"Want InnOut?"

Was Stella's text to me during her ride home from the airport. My response? GOD, no.
Yes, we've been back for a full 24 hrs now. I usually do my last blog entry from whatever foreign country I still happen to be in, because who the hell cares once I'm on the plane home right? That had been my plan for our last day - grab some coffee, walk around a bit more, play in the park, and end the blog.
Now that Stella and I had a thorough and complete understanding of our neighborhood, and now that I had figured out how to use street numbers ("Oh yay! The numbers get bigger as you go further this way! And that matches with the pocket map! We're GENIUSES!"), and now that we had walked and walked and walked through Palermo, Recoleta and Barrio Norte over and over, the last thing I expected was to get so lost that we had to scramble to make it back to the apt in time for our airport pick-up.
I blame not my poor sense of direction, but a wrinkle in the space-time continuum and the fact that I had already packed the pocket map that had become our best friend over the last week so that, instead of being on my person, it was resting comfortably in my suitcase waiting to emigrate to America.
The word "Lost" doesn't quite do justice to the situation I found myself in. I can't speak for Stella but I was so turned around that East was West, Right was Left, In was Out, Cat was Dog...you get the picture.
Ultimately, our driver was happy to wait - get this: he showed up 20 min early - and we made it to the airport with gobs of time to kill. Which I did by eating my post-scramble/pre-flying feelings in the form of everything sugary I could get my hands on. Hot chocolate, brownie with dulce de leche and whipped cream, chocolate bon bon...it was amazing. But I digress.
The point of the final blog post is to outro my adventure, similar to the way every dramady wraps up each episode with a "what I've learned" and a self-congratulary pat on the back as I wax nostalgic on events that just occurred.

What I've learned (insert appropriate Amy Mann song here):
- Porteno men appreciate women like it's their job. Day 1, after the 15th or 16th man appraised us, Stella and I wondered out loud why we weren't pissed off by it (because those who know me well, or even not at all, know I detest being ogled) and we decided it was because it wasn't just us. It was every woman. Men in Buenos Aires are like birdwatchers. They look and whistle at all birds, not just the pretty ones, because they like and appreciate all birds, not just the pretty ones. Also, this keeps the attention from being threatening in most situations.
- Buenos Aires loves Aerosmith. Every country I've been to has it's own guilty pleasure. In Greece, it was Tom Jones. In Costa Rica, it was Gwen Stefani. In Buenos Aires it is definitely Aerosmith. Specifically, "Don't Wanna Miss A Thing" the cheesiest of cheesy ballads. I think Stella and I heard that particular song at least 5 times in one 24-hr span.
- My motion sickness extends to subways. That's a bummer.
- Cab drivers in Buenos Aires are mostly fatherly or grandfatherly gentlemen - unless they are super hot and young - who love to give advice. Because this advice is coming from a dad-like "authority" figure, they yell it at you. Unless we were lucky enough to get a young, cute driver, they all yelled at us, but FOR OUR OWN GOOD. The lessons we learned:
1. the aforementioned close-the-door-slowly-so-you-won't-break-it lesson
2. the hail-the-cab-on-the-other-side-of-the-bus-stop rule
3. the don't-use-a-park-as-a-cross-street guideline
4. and the I'm-dropping-you-off-here-because-I-can't-drive-any-closer tidbit.
That last one wasn't a rule, but he still yelled it at us.
- Young men are persistent and romantic in Buenos Aires. I gave our number out to a couple of guys who I later decided I had no interest in seeing again, so I ignored their texts. Text after text after text, Stella would crack up and ask, "Which one?" But they never got pissy or put off. Ultimately, one of the guys essentially ended our "relationship" with something along the lines of "Our time together was lovely and I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip." but in Spanish.
- The word I most closely associate with anything having to do with motor vehicles on any street in Buenos Aires is "careen." They careen around corners, they careen through stoplights, and they careen straight at you.
- Valium doesn't begin to compare with the fairy dust magic that Ambien is. My flight home on Valium was a torturous affair of falling asleep only to wake up every 20-45 minutes.
- Buenos Aires has no shopping to speak of. This is contrary to everything I've read about the city. Granted, I'm not a huge shopper. But Stella is no amateur, so as we hit the streets our eyes were always open to finding a great shop or cool find. There was nothing, between the two of us, that we had any interest in buying. Clothes and shoes were uninspiring and jewerly looked like it was from any place else in the world. My impression is Buenos Aires is such a melting pot of cultures - European, South American and American - that it lacks it's own defined sense of self. Of course, I didn't shop for leather goods or antiques, 2 things Buenos Aires is famous for, because I can't afford them, nor do I have any interest in them. So maybe that was my mistake.
- Beef is good.

Usually the trips I take feature some sort of hardship like living out of a backpack, being unable to find enough tepid water to manage a real shower, or traveling to different locations every other day. This trip was the most comfortable and cushy adventure I've had, so my "what I've learned" aren't as profound as I feel they usually are, but that's all in my perspective isn't it? I already know how I deal with rats in my bedroom (surprisingly well) and oppressive heat (not so well), so how's about I see what I can see when life is easy?
I experienced an amazing and beautiful city with a volatile history with one of my favorite people in the world. We lived in the moment, slept late every day, ate what we wanted, laughed a lot and danced til dawn. And I wholly appreciate all of it. What more does a girl need?

"That's hilarious. Do we get real meat soon?"

This was a text Stella sent Pablo when he explained exactly what we were eating at his favorite restaurant. More on that later...

After Salsa we woke up late. Later than we'd been waking up which has been very late. LATE. Which means...dogs. After dawn, I ripped into my bathroom kit and found my ear plugs which gained me an extra 5 hours of blessed sleep.
The day was gorgeous as always, so after a stroll for coffee and my usual hour in the park to commune, write and soke up some sun, Stella and I took a bus to La Boca.
La Boca is the port area of town. Every tourist/guide book entry you read stresses the...let's call it not-particularly-safe-ness of the area. (STELLA NOTE - Sorry MOM!!) I glossed over this detail when explaining to Stella where we were headed because the area is also known for its bright and cheery facade. What are essentially tin shacks where people live and work are painted eye-popping colors with paint originally salvaged from ships in the harbor and I was dying to see them. I love me some bright colors. I did make it a point to stress we should head home before dark.
A very LONG bus ride finally deposited us in La Boca. The area was enchanting! Like when Hansel and Gretel find the gingerbread house. So yummy-looking! So colorful! And so dangerous-feeling! It was insane. The area was all but deserted except for a smattering of tourists sitting at a cafe. As Stella and I walked through the nearly-empty promenade, guys did the hard sell on tours, whiskey, anything we wanted. My sterns NOs and lack of eye-contact didn't really work and we had to stalk away. We walked further into town with the hopes of finding a place to stop and get a drink or an ice cream or something. Most everything was closed - I guess for this area weekends are the hot times and Monday serves as their Sunday. It made sense, we just hadn't anticipated it. I quickly had my fill of being tense and on guard - we grabbed a couple bags of homemade cookies and hopped the first bus we could catch. By the way, I mean literally hopped. A bus was pulling out and Stella and I ran to catch it. The driver never slowed beyond a roll and I did my best impression of hopping a freight train. I was appalled as only a girl who rarely takes public transportation can be. Stella was all "...what? Big deal."
That evening we went to this Vietnamese place we had heard a lot about. The food was good -- really, by LA standards, just fine -- BUT the fact that we were ingesting vegetables and tastes other than beef, cheese and bread was so refreshing, we were happy as rabbits. So happy and delirious, that we walked home (okay, we took a short cab-ride through the scary train track part of town, but then got out as soon as we were back on the well-lit streets) and I almost got myself killed by running into oncoming traffic. Here's the thing: street lights do this crazy dance where they not only turn yellow before they turn red, but they also turn yellow before they turn green. High off cabbage salad, I darted across the street at a yellow light -- Bad! Bad Bianca, I know! Thank god I'm fast. I feel extra bad though, because I suspect Stella had a very small myocardial infarction.(STELLA NOTE - i not only had a heart attack, but I found myself screaming "Oy!! Bianca Arvin!!" at the top of my lungs. quite embarrassing)
This morning we slept in. All the way in. Why? No dogs. It was silent all morning because for the first time since we landed it was raining and freezing. We spent all morning in, listening to it rain and thunder. When we couldn't stand it anymore, we escaped into the weather for coffee. Because this was our last full day, there was an over-whelming feeling of "Huh." We'd walked all over, had some things in mind to see, but nothing really moving us to expend a ton of energy in pursuing it. Finally, it was cabin fever that shoved us out of the flat and we hopped the Subte back to the financial district. From there I figured we would walk back into San Telmo and head to the Museum of Modern Art. We did just that, wandering in and out of stores and squinting into the sky that had suddenly cleared. We found the Museum...it was closed for renovation, and had been since 2007. From the looks of it, they weren't in any hurry because the place looked like a crack den.
Before heading back to the Subte, we decided to stop for a bit of pizza. Now, Stella and I have had tonight's dinner planned all week. Our new friend Pablo recommended his favorite local parrilla and we were all set to have our last big Buenos Aires eat-fest there. But we still had 3 hours until dinner and both of us needed a nibble. Our stop was fraught with drama and intrigue as 2 drunk locals raised enough hell that the police were called. Drama because there was tons of yelling; intrigue because I couldn't understand what they were yelling about beyond soccer and politics. Maybe that was enough. Regardless, Stella and I finished a whole small pizza.
This leads us to the sad part of the story. We cabbed it to Don Zenon, Pablo's recommendation, to discover it was everything we could ever want in a Buenos Aires restaurant. There wasn't a tourist in sight. The place was in a tiny barrio they don't even cover in the guide books. And...it was ALL YOU CAN EAT! For very, VERY CHEAP!
I made it through 2 courses before I felt too sick to continue. DAMN THAT MEDIOCRE PIZZA! I had eaten too much to choke down more than 2 bites of steak. The whole meal looked like this.
Course #1: Garlic toast and sausage. A beef empanada.
Course #2: Frites and fried plataines. Asado. (For those of you who aren't aware because I sure wasn't, asado is a plate of Cow Everything. Chorizo, blood sausage, sweetbreads, kidneys, small intestine, and...wait for it...testicles.) I made it a point to try everything on the asado plate.(STELLA NOTE- i took one bite and realized my terrible error in judgement. I ate no further of the mystery meat. but I'm pretty sure i ate some kidney thing...) Which may be why I got nauseous and dizzy enough to thinly sip my coke for the rest of my meal. One thing I ate was very tasty though greasy as hell. Let's all assume it wasn't testicles.
Course #3: Steak. We ordered asado de tira, which is ribs, per Pablo's suggestion. Stella enjoyed the steak course while she watched me twirl my hair around my finger and mouth-breathe. As soon as she was done, she told the waiter "Fin." (STELLA NOTE - i often fall into French..Bianca makes fun of me....)He got it.
Course #4: But he DID offer us dessert. And no matter how sick I am, I can never turn down dessert and thank God because we discovered something better than flan with dulce de leche, which until tonight was the perfect ending to every meal. We ordered pear, poached in red wine sauce, with vanilla ice cream. Mother of pearl!! Not only did it taste better than flan, it cured me! My stomach settled and I smiled.
Poached pear and all's right with the world. I'm gonna go eat some cookies.

La Boca in all its colorful glory


For real, La Boca was DESERTED


This woman is trying to wake this dead cat (STELLA NOTE - This cat is not dead. And when i told Bianca it wasn't dead she said "it will be when I tell the story".

Despacio, DESPACIO!"

Is what our taxi driver urged Stella. She slammed the door once and the cabbie said something I didn't pay attention to. So I told her to slam the door again and make sure it shut. Then he yelled at us -- "Slow, SLOW!" which was the opposite of what I told Stella to do. He was not pleased.
Yesterday we went back to tango class. No Augustin, so I won't be bringing home a little porteno like I wanted. Because things are never as good after the first time, class was only fine. I did manage to severely wound some fellow students with my heels, among whom was a 7 year-old boy (who hopped away trying not to cry...I felt bad, okay?!) and Stella. My heel punctured her big toe. I feel really bad about that one, too. Especially when she keeps showing it to me.
We met Pablo, a friend of Stuart's, for drinks in Palermo Soho after. He was lovely and we had some interesting movie and political discussions. The area was hip without being dressy, and the menu was still all in Spanish which has become the line I draw as far as places I won't eat. More on that later.
The next morning we woke up to another beautiful day. Beautiful doesn't describe it - each day has gotten progressively warmer and perfect. I spent an hour soaking it up in the park before Stella and I conquered the bus system and went to San Telmo for the regular Sunday Feria. It's a flea market packed with people and street performers. We got there late enough to enjoy the spectacle without having to shove our way through the masses, but early enough to catch an outdoor tango show. We each took about 200 pictures, thank God for digital.
San Telmo which was the first place that didn't remind Stella of New York at all. This part of town, while still touristy with its opportunistic restaurants and dime-a-dozen trinket sellers, was old world beautiful and way more European. We walked around craving pasta and could not find an open restaurant once we wandered out of San Telmo into the financial district. SUPER European influences here. We found the last stop of our Subte line and decided to try our luck further up the line. We bypassed our neighborhood and found ourselves back in Palermo Soho because the stop was named Plaza Italia and I was dying for spaghetti by this point. We strolled a part of Soho we hadn't been to yet and found ANOTHER fair. We ended up at a restaurant based solely on their antipasti set up. It was beee-you-ti-ful!
And it went downhill from there. The menu had English subtitles. And no spaghetti. Despite my cheat sheet, I ordered the most offensive salad ever created. Thank God for the flan with dulce de leche. It cleaned the taste of the half pound of smoked salmon that had covered my greens out of my mouth.
Miraculously, Stella and I met Aubry out for salsa dancing. I say it was a miracle based on our ability to overcome the odds: Stella's toe, my dinner, extreme yawning, Stella doesn't salsa, etc. Turns out Aubry is a salsa queen from North Carolina and simply watching her dance all night would have been fun enough. The club wasn't too crowded and there were more men than women so before you knew it Stell and I were dancing. I love salsa but rarely get the opportunity to dance with a partner, so it was REALLY fun to have great leaders. Before I knew it, I had a boyfriend. Stella wants to tell the story from her vantage point, so I'll let her take over from here:

Well, to say I don't salsa is an understatement. Tango is way more up my alley because it is like fancy walking. Salsa is a hip moving extranvanganza with twirls and fancy footwork, all of which is a difficult for me, if not strictly impossible. We arrived at the club (after I made Bianca promise we could leave if it was lame) and discovered Aubry on the dance floor. She was amazing. We later found out she performs in a salsa troupe and watching her dance was a treat. Watching the hordes of men wait their turn to dance with her was no surprise. Bianca and I went to the bar to order but before we could decide what we wanted, a man came to ask Bianca to dance. It was a club where everyone was a good dancer. Not just good, but incredible. And Bianca fell right into the mix. I stood and watched until I was approached by a gentlemen to dance. Women were in the minority and men were plenty. Good odds. I tried to explain, in my broken Spanish, that I was not a good salsa dancer but he didn't care. He was very patient and very supportive. And I had a blast. And I continued to dance all night with different, very patient, charming dancers who, no doubt, observed my lack of salsa magic but asked me to dance none the less. I had a great time!! Towards the end of the night, Bianca had formed a friendship with a nice young man, Julian, who had traveled the world, spoke English and German, and had coveted Bianca for the entire evening. At some point I thought that if she needed to be rescued she would give me a sign of some sort. A look, a nod, fervent waving of arms over her head? ...but nothing. At a late hour I decided I was done and I was pretty sure I had danced with a majority of the men in the room, so I was happy. Bianca was giving her friend, Julian, a hug goodbye, when he did the patented guy move from cheek to lips, and it was then i saw it. The look she should have given much earlier in the evening. That pained look a child gives when they don't want to take medicine. Eyes squinty, mouth shut tight, shoulders hunched, hands braced against him to initiate the shove off if the kiss lasted beyond a millisecond. It didn't. Some things need no translation. We said our goodbyes and hopped in our cab home. All in all, a fantastic night. By the time we crawled into bed it was 5 am and we had accomplished another experience off our wish list. Dancing salsa in Buenos Aires. And even with all my hesitation with trying something new, I have discovered something wonderful in the process. I love salsa dancing... and I'm not as bad a dancer as I thought...oh, and Bianca is terrible at signaling for help.
All good things to know in the future!!

Some winner shots from the tango show...

"I hope you never meet Stephanie Meyer in a dark alley."

Is what Stella said after I ranted for the umpteenth time about how stupid the book "Twilight" is. (For those who may not know, Stephanie Meyer is the author of Twilight.)
This book has been my life for the last 16-ish hours. I wasn't sleepy at 2am so I began it. Like The DaVinci Code, another book that makes me want to scream, Twilight turned me into an obsessive compulsive. I couldn't stop until I was finished. I took a few hours off to sleep, walk down the street to the cafe and the Chinese grocery, drop off some laundry at the lavanderia and to shower. Other than that, I've been reading this piece of crap.
Poor Stella. She HAD been reading it, and now I've ruined it for her. I told her, her life was more valuable than to be spent reading Twilight. It's like watching the movie Armegeddon or fulfilling a craving for Chinese Food with some cold beef and broccoli from the food court in the mall. Horribly trite and unfulfilling, yet you sit there and endure because you are a weak, weak human.
Today has been the most beautiful day yet on our trip, so I was able to combine the painful experience of reading Twilight with laying out in the park across the street from our flat, so there's that.
Tonight Stell and I return to our tango class and then are to meet a friend of a friend for drinks and/or go out with these girls we met in class yesterday. After running around non-stop since we landed Wednesday, it was nice to have a day off, even if I chose to spend it enduring my now-least-favorite book of all time.

(My beef is this: the heroine is boring, annoying, stupid, and hasn't an ounce of inner strength or self-possession. All she does is whine, complain and shudder. Unless she is marvelling on how beautiful her vampire boyfriend is. I know she is a teenager, but holy christ! The teenagers I know have far more depth to them than the rain puddle of emotion this protagonist explores. What's wrong with having a hero that girls look up to?? This girl argues incessantly to become a vampire so she can stay with her boyfriend for all eternity. She passes off college as "Plan B." All I saying is, can't you have your vampire-boyfriend for eternity and get a college education, too? C'mon Stephanie Meyer, don't make me hurt you.)

"...biANCA...!?"

Is what Stella squeaked out during Tango class as her partner began speaking to her in rapid-fire Spanish. But more on that later...

After walking what Stella and I have decided is anywhere from 10-20 miles each day since we arrived AND eating lots of sustaining saturated fat-filled goodies at each meal, we skipped dinner last night and went to the heladeria around midnight for a bit of gelato instead. We chose a place named Bianca Heladeria because, you know, it was close and stuff. Mediocre ice cream, but what a beautifully named establishment!
A word about the hours we keep: Portenos are late-night party animals and we fit right in. Stella and I are on the right side of the 4 hour time difference, so when people wouldn't be caught dead at dinner before 10p, thats really 6p to us, thus we were able to smoothly adapt. Also we've been consistently getting to bed after 2am and sleeping well past 11. Sort of...I just figured out a few hours ago that the time change is 4 hours NOT 5, and therefore we really haven't known the time since we left LA. Neither of us carry our phones or wear watches and I gotta say - super liberating. The only reason I decided to define the time once and for all is so we wouldn't miss our Tango class. Again, more on that later...
This morning, we did our usual roll out of bed as we cursed the barking dogs, into a cafe for coffee, and onward into our day. Today we walked to the Cementerio de la Recoleta where we ambled through alleys of the most ornately beautiful and gothic mausoleums and crypts. As luck would have it, our languid day put us at the Cementario in the perfect late afternoon light for incredible pictures. The place is a somewhat maze-ish especially if you are two friends who are prone to wander away and take pictures on your own. Regardless, we were good at staying aware of each other. Then we decided we were ready to leave and proceeded to lose each other for the next half hour. One second we were walking together, the next second I see a great shot I have to take and the following second Stella is nowhere to be found. We have this running joke about how we have the same thoughts at the same time. ("I could use a drink and a pee." "Me TOO!!"; "Oo, pizzaaaa" "I was JUST thinking that!") I knew when I decided to pick one of the larger alley thoroghfares and wait for Stella to find me, she would no doubt have the same thought, and pick her own busy alley intersection to wait for me to find her. That's why it took a whole half hour to find each other. We alternately waited and searched at the same intervals. Criminy.
On our way back home, we walked through Barrio Norte and discovered a hole-in-the-wall take-away empanada/pizza joint. The owner was an older gentleman who delighted in discussing every aspect of the menu with us. At first, we each ordered a single empanada to go (Stella: jamon y queso, Me: Carne. I won.) but they were so incredible we walked back in and ordered a dozen more carne. That dude loved us. The feeling was mutual.
After disco naps, we half Subte/half hoofed it down to Abasto, a more traditional porteno area where our Tango school is located. Linda Valentino, our tango teacher in LA - yes, we've only been to her once, but I love her, I'm know I'm going back again and again, so she's now MINE (I mean, OURS) - recommended the tango school that started it all for her: Carlos Copello Escuela de Tango. The class is taught entirely in Spanish, and it's the best class in the whole world. We took Tango 1. The class was children and adults, first-timers and seasoned, native and foreign. Maxi, our teacher, had 2 teaching assistants - a boy and a girl who were no older than 11. It was THE. MOST. FUN. EVER. My partner for the majority of the time was an 8 year-old boy named Augustin. If he is in class tomorrow - oh yeah, we're going back - I'm definitely putting him in my tango shoe-bag and bringing him home with me. That kid...there are no words. He was new-puppy-level adorable AND he is a wonderful dancer. Yes, DEFINITELY kidnapping him tomorrow.
Tango rocks because it's just walking. It's the sexiest walking you'll ever do without making your butt the focal point. It's all about control, pressure, flare, and awareness. I LOVE.
We walked home, high on tango and dehydrated. I thought I could maybe be hungry but in no way was in the mood for meat, cheese, or bread. So we stopped at a pizzaria.
An aside: Lots of Italian immigrants settled here, so Buenos Aires is actually known for it's pizza and pasta, too. We're not being lazy Americans for eating pizza is all I'm saying.
Yes, there was bread and yes, there was cheese, and damn, was it good!
What a fantastic day!


2 Biancas, No Waiting


Stella in Cementerio


Getting artsy with reflections

"The Agility Test"

Is what Stella calls walking the streets of Buenos Aires, dodging dog poo.

Before I get too much further, let me brag about our dinner last night. Like true portenos, Stella and I went to dinner at 11p. Having nothing but large peso notes (cabs won't take anything larger than a 20 and we had nothing smaller than a 50 - thanks Banco de Argentina) we walked out our door and followed the smell of red meat. Literally.
It landed us at an upscale parrilla where we each ordered steak. I've never tasted better beef and consequently ate more red meat at that sitting than I probably have all year put together. After dinner, flan with dulce de leche. Oooooooh, my. GOOD.
We slept, fat and happy only to make an interesting discovery this morning.
Guess what is across the street from our flat? A dog park! Guess what dogs do? They bark!
Honestly, you've never seen anything like it. Dog walkers walk 10-15 dogs at once and they all meet at the park. Fine. The construction workers working in the dog park tie all their dogs to one tree. Okay. But then one barks. And then they all bark. All morning. From the wee hours. Until they drive us from the flat to the comparitive quiet of the traffic-y city streets.
We escaped the dog chorus and took the Subte (Subway) to Darco, a store near San Telmo that our tango teacher recommended to us for shoes. We each got a pair of straight disco tango shoes. They are hot! They are comfy! They are magic! They even say on the label, "Darco: Magic Shoes" (tee!!).
We swung back by the flat to drop the shoes off, but not before we stopped by our little neighborhood Chinese grocery. (I don't know why Ona called it that, other than there is one Asian person working there, but now it is doomed to forever be called the Chinese Grocery.) We made the greatest discovery there: fresh baked bread! So fresh out of the oven, it burned our hands!
After a quick lunch at home - dogs still barking, but not as vehemently - we took off for Puerto Viejo to check out some vintage shops. We got home FIVE HOURS LATER.
Highlights:
- Our walk took us through the Jardin Zoologico (zoo!) and the Jardin Botanico (botanical gardens!!) which made for a gorgeous stroll.
- A cat the size of a small Golden Retriever in the Jardin Botanico.
- Plaza Italia=59th Street Circle in New York, Stella says. (Actually, she said the majority of the BA is reminiscent of New York. Extremely so.)
- Calle Russel - a short, narrow cobblestone street block in Palermo Sojo, flanked by graffiti art on either side sporting captions like "paz, amor, luz, verdad" (peace, love, light, truth). I love this block more than anything else in Buenos Aires - and I love a lot of things in Buenos Aires.
- My allergy attack. I sneezed my way through at least six blocks.
- The horror of stumbling into Plaza Serrano and experiencing lame, touristy Buenos Aires for the first time. Jefferson Airplane blaring out of stores that feature cheesy "Tango Vida" T-shirts next to bars with names like Sullivan's and Taco Box. We nearly ran, RAN, our way back to Puerto Soho.

I have to admit I wasn't as impressed with myself today as I had been yesterday, as far as my Spanish skills. But then on our way home Stella and I stopped in La Fondue, this wine and cheese store we lusted after earlier in the morning. I discussed my wine selection with the owner, we sampled cheeses and membrillo (like a loaf of quince jam), and got an assortment of marinated goodies for an early dinner feast. Yay me! (pat, pat)

A few pics...


A sampling of Calle Russel





Stella doing research for tomorrow on our deck


The view from our deck

"Jet fuel. It's just jet fuel is what it is. It's jet fuel."

Is what I assured Stella in Dallas when a putrid smell wafted around us before take off. It was either jet fuel or stale poo fumes, as our seats were right next to the bathroom - so I chose jet fuel.
After our two and a half hour flight to Dallas, we hauled through DFW to make it to our gate just in time to board. A movie (Miss Pettigrew - cute), dinner (she had the beef, I had the chicken - I won), and an Ambien later we landed after ten and a half hours of flying.
May I pause to sing the praises of Ambien? Ammmmbiennnn, I looooovvve youuuuuuu, you work so welllllll...lalalalalaaaaa.
We were met by Herman, our driver, who got us to our apartment, but not without a bus nicking our car. The stripes on the road are primarily for style. Thank God everyone is cool. They don't even really honk - just barrel ahead, maybe bump, maybe not, and you get there.
Our apartment is ADORABLE!! Like an Ikea ad but better because it's in Buenos Aires and we live here! We met Ona, our liason, at the apartment to get the keys, get our cell phone and give her a handful of cash. Ona gave us directions to the nearest grocery and we set off into the city.
FOUR HOURS LATER we dragged back home. Highlights from the trip:

-INCREDIBLE coffee. I'm not a coffee drinker, but goodness. With a ham and cheese empanada and a tiny piece of lemon cake. We felt very refined.
-Despite being extremely out of practice, my Spanish is serving us better than I thought. Yeah, I'm patting my own back - I can do that, it's my blog.
-Mad Spanish skills notwithstanding, I still have no sense of direction. After walking in the wrong direction for an hour, Stella took the map and didn't really give it back. I don't blame her.
-An adorable young Policeman noticed we were lost and helped us like a responsible civil servant as he worked his flirt technique...Note to selves: Remember that trick.
-Speaking of good-looking? Everyone. The range is smoldering to breath-taking.

We got home and ripped into our groceries. Fresh, warm bread and REAL butter. I love real butter! Stella loves real butter! It's spreadable joy!
Since then, we've been disco-napping and researching what to do over the next week. We landed this morning without having done the usual obssessive research and had no plan other than to tango, eat beef, and go with the flow.
So far, so great!

"Is THAT your whole bag?!?!"

Is what Stella said to me when I got to her place. "How is it that you have so much less than I do?" Stella DEMANDED.
After packing up until the last minute, schlepping Maggie, Ronald and Roland (kitten and goldfish) to the Hogensons, withdrawing too much money from the bank, and drinking all of Stella's OJ (...she watched me pour the entire half-jug in a big glass. "It's gonna go bad," I weakly defended.), I was ready to go.
The cab was early, traffic was moving, the terminal wasn't too crowded and neither was security which means we got to the gate with 2 hours to kill before we could even board the plane. Stella played with her phone and took unflattering pictures of us. Meanwhile, I tried not to eat all the snacks she packed which were designed to sustain us for our 15-hour journey. Stella is the master of snack-packing: half a carry-on of sliced cheddar and haverti, sliced turkey and roast beef, nutty bread, baby carrots and sugar snap peas.
Interesting. Stella just left me to get on the plane.
I should start paying attention.

"It's not like I'll leave the country without luggage..."

I said this to a friend today as I was reflecting on exactly how much I needed to accomplish before I get on a plane in...33 hours?! Eek!
Still today instead of packing, cleaning my apartment, making copies of all my ID-types, organizing the books, electronics cords, and toiletries I want/need, and texting that one friend with the prescription Ambien/Xanax combo that she promised I could have, I:
-Went to an Obama rally. (Great, inspiring, but totally unnecessary.)
-Met a friend for tea. (Wonderful, but nothing I couldn't do after my trip.)
-Went to dinner with friends. (See above.)
-Help my friend with college stuff. (Okay, valid AND important.)
-Watch Tru Blood. (Vampires, yum.)

So now I sit here, further procrastinating but not really, since this blog IS trip related! Yay! Technically, I'm being productive.
So, instead of emailing updates and whereabouts to family and friends, I'm keeping a blog so you can log on whenever you want, IF you want, and see what Stella (Sheila) and I are up to for the next few days in Buenos Aires. Since we're only going for a short while, I'll do my best to update daily.
First the details:
What?! Yes, I'm taking 10 days off from work to visit Buenos Aires for the first time.
Where? BUENOS. AIRES.
Who? Me and Stella (Sheila. I feel compelled to keep adding "Sheila" because I know her mom is reading and probably likes the name she gave her.)
When? Oct 14 - Oct 23
Why? The short version: Did anyone catch the cover of the NY Times Travel section back in April? It had the most gorgeous picture of a man and woman doing the tango. That's why.

Now I have two choices: (A)go to sleep or (B)pack, clean my apartment and play with Maggie, the loveliest ball of kitten fluff to ever purr. And now that I notice, she is stalking my goldfish, her tail twitching murderously. Hm. Make that three choices.