82 Liters

While we were in Buenos Aires for almost one month, I occupied myself while Joe took Spanish classes. It took at least a week to pay back some of the sleep debt that had accumulated over the last few years of working, but after that I settled into a comfortable, low key routine – with some Argentine flavor, of course. « Read the rest of this entry »

Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires. Iconic, majestic, eerie. Final resting place (after many detours) for Evita’s remains. There is not a whole lot else for me to say about the cemetery, and we did not have a particularly notable visit, but don’t let the lack of words fool you – this requisite tourist stop is still a MUST. « Read the rest of this entry »

Here’s a crazy idea: let’s take a museum, switch the visiting hours from the day to the night, keep it open until 3:00 AM, and waive all admission fees.  Finally, let’s convince 100 other museums to simultaneously do the same.

My friend Javier came all the way from California for Night of the Museums

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I’m not sure how countries other than the US conduct the census, but we were surprised by the method employed in Argentina. There is a designated day where everyone stays home and literally waits to be counted. Since it fell on a Wednesday, Joe’s classes were lengthened by one hour all week to account for the lost day. We stocked up on food on a warning that all stores and restaurants would remain closed.

It turned out to be a sunny day and we enjoyed a run through our neighborhood and the “Parks of Palermo”. However, it was no ordinary census day. « Read the rest of this entry »

A good small town has enough to entertain, yet not so much to overwhelm or bring on guilt to accomplish all the “must dos”, with a downtown that is just right for covering in one afternoon to easily orient oneself. While in Buenos Aires, we searched for day trips and came across one such San Antonio de Areco, known for its small town charm and “gaucho” (Argentine cowboy) culture.

When I read that the annual festival coincided with one of our free weekends, I jumped at the chance to take advantage of our flexible schedule and good timing.

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The best thing about getting sick is that it’s a perfectly acceptable excuse to stay curled up inside your bed.  But when you’re thousands of miles away from your bed, in a bunk bed, sharing a hostel room with five strangers who are constantly entering and leaving the room, getting sick loses its benefits.

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