As the 90-day mark drew nearer Stuart and I tried to plan a small get away for our next visa run. 1 trip to Colonia is enough to last a lifetime. 4 times would start to feel like torture.
A few days after Chip left Stuart and I booked overnight ferry/bus tickets from BA to Montevideo. The fact the Uruguay has a population under 3.5 million compared to Buenos Aires’ 13 million made this trip a great opportunity to unwind.

That is until we arrived and I discovered I had to leave the next night to be back for a wine tasting…

We made good use of the time we had. On the first day we explored the city stopping at a few museums and lingering in Plazas. We found the Uruguayan people to be very friendly, laid back but also curious.

With Stuart blonde hair and our travelers’ backpacks people stopped to ask us where we from. On one occasion we met a very jovial fisherman who had lived in the states but is now retired.

The next encounter was an Italian dj working in the city. He talked with us in a main plaza and gave us all sorts of advice. His flattery about our language skills and his eagerness to help were well received at first.

He offered to show us the beach. Wrapped up in conversation we followed. When we came to a part of the city with not many people around we began to feel uncomfortable. He was nice enough, but the empty beach and run down apt buildings felt how most bad stories must start.

To give a made up example of how the conversation went
“You like squirrels?”
“I know everyone who sells squirrels in the city, come with me and I get you a squirrels.”

When he told us he had to make a call to one of his contacts Stuart and I decided it best not to follow him any longer. When the call was finished we said good-bye and bee-lined back for the city center.

Once there we stopped for lunch; ordering a Chivito and a cold Patricia beer.

Back to the museums Stuart found the Montevideo Carnival museum. We practiced our Spanish reading plaques and exploring the museum. It sort of reminded me of Las Fallas in Valencia, Spain, especially the harlequin in the entrance.

They displayed typical costumes, photos and floats. My favorite of all had to be the feathered centaur legs.

Pretty exhausted from the journey we stopped at an information office to make plans for the next day. I highly recommend using these tourists’ offices. Usually they are government run and give great advice. We walked away with maps and plenty of information about what to do and see.

One focus of the trip was to explore part Uruguay’s wine trail. Heading the advice of the friendly travel agent we rented a car. It is only fitting that our first car rental experience would be in South America.

Keys in hand we called our Couch-Surfing contact and arranged a time to meet. We were given directions to his office and met at 5 pm. Getting there was an adventure. Stuart’s adrenal glands went into over drive and we dogged buses and mopeds in the busy city.

We arrived unscathed and met our host; a certified doctor who opted not to practice but to go into marketing for himself. He instructed us to follow him. Rather than heading straight to his home he wound us around to several of the city’s parks and places of interest.

We took Las Ramblas which hugs the beach back to his house in Ciudad de la Costa, about 15 min outside the city. Sun sand and water (dirty water, but water.) I could not be happier to escape Buenos Aires.

We arrived at his lovely home where he showed us our room.  He invited us to have dinner with him and his wife. And left us to get settled in.

As our first CS experience as surfers we were very lucky. Dinner meant a full-blown asado! He and his wife returned later with steak, sausage, cheese etc.  He heated up the grill, which uses sticks not carbon like in Argentina. We drank wine and stayed up late chatting with them.

In regards to Couch Surfing I am always to hear strange stories. Most experiences are hardly negative, but being a nice person does not keep others from finding you strange. Our hosts once had a 50-year-old man live with them who had been couch surfing in Montevideo for a long time.

At one house he moved from the house to the backyard construction a small box or shed. On another occasion they hosted a famous jazz musician and his estranged wife who practiced healing with crystals…

We had a good laugh and turned in for the night.

We woke up early and packed our bags. A big day in wine country lay ahead of us.
Map in hand we set out for our first winery.

Exiting the city there is nothing. Sweet beautiful nothing. Just cows which we loudly yelled at  “ Moo cow Moo!” Turns out there are more cows than people in this country.

As you can see from these photos we have some prime cow butt and 2 delicious baby steaks.

num num

We wound down country roads until we neared our first wine visit. En-route we passed a man working in the vines. We pulled over to talk with him.
“Spraying for ants” with a toothless smile.
He showed us this destruction some had done to the vines…. Very impressive.
We asked what he was growing.- He gave us an overview of the vines and told us we could wander through them as we pleased. I don’t think I’ve seen Stu happier!

At this point the vines have no grapes only buds, which will flower in the coming months.

We thanked him and hoped back in the car heading to Marichal Bodega. This is a winery operated by 4 generations of family. We were given a tour and sat down for a tasting with one of the enologists, Juan Andres.

Uruguay is primarily known for growing Tannat, a thick-skinned inky grape that can stand up to Uruguay’s humid climate. We were surprised to find a pinot noir, complex with lots of earth and mushroom.

3 hours went by. Spending time at one or 2 wineries is the way to go.  You can stop and pick the wine maker’s brain and get to know some fantastic people. We tried 6 wines including a pinot noir, a pinot noir tannat blend, and a chardonnay pinot noir rose. (And yes mom Stuart spit out the wine and was perfectly fine to drive.)

Thanking him for a great tasting we took off down the road to our next destination. Vinos de los Vientos. This winery is run by a young couple, Pablo and Mariana. Their project intrigued us.

Originally Pablo’s grandfather, an Italian immigrant from Piedmont planted several traditional varietals like Barbaresco and Nebliolo, Pablo was now growing Guerzteminer and Amarone- not something you see everyday in South America!

He currently was turning over much of the vineyard and planting new vines. His style seemed to be pretty experimental, with some traditional flare. While focusing on his own limited production wines from quality grapes he also grows chard grapes to sell as bulk wine. (Good source of income to fuel creative projects)

We spent some time out in the vines with Pablo and his three crazy dogs. We watched one of his workers graft vines and observed the unique trellising system. In the production facility we learned the origin of the winery’s name “Wines of the Winds”. Located closer to the shore strong gusts sweep through the area. They have knocked over some of his barns and blown off roofs!

We made our way inside for the tasting which included a very nice assortment of meats and cheeses. We really loved the two reds served and the desert wines.

Heading back into the city we passed a family zooming down on their moped. SAFE!

Unfortunately our trip ended shortly after. With the nature of my job I never know when I will have a wine tasting. I was called back for work. Stuart and I parted ways as he went to meet his father in the north. I left pouty and seething with jealousy.

After a nice lazy Sunday rise at 12 pm Stuart and I made coffee and planned out our day. We felt a bit cooped up this week and jumped at Bruce’s invitation to take a day trip to Mataderos.

In English Mataderos translates to “slaughterhouse”. Mataderos is a section of Buenos Aires traditionally known for its live stock market and meat packing. Cattle were brought to Mataderos to be killed and shipped to other parts of the country. Some times Mataderos is refered to as the new Chicago.

Our day however had much more to do with merriment and gaiety rather than carnage and gore.

Every Friday and Sunday the neighborhood of Mataderos hosts a bustling street fair.

We descended into masses. Street vendors, artisans, and entertainers packed in around the center square as passer bys made there way through. Unlike San Telmo we saw far less tourists, mostly just Argentine families spending a day outside for great food and shopping.

We were surrounded by smoking grills, traditional song and dance, artisan wines, massive knives, leather goods, mate gords, trotting horses, leather faced toothless gauchos with riding crops the size of base ball bats. At one point we even saw a performer charging people $2 to beat a fake cat with a stick.

We stopped to watch dancers perform Zamba, a traditional folk dance. Couples line up facing each other stepping forward and back. Quick steps take them circling around eachother as the women playfully wave scarves above their heads.

Stuart and I were impressed by the quality of the crafts. Especially  the hand made leather bags and engraved knives. We wandered around admiring the artisanship before looking for the group. We were told “ 3 pm pink café on the corner.” And laughed when we discovered half the buildings are one shade of pink or another.

We found Bruce waiting on the corner of the hot pink café directly across from the band stand. We all agreed to be hungry and headed for the smoke. Mataderos is a great place for parilla. You can also find traditional foods from the province like tamahles (steam corned husks stuffed with xyz) and locro ( a delicious meaty white bean stew). 

We opted for churipans and an $8 peso bottle of Vino Patero, Cab Sauv. The vendor informed us they produce less than 4,000 liters per year. Fruity but better than what I could produce in my basement.

Much more talkative after having been satiated we made our way to the track. We missed the spectacle but Gauchos, which are essentially Argentine cowboys line up and bolt like bats out of hell towards the finish line. Each carries a small metal spear which at full speed they must pierce through a metal loop dangling from the finish line. They charge closely past grandmothers, bundled babies and clumsy children, very exciting.

As they wrapped up gauchos paraded around on their horse as a few children pranced around on ponies and mules. We even saw a dog riding a horse. We made our way back and finished out the afternoon with a beer at the hot pink café.

The boat pulled in and the shore of Colonia, Uruguay came into view. To the right local children swam to a half-sunken graffiti covered barge leaping off letting the murky waves carry them back to shore. To the left a large white light house rose above the rows of quaint colonial homes. I disembarked and set foot to cobbled streets. People whizzed by on mopeds weaving their way through the sleepy town.

I sauntered along admiring the vibrant pinks yellows and blues of the historic cracked plastered homes. People sat on the rocks sipping matte and watching the ships cut through the russet water.  Narrow streets lined with flowers and palms showed an eclectic mix of Portuguese and Spanish architecture. The influences of Spain and Portugal reflect the historical struggle over Uruguay’s oldest port.

Around 3 pm I stopped for lunch. Uruguay’s traditional Chivito includes everything but the kitchen sink. A large steak, a slab of bacon, gooey cheese, thick ham, and a fried egg sit atop mountain of fries covering base layer of lettuce tomato and pickled vegetables. I ordered my heart-attack on a plate without bread. The feast coupled perfectly with Patricia, Uruguay’s signature beer.

Unable to take another bite I asked for my bill.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon wandering around the shops and restaurants.  I found myself in a few odd places talking to old women in bakeries and with a butcher hacking at meat.  Half the busniness in town seemed to be moped and golf cart rentals. Uruguay is known for wool and leather goods. Purses, sweaters, wine totes and slippers were very inexpensive. I am kicking myself for not buying a leather wine tote. (18 dollars.) Other local crafts include hand painted dishes and baskets.

I found not wine shops and limited in the supermarket and picked up a bottle of Tannat, Uruguay’s full bodied red wine. I got unanimous recommendations from several people for Don Pascual. I passed on the Uruguayan Dulce de Leche, but noted a tub at the supermarket was 1/3 the price in the tourist shops.

While waiting in line my eyes lit up. A rack of Haribo Gummy bears sat a top a cooler filled with glass bottles of diet coke. It was as though god himself made a display just for me. I can not find either of these luxuries in Buenos Aires.

I went through customs at 6 pm, stamping my passport and renewing my tourist visa for another 90 days. The ferry departed for it’s 3 hour journey back to Buenos Aires. I bought the cheapest ticket possible from Buque bus. For a bit more the trip can be made in 1 hour.

 The boat was 4 stories and allows passengers to move around. I saw people buying bailey’s and perfume in the duty free shop on the first floor. One level up people rested in the rows of reclining seats or drank overpriced coffee in the café.

I wandered up to the top deck and read a book. Sitting outside was refreshing I had slept on the way to Colonia but felt awake on the ride back. In no time at all the city lights appeared and we docked in Puerto Madero. The day trip to Colonia offered the prefect retreat from the commotion of Buenos Aires. I look forward to my next 3 month mini vacation.

Stu and I arrived back safely from Mendoza. The bus trip was cozy and included all the before mentioned comforts. However on the next excursion I might consider another bus line. We used Chevalier. I passed on my greenish steak served at dinner. Life is too short for such risks. We noticed they turn off the AC in the middle of the night then crank it 1 hour before arrival. The sensation of being cooked alive can be easily justified as a nightmare. Stu was drenched when he woke up.

 I offer no sincere complaint because I was still elated from the vacation in Mendoza and slept well. 

We spent the next day lounging around the apartment before going to Cristina’s house. Cris’ family invited us for an asado, a traditional argentine bbq. Niether of us had experienced one and were enthusiastic about the invitation.

We brought a bottle of wine from our trip and greeted Cristina’s parents and siblings. We sat outside in the courtyard at a big table. The stars were out and as we looked us we noticed the massive roof top parilla,. Most Argentine homes have a large grill for such an event.

An asado takes hours to prepare and is some what of an art form. Senora Alberti set out salads and home made breads while her husband labored over the meat. Cristina’s dad made his way down the steps carrying a large silver tray of meat including several types of sausage, ribs and inards.

Half way through my plate Stuart had to intervene. I had trouble breathing. As I explained my satisfaction Cristina’s brother informed us these were only appetizers. Moments later a second platter of thick cuts of steaks and more intestines appeared before us. The table began to look like the diagram of a cow.The food was remarkable. The wine we chose was quite manly and worked perfectly to cut through the grizzle of the meal.

As at most Argentine dinners a political discussion arose. They asked a lot of general questions that are nearly impossible to explain in English let alone Spanish. I let the political science major approach many of the questions. However I abused my power as translator to interject my own opinions which occasionally differ from Stuart’s. These broad topics were intersected with many tangents including the social dilemmas of native Americans and reservations.

Their questions stem from an innate curiosity. They wanted to know all about life in the US from the education system to the availability dulce de leche. We talked about our trip to Mendoza.

I could not think of a better last night in Buenos Aires for Stuart. His partiality to Carolina bbq did not overcome his obvious approval of Argentine style. Cristina’s dad said he felt honored to see only bones left on Stuart’s plate.

We came back to my apartment and stayed up for a bit discussing the trip. We woke up and spent the day relaxing before his flight. We opened a bottle of wine I bought on the trip. I finally made a good choice! Stuart 5- Ashley 2? The Weinert 2002 Gran Vino is one of my top picks from the wines I have ever tried.

It felt weird loading his suitcases into the taxi. Goodbyes are always hard but the weight of the wine bottles made me excited for him to share our trip with people back home.  Argentina is a pretty amazing place; my envy of the Blacksburg winter exemplifies the concept of greener grass. I plan to spend the rest of the weekend relaxing before resuming a normal pace of life on Monday. I laid in my bed listening to the watermelon truck make its rounds and thought about what a great time we had together.

I’m quite pleased with my find. After some online research I found a private driver. The cost was low and our driver knew the wine trail very well. He picked us up at 9 and brought us home at 6. We were able to enjoy the wine and the sights under the guidance of a knowledgeable guide. We went to Alta Vista, Zapata, Dolium, Patti Caramelo and Azur.  Stuart will elaborate the first two wineries:

Alta Vista Bodega is set against a back drop of the Andes Mountains.  When you approach the winery the mountains seem to rise up when the fields of vines end.  Playing in the lawn in front of the winery are Indian “rabbits” which do not have long ears, and appear to be more tailless squirrels than rabbits.   

We joined the tour of Alta Vista at the fermentation vats.  Their different quality of wines had three different vats to ferment them, which varied in size and material (the different material varied the ability to maintain a constant temperature.)  We headed down stairs into the wine cellar and listened to the tour guide discuss the barrels (80% French 20% American oak) and the different duration spend in them for the different wines.

  Within the wine cellar was a cage, and with in it many different bottles of wine.  When asked about it the guide said that it was the owners personal collection.  The prizes of the collection was the 1998 Alto.  Apparently most of the grape crop in 1998 was lost in Argentina, largely due to over raining caused by El Nino (which is Spanish for “The Nino” (check link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEoHz56jWGY .)  Rather than allow their first crop to  go to waste the enologist collected that which he could and treated it as an elite wine.  The wine never went to market however, and simply sits in the cage for the personal use of the wine maker. 

Now that little anecdote might illuminate that Alta Vista was not a normal winery.  They do a few things that seem….eccentric.  Such as the floors and furniture of the winery being made from old oak barrels, the tasting room being an old concrete fermentation vat, and the metal doors to the winery being the metal strips that hold the barrels together.  While this is all kind of fun, the most interesting and seemingly eccentric that thing they did was the wine line called the “Los Escasos,” or in English “The rare ones.”  This line is only sold at the winery its self and consists of the experimental products of the wine makers.  Only three were for sale at the time, but apparently there has been as many as 4, a Syrah, a Torrentes, a Cabernet-Sauvignon and a Petit Verdot.  Each bottle has a figured drawn upon the labeling which related to the character of the wine.  The Cabernet has a large portly French man, and the Torrentes had a sort of country belle. 

 Alta Vista also had great appreciation for their Terroir.  They have a line of Malbec from each of the three different vineyards that they blend to make their Reserve Malbec.  If one has the tongue, the interest, the time and the money one can try all three and then the final outcome in the Reserve Malbec.  We were able to taste winery’s lesser Torrentes, and Malbec and were luckily enough to try the Los Escasos Syrah as well.

 We made a purchase and headed out to the car, eager for the next winery, La Catena 

 La Catena Zapata boasts a headquarters inspired by Mayan pyramids. 

While the introductory video claims that doing so was a gesture that attempted to differentiate Argentinean wines from European wines, it has a seemingly opposite effect, that is to create a very touristy feel to the vineyard. The video we watched (the only one in all of the wineries) was subtitled in English and seemed to attempt to lump praise upon La Catena Zapata.  From the architecture of the headquarters, to the Buenos Aries architect who designed it, to the use of Argentinean materials in its construction and furnishing, the video attempted to suggest that THIS vineyard was Argentinean.  The was despite that it was the only one to feature a video, have most of its employees speak English, not show the factory itself, start the French inspired DOC classification, send its children to study in Stanford and Harvard and great us with an handshake instead of a kiss on the cheek. 

 This is not to say the visit was not amazing.  The building was beautiful and offered an panoramic of the vineyard and the mountains from the roof.  The vineyard was interested in variation of altitude in its wine making, and how to blend them in such a way to create a good wine.  In fact the Malbec-Malbec, a blend of two Malbec grown at different altitudes, was one of the best wines I have ever had.

Monday did not start well. I mean that is an obvious statement, any day with a 7:30 wake up call for me, did not start well, but this was worse. I rolled out of bed, and despite going to bed by 11, I was exhausted. It was as if the amount of sleep did not matter, my body rebelled against the early hour. We rushed to get out the door, and arrived at the El Cristo! offices to find that despite their broucheurs proclaiming an 8:30 am wine tour, their store did not start until 2:30 pm. We headed back to the hotel to regroup and I opened ESPN to find what was to be the final straw. UNC had lost. The day was over, I was exhausted from the hours, disappointed by the tour and depressed about the floundering of the boys in baby blue. I jump into bed and fell back asleep.

I awoke 2 hours later, with Ashley nagging at me to get up, still in a foul mood. While I had slept, Ashley had not wasted the two hours. After she convinced me that I should not be sleeping late in Mendoza, she explained to me what she was up to. The most pressing issue was the she had schedule a private guide on Tuesday, but we had to pick out 4 wineries to visit with our guide, in the next 45 minutes. We poured over the list of 20+ wineries and looked up some on the internet. After we compiled a quick list we headed to meet our future guide and give him the list. He seemed liked a nice guy, and the business he was running was bustling.

During the two hours Ashley had also scheduled a wine tour for the afternoon, a 2:30, through a different agency (she thought El Cristo! might be Christian, and shied away from it) and had a quick list of things to due until then. The first one was a small wine store called Marcelino, which has wine tastings on Mondays from local vineyards, and is supposedly frequented by the bigwigs in Mendoza viticulture. We walked there and found it to be close for the Siesta. Luckily we saw a wine bar that was a part of Ashley’s list along the way and turned back to stop by it.

The initial plan was grab a glass of wine and go to a few other places. Ashley chatted up the waiter in Spanish (she is so shy in when speaking English but is a huge flirt in Spanish) and he mentioned that they had wine tastings at 4:00 everyday. We lamented the fact that we may not be able to make it to one, and we ordered our glasses of wine. I do not know what happened back in the kitchen but the waiter returned a few minutes later and said that, since the restaurant was so quiet, we could do a private tasting. We quickly accepted his offer.

To appreciate this wine bar one has to see the room. It is much like the Pantheon, in that it cannot be photographed all at once. It the middle was a large circular high table, with a raised center part made of glass. Above the table hung a wine glass storage device, which, with the lighting, looked like a wine glass chandelier. The walls were completely lined with different bottles of wine, and while we waited for the flight we perused the bottles. Stopping at ones we had tried, or heard about, and, as usual, pausing over the ones so far out of our price range. We were alone in this seemingly private cellar, with only the waiter to come in and our occasionally.

The flight came and we sat down to 5 nearly full glasses of red Mendoza wine. Just to make sure everyone is aware of this, Ashley is a nerd. This is not is a bad thing, it is actually very endearing. It does mean however that wine tastings are not just opportunities to try new wines at a low price. No, wine tastings are a time for NOTES. Each wine bottle had to be found on the shelves and photographed. Every nose, mouth feel, taste and pairing ideas were documented. Even wine that was obviously not enjoyable (like the Merlot that seemed to simply end, as if you taste buds suddenly fell of a flavor cliff) had to be paired, and analyzed. This actually makes the tastings a lot more fun, and the comparison of you pallet to someone else’s allows you to, I think, find more flavors.

We left 1 year ago today for Switzerland. I had no idea what to expect. I had no idea all the places I’d see. Or that one year later I would be in Argentina with Stuart. Boarding a bus to Mendoza captured the same sense of excitement I often find myself nostalgic for.

Since Stu’s arrival I have shown him many of the places I enjoy in the city. He has met  Alcira, Cristina and Juan. In the last few days we went shopping and Stu bought some very nice duds. We avoided the heat in the Abasto mall at the movies. He took me to see Twilight; a teenage romance about Vampires. We continued to have amazing meals follwed late nights conversations over Sangria on roof top terraces.

 But we needed to travel again. We took the two seats perched directly over the drive on an en-suite double-decker bus. Our eyes widened at the full panoramic view. On the way out of town we saw the shanty towns Alcria told us about (Stuart can elaborate).

The service provided included movies, food, coffee, wine, cookies, and Sherry? And oh yeah Whisky?

Stu picked out a fantastic bottle of wine. Infact somehow other than the tannat he has been dead on. He gloats by screaming “I’m a SHARRRRRRRK”.

Air-conditioning and the slow rocking motion of the bus made sleep easy. We woke up to see the end of the sunrise. For me the landscape resembled Tuscany; vines, and olives. That is until I saw the mountains. As we approached the city the Sfumato clouds of a Da Vinci painting cleared revealing the Andes.

We arrived early. An hour earlier by the time change; not helpful on a Sunday. Most shops and tourists offices closed. We had no hotel reservations. We found a Havana and mapped out a few choices. With one computer the page kept turning to ESPN. Eventually we found the perfect hotel in Plaza Independencia.

Keeping in line with the rules of the Sabbath most shops remained closed. We wandered around town scoping out a few wine shops and restaurants. The city has a different feel than Buenos Aires. Lots of trees, 1950-1960s swanky architecture and old cars. I quickly noticed the irrigation system when I nearly feel in a ditch.

We had lunch at an outstanding Armenian resturaunt, Cocine Poblana, and spent the afternoon scoping out wine shops.We had a long discussion about the information or misinformation in the tourist industry.

Tomorrow we plan to venture out to wine country and I can’t wait!!!

The shanty towns were one of the topics of discussion that we had with Alcira.  Apparently the Federal government is at odds with the City government in Buenos Aires.  This presents a problem for a federal government, who’s offices are located within the city limits.  To combat the problem the President did some reverse gerrymandering.  Instead of moving the districts of Buenos Aires, which would be too much of a hassle, the President simply provided land and building supplies to some of the incredibly poor from outside the district, thus moving more of his demographic to the district.  Their homes are in a neighborhood located next to the bus station that is very poor and made of large clay bricks (about the size of cinder blocks.)  Unfortunately the buildings are built by their new residents and need not follow building codes.  The result is a neighborhood that not only suffers from poverty and unemployment, but also may, in fact, be death trap.  Passing them, two things immediately strike you.  First is how strangely pretty the buildings are, in their haphazard way, almost like the buildings form Aladdin.  Secondly is how many people are in the street socializing.  Whether or not it is an awful place to live, it seems that it has become a thriving community.  If it wasn’t for the obvious danger, and the likely difficulty of being accepted in such a culture (its isn’t exactly tourist haven) I would love to see the neighborhood. 

I blame our lack of entries on the insufferable high temperatures.  Stuart and I have spent the past few days in my apartment paralyzed by 95 degree heat. I even made him watch my all time favorite movie, Moonstruck. We adopted a nocturnal lifestyle; avoiding the sun at all costs.

On Monday night we went to a “tapas” bar. We share an affinity for all things Spanish. Yet, we quickly realized many of the norms of Spanish cuisine do not translate perfectly in Argentina. Different produce and Italian style cooking influences alter the nature of each dish. For example our selections included staples like papas bravas. Rather than amazing crisp potatoes with spicy aioli our waitress severed mushy chunks with bland tomato sauce. Good cuisine is often a result of geography and perfected tradition. Of the 7 small dishes the best included those from Argentina like yucca stuffed with meat.

However the interpretations of Spanish cuisine vary Sangria seldom disappoints. We headed to Todo Mundo in Plaza Dorrego with the intention of such refreshment. Just as my foot met the curb a giant bear swept me into a forceful hug. Juan introduced us to his mutt, Shakira and asked Stuart several question in broken Italian. Any fulfilled trip to Buenos Aries could have been easily completed by this encounter. We hesitated leaving the air conditioned bar and did not return until 4 am.

The next day passed in a similar stifled fashion as the previous day. We ventured as far as the corner Parilla.  We ordered to grilled staples; Choripan and Lomito sandwich. A local sang a few lines from a Gardel song when he found I was from NY.

Later that night we met Cristina and her sister for drinks and dinner. On the way our subway stalled leaving us amongst annoyed Sweaty Portenos. We emerged from the depths and hailed a cab. I gave Cris her belated Christmas present of exclusive American luxuries; Garnier Shampoo and Conditioner and Reeces Peanut Butter Cups.  In the excitement of conversation I drank far too much wine and ordered a massive steak. During dinner a magician came to our table and preformed several tricks. I remember hailing the taxi and then ordering him to drop us 9 blocks from my house. It has just started to rain but I felt we should walk. Stuart seemed a bit confused when I fell on the sidewalk. Little did we know this graceful fall would only be the start our troubles…