Thursday, December 10, 2009
Cars of Argentina I
Marianne has been inspired by 
the fabulous vehicles we see on the road. So now we carry a camera wherever we go to capture some of the true gems. We plan to keep adding to our collection and all the pictures we post will be of fully functional cars, although many won't look it. About half the cars here have been converted to compressed natural gas so the exhaust is not nearly as bad as you would imagine with these clunkers hitting the streets. Our understanding is the government puts such a heavy duty on imported vehicles that most owners make their cars last a long time. Most of these beauties have been seen in the US for over forty years.
the fabulous vehicles we see on the road. So now we carry a camera wherever we go to capture some of the true gems. We plan to keep adding to our collection and all the pictures we post will be of fully functional cars, although many won't look it. About half the cars here have been converted to compressed natural gas so the exhaust is not nearly as bad as you would imagine with these clunkers hitting the streets. Our understanding is the government puts such a heavy duty on imported vehicles that most owners make their cars last a long time. Most of these beauties have been seen in the US for over forty years.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Yippee Yie Kaiyay (sic)
Ride em cowboy, uh, I mean gaucho!
It was dad and crew off to the horseback ride in the mountains. Marianne stayed behind as she didn’t think her back would have handled the bouncing. She chose wisely as the bus ride to the ranch was bone jarring. The ranch is about twenty minutes from our house in Chacras, most of it on a dusty gravel switch back. It wasn’t New Zealand scary but it added to the experience.
When we arrived at the ranch, and I don’t mean like a ranch you’d see in the movies but more like a ranch you‘d see in central Mississippi, we were met by about ten wild dogs. I thought this should be interesting fighting off the dogs to get to the terrified horses. Turns out the dogs are part of the ranch (there goes that word again) and they are buds with the caballeos. Our guide introduced us to Orlando, an original Argentine gaucho in full regalia. I couldn’t figure out which was more interesting, the flat gaucho hat or the black slippers. They don’t wear boots in Argentina, apparently they’re too hot.
Everyone was assigned horses and shown how to saddle up. AnnMarie has done this numerous times but this was Brian’s first time ever in the saddle. No problem, except Brian didn’t have spurs. He spent a lot of time digging his heels into his horse’s side with little effect. I should have told him most tour horses are a bit on the slow side. At least mine didn’t try to throw me in the cactus, which is usually what happens.
The ride took us through the foothills of the Andes. We were in the shadow of Sierra Plata, a 6100 meter peak covered in snow. The big mountain, Aconcagua, at 6900 meters is about fifty km away. We rode mostly on sanderros, small twisty sand paths through the desert. I didn’t ask about rattle snakes. What I don’t know can’t hurt me.
We rode for an hour and then broke for tortitas and matte. Matte¢ is a strong tea that is sipped through a silver straw and shared by everyone. As our guide explained, it’s not so much a drink as an experience. The kids would have much prefered the experience of Sprite, based on the look on their faces as they sipped. The tortitas are soft biscuits filled with bacon. The bacon is really cow fat but who am I to complain when I’m miles out in the desert and the only guy with a knife is wearing stunning black slippers. Pass the matte¢ mate, por favor. Muy bueno!
We got back on the horses and headed for the barn. The dog pack was with us the whole time running in between the horses legs. I thought this was particularly funny when we were on the very narrow ledges winding our way through the hills. I was just waiting for one of the horses to stumble on the dogs. And I knew it wasn’t going to be Orlando’s horse. We made it back just as my ass went completely numb.
Back at the “ranch” (should I say it reminded me of Grenada after hurricane Ivan went over?) the kids got to play with kids. There was a coral of thirty of so baby goats. I think that may have been the highlight of the trip for Brian. We were going to have a goat roundup but it was time to get on the bus. Needless to say a good time was had by all, but I seem to be walking funny. I wish I had those slippers.
It was dad and crew off to the horseback ride in the mountains. Marianne stayed behind as she didn’t think her back would have handled the bouncing. She chose wisely as the bus ride to the ranch was bone jarring. The ranch is about twenty minutes from our house in Chacras, most of it on a dusty gravel switch back. It wasn’t New Zealand scary but it added to the experience.
When we arrived at the ranch, and I don’t mean like a ranch you’d see in the movies but more like a ranch you‘d see in central Mississippi, we were met by about ten wild dogs. I thought this should be interesting fighting off the dogs to get to the terrified horses. Turns out the dogs are part of the ranch (there goes that word again) and they are buds with the caballeos. Our guide introduced us to Orlando, an original Argentine gaucho in full regalia. I couldn’t figure out which was more interesting, the flat gaucho hat or the black slippers. They don’t wear boots in Argentina, apparently they’re too hot.
Everyone was assigned horses and shown how to saddle up. AnnMarie has done this numerous times but this was Brian’s first time ever in the saddle. No problem, except Brian didn’t have spurs. He spent a lot of time digging his heels into his horse’s side with little effect. I should have told him most tour horses are a bit on the slow side. At least mine didn’t try to throw me in the cactus, which is usually what happens.
The ride took us through the foothills of the Andes. We were in the shadow of Sierra Plata, a 6100 meter peak covered in snow. The big mountain, Aconcagua, at 6900 meters is about fifty km away. We rode mostly on sanderros, small twisty sand paths through the desert. I didn’t ask about rattle snakes. What I don’t know can’t hurt me.
We rode for an hour and then broke for tortitas and matte. Matte¢ is a strong tea that is sipped through a silver straw and shared by everyone. As our guide explained, it’s not so much a drink as an experience. The kids would have much prefered the experience of Sprite, based on the look on their faces as they sipped. The tortitas are soft biscuits filled with bacon. The bacon is really cow fat but who am I to complain when I’m miles out in the desert and the only guy with a knife is wearing stunning black slippers. Pass the matte¢ mate, por favor. Muy bueno!
We got back on the horses and headed for the barn. The dog pack was with us the whole time running in between the horses legs. I thought this was particularly funny when we were on the very narrow ledges winding our way through the hills. I was just waiting for one of the horses to stumble on the dogs. And I knew it wasn’t going to be Orlando’s horse. We made it back just as my ass went completely numb.
Back at the “ranch” (should I say it reminded me of Grenada after hurricane Ivan went over?) the kids got to play with kids. There was a coral of thirty of so baby goats. I think that may have been the highlight of the trip for Brian. We were going to have a goat roundup but it was time to get on the bus. Needless to say a good time was had by all, but I seem to be walking funny. I wish I had those slippers.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Marianne's second look
Hola!
O.K, O.k. I was told that my e-mail was too scary….now I will tell of the bright side….The house is beautiful…the weather is fantastic….I look out over the swimming pool to the olive orchard in the back of the property….We were treated to a traditional Argentinean (meat roast) complete with salad and tomatoes with olive oil, pork sausages and Blood sausage for appetizers ( do I need to mention that Dick asked what was in the blood sausage and everyone laughed!!). The loma or steaks were fantastic and the local beer and wine are over the top. At $3 for a bottle of wine Dick is in heaven.
We took the local bus into the big city of Mendoza…it looked and felt almost European with outdoor cafes and little kiosks selling candy and gum. We ordered lomo sandwiches…slice of meat, cheese, ham, fried egg, lettuce and tomato. We walked to one of the town squares and strolled a Sat. art/craft fair…it was good for practicing Spanish…The people were mostly young Rastafarians and Argentinean hippies. The people dress the same as anywhere else…maybe a bit more casually. We were able to locate an Argentina soccer shirt for Brian, he was in heaven.
We went to Mass on Sunday. A little church up the street. Brady, and Dick were overdressed in collared shirts…everyone was in jeans except the very old. We sat on 2x4’s and knelt on 2x4’s …wow.. does that hurt. AnnMarie thought she was going to pass out from the pain. I had to give her the old “ think how Christ and his disciples suffered” Did I mention that it really hurt! Other than that, it was the same mass only in Spanish. They had singing but no music, not a single instrument. The hand shake of peace was the traditional Argentinean greeting…a kiss on the right cheek., to everyone around you. It was strange to be kissing men and women you did not know!!
Jose gave us ride to the big grocery store yesterday (still smaller than Giant Eagle). He drove us in his car…a 1966 Ford pick- up truck. It has a 1966 radio that doesn’t work, and a huge speedometer that also doesn’t work. I had to sit close to Dick in the front seat so I wouldn’t get in the way of the 3footlong stick-shift in the center. I braced myself on the duck tape covered gear box, and Dick rolled down the window and then threw the handle up on the dashboard. The truck is a lovely white primer, and though you can not see the road through the floor…you know it is there. Driving down the dusty road I know I am in Argentina…I feel like I am in a movie…I should be doing something dangerous …or glamorous. ..Instead I have to remind myself that I am on my way to buy groceries…
It is both dangerous AND glamorous.
Adios
Marianne
O.K, O.k. I was told that my e-mail was too scary….now I will tell of the bright side….The house is beautiful…the weather is fantastic….I look out over the swimming pool to the olive orchard in the back of the property….We were treated to a traditional Argentinean (meat roast) complete with salad and tomatoes with olive oil, pork sausages and Blood sausage for appetizers ( do I need to mention that Dick asked what was in the blood sausage and everyone laughed!!). The loma or steaks were fantastic and the local beer and wine are over the top. At $3 for a bottle of wine Dick is in heaven.
We took the local bus into the big city of Mendoza…it looked and felt almost European with outdoor cafes and little kiosks selling candy and gum. We ordered lomo sandwiches…slice of meat, cheese, ham, fried egg, lettuce and tomato. We walked to one of the town squares and strolled a Sat. art/craft fair…it was good for practicing Spanish…The people were mostly young Rastafarians and Argentinean hippies. The people dress the same as anywhere else…maybe a bit more casually. We were able to locate an Argentina soccer shirt for Brian, he was in heaven.
We went to Mass on Sunday. A little church up the street. Brady, and Dick were overdressed in collared shirts…everyone was in jeans except the very old. We sat on 2x4’s and knelt on 2x4’s …wow.. does that hurt. AnnMarie thought she was going to pass out from the pain. I had to give her the old “ think how Christ and his disciples suffered” Did I mention that it really hurt! Other than that, it was the same mass only in Spanish. They had singing but no music, not a single instrument. The hand shake of peace was the traditional Argentinean greeting…a kiss on the right cheek., to everyone around you. It was strange to be kissing men and women you did not know!!
Jose gave us ride to the big grocery store yesterday (still smaller than Giant Eagle). He drove us in his car…a 1966 Ford pick- up truck. It has a 1966 radio that doesn’t work, and a huge speedometer that also doesn’t work. I had to sit close to Dick in the front seat so I wouldn’t get in the way of the 3footlong stick-shift in the center. I braced myself on the duck tape covered gear box, and Dick rolled down the window and then threw the handle up on the dashboard. The truck is a lovely white primer, and though you can not see the road through the floor…you know it is there. Driving down the dusty road I know I am in Argentina…I feel like I am in a movie…I should be doing something dangerous …or glamorous. ..Instead I have to remind myself that I am on my way to buy groceries…
It is both dangerous AND glamorous.
Adios
Marianne
Dick's Rebuttal
Ok, now it’s my turn to do the blog entry. While I won’t go so far as to call the drive from the airport a “trip though Beirut” I will admit it was dry, dusty, and somewhat impoverished. That was quickly put aside as we settled into our new home. The Posada Olivar is quite lovely in an old hacienda way. There are many pictures of the original owners still hanging on the walls. The furniture is mostly from the early 1900’s. And any minute you expect Juan Peron to peek his head in the door. It is our caretaker, JoseLuis’, grandparent’s house. Jose is in his mid twenties and trying to make a go of this bed and breakfast. Right next to our house is the new building with five guest rooms, sitting area, and kitchen (being built as I write.) We’ve become good friends with Jose and his girlfriend, Eugenia. Both speak very good English and have become our go-to source of local info. The gardener is actually JoseLuis’ uncle, Senor Martin. He’s actually a great guy, always smiling and moving at a snail’s pace as he rakes the lawn or moves the flood gates. It seems they irrigate by opening up small flat metal plates in various ditches around the estate. The water all comes from snow melt off the Andes and the water is diverted to various communities on a weekly basis. When we first arrived we had a raging stream running right along the side of the lawn. Three days later it was bone dry. Today, it’s running fast. There’s no drip irrigation in effect here. The estate is filled with many different kinds of trees and for the most part is green. We have an olive orchard in the back. The house has a nice kitchen with dishware most likely seen at your friendly garage sale. The rooms are large with tile floors. Our bedrooms are simple yet comfortable I will agree with Marianne that lamp shades are non essential equipment in Argentina. It all works though, and the troop seems to be acclimating well. It certainly helps that we have our own swimming pool. And Brian has his own soccer pitch out back complete with goals.
The first thing I learned in Argentina is they take their siesta seriously. Everything shuts down between 1:00 and 5:00. It’s like a ghost town. Nightlife begins at 10:00 so that blanks us from hitting the restaurants. There are no supermarkets in Chacras but there is an American size grocery in Palmeras, about a five minute drive from here. Most of the time we pick up meat from the carneseria, bread from the paneseria, fruit and veggies from the verduria, wine from the bodega, and the balance from the mini mart. Food prices are par with the US except for meat and wine, which is much less. They aren’t kidding when they say beef is the mainstay of the Argentine diet. I don’t know if my heart is going to be able to handle our stay here, but it sure tastes good. The beer is all lager and brewed locally. The wine is strong but that may be more a factor of cost versus style.
Last weekend was our first big foray to the el Centro (downtown for you tourista types.) We packed our bag and headed for the bus stop. It turns out the bus only takes coins and nobody has any. I mean nobody. I must have hit up ten stores for cambio and they had about four pesos between the lot of them. Now I know why the shopkeepers are so loose when giving back change. Everything is rounded up to a paper bill. No one can explain the shortage of coins, it’s just one of those things. Finally I was able to round up enough coins once we went back and raided JoesLuis’ piggy bank. And we’re off. The municipal bus system is very efficient and crowded but you may have to wait a while for your bus. We’re about twelve km from downtown Mendoza which seemed to take us a half hour. Not the most comfortable ride but a good way to see the neighborhoods. El Centro is a mixture of high end clothing stores, tiny kiosks, outside cafes, and glaring billboards/signs everywhere. Saturday is very busy as all the cafes were booming. You can’t do anything between 1 and 5 so you may as well eat and drink. And yes there is a McDonalds. I was proud we chose a local establishment to wolf down a side of beef before our walk around the Plaza Independencia. As in almost every Spanish colonial city, there is the main square or plaza. Mendoza is the capital of the province so it’s the largest city on this side of the country. You get a sense that it’s a country still trying to figure out its place. The economic collapse of 2001 has stifled investment and you don’t see much new construction. They got the double whammy as the recession/depression of the last year has really hit them hard. The folks we’ve met have all been well educated but the good jobs are not in this country. I never felt threatened but I’m not sure I would want to be cruising away from the central market after hours. You’re never far away from the Andes and when the wind blows it carries dust from the plains. So everything seems to have a coating of dust which gives the impression of old and tired. But it certainly isn’t Bahdad.
Sunday, JoseLuis invited us to an Argentine lunch. He got the wood grill going and cooked more beef (are you seeing a trend here?) His sister and her kids came along with Eugenia. We also had a couple from Seattle who were staying at the new house. AnnMarie picked flowers from around the yard and it was a gala affair. A couple bottles of wine and cervaza, and the afternoon disappeared. Life definitely goes at a slower pace.
We haven’t hit the vineyards or for that matter, we haven’t done much of anything except get the home schooling routine back on track. We still plan to do some biking, horseback riding, and river rafting. We’re trying to make plans to head down to Bariloche in late Feb for two months. Sometime before then we hope to get up to Machu Pichu. But right now, I think I’ll make a beef sandwich.
The first thing I learned in Argentina is they take their siesta seriously. Everything shuts down between 1:00 and 5:00. It’s like a ghost town. Nightlife begins at 10:00 so that blanks us from hitting the restaurants. There are no supermarkets in Chacras but there is an American size grocery in Palmeras, about a five minute drive from here. Most of the time we pick up meat from the carneseria, bread from the paneseria, fruit and veggies from the verduria, wine from the bodega, and the balance from the mini mart. Food prices are par with the US except for meat and wine, which is much less. They aren’t kidding when they say beef is the mainstay of the Argentine diet. I don’t know if my heart is going to be able to handle our stay here, but it sure tastes good. The beer is all lager and brewed locally. The wine is strong but that may be more a factor of cost versus style.
Last weekend was our first big foray to the el Centro (downtown for you tourista types.) We packed our bag and headed for the bus stop. It turns out the bus only takes coins and nobody has any. I mean nobody. I must have hit up ten stores for cambio and they had about four pesos between the lot of them. Now I know why the shopkeepers are so loose when giving back change. Everything is rounded up to a paper bill. No one can explain the shortage of coins, it’s just one of those things. Finally I was able to round up enough coins once we went back and raided JoesLuis’ piggy bank. And we’re off. The municipal bus system is very efficient and crowded but you may have to wait a while for your bus. We’re about twelve km from downtown Mendoza which seemed to take us a half hour. Not the most comfortable ride but a good way to see the neighborhoods. El Centro is a mixture of high end clothing stores, tiny kiosks, outside cafes, and glaring billboards/signs everywhere. Saturday is very busy as all the cafes were booming. You can’t do anything between 1 and 5 so you may as well eat and drink. And yes there is a McDonalds. I was proud we chose a local establishment to wolf down a side of beef before our walk around the Plaza Independencia. As in almost every Spanish colonial city, there is the main square or plaza. Mendoza is the capital of the province so it’s the largest city on this side of the country. You get a sense that it’s a country still trying to figure out its place. The economic collapse of 2001 has stifled investment and you don’t see much new construction. They got the double whammy as the recession/depression of the last year has really hit them hard. The folks we’ve met have all been well educated but the good jobs are not in this country. I never felt threatened but I’m not sure I would want to be cruising away from the central market after hours. You’re never far away from the Andes and when the wind blows it carries dust from the plains. So everything seems to have a coating of dust which gives the impression of old and tired. But it certainly isn’t Bahdad.
Sunday, JoseLuis invited us to an Argentine lunch. He got the wood grill going and cooked more beef (are you seeing a trend here?) His sister and her kids came along with Eugenia. We also had a couple from Seattle who were staying at the new house. AnnMarie picked flowers from around the yard and it was a gala affair. A couple bottles of wine and cervaza, and the afternoon disappeared. Life definitely goes at a slower pace.
We haven’t hit the vineyards or for that matter, we haven’t done much of anything except get the home schooling routine back on track. We still plan to do some biking, horseback riding, and river rafting. We’re trying to make plans to head down to Bariloche in late Feb for two months. Sometime before then we hope to get up to Machu Pichu. But right now, I think I’ll make a beef sandwich.
Rio Dulce stays north, Costigan's go south
Traveling to Mendoza
The day arrived….the bags were packed….each of them, we would come to find out, was 2 to 6 lbs overweight…scramble, shuffle, reload into back packs…and we are off. Security, passports, more security, more showing of the passports, and we are off.
Fast forward…Wednesday Morning out the windows…The Andes..WOW with snow on top! The sky is gray and overcasts. It appears that no one lives in Santiago. We change planes and fly into Mendoza. But wait… it looks like the moon….a desert moon…it is brown with tumble weeds as far as the eyes can see.
This is bad.
The airport is like Akron/Canton… in New Mexico or West Texas, as Dick likes to say. It is dry and cement colored and scary…what have we gotten ourselves into….
The driver picks us up. Now we are driving through Beirut….There are tin and cement shacks everywhere…some with sheets for walls and roofs.
The cars driving by are every color, style, and overhaul imaginable from 1972. Did I mention the shacks, the rows and rows of shacks.
This could be bad.
Brian is afraid and wants to go home. This has been a horrible mistake. I am starting to agree with him.
After a half hour we begin to see trees and green things…then a little shop…than a restaurant…..than a school…a little square.
We turn onto a driveway behind a wall with a gate. It is an oasis. There are trees and grass and flowers and the house… is lovely.
But wait…who are all of these people….the owner, his girlfriend, the house keeper, another woman ironing, in what I think is my kitchen…wait…the owner is staying in the small bedroom off the kitchen? What? Who is the man walking by the window 10,000 times? The gardener. Who is the man with the dog? The other gardener. We have not rented a house but have rented a house in a small village.
I am afraid.
It is now day three. The sky is blue, the temperature is perfect.
Now I notice the little things…everything in the grocery store is unfamiliar. I can, however, recognize all of the meat, fruits and most of the vegetables. Checking for food allergies is difficult but soy flour has not found its way here yet it seems. Milk, OJ, tomatoes sauce, mustard, and ketchup, comes in bags (like drink bags) or small boxes (like juice boxes). They do not have grape jelly or peanut butter. They do not seem to have pretzels but I am told they have pizza. The local shops are all mom and pop shops…you go to the butcher to get your meat. They really do go out to eat at 10pm for dinner. There are a lot of restaurants close by but I doubt we will be able to stay up that late!
The Kitchen (for you Sandra) has two big pots, two skillets, and a strainer. There is one kitchen towel. No hot pads, no measuring cups, no measuring spoons. 4 wooden cutting boards from 1945 that are as black as coal. There are two big knives, both as sharp as the side of a plastic fork. But you can drink le aqua.
It is an old style Posada. All of the lights are bare bulbs….all the lights are bare bulbs..all the lights. The floors are tile. I think the housekeeper ran off with the broom and mop. I can not find them.
Each night I do the dishes before bed (no dishwasher). The first night I left a pan to soak. In the morning it was clean…
Last night I again left a few things in the sink undone….in the morning they are done….
I put a bottle of oil in the cupboard….this morning it was on a paper towel in a little wooden bowl in the cupboard……I am again afraid…..is it the gardener?
The day arrived….the bags were packed….each of them, we would come to find out, was 2 to 6 lbs overweight…scramble, shuffle, reload into back packs…and we are off. Security, passports, more security, more showing of the passports, and we are off.
Fast forward…Wednesday Morning out the windows…The Andes..WOW with snow on top! The sky is gray and overcasts. It appears that no one lives in Santiago. We change planes and fly into Mendoza. But wait… it looks like the moon….a desert moon…it is brown with tumble weeds as far as the eyes can see.
This is bad.
The airport is like Akron/Canton… in New Mexico or West Texas, as Dick likes to say. It is dry and cement colored and scary…what have we gotten ourselves into….
The driver picks us up. Now we are driving through Beirut….There are tin and cement shacks everywhere…some with sheets for walls and roofs.
The cars driving by are every color, style, and overhaul imaginable from 1972. Did I mention the shacks, the rows and rows of shacks.
This could be bad.
Brian is afraid and wants to go home. This has been a horrible mistake. I am starting to agree with him.
After a half hour we begin to see trees and green things…then a little shop…than a restaurant…..than a school…a little square.
We turn onto a driveway behind a wall with a gate. It is an oasis. There are trees and grass and flowers and the house… is lovely.
But wait…who are all of these people….the owner, his girlfriend, the house keeper, another woman ironing, in what I think is my kitchen…wait…the owner is staying in the small bedroom off the kitchen? What? Who is the man walking by the window 10,000 times? The gardener. Who is the man with the dog? The other gardener. We have not rented a house but have rented a house in a small village.
I am afraid.
It is now day three. The sky is blue, the temperature is perfect.
Now I notice the little things…everything in the grocery store is unfamiliar. I can, however, recognize all of the meat, fruits and most of the vegetables. Checking for food allergies is difficult but soy flour has not found its way here yet it seems. Milk, OJ, tomatoes sauce, mustard, and ketchup, comes in bags (like drink bags) or small boxes (like juice boxes). They do not have grape jelly or peanut butter. They do not seem to have pretzels but I am told they have pizza. The local shops are all mom and pop shops…you go to the butcher to get your meat. They really do go out to eat at 10pm for dinner. There are a lot of restaurants close by but I doubt we will be able to stay up that late!
The Kitchen (for you Sandra) has two big pots, two skillets, and a strainer. There is one kitchen towel. No hot pads, no measuring cups, no measuring spoons. 4 wooden cutting boards from 1945 that are as black as coal. There are two big knives, both as sharp as the side of a plastic fork. But you can drink le aqua.
It is an old style Posada. All of the lights are bare bulbs….all the lights are bare bulbs..all the lights. The floors are tile. I think the housekeeper ran off with the broom and mop. I can not find them.
Each night I do the dishes before bed (no dishwasher). The first night I left a pan to soak. In the morning it was clean…
Last night I again left a few things in the sink undone….in the morning they are done….
I put a bottle of oil in the cupboard….this morning it was on a paper towel in a little wooden bowl in the cupboard……I am again afraid…..is it the gardener?
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