"Anda a Caviahue!"

This past weekend we went with some of our friends to Caviahue, a small town north of Neuquen on the Chilean border.

Here are Merritt and his dad checking into the hotel.
















Let's get another look at that cute, faux sheepskin jacket. I found it at a resale store in Houston for like three bucks. It really helped keep Merritt warm at the base of the mountain.

Merritt was well bundled up, and so were we. Unfortunately, we did not get a picture of everybody, but I did catch Lance in his snow outfit, tying on his snow boarding boots. We took turns on the slopes and watching Merritt in the restaurant at the base of the mountain. Our friends played in the snow with their kids, hung out with us, and seven-year-old Maria Pia went to Ski School! Merritt napped a lot and puzzled at the strange sound of stomping ski boots.

Back at home, Rygie assumes the "Nurse Dog" position in my lap under Merritt's legs, and Merritt learns to clutch (and gnaw) on his monkey toy.

I promised myself I'd blog about this tasty wine recommended to us by a nice wine shop owner in Buenos Aires. He also gave us some good tips about how to care for Merritt (he is in his 40s and just welcomed his first child, a son, about six months ago). We have stopped by his shop (once with Rygelito when he was just a baby dog!) and found good wines to take back with us to the States, so if I remember his name and shop, I will record it here:

We always want to bring him a bottle of Ocio, a boutique wine created by Marcelo Miras of Bodega Fin del Mundo in Neuquen province, but have yet to complete that task . . . Anyway, the wine is called Bramare, from Vina Cobos in Lujan de Cujo, Provincia de Mendoza, and it is so good. It was tasty when we opened it . . . it was tasty after several hours sitting out on the counter, breathing (no, what really happened is Merritt was fussy for a good while, and kept us from the wine, but he finally settled after enjoying a bottle of warmed breast milk) . . . and it still smells tasty in its (very) empty bottle, which has been sitting out on the counter a few days since.

Basically, the wine is creamy. And it is spicy. And it smells so good. Try it because you can find it here in Argentina, and you can find it in the states. We enjoyed (can I stress that enough?) a 2006 Malbec.

"Bramare is an Italian word meaning to yearn for," or so claims the label on the back. Get you some! But I must warn: it's pricey, so it's a special occasion sort of thing.

But when you just had a baby and a 10-year anniversary, you have special occasions all over the place.


I am getting so sleepy smelling this wine . . . I can barely type . . . must . . . nap . . . now

Some sweet things

I'm including these pictures of Merritt because they are so sweet: a sweet sleeper; Merritt in his Ribbit outfit; several shots of him upclose; and of him and his mom and dad at Viento Sur, having lunch on the day before Louie and Reagan left to go back to Texas. Louie and Reagan sat across from us and took the pictures. Speaking of Viento Sur, I could really use a medialuna right now.

First day of Spring

Spring arrived in Neuquen today, although we've had nicer, sunnier days than today earlier this week. Still, Merritt and the dogs and I went on a nice walk in the chilly afternoon, and I noticed that most of the trees are already filled with new leaves. Everywhere we looked was green.

We circled around the Plaza Guemes, in front of the apartment building where we used to live. I was feeling nostalgic, thinking about when I first came to Argentina a little more than two years ago, and how much Lance and I liked living in that apartment with its view of the darkly shaded park. I was thinking about the doorman, Roberto, and wondering what he was up to. I rarely walk by the old apartment anymore: the park, the delicatessen where I bought all our fruits and vegetables, and "Bevo," the orange and while dog who guards the on a nearby corner, strutting around in his harness after escaping his front yard.

Just then I saw Roberto, sweeping the front steps. The dogs bounded up the steps as though they knew it used to be my home, and I gave Roberto a kiss and asked him how he was doing. He was surprised to see me with two dogs and a baby, so much had changed since I last lived there. I remember when I locked myself out of the apartment after riding my bike in the garage and ended up jumping levels in the garages, hoping for a way out, never finding one, until a neighbor discovered me and let me in. Roberto cautioned me not to go anywhere without my keys, but if it happened again, just in case, to simply shout up because he and his wife live on the first floor (we lived on the third, which is four flights up and some good exercise). Did I say that I revisited that very apartment last year or earlier, when I had temporary English student, a Venezuelan boy, who promised me arepas if I returned? His mom and dad had decorated the place differently; everything had changed. Roberto probably mostly remembered about me that I never went anywhere and was always home, and that I locked myself out from time to time. He seemed glad to see me and called Merritt Caballero and thought him to be very handsome.

What else? This photo below is from three weeks ago or more, when the first buds came out on the plum tree in front of our house. Reagan said we should cut a twig and bring some of the blooms inside, that it was a Japanese thing to do with the first flowers of spring. We did, and they were lovely, but I didn't get a photo of them, and it was right before we left for Buenos Aires, and when we returned, the blooms had been mainly replaced by tiny envelopes of bright green leaves. In the back yard, the apricot trees began to bloom next, and these were followed by the pear trees outside of town. I noticed plum trees had not yet exchanged their flowers for leaves on other streets in our neighborhood; each individual tree according to its own, private schedule and daily dose of sunlight. But I don't see any blooms at all now, even though today is supposed to be spring. They move through their beauty so quickly, in a hurry to grow up.














Here's a couple of photos of Merritt hugging his dad; Chiana snuck into one of them.




















On Sunday, a gorgeous, sunny day, Gustavo's futbol team won their championship, which makes them the champions of the state of Neuquen! They are the team from a town outside of Neuquen capital called Centenario, where Gustavo and his family live. I didn't get to go to the game, but Lance said it was exciting, the final score being 3-1. Here's the team below; Gustavo is in the center of the top row.













Merritt wants to play futbol, too! His "team" is the Boca Juniors.

This just in!

Here are some lovely, candid Merritts taken only yesterday. I think they really demonstrate his range!

L to R: Zombie Merritt ("Brains!"); Innocent Merritt; Spitbubbles!

"No photographs, please!"; Miffed Merritt; His hands!

Curious Merritt; "Drinky-drinky!"; "I bite!"

Tippy tongue; The whole tongue; Sweet Merritty Grin

Sweet Merritty Stuff

Yesterday, July 13, Merritt officially turned two months old! We went to the Bodega Saurus to celebrate. This place was actually the first restaurant he ever went to, although that visit took place when he was just a couple of weeks old. Here are some pics from the restaurant, then . . .

. . . and on his birthday, below. He sleeps on a bench in between his parents, posed with a wooden pine cone. Who knows why? He was a nice boy and let his family enjoy a very special lunch in his honor.

On our last day in Buenos Aires, which was a week ago Sunday, we went on a short tour of the Manzana de las Luces, the Jesuit block of Enlightenment. It's offered most afternoons, and a guide takes you around to some of the old historical buildings, colleges/high schools, past a church or two, and dips into the subterreanean tunnels that used to link together underground some of the important locations. These were supposedly also used for various things, like hideouts for politicians and wayward schoolkids, networks for smugglers, etc. It was a little disappointing that we didn't get to see more of the tunnels, but the guide did point out that they featured false terminations and blind corners to confuse the univited. Looking at the maps, the makeup of the tunnels, and the grand fustiness of the old colleges reminded me of settings from Harry Potter. Here are some pics of me, Louie, and Merritt in the tunnels, followed by Louie wondering/wandering the empty streets on a Sunday in Buenos Aires, me being a "guide", and a courtyard fountain:



The actual guide had some interesting stories, but she stood out by repeatedly warning her flock about the dangers of the gift shop, and how, although we might meet up in front of it from time to time, we were under no circumstances to enter the gift shop until the termination of the tour, because otherwise (it was implied) we might become hopelessly lost in its shopping vortex. She seemed to especially eye us, the capitalists of the bunch, presumably because our spending frenzies are well-documented. (When we did actually pass through the shop . . . what a shop it was! Not a gift shop at all, but a kind of traders' market of antique, odd, and grubby fascinations, and we did of course feel the urge to stop and gawk (Reagan was turned off by the plaster Buddhas, but I spied a Tango'd pair suspended in a snow globe, perfect for my friend's mom; Louie declared he wanted to shop there; a handful of old ladies had already--willfuly?--peeled away from the group and engaging in the forbidden act of browsing). But the guide's admonitions echoed in our heads: we would always had time to shop after the tour; in fact, we could stay until it closes at 6:30, she taunted. After the tour, we were hungry.tired.headful of information, and we forgot all about the shop.

Some of Louie's captured street scenes:








Louie and I also went on a very quick tour of Recoleta Cemetary. Louie had never seen it before, and at first wasn't much interested ("I've been to Cozumel," he explained Quixotically), but he was won over instantly by the grand displays and the mysteries of the unkempt kennels of the dead. I find myself repeating over and over everytime I visit (which is really every time I am in Buenos Aires), "This is a true Necropolis." Then I might yammer on about how this should be a setting for a Buffy or Angel episode. Or at the very least Supernatural.

Wednesday

On Wednesday, we went to the Mexican Embassy, which was quite a different experience from the American one. Whereas the American one was huge and full of people, the Mexican one is in an elegant old mansion and is quieter and more intimate. Surely this is because there are fewer Mexicans living and traveling in Argentina. Also no doubt because there aren't many Argentines applying for visas to visit Mexico these days, no doubt due to the Argentine press blaming the swine flu on Mexico (for a few months during the first outbreak of the flu, no flights originating in Mexico were allowed into Argentina).

While the visit to the Mexican Embassy was "pleasant," and the American was "efficient," neither was "posh" or "spa" or "exclusive," which are the words I would like to use to describe an embassy. I think I am missing the point entirely.

I have also visited the Russian Embassy in Buenos Aires. But that's another story. I would descibe it as "undercover" with enough "surreal" to push it into sort of an "old-school posh."

Wednesday was also Pia's birthday. Pia is now seven! Sadly, Merritt did not get to attend her birthday party, which Pia herself described as "the best party in the world!"

Thursday

On Thursday we went to the Faena Hotel + Universe. Definitely posh. There are swan-necked, sliverate faucets in the marble countertops of the women's restroom. The long-halled foyer is Shogun-style drama. Merritt napped on the leather club sofas in the Library Bar (exactly what it sounds like, but without so many books).

That evening we ate at the Gran Bar Danzon, a luxurious and tasty dinner. The most interesting thing was when we entered the ground floor, we were greeted by an unusual, floral/spicy scent (camphor?) that shifted as we climbed the stairs (eucalyptus?) and settled as we entered the main room of the restaurant (lavender?). If this was purposeful, I think it is a very interesting idea to use smells to clear the patron's nasal tract before beginning the meal so as to start off fresh for the culinary experience.

Friday

Friday was Secretary's Day in Argentina, and people were taking their assistants to tea at the Alvear Palace Hotel (among other places, no doubt). Reagan and Merritt and I went and shared a tea spread, which focused mainly on sugar and some awesome Earl Grey (and I am a sucker for dainty, precisely-cut sugarcubes). Merritt pooped in the Alvear Palace. Don't worry; this is not as inappropriate as it seems since he was wearing a diaper, was fully dressed, and is a small baby. But it is cute to watch his face flush red then blanche white like a wee octopus. A lady taking her daughters to tea at the next table congratulated me on the birth of my baby.

I think that evening we turned in early, lounged around at the apartment and carried in onion soup from Croque Madame, a restaurant across the street. This is seriously good onion soup; it is basically like onions cooked in butter until they dissolve into onion mush, then with some more softened onions added. It is sweet and salty and lemony, too. I think it has some of those Maillard effects kicking because it has so many layers of flavor.

Louie in Buenos Aires!

Louie hit town today, and he got to see his nephew for the first time. This may have also been his first time to hold an infant, as you can see here. I asked him if he wanted to know what Merritt was up to at his shoulder, and I took this photo and showed him Merritt drooling away happily.

Then we rounded ourselves up and headed downtown for a nice sushi lunch, followed by some browsing at Galerias Pacificas and Calle Florida. Louie wanted to do some shopping, and although the Microcentro is not one of my favorite areas of the city, you can do some of the very cheapest and the very priciest shopping here. So there's something to suit all tastes. I was very happy to see some Tango dancers performing outside the Galerias Pacificas, especially since I read Marina Palmer's ChickLit novel, Kiss and Tango, where the protagonist finds herself dancing at that location, braving the sometimes lukewarm reception of the onlookers and working for the scant centavos they toss in a hat. The dancers seemed good to me, and I could appreciate how hard it must be to dance on the rough, cobbly pavement of the pedestrian street rather than a smooth dance floor, and how nerve-wracking it must be to perform for the odd passersby rather than the paying customers who patronize a scheduled event in a dancehall or hotel, so I tipped big, even though we only had a moment or two to watch them.

Later this evening, we went to a pub round the corner to watch the futbal match between Argentina and Brazil. The place must have been packed with Brazilians because of the cheering; Brazil won 3-1. We ate peculiar renditions of what to us is familiar, chain-restaurant/bar standbys: cheese- and bacon-laced potato skins; nachos with guacamole and some salsa-ish thing called "chili"; and fried cheese sticks. When in Argentina, stick to pizzas because they tend to be delicious.

Typically in Argentina one encounters condom dispensers (but not, oddly enough, tampon vending boxes) in the women's restrooms of bars, but this pub had only a machine that doled out toothbrushes! Not only will you have fresh breath for your "date" (but maybe not protection from STDs), but it comes with a fun prediction: