance. Casa Mun serves Asian fusion dishes: five courses, each with a class of wine. The food was sooo good, but what really made the evening was the cozy, intimate atmosphere. The chef spoke with us about the food he was making, we met new people, and the meal lasted for three hours. I can't wait for another special occasion so we can do this again.

Sunday was the San Telmo market, Monday was dinner at a parilla, and on Tuesday he left us to visit Iguazú, which made me super jealous, as we haven't been there yet.  He returned on Thursday, did the Pub Crawl that night, and we've had a very chill few days.  He came with me to yoga on Friday, he didn't feel that great on Saturday (unrelated to yoga, though he is a bit sore), and today he has to go home. He and Brent were planning on taking a bike tour this morning (I had excused myself since I work late and was not interested in getting up at 8 to bike, not an activity I especially enjoy), but I woke up and Brent is still here.  I haven't heard anything from Adam's room, so I'm not sure if he's still sleeping or if he went without us. 

My grandma always said that company makes you happy twice: once when they get here, and once when they leave. In that case, that feels very untrue. I'm really going to miss having him, and I really hope he goes home feeling like he had a fantastic Argentine experience.

I shake my fist at you, Argentina.

We went to Uruguay over the weekend, which was great timing after the super-Argentiny week we had last week.

Monday and Tuesday were holidays, again, so Brent missed a day of work -- though we put that day to good use by moving to our new apartment.

On Brent's first day in his new office, the phone didn't work. He hadn't received a bill yet, so he hadn't paid yet. He went in to see what happened, and he was told his service was discontinued because he didn't pay. He said he hadn't received a bill. They said they didn't send it because it was a holiday. He asked why they turned off his service. They said it's because he didn't pay. So while they couldn't get it together enough to send a bill out, they re-organized in time to shut his phone off.

He went to the new office to get a copy of the old bill, so he could pay for the bill that never was. He shares the office with the yoga teachers and massage therapists, and it happened that someone was mid-massage when he got there, making it impossible to get into the room for the old bill.  He sat for an hour and half waiting for her to finish -- and then his clients started arriving!

I took the bill to the pay-place and waited in line for my turn.  The bill had 20 centavos on the end, and I didn't have any coins -- but he didn't have any change for me.  So we got a 20-cent discount, and I got reprimanded in Spanish for not having exact change.

One of Brent's clients later said that he keeps four different phones from four different companies in his office, since it seems that at any point at least one of them is not working for some reason.

Meanwhile, I had been up for four hours after about three hours of sleep.  I got home from work very late as usual, and woke up insanely early to prepare for my new yoga clients, a group of four that my other yoga students sent to me. It was to be my first class in my apartment, and I had to clear space and clean up a bit from the move. We had only confirmed the time and location the night before as I was on my way to work.

8:00am came and went, and the guys didn't come.  I called at 8:20, and received a text back that they weren't coming because they didn't get my address in time.  And oh, sorry, should have told you that. 

I got an email later that day saying that our ride home from Uruguay, leaving mid-day, had been canceled, and we were free to choose one of the other two options: 7am, or 5:30pm. I opted for 7:00. So there was THAT early wake-up to look forward to.

But all went well with our little trip, and we were able to re-set our tolerance for Buenos Aires. Luckily, this week is off to a much better start.

Senior city-zens.

This city has a variety of challenges: stepping outside is committing to one big obstacle course. On a daily basis, I stop suddenly or rush across a street to avoid a speeding taxi or bus. I've turned my ankle more than once on a broken or uneven sidewalk tile. It requires four keys to get into our apartment, and the building doors are very heavy. I clutch my purse close to me to avoid becoming a target for thieves.

I can't imagine having to do all that in old age.

There are plenty of elderly making their way down the streets, some with walkers, even. Vehicles don't have a lot of patience for a pedestrian, no matter what the age: the seniors get honked at mercilessly along with the rest of us. Not every curb is made with the disabled in mind, and restaurant bathrooms are sometimes upstairs or downstairs -- usually there are no elevators in those cases. And while a broken sidewalk tile sets me off balance, the same incident for one of them could be dibilitating or even fatal. 

I suppose living here for your whole life gives you a certain level of toughness. I can't help but admire them.  However, while I do hope to be an old woman some day, I don't want to do it here.

Casa Bar VIP Asado

Last Sunday, the Casa Bar held a private party fun time for the employees and the most loyal customers. We ate and drank and danced until about 4:00am, and I have to say I am blessed to know such fantastic people as these:

Spring cleaning. Well, autumn. Autumn cleaning.

I am hardly believing it, but last week we found our new apartment, and tomorrow we are moving in.

This has been a three-month search, a search that went from exhilerating to exhausting to devastating to hopeless -- and then our two-bedroomed, high-ceilinged, light-filled, furnished, peso-accepting third floor apartment in a lovely neighborhood popped up out of nowhere. Pictures to come.

Also this week, Brent will be starting his work in his new space -- the same place where I teach yoga!  It's a hugely beneficial set up for both Brent, who loves working from a yoga studio, and the yoga teachers, who might manage to snag a few chiropractic patients for the classes.

Today, we've been cleaning the mess of 10 years out of this apartment. It was dirty when we moved in, but so desperate we were at that point to just be unpacked and somewhat settled, we did only a half-assed cleaning job to start with. Unfortunately, we never recovered, and the place has felt disgusting for these eight months. The mold is immortal, and there's nothing that could ever be done about the piles of the owner's stuff -- everything from books to files to a dusty, out-of-tune piano.

We've got our stuff packed, and have been attacking every surface with whatever anti-fungal chemical we can find. Truth be told, it's not looking too bad now that we're ready to leave. But we have not forgotten what it's capable of. We are still leaving.

Happy Day, Earth

Last Sunday was Earth Day, and the yoga studio where I teach hosted a special yoga class in park: 108 Sun Salutations in honor of our planet.

This is a trying yoga practice for even the most experienced yogi, so we weren't sure what kind of turn out to expect. There were five of us teachers, so we decided we'd be happy even if it were just us and a couple of other people.

It was a chilly day, but we ended up with about 20 people (some came a little late) in our circle. Each teacher taught a slightly different version of a Sun Salutation, so it was engaging and interesting as we breathed our way through 108 cycles.

Everyone seemed to enjoy it, challenging though it was, and hopefully we will see a few new students in the studio in the coming weeks.

Making Spanish noises.

I can't really say that I speak Spanish, though there have recently been some signs that it is coming along:

• I have managed to have two fully Spanish telephone conversations in the last few weeks.
• Non-Spanish speakers hear me make the Spanish noise with my co-workers and express surprise when they later discover that I speak English.
• People who saw me recently after having not seen me for a couple of months commented on how I have improved.
• I can hear mistakes in the Spanish used by non-Spanish speakers.
• I can spot a typo a mile away (apparently, I am bilingual as a grammar Nazi).

Continued reflection upon the learning of a second language has brought me to this: is the second language ever really yours? At what point do you go beyond "speaking" the language and start "knowing" the language?

There are certain words and phrases, at this point, that need no automatic translation in my brain. I hear them, I know what they mean, and I can act or respond accordingly without thinking of an English equivalent. However, there's still nothing that evokes any emotion. It's still just a collection of sounds, of which I occasionally know the meaning.

If someone were to call me stupid in Spanish, for example (although obviously THAT would never happen), I don't believe my feelings would be in the least bit hurt, because "Eres una idiota" has no emotional resonance for me.  "You're stupid" does.

I haven't taught any Spanish yoga classes yet, but I think fairly often about what I would say, how I would explain things. As a teacher, you strive to use clear language first and foremost, but beyond that, as long as it's clear, you also strive for poetry -- imagery that might help the student understand the pose. When I use words like brighten, expand, ground, and fly, I get a certain feeling that I can put into my body and my yoga practice. When I think of their equivalents in Spanish, that doesn't happen.

Not yet. What I'm saying is, although I am making progress, there is so very, very far to go.

Out, damned spot.

Our washing machine is making noises I am uncomfortable with. The bad news is, I already know it's broken. It hasn't been working right in a couple of weeks, and Brent took the back off to discover that the belt is worn out.  It no longer spins.  No agitation means maybe-not-so-clean, and also that the clothes come out soaking wet.

To tell the landlord or not to tell the landlord.... One of the 100 Crap Things About Renting in Buenos Aires is that the landlord doesn't take care of anything. You pay your rent, thinking you are protected in case something breaks, which at home is a great benefit of renting vs. buying.  Here, it's up to you. This is how we ended up paying to fix the toilet a few weeks ago, among other things.  So we're faced with paying to fix something that simply wore out, which means it was wearing long before we ever got here -- we just happen to be the unlucky ones holding the hot potato -- or just letting our clothes soak in soapy water as the machine makes these disturbing noises for two more weeks.

There is no good news about this, really, except that we will hopefully be moving out in two more weeks.  We still haven't found our new place, but it's coming, I can feel it.  I need a new washing machine.

Being here, now.

I've been reading a lot of books by wise people (it's awesome to be in a relationship with a person who enjoys reading and has more or less the same reading interests). I've been doing a lot of yoga. And for all the stress of the city and apartment hunting and are-we-or-aren't-we really making any money, I am, with more and more regularity, able to come around to the same conclusion: it's already all good.

My early life was driven by goals, which I think is generally good. But when I got to college, this "achieve" mindset started to fade away. I certainly wasn't lazy or even less motivated, I just found my motivation getting directed toward other things. When I started to travel, my whole definition of success changed. It no longer had anything to do with money or anything else traditionally called "successful", and everything to do with who I am and what I experience.

But it's easy to get caught up in the idea of the brevity of life, and over the years I've caught myself thinking, crap, what is THIS, what am I doing, shouldn't I be here or there or somewhere else by now? I have to admit that has happened a few times in Buenos Aires, particularly as I took my first-ever job as a waitress-turned-bartender/cashier.

I'm a sharp cookie. Some people probably thought I'd become a lawyer or a senator or a journalist. I've thought that myself once or twice. So when, at the age of 29, you start working for $3 an hour cleaning up after people when they spill their drinks, it happens that you question your life choices.

But I've been reading lots of books. And doing lots of yoga. And I find myself resting with more and more regularity in the truth: there is nothing I have to be or do. I already Am.

A couple of years ago, I thought to myself how much I wished I'd learned to bartend in college because it looked like so much fun. And now I'm doing it! And it IS fun!

Being human, I might wake up tomorrow and write the exact opposite of what I've written right here, at which point you should direct me back to this, and to the books, and to the yoga, and then I will remember again. We're on a great path: the chiropractic office is growing, Vemma is growing, yoga classes are growing, and we're all kinds of excited for the stuff we're dreaming up.

Damn you, Buenos Aires. You are perfect just the way you are, and we are perfect here with you.

Change of plans (hey, we're really good at that!)

This is another one of those long stories like the one that got us moving out of Chile, every bit as dramatic but not quite as hurtful. So, in the interest of brevity, let us start by saying that Brent is looking for a new office.

He was sharing with our chiropractor friend here, a fantastic person -- but he and Brent have very different styles, and a parting of the ways seemed destined from the beginning. In the long run, it's absolutely fantastic, and is only a bit stressful now as he looks for his new space.  Already there are options popping up, so we are more excited than anything.  He had a stellar week last week, and is poised only for growth.

We are still looking for a new apartment, torn between paying what we consider to be an outrageous price for an awesome place we really like, or paying something somewhat more reasonable for a box with furniture. Argh.

But, that battle will pick up another day. For now, I've got a surprise evening off from the bar, Brent is making pasta sauce, two glasses of wine are poured, and we've got a movie starting any minute now. I love these moments.

Welcome to Argentina

I woke up this morning (too early, for some reason, having not gotten home until 3:30am this morning) just in time to hear the door close as Brent left for the day, and I came downstairs a few minutes later. I barely had time to pour my coffee when the door opened again -- Brent was back!  "Guess what?" he said.

There's no guessing, so don't even try. Apparently, someone tried to break into the building last night (after 3:30am, because I got in fine).  This is a rare sort of occurrence, and I'm not sure what he thought he was going to do once inside, since each apartment door is pretty heavy-duty, but I'll leave that sort of thinking to the criminal geniuses. Like the one who failed to break in this morning and broke something off in the lock on the door to the building.

The door to the building wouldn't open.

This is the only entrance in and out of the building. We were locked in.

Our doorman was working furiously from this side as four doormen from the the neighboring buildings did what they could from the outside. A line of people waiting to go to work gathered in the lobby.

We're not sure how long he had been working, but within another five minutes (and with the assistance of a power drill), he had taken the entire lock out of the door and Brent was on his way.

Happy Women's Day, yesterday.

A couple of weeks ago, while wandering around the city, I noticed a sign on a restaurant door: Día de la Mujer, 8 marzo, 20% descuento. I thought it might indicate a Thursday ladies' night (just like college!) and didn't think anything of it until I started seeing similar signs offering women's day discounts on many restaurant doors.

I have since learned that this is an international holiday, although I have to admit I have never, ever heard of it before. Even on facebook, I saw many of my US-based friends posting happy women's day messages, so apparently I was the only one in the dark.

At the time of the sign sightings, though, I was thinking it was an Argentine thing. And how delighted I was: kids get a day here, mothers and fathers get a day. I am none of those things. Where is my day? March 8, that's right. Thank you, Argentina. I pointed this out to Brent, who grumbled a bit and suggested that Valentine's Day is women's day, so I took that to mean I wasn't getting any presents.

But, he stopped by the bar on the way home from work yesterday and brought me some wonderful chocolate. I love that he gets me.

The money tree is down the street and to the left.

I must be doing something right, because in the last week two people have stopped me on the street to ask for directions -- and I have been able to accurately give them. I also managed to have a phone conversation entirely in Spanish yesterday. (You must understand, this is 100 times harder than having a Spanish conversation in person.)

The apartment hunt is in full swing. We looked at one on Wednesday that we both really liked, but it's kinda far away from my work, at least for the yoga work.

Also, the guy wants to be paid in US dollars. This is not unusual; many apartment prices are listed in USD, and some owners require payment in USD. Cash payment. I find it ridiculous. I would not set up shop in the US and demand to be paid in pesos. Besides, you're not allowed to get dollars here anymore. The owner of this apartment thought that since we are foreigners, we are still allowed to buy dollars, but from what we have understood so far, no one is allowed, and to get them you have to hit up the black market.

Which we have no interest in doing. We earn our money in pesos. We live in Argentina. We should be able to pay for things in their own currency.

Picture in a magazine.

Brent recently had an interview published in a little magazine called Puebla, distributed mostly in the northern suburbs of Buenos Aires, from what I understand. For those who don't read Spanish, you will have to trust me when I say that it was very well done. It's already generating some interest -- he got three calls the day after it was published, and a bunch of people turned out for the chiropractic talk he gave a couple of days later.

People here are embracing chiropractic. It encourages us in our decision to come here -- although talent like Brent's is needed at home, there are already a lot of chiropractors, and a lot of people who already think they know what chiropractic is. Tragically, from what I have learned from Brent, a lot of chiropractors at home prefer to play into that idea rather than teaching people what it's really about.

Here, he doesn't have to wade through that kind of nonsense. The people who come to him are, for the most part, people who are eager to learn, who want to live healthy and discover true wellness. There is so much good work to be done here.

Find Brent's office on Facebook!  Vida Chiropractic Capital - Maschwitz.

https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Vida-Chiropractic-Capital-Maschwitz/169081383199171

Happy holidays, again.

Argentines take their holidays seriously, which I can appreciate. Brent is not bothering to open his office on Mondays because he counted 14 Monday holidays in 2012. At home, holidays are this optional benefit thing that companies offer to employees. Here, you are required to give the holidays. By law, from what I understand.

A four-day weekend means a collasal city-clearing. Last night we were walking home from a friend's house and the streets were empty. (You would think this emptiness would extend to the grocery store. It did not.)

Today and tomorrow are holidays, as is next Monday. For me, this means relatively nothing, since the bar is still open on Tuesday night, and my yoga classes are still taught as usual.

Uruguay, take 2.

We ferried across the river to Uruguay for the second time over the weekend, this time also getting on a bus and going to Montevideo, the capital city.

We have a chiropractor friend there, so the highlight was seeing him and his wife and eating at an outstanding Peruvian restaurant. Aside from that, we walked around a lot, got me good and sunburned, and stewed about the really crappy exchange rate from pesos (Argentino) to pesos (Uruguayo).

Nothing was open! True to this-part-of-the-world form, the Montevideans ditched the city for the beach over the weekend, so all the shops and, by Sunday, half the restaurants were closed. We had a hard time finding an open place to exchange money (and accepted $80 worth of Uruguayan pesos in exchange for $120 worth of Argentine pesos. Grrrr). 

But, as usual, it was nice to get out of this city for a couple of days. Our next Uruguayan stop will probably be further up the coast to the beach at Piriápolis, further yet to the resort town of Punta del Este, or even more far to some other beach towns.

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.