1. Climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro
2. Learning a new language
3. Sailing the Nile
4. Swimming in the Red Sea
5. Sipping Malbec and Camanere (red wine)
6. Visiting Jerusalem and the wailing wall
7. Seeing lions, cougars, elephants, zebras, giraffes in their natural habitat
8. Devouring dulce de leche and falafel
9. Watching the most incredible sunsets from Table Mountain, South Africa and the middle of nowhere Botswana to the mountains of Petra, Jordan and over the Mediterranean in Tel Aviv, Israel
10. Spraying my room, bed, clothes and entire body with bug spray
11. Dressing up as Cleopatra
12. Finding coffee in Tanzania
13. Visiting four continents and 14 countries
14. Taking tango lessons
15. Learning to salsa
16. Showering after my Mt. Kili climb
17. La Cabrera, Buenos Aires, Argentina
18. Starbucks, Sharm el Sheikh, Egypt
19. Rocking until 5 am in Buenos Aires and Tel Aviv
20. Thinking a lion was going to eat me.  Thank goodness for the grazing zebra
21. Visiting a hospital in Arusha, Tanzania
22. Horseback riding in the Andes
23. Walking along the Indian Ocean in Plettenberg Bay, South Africa
24. Shopping for boots…daily
25. Meeting all the wonderful people who changed my life for the better

ANOTHER CHAPTER COMES TO AN END

I left New York City on November 18^th.  It took me six weeks to remember I didn’t have a job and another six months to realize eventually I would need one.  It’s been an incredible journey with memories to last a lifetime.  For those of you who have shared in my adventures, my last chapter is for you.  You have been my greatest fans cheering me on and pushing me forward when at times I wanted to call it quits.  Many of you have asked the following:

Why did you take this trip?

What did you learn?

What’s your favorite place?

When are you coming home?

Where are you now?

I hope I’ve answered those questions somewhere along the way but in case my long-winded responses were not enough for you, here goes:

I am fortunate.  I am blessed.  I am independent.  I am lucky.  I am not brave.  I am not crazy.  I did not run away from anything or anyone.  Travel for me is my greatest love.  It’s my passion in life.  At 35, I figured I had time, money, and a natural break in my career.

Life is about choices.  I considered buying a condo but then I weighed the pros and cons and figured investing in myself would be the smarter choice.  Someday, I will own a house.  I may never again have an opportunity to travel freely for an extended period of time—to take a “life break.”  Since 6^th grade world history class, I dreamed of seeing Mt. Kilimanjaro.  Each week we were required to read newspaper articles pertaining to the region we were covering and draft a summary of at least one article –three for extra credit.  We all know I completed three.  While I hated “current events” (my mother probably disliked them more because she helped every Thursday night), these assignments launched my fascination for the world.

Africa seemed like a faraway land with poverty and war; a place that people read about but never actually visited.  Regardless, I knew one day I would step foot on the African continent and find beyond the pictures and words a place rich in history and culture.  To say Africa is a beautiful place is one thing; to experience the African music, taste the food, participate in the rituals and to see natural marvels untouched for thousands of years is quite another.  I made an effort to learn about the people in each country I visited.  I realized I couldn’t live in their shoes but I wanted to experience a snapshot nevertheless.  It was my choice to backpack, camp, hike, ferry, bus and take less traveled routes not because I am a glutton for punishment but because it was the scenic route; the route less traveled.

From place to place, country-to-country, I observed the faces of people.  Some of their faces revealed great suffering, others sadness but more often than not people greeted me with welcoming smiles and a sense of determination and perseverance unmatched in other parts of the world.  Life in Africa is complicated.  I don’t know what it’s like to be hungry, to live without water and electricity, to be considered so invaluable that the cattle are more important.  I have opportunities that most African’s cannot even imagine possible.  I am free.  I am educated.  I have choices.  What the African people need more than anything is to know there is hope, to demand more of themselves and of their leaders and to define their own destiny.  I saw what amazing things occurred in Botswana where the government is stable, education a priority and the economy self-sufficient.  I met the kindest and most considerate people in Arusha, Tanzania where everyone from the hotel manager to the chef and restaurant crew welcomed me with open-arms; cared for me like a member of their family; and cried with me while I hobbled around the hotel with crutches. There are countless others like Adronis and God Bless who dragged me down Mt. Kilimanjaro injured and my guide Herman in the Serengeti who understands education is the key to success and scrapes up money to educate his two boys in private schools.   He says it’s their only chance at success.  AIDS, poverty, malaria and corruption are a part of African life but these people will not be defined by illness and tragedy.  They are the real story of Africa.

In some respects, I took two very distinct trips.  I saw oceans and mountains, seas and lakes, deserts and forests, religious artifacts and burial sites, man made spectaculars and natural wonders.  In Africa and the Middle East, I challenged myself in ways I didn’t think possible.  I’m a city girl.  I don’t like dirt, I don’t like bugs and I certainly don’t enjoy using nature’s bathroom.  Africa changed me.  I’m confident it made me stronger, more tolerant and wiser.  It shaped me in ways I may not understand for years to come.  With every passing day, I opened my eyes to a world and to a people often ignored.  Climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro, riding a camel at the Great Pyramids, sailing down the Nile, reaching the top of Mt. Sinai, silently observing a male lion devour a giraffe, praying at the Wailing Wall, watching the clouds blanket Table Mountain were highlights of my African experience.  They are memories to last me a lifetime for sure but when friends ask me about Africa I immediately flash to the people.  The African people triumph over adversity daily and what they want —what we all want— is to provide for their families; to keep their children healthy, safe and secure; to give them an opportunity to enjoy life not survive it.

After four months of tramping through an entirely different part of the world, I hauled my cookies from Tel Aviv to Zurich back to the United States and then down to my home away from home Buenos Aires, Argentina.  My parents assumed I would be back by May 1 but I had other plans.  At the urging of my friend Jack, who encouraged me to stay longer in Argentina, I rented an apartment, enrolled in Spanish classes and immersed myself in the culture.  I always dreamed of living abroad to learn a language and finally I made it happen.

Making friends is never difficult for me but in Argentina I discovered people from all over the world who were like me.  People who worked hard but made travel a priority.  We shared a common belief that one must see the world to understand it.

There are 13 million people in Buenos Aires.  While I didn’t meet them all, I received an incredible welcome from my teachers, classmates and other locals who shared their life with me on a daily basis.  In doing so, they changed mine.  I learned to slowdown, to see things at face value, to appreciate the beauty of each day.  I studied Spanish, danced the tango, consumed vast amounts of beef, sipped wine, biked through parks, climbed a glacier, hiked Iguazu Falls and more importantly celebrated life.  Living in Buenos Aires was awesome for lack of a better word.  It’s considered to be the Paris, Rome and New York City of South America.  I contend it’s better but if only they could please clean up the dog poop.

The Argentine people are strong and determined.  They have endured hardship and instead of waiting for change they take to the streets and fight for their rights.  Argentina is not immune from corruption or poverty but in Buenos Aires I felt the sincerity of a people who demanded more from their government and believed their troubles of the past were the basis for a secure future.  There were certainly things that drove me nuts, for example, change.  Money is a problem in Argentina.  No one has it and everybody wants it.  I met many people (college educated) who worked 2-3 jobs to survive.  They struggled but they never complained.  I learned much from them.  To my teachers, neighbors, and new Argentine friends you are truly an inspiration.  I miss you already.

I finished my travels in Chile, which was nice because it gave me a chance to reflect on the last eight months.  It is true I am sad to leave the world of travel behind.  Every Friday when we said good-bye to a classmate, we used to mourn their loss.  They had to return home…back to reality. Something none of us wanted to face.

When I left the USA, I didn’t know what I would encounter.  I wanted to “see the world” but I wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed.  I had already visited other countries and how would this experience be different?  Letting go of my career, my friends and my family was tough but it opened doors for me.  When Jill and I departed at the Johannesburg airport and I stood there without a plan, it was the first time in years I truly felt alone yet free.  I quickly understood the path before me was unknown and I was ready for the adventure.  As I traveled through Africa, the Middle East and South America, I realized my life is privileged.  I have a loving family and friends who shape my life for the better.  This trip wasn’t a vacation.  It was a learning experience.  I learned to trust in the kindness of strangers, to accept my surroundings and to be at peace with myself.  The world is small and it gets smaller each day.  Be kind to it.  Appreciate your loved ones and take time for yourself.  You only get one shot to make the most of your life.

I am “home” in the USA.  I’ve already enjoyed a hot shower, fresh laundry and two home-cooked meals. Sometimes it’s the little things you miss the most.

To be continued…

CREDITS

Richie and Yasmin, England

Hog Hollow

Otte Family, Luxembourg

Namibia couple

Jeri Wade, USA

Troy, USA

Adronis, Tanzania

God Bless, Tanzania

Herman, Tanzania

Entire staff at the Arusha Hotel, Tanzania

Pilot Tom, USA

Sanja, Tanzania

Janet Keller, USA

Arie Rubenstein, USA

Bruce and Harriet

Elisa Franzo and her family, Italy

Angela

John Weadick, Ireland

Paddy and Allan, South Africa

Stella and Terry, England

Christine and Matt, Canada

Jenni and Margaret Kline, USA

Geri Sadek, USA

Laura and Jim Ross, USA

Pamela, USA

Tim Allen, USA/Argentina

Katherine Thonvold, USA/Argentina

Karen Downey, Australia

Gustavo Chamorro, Argentina

Ursula Leal Capria, Argentina

Anna Achenbach, Germany

William “Steve” Jackson, USA

Kate, USA/Chile

Annette, Germany/Chile

Daria Saharova, Germany

Ash Dawson, England

Gabi, USA/South Africa

Barin Darnew, USA

Janine and Erik, USA

Ecela Language School, South America

Pilar, Argentina

Rocio, Argentina

Leila, Argentina

Lorena, Argentina

Alberto, Columbia/Argentina

Guillermo, Argentina

Emanuel, Argentina

My friends at Pilates and Starbucks

Pia and USA/India

Tal, Israel/England

Pablo, Argentina

A special thanks to Jill Straus, my travel partner in crime and Maria Brijeski and Pam Manz who visited me in Argentina

To all of you who kept tabs on me, encouraged me along the way and responded to my Facebook updates, many thanks

To Landra Bickley, my Argentine sister, it was certainly a wild ride.  Espero que bailes tango y comas muchas carne sin yo.  Quiero todos detalles.  Te extraño

Jack O’Donnell who served as tech support and a constant sounding board (via email).  I’m sure you are happy to have more time on your hands.  I’m still writing the book.

Thank you to my parents who despite their concerns pushed me to reach for the stars.  Your support is unwavering and your love is the reason I take chances in life.  It was time someone had as much fun as Patrick.

Besos, abrazos y muchas gracias a mis amigos en Argentina

Espero que encontramos otra vez pronto

Chau Chau

The Spanish arrived in Chile in the mid-sixteenth century and found a pleasant climate and fertile soil.  They were also confronted with strong and stable native tribes; the Araucanian(descendants of the Incas) in the north and the Mapuche in the south.  While the Spanish tried to occupy these regions, they were relatively unsuccessful and kept to the center region in what is present-day Valparaiso and Santiago. Today, Chile is home to many immigrant populations including the Spanish, Italians, Germans, French, Croatians and Palestinians.  In the last century, Chile has welcomed its Bolivian, Argentine and Peruvian neighbors seeking better opportunities.  Spanish is the official language but it’s not unusual to hear German and Croatian in the southern part of the country where people from those respective countries landed.  I also found it interesting to learn that Chile maintains the largest Palestinian population outside of Israel/West Bank territories.

Chile is a country rich in natural resources but it’s also completely dependent on these resources for it’s livelihood.  In fact, mountains occupy 80 percent of the land and the people rely heavily on water for electricity.  There are two mountain ranges within the country’s borders, the Andes and the Coastal Mountains, and they converge at two points: in the South near Atacama and another point close to Santiago.  While many think Chile is famous for it’s wine and salmon exports, Cooper is actually its biggest export and accounts for 35 percent of the country’s income.  The United States is Chile’s largest trade partner importing cooper, nitrates and fruits and wood.

Santiago is the largest city with 6.5 million people (40 percent of the population) and divides the dry north from the temperate south of Patagonia.  The country’s population has been shrinking in the last 20 years but it’s estimated to be around 15 million.  Santiago is a large city but with the Andes running right through the middle of it, I had to remind myself I was in a city.  There are a number of financial districts, pedestrian walkways, museums and universities.  Some of the continents top educational centers reside right here in Santiago.  A number of high-rise towers grace the skies and construction has not halted despite the economic downturn in the States.  Here tourists arrive primarily from Argentina, Uruguay and Brasil.  People from the States tend to visit during our winter (December and January).

Millions flock to Santiago every year for its wine, skiing and culture.  Chile claims to rival some of the world’s best ski resorts and vineyards (it’s the world’s 5^th largest exporter of wine) and all of them reside within an hour’s drive of Santiago.  It’s a much calmer, quieter city than Buenos Aires.  In Buenos Aires, I noticed everyone looked like they were from Europe but in Santiago it’s hard to figure out a person’s origin without asking.  People are very much a mix of indigenous and European and officials claim 70 percent of the population is white or a mix of white.  There is a more local feel to Santiago.  Artisans fill the streets selling sweaters, jewelry and other handcrafted materials.  It’s less commercialized and you realize quickly you are indeed in South America (or our stereotype of it anyway).  People keep to themselves and there are certainly less cafes and restaurants filling the streets.  After work hours and on weekends the streets are relatively empty and it’s my understanding people do not socialize as much in Santiago.

As for the wine, I visited a few Bodegas and I admit the wine I sampled does rival Argentina’s Malbec.  Chile specializes in Cabernet Sauvignon, Carmenere, a wine similar to Merlot, and Syrah.  The vineyards producing top red’s are located at the foothills of the Andes about 30 minutes from Santiago, while the vineyards producing fine white’s are located between Santiago and Valparaiso and closer to the Pacific Ocean.  I’ve given it my all to try many labels in my short time here but with only two meals a day it’s difficult.  My vote goes to the Carmenere, a Chilean favorite.

After my day of touring bodegas, I decided to check out Valparaiso, a port city located about 90 miles from Santiago.  Valparaiso provided a strategic stopover for ships crossing the Straits of Magellan (connecting the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans) until 1914 when the opening of the Panama Canal virtually paralyzed the city. Today, Valparaiso is home to the National Congress and serves as a playground for the rich and tourists alike.  The day I visited the skies were blue and the temperature rose to 25(75F) – not bad for winter.  As what usually happens, 5-star hotels and expensive condominiums have sprung up along the Pacific coastline and pushed development north of Valparaiso.  We first stopped at a place called Vina del Mar (a few kilometers from Valparaiso), which seemed to be home to yuppies, restaurants, cafes and many expensive vacation homes.  Our guide told us many rich Chileans have homes in both Santiago and Vina del Mar.

We toured Valparaiso also known as the Jewel of the Pacific after a scenic lunch on the Pacific.  This is one of the few places in the world I have visited where the poor have incredible ocean views.  The underprivileged live high above the city (overlooking the Mighty Pacific), since the business owners and rich wanted to be closer to the center of activity at the port.  Valaparaiso, similar to San Francisco, was founded on the hilltops.  It even calls Sausalito its sister city.  There are dilapidated homes and buildings crowded along the slopping curves of the mountains.  Frequent earthquakes caused homes to be abandoned or rapidly repaired in a manner that gives the city an artistic feel.  Here the homes are painted in bright colors of hot pink, turquoise and yellow.  The architecture is distinct to Valparaiso.  There are beautiful mansions (now museums) sprinkled throughout the city in Spanish, Portuguese and Roman style.  Many funicular elevators or cable cars hide between the narrow streets.  Just to get a glimpse of this city’s past and present emerging as one was worth the visit.  In 1990, UNESCO declared Valparaiso a World Heritage Site.  My trip to Valparaiso had all the makings of a perfect day: hours watching the waves, architecture, history and an amazing sunset over the Andes.

Excited to see what many have said is some of the most beautiful scenery in the world, I arrived at the bus station at 6 am ready for my 7 am departure.  The buses were relatively spacious with sufficient legroom.  When the sun debuted, it unveiled glorious mountains with peaks, valleys and the occasional river.  The colors were incredible and very reminiscent of the rust and sunset orange of the Grand Canyon (for those of you who have visited Arizona).  We winded through the mountains up to an altitude of 4200 meters.  I could feel the altitude but I tried to maintain my composure and enjoy the hours of nothingness.  I mingled with some folks on the bus; a couple from Paris, a student from Brasil, a German girl and a totally crazy guy from Adelaide, Australia who decided to scream out every hour that we were being poisoned from the lack of oxygen on the bus. After nearly 5 hours, we exited Argentina and I waved good-bye to a country I called home for nearly 4 months.  A mere 7 hours later I arrived at the Chilean border control and my final destination, a village called San Pedro de Atacama.

Since I left Salta on a whim, I didn’t have a chance to obtain accommodations.  That is not usually a problem for me but when I looked around, realized I was in a desert with adobe 4×4 “houses” and pretty much in the middle of nowhere, I relied on the kindness of strangers.  The French couple helped carry my bags to their hostel where I decided I would stay.  I took one look at their 2×2 room with a pebbled-rock floor and concrete walls and did some fast thinking.  I told them I would try to look for something more secure since I had an abundance of personal items I didn’t want stolen (not completely a lie but there was no way I was staying at this place).  Before my new French friends abandoned me with my bags, I made a mad dash to find a hotel.  Where I landed proved to be only slightly better but at least my room contained tile floors and included a bathroom.  What it lacked however was hot water, electricity and heat.

Atacama’s surroundings are indeed gorgeous and that was probably the only thing that saved me from going completely insane.  It’s a town that time forgot.  When I first stepped off the bus, I thought I entered a John Wayne movie circa 1800.  I wasn’t completely wrong.  There is a church, a few adobe type “buildings” and dirt roads. With the help of Joyce, I learned Atacama is a backpacker’s paradise filled with adventure activities like mountain trekking, volcano trekking and bird watching.  It all sounded great but I didn’t take into account that the desert gets extremely cold in the night and with altitudes of 4000 it’s going to be freezing regardless.

After I returned from checking out the entire 5 blocks of the pueblo and saying merci to my Parisian friends, I found the German girl balling in my “lobby.”  I thought someone had died.  I asked her if she needed anything but she waved me off and I returned to walking around the pueblo.  There isn’t much to do in a village THIS big.  The German girl (Kira) was still in the front room talking to the hotel manager so I asked her one more time if she was ok.  She started crying.  This time she blurted out that this was the first time she had taken a trip by herself AND she was only 18.  Her parents had given her this gift as a high school graduation present (very common in Europe) but she thought she would be with other people and she was completely alone.  I offered to take her to dinner and walk around for a bit since I needed the company too.  We had a very nice time sitting in front of a fireplace talking about our passion for Buenos Aires and her future.  She starts university in a week.  I never told her I was 35 and I had to laugh when she told me she did an internship in Singapore and her friend at the company “was much older like 30.”  HA HA!  For a change, I served as the friend to the stranger in need.  It was pretty funny I even heard from her parents who (like mine would be) were profusely thankful that I took her under my wing.

Suffering another night without heat and several emails to Joyce, I quickly realized I had reached the end of my yellow brick road and it was time to get the hell out of this town and return home (slightly sooner than expected).  Unfortunately, I learned traveling to Santiago would require a 30-hour bus ride and having just endured 12 hours the day before I wasn’t exactly up to task.  I signed up for a tour of the mountains, which meant I had a day to contemplate my decision.

Atacama is a village situated in the Chilean desert about 120 kms from the Bolivian border and a few hours from the Argentinean border.  The typography is slightly different even though few kilometers separate the countries.  Some say it’s because Chile borders the Pacific Ocean, while others argue it’s a shifting of tectonic plates and an active volcano. Still others blame (locals included) global warming and the cyclical nature of events.  We visited a number of salt basins where lakes have completely dried up and what remains are these beautiful mini-porous peaks of salt.  If you glanced quickly, you might think the valleys contained ice rather than salt especially since there are a few smaller lakes nearby.  Much of the vegetation in the area is dying because water is not reaching the roots.  It’s deep in the heart of winter here and not one mountain contained snow.  Locals are being forced to change their way of life as they search for other sources of water.  Irrigation is a problem and many of the tribes who call Atacama home are being forced to leave their way of life.

Similar to Salta in Argentina, indigenous tribes occupied these parts until the Spanish arrived in the late 1500s.  There way of life depended on hunting and the fertility of the land.  Now many live in poverty still fighting to develop new ways of living in this ever-changing world.  They grow crops of quinoa, potatoes, carrots and other types of beans.  They climb high into the mountains searching for sources of water and they continually create alternative irrigation methods to draw water from the mountains to the villages.  The rest of the world should learn to be this proactive as the scarcity of water is a sign of our present and a definite problem in our future.

After I returned from my trip to the mountains, I booked another bus out of Atacama to another land before time Calama.  I arrived in the dark of night and thankfully didn’t realize that even though the roads were paved it was just as barren and desolate as Atacama.  It did possess one thing Atacama didn’t have (or maybe a few things) an AIRPORT.  That’s right everyone.  Joyce booked me via Internet (her first foray into airline booking) a LAN jet to Santiago.  This time LAN only charged me $30 for my bags and when I got caught trying to sneak 3 relatively large bags on the plane as carry-on, I put up such a fuss I think the woman just let me go.

I arrived 2 hours later in the booming metropolis of Santiago.  Lying in the heart of the Andes dividing north from south in this pencil thin country, Santiago is the pulse of Chile.  Here I found Starbucks and McDonalds and all things I have learned to appreciate as modern conveniences and maybe a small slice of Americana (my side of the Americas that is…)

I’ll leave you here for the night but rest assure, I’ve enjoyed hot water, public transportation, pretty amazing food and beautifully handcrafted jewelry and artwork.  I am a sucker for a city.

Locals in this part of Argentina eat more hearty food.  They fancy locro(a type of corn soup), tamales and lamb.  They aren’t serving dulce de leche in Salta.  The dessert of choice is a type of goat cheese and some crazy jam with honey.  It’s an acquired taste but after the third time it started growing on me.  There are a few wineries here that specialize in white wine something relatively unheard of in Argentina.  The climate is dry as this is a desert and the days hot and nights cool.  Tourism is a big part of their livelihood and many of the goods and services are produced by the locals.

On my tour to a place called Humahuaca(close to Bolivian border), I visited a few villages.  Picture lots of dust and adobe homes held together with string.  I have seen a great deal of poverty in the last few months and it doesn’t get any easier to swallow with time.  Looking into the eyes of the children is especially challenging for me.  I want to ensure they are loved or cared for but sometimes I realize it’s not my battle to fight.  I shared my tour with another Argentinean couple.  While we only spoke Spanish, it was interesting to learn their perspective on their own people.  This time of year many Argentineans (who can afford it) travel for a “winter” vacation.  It was their first time to this area and they found it to be incredibly beautiful and yet concerning that a large part of their country is both desolate and in ruins.  A city called San Pedro JuJuy is a complete dump and most of the buildings are falling apart.  I walked around a bit and decided not to even try to think positively.  In five years, this place will resemble a war zone.  It seems a bit ironic that these multi-colored wonders (mountains)of the world sit amongst such ruin. And heartache.  A few people from throughout Argentina have told me there are less opportunities for the “darker skinned” descendants of the Incas but I never saw it more apparent until I visited this part of the country.

It was a very good experience for me.  I realize the big cities do not always represent a people.  Even in NYC, I have to pinch myself and say while I sit in my Manhattan apartment someone is sharing a one-bedroom apartment in Queens or Brooklyn with 6 or 7 other people struggling everyday.  The northwest part of Argentina should not be missed.  It tells the story of the real Argentina.  A culture deep in history, a people rich in spirit and a land relatively unchanged by time.  My parents keep asking me how many mountains can you see before you think they all look the same.  There is some truth to that but the reality is each day I open my eyes a little wider and see something I didn’t see the day before.  Awareness is half the battle.

Remind me to tell you about Pablo my savior at the hotel and the darling waitress I met at dinner one night.  Their stories touched me and I learned my struggle to get to the gym each day is not the same as a struggle to succeed and be more than life cut out for you.

Stay tuned for more adventures as things only went downhill from Salta.  I mean that literally and figuratively.  I’ve arrived in Santiago and I am wine tasting some Chilean reds tomorrow.  After you read about the last 4 days of my life, you will understand everything.  My Internet connection died so I have to finish that Monday.  Hope everyone had a great July 4^th weekend.

I finished class a week ago scoring an 85 on my exam.  It wasn’t by best performance but considering I needed to perfect my salsa moves and eat lots of meat before I left I think it’s completely respectable. On the last day of class, each student is expected to give a speech in Spanish.  I carefully drafted my farewell and included my favorite moments as well.  I am sure this comes as no surprise but before I even uttered a word, the tears began to fall.  Eventually, I composed myself and continued until I reached the part about my newfound friends.  I said, “me encanta….sniffle, cry, sniffle…dulce de leche.”  One of my friends pointed out that my crying preceded the part about my love for Argentina and my newfound friends and pertained directly to my love for dulce de leche.  In other words, I would miss dulce de leche more than anything.  HMMM….It’s totally possible but not likely.

After my speech and numerous good-bye activities, I went on a shopping mission, which ended in the purchase of 2 pairs of boots and a bottle of champagne to celebrate not only my last day but of course my new shoes.  Landra and I decided a panqueque de dulce de leche would be more appropriate since we always prefer dessert to wine.  We finished off the day with a trip to a NY type restaurant and a visit to a club called Rumi.  After a Michael Jackson tribute and an hour of electronic music, Landra and I decided it was not our thing.  Elated we lasted until 3 am, we were even happier when we exited and saw 200 18-year-olds in line.  The highlight of our night occurred in the cab on the way home.  It’s not what you think.  We commented to our driver that we hated electronic music and he managed to find the answer to our prayer or maybe just mine.  He landed on a station playing Air Supply’s, “Lost in Love.”  While I was belting out the lyrics, the cabbie passed our destination.  He tried telling us he was so blinded by our beauty he missed our stop. PLEASE!!!!

On my last party night in Argentina, Landra and I planned to go to a party called Vote to Drink.  You see the country shuts down on Election Day (Sunday) and after 6 pm on Saturday all the bars, clubs and restaurants stopped serving alcohol.  In fact, the bars and clubs closed until Monday night.  It is obligatory for Argentineans 18 and older to vote. However, many are so fed up with the corruption that they try to avoid the process entirely.  My local friend claimed she needed to get drunk in order to vote.  I thought it was pretty funny considering officials try very hard to avert protests and riots and all you hear about it food and money being given to villagers to vote for a particular candidate.

We arrived at our “house party” at 11 pm.  We had no idea what to expect but we figured the chef was an American so it wouldn’t be horrible.  There was a DJ and a house full of strangers.  The party started off slow but after a few drinks and some Michael Jackson tunes it turned into quite the party.

And now for the weird part…

At the beginning of the night, Landra and I met a guy from the States who had been living in Buenos Aires for 9 years.  We talked to him for a little bit but I had this weird feeling I knew something about him.  A few drinks later, I cornered him in the bathroom line and asked him if he had a sister who was 35-years-old.  When he replied yes, I told him I met her at Starbucks a month ago.  I am confident he thought I was nuts especially after I said, “Your sister is the reason I am leaving Buenos Aires on Monday.  She changed my life.” (As you may recall, one day while pondering my future, I met a girl at Starbucks who told me she survived on $20 pesos a day and she missed the modern conveniences of home etc.  I talked with this girl for maybe 15 minutes but she had an impact on my decision to leave.  She happened to mention her brother had been living in Buenos Aires for 9 years.) Now you see where this is going.  I thought 9 years seemed to be a random number and when Fred said he lived in Buenos Aires for 9 years my gut said this had to be his sister at the Starbucks.  I went on to describe her and everything she told me fit.  As in life, there is always more to the story.   Fred told me she married at 22, moved to Ireland and somewhere along the way became addicted to drugs.  In and out of rehab, she divorced and he brought her to Buenos Aires to start over.  She had been living with him until recently when she started using drugs again.  I found it a bit ironic he told me this while smoking pot but…it made me realize how often strangers come into our lives and change it without even knowing it.  I was saddened to learn of this girl’s story but hopeful she can still change.

After I calmed down from my discovery, I rejoined Landra and Brian (trust fund, gifted artist, singing sensation, Harvard boy) on the dance floor.  Brian was conversing with the DJ trying to get the guy to play more 80s and less electronic music.  I don’t know what he said but it worked and we danced until 5 am.

For my final meal, I headed to my favorite neighborhood restaurant.  Still reeling from the night before, I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings until I heard a young man next to me struggling with his Spanish.  Talk about déjà vu.  On my third night in Buenos Aires, I went to this exact restaurant and sat where this guy was sitting but I was the one fumbling over my words.  That is how I met my friend Kate (American teacher living in Chile).  She heard my Spanish, realized I was American and started chatting with me. Here I was a few months later doing the very same for this person.  He had arrived three days prior and enrolled in Spanish classes but didn’t know anything.  I gave him some help ordering dessert and pointed out a few things he should know about Buenos Aires.  My trip had come full circle and it was yet another sign it was time to go home.

Alas, Landra arrived for our final dessert together.  We split a (big surprise here) panqueque de dulce de leche with ice cream.  It was the perfect end to my last night in Buenos Aires.  I shed a few tears when Landra and I parted.  Ironically, it was raining – only the 4^th time since my arrival in Buenos Aires.

The next morning I struggled with my 5 bags to the airport.  I didn’t have time to be sad, as I was a bit preoccupied with my bags.  In what universe did I think I would successfully hide 2 checked bags and 3 carry-ons?  Clearly, the nice lady at Lan Airlines wasn’t buying my story.  She charged me $60 for my overweight luggage.  With every passing minute, these bargain boots are becoming a hazard to my health and wallet.

With a glitch in the phones Friday night, I couldn’t find my friends so I decided to venture to the bar we had agreed upon earlier in the evening.  I arrived around 12:30 am and didn’t see anyone but rather than call it a night I headed to the Irish bar for a beer.  It only took me about 30 minutes before I was holding court bar side.  While the bartender gave Spanish lessons, I entertained the mixed crowd of Argentineans and American’s with resume and career building advice.  That is when I decided I had to start my own business and I wanted to live here (in Buenos Aires).  I mean my mind ran wild with business opportunities and it occurred to be Guinness just makes life better.  I’m confident I’m not the only one who developed a business venture over the tasty treat.  When 4 am arrived, it was time to say chau to my new amigos.  I felt right at home on Saturday morning.  Instead of Joyce waking me up, Landra did.  She started phone banking and emailing me since she was worried I had vanished after many texts and no responses.  It’s nice to know I have someone checking up on me.  Phone lines going down in Buenos Aires =muchos problemas.  Kelly in the Irish bar=not surprising.

Saturday, Landra and I planned a relatively quiet afternoon and somehow our trip to the museum turned into a dinner party and another night of dancing until 4:30 am.  This is where it gets good.  Remember trust fund kid?  Well I am not entirely sure Brian is a trust fund kid but he is seriously the most hysterical kid I have met in a very long time.  He is 29, dropped out of Harvard (why???), and is a wildly talented musician, artist, writer and so much more.  After I watched him dance and sing wildly for maybe 5 hours (picture Mr. Robotic), I had to Google him simply out of curiosity.  It was the best information I’ve found on someone in quite sometime.  If I had to describe him he is probably a mix of Johnny Depp and the lead singer from the Cars.  The night began with a Vietnamese dinner and ended somewhere with Madonna, Michael Jackson, other favorites of the 70s and 80s.  I knew my night was over when four Argentinean 23-year-old boys approached me on the dance floor.  They spoke very frankly and somewhat innocently, while pointing out going home with them would be a much better alternative to hooking up with Brian who I was dancing with at the time.  I had pins and needles in my feet and even Madonna couldn’t save me.  I bolted for the door, solo.

As it is my final week in Buenos Aires, the crazies are coming out of the woodwork.  Yesterday, I went to a café to study since my final test is Friday.  I was minding my own business sipping coffee and studying verbs when all of a sudden there was a loud commotion and a lady screamed.  I looked up to see a man grabbing cell phones off a table and heading out the door and on to a motorcycle.  Since Spanish is not my first language, it is very easy for me (when focused) to tune out Spanish speaking people.  I did see the man tap my table but I just figured it was a poor person as many people come into the cafes and place things on the table looking for money.  When four cop cars arrived in less than two minutes and 10 police entered my little neighborhood café, I figured I should probably pay attention.  The gist of it is the man looked like a messenger or a poor person and no one paid much attention to him until he made off with their purses and phones.  I guess he didn’t think my intermediate Spanish books held much value.  The woman who screamed thought he had a gun but lots of folks here pretend to have guns and never have them.  Needless to say, my lunch was on the house and the best part – I was the only person who didn’t get robbed.

Today, I went to see my private tutor for the last time.  She is this amazingly beautiful, successful, hard-working woman who has a heart of gold.  When I arrived, her boyfriend of 5 years was breaking up with her. I didn’t quite understand what was happening.  I asked him in Spanish where he was going (he was holding two small bags) and he said Palermo.  Then he kissed me good-bye and left.  All the sudden my tutor was whispering, “hombres son loco.  Estoy triste.”  I couldn’t figure out what the heck was going on and I replied “si, por supuesto todos los hombres son loco.” And, then she started to cry and I realized something more happened and I walked in on it.  Oh Vey!  My tutor and I talked in Spanish for a while but I found myself holding back tears especially since we were talking about me leaving Buenos Aires and I became emotional.  I had brought her a bottle of wine as a thank you and when we were both teary-eyed I said maybe we should drink this now.  It was cute.  Later, she told me about her boyfriend and some of his life experiences.  It made me realize how hard it is to be an Argentinean.  To honor her privacy, I will not go into it but we should be thankful for the opportunities we have in our countries.  It is not the same here.

Tomorrow, my hips don’t lie and I’ll be salsa dancing for the last time in Argentina(this trip anyway).  I consumed two rounds of dulce de leche, picked up my tango shoes and purchased otra botella de vino tinta.  I’m ready to bring Buenos Aires back to home sweet home wherever that might me.  By the way, winter has arrived.  It’s a balmy 55 degrees.  Winter South American style is pretty darn fantastic.

I started my adventure at a restaurant in San Telmo called Melano with 9 friends: Landra, Bryan and Tal from Spanglish, Arash my credit card hero, and a few other friends from school.  After a few bottles of wine and our tummies full, we headed to the club.  Museo is a well-known spot because it has two levels and on Wednesday nights it sponsors a happy hour special from 9 pm – 2 am.  Everyone comes dressed in work attire and parties until the wee hours of the morning.  I was psyched because they play 80s music on Wednesdays and that is about the only decade I am still celebrating.  Once in the club, there were about 25 of us dancing in a circle.  The 80s music was blasting and everyone was having a great time.  If one is suffering from self-esteem, this is the place to go.  The men are hungry and the music is blaring and if I didn’t have my wits about me I am fairly certain I could have been groped by several Argentinean men.  Wait that did happen!   Did I mention this place was quite the scene?

Finally, my girl Madonna made her debut and all my problems slipped away.  The younglings from my school seemed a bit scared by my dance moves and my zest for singing, Like a Prayer but then I realized something horrible.  These kids were 5-years-old in 1989.  AHHHHHH!!!!!  After one local Argentinean burned my arm with her cigarette and another spilled his drink on me, I decided if you can’t beat them join them.  Alas, the clock struck 2 am and Landra and I quickly headed for our pumpkin carriage aka taxi.  I would say it was a fairly successful evening.  There was German breakdancing, one lost wallet, one hook up, several Kodak moments, and necktie. No one remembers how I obtained said tie but my souvenir proved to be a great lasso to get my classmates moving on the dance floor.

How impressive is this?  This morning every one of us made it to class and believe it or not on time at 9 am.  I had to take a cab but don’t worry I still had time for my daily visit to Starbucks.

The other good news…I’m the only one who had a camera so there won’t be any disturbing photos showing up on the Internet.  Ash(short for Ashley from Gone with the Wind), our crazy English friend, should be worried….very, very concerned.  :)

I’ve tramped through two continents from the oceans to the mountains from the churches to the mosques and synagogues from the museums to the open-air marvels eating and drinking along the way.  I might not remember everything I’ve seen or heard but I’ve engrained visual memories in my mind.  The clouds blanketing Table Mountain in South Africa, the pristine lands of Botswana, the magic of Mt. Kilimanjaro, the richness of the land in Ethiopia, the power of nature to name a few things.  The stories of a nation torn apart by war, the quest of parents in every village, city and country to provide for their children.  The amazing people who have changed my life forever.  The one thing that stands out most for me that I continue to reflect on daily is that we are all the same. What divides us also brings us together.  It’s a powerful feeling to know my country isn’t that much different than the next but that I enjoy certain freedoms and a special way of life that many of us in the United States take for granted.

Living in Buenos Aires has been my study abroad, my cultural immersion and my dream all wrapped up in a vino tinta and slab of beef.  Each day I need to remind myself I am still only a tourist.  I cannot survive on what I consider a blessed way of life on 20 pesos a day($5).  I like Starbucks, I like the fancy gym, I like manicures and pedicures, I like eating out and more than anything I love traveling. At the beginning of this journey, I didn’t think I could survive a month let alone seven without partaking in my frivolous behavior.  These are typical things we add to our everyday life because we can.  The truth is I don’t NEED expensive haircuts, shopping extravaganzas, the Four Seasons and Starbucks.  I used to believe my life was better because I could afford a weekly pampering or because I could order the $25 bottle of wine rather than the $7.  It isn’t.  I’ve learned to live simply and to appreciate each bite of food, each sunrise and sunset and more importantly to live my days taking in the sights, sounds and smells of a beautiful world.  I am thankful my parents raised me to believe in myself; to take chances in life; and to be proud of the person I am when I look in that mirror.  I am not perfect.  I make mistakes every single day but it doesn’t matter because that is who I am that is who we all are.  I will be returning home soon enough (Patrick you better clear out that “spare” room quickly) and I will continue to have many stories to share but no one can take away my experiences of the last 7 months.

…And now let me take you back to my week in Buenos Aires…

This week was full of surprises.  I met a new friend from my Spanglish outing for dinner at a restaurant in Palermo.  He is an Israeli/Brit and recently moved to Buenos Aires for a change of pace and more business opportunities outside of the US and Europe.  Being the same age(yes there are many of us life break folks down here), we shared similar concerns and I appreciated his zest for life and his candor about my travels.  We had a great night chatting about politics, jobs, the world and of course movies.  It was nice to be out and enjoy a normal conversation.

I woke up feeling a bit under the weather but nothing unusual until 3 pm Wednesday when I started getting aches and pains.  I texted Landra and asked if she was ok (we often eat together) and she was fine.  About 2 hours later, my stomach started revolting against me and I truly believed a demon had occupied my insides.  We all know I am not good at being sick and I am even worse when I am alone in a foreign country.  I sent some emails and texts indicating I was dying to a few people and no one seemed to care except for Joyce who decided it would be a good idea to CALL my landline 2 times.  Here I am in Argentina, three rooms away from the phone, curled up in a ball with a headache and my abdominal muscles playing a fabulous game of boxing and Joyce stalking me.  When I didn’t answer, she then sent frantic emails asking if I was ok.  I WOULD BE OK IF YOU STOPPED CALLING ME AND LET ME TRY TO SLEEP.   Oh mothers!  It took 3 days to get back to normal but I am once again devouring the Argentinean food I so adore.  They call it food poisoning in the US but the Spanish translation fits much better “comida intoxica.”  On the list of things I prefer never to try again, it’s at the top.

Landra had a dinner party on Friday and her host mother helped her cook an incredible meal.  I wasn’t exactly 100 percent healthy so I was careful to eat only the rice and crackers.  Of course, I deemed the wine a necessity since it would kill off any remaining traces of bacteria in my body.  What a treat to have a real life dinner party in Buenos Aires complete with conversation in Spanish.  You know it’s a good time had by all, when the conversation heats up and the English language makes it way to the table.  When tensions rise, the native tongue always comes to the forefront.  It’s impossible to express emotions with ease in intermediate Spanish.  I guess our classmate Christian, a Swiss, felt pretty strongly about the direction in which the European Union was heading.  Do I see a future politician?  Gosh I sure hope he is smarter than that!

Saturday, my school visited the Tigre an area about 45 minutes from Buenos Aires that lies on the Parana Delta.  The town sits on an island created by several small streams that swirl around other tiny islands.  The downtown area reminded me of a German or Swiss village but when I mentioned that to my classmates the Europeans in our group all started arguing about which country.  I give up.  I’ve decided in some ways Europe is still at war.  They get along for the sake of getting along but Europe has a long history and many things are not easily forgotten.  There is written history and then there are the stories passed on from generation to generation.  Ironically, Europeans came to the Tigre/Delta to farm the rich land and stayed.  It wasn’t worth even explaining that factoid.

After walking through the town, we made our way to one of the channels where we boarded a boat and toured one of the waterways to another island.  We had a lovely lunch in the sun and then hiked along the Delta.  It wasn’t the peaceful hike I was hoping for as the sun started setting and we had to hurry back but this is how they do things in Latin America…backwards.  We dined for 3 hours and hiked for an hour.  Typical!  It was a beautiful day and I was happy to have the chance to see a new city.

The rest of the weekend I spent relaxing, shopping and watching movies.  I highly recommend seeing UP.  It’s not just for kids and beware of the tearjerker ending.  Landra and I celebrated FLAG DAY, (another stinking Argentinean holiday), seeing the flick and enjoying the popcorn con azucar.  Instead of butter, they spray some caramel coating over the kernels.  It worked for me.  Tomorrow, I begin the last two weeks of my Spanish class and I am determined to make the most of daytime studying and nighttime partying.  This weekend Landra and I met another fellow 35-year-old who quit his job and is traveling for a year.  He is a crazy Brit and he inspired us to shake it up a bit.  I mean if he can party until 6 am and still make it to 9 am class why can’t we?  I let the Irish in me take a 4-year-hiatus but watch out Buenos Aires.

Oh and if you really must know why I decided to book my flight today, let me share a short story.  At the gym yesterday, I was weighing my pros and cons about staying in Buenos Aires and then I headed to my local Starbucks.  While fumbling over some Spanish words, a fellow American stepped ahead of the line and told me not to worry about my language skills.  She had been in Buenos Aires for a year-and-half and was still struggling. Then she informed me she was 35-years-old too; that she desperately needed a place to get a good wax and manicure and that she was living with 3 roommates in order to survive.  That was my version of the nail in the coffin.  I thought it was fitting that it all went down at Starbucks.

Landra and I joined her two friends from the States at an Italian restaurant in San Telmo.  The changing neighborhood is a mix of yuppies, immigrants, lower to middle class and more recently upper class families.  There are cobble-stoned streets, cultural centers, restaurants, antique shops and the tango is commonplace.  At night, San Telmo fringes on unsafe but that’s more or less because it’s not as populated as other neighborhoods.  You get the sense you are in a Charles Dickens plot with old street lanterns and dark walkways.  When we arrived at the family-owned restaurant around 9 pm, we had no idea what to expect.  Moments later a series of events unfolded.  We were treated to a dynamic opera and accordion performance, a painter creating depictions of Rome and Venice, and traditional Italian dances performed by a family dressed in what reminded me of 1700 European dress (very Heidiesque).  As I’ve mentioned in the past, many Argentineans descended from Italian roots and it’s apparent in their clothing, music and food.  Our night of culture proved to be one of my favorite nights in Argentina.  We met the owner Martino who shared family stories with us.  (Thankfully, Landra and her friends Kat and Zack translated a bit for me. Natives speak too fast.)  After all the performances, Kat and Zack tried to bargain with the artist for one of his paintings but the negotiations led to an auction where Kat successfully picked her own number anyway.   It’s not often a traveler can say I spent the night with locals enjoying delicious homemade pasta and authentic music. 

My trip to the Estancia or ranch was quite a different story.  When I booked the trip, it took me several attempts to spell my name for the booking agent.  I tried in English and in Spanish but decided the woman had my credit card number so what did I care.  Landra and I were to meet at the Marriott at 9:30 am for pick up and transport to the Estancia.  A young woman arrived and called out two names.  A group of US college students answered and began walking with the woman who barely waited 5 seconds for anyone else to respond.  As I was rethinking the spelling of my name, it dawned on me that the name she shouted could be it so I got up and ran after her.  I asked to see the listing on her roster.  There it was in bold print for pick up at the Marriott Keory Gweoyn (2) USA.  It didn’t take much for me to put two and two together that KG and USA was probably me.  After all, this bus was the only one in the city going to the Estancia I booked.  Landra and I boarded the bus and sort of half thought shit this might not even be right place but let’s wing it anyway.  Hours later we enjoyed horses, empanadas, gauchos(real life cowboys), meat, more meat, and even more meat and then later a folkloric performance where the highlight proved to be a barely walking 2-year-old darling girl mimicking the real life performers.   

Our group sat at one long table and Landra and I were sandwiched between four American college students and a delightful Chinese-American couple, Agnes and George, who have lived in Texas for 40 years.  When I realized we weren’t going to drink our bottle of wine, I gave it to the Columbians, who traveled with us on our bus to the Estancia.  They were visiting Buenos Aires because of the World Cup qualifying match between Argentina and Columbia.  (Argentina won).  Of course, I thought nothing of my kind gesture at the time (hint, hint), since they were the only people at the table drinking.   Landra and I spent the afternoon chatting with our new friends Agnes and George about their children and travels and we shared stories of our own.  We meandered around the grounds taking photos and enjoying the beautiful fall day.  It was a relaxing break from the crowded city. 

When we boarded the bus for our return trip to Buenos Aires, the Columbians seemed a bit liquored up and already quite loud and obnoxious.  They came armed with even more bottles of wine and Landra said to me I guess we won’t be getting a nap on the way home.  Little did we know a sleepless ride was the least of our problems. 

About a mile outside of the Estancia, the bus driver pulled over and went ballistic on the Columbians telling them they could not drink and they needed to put away their wine bottles.  Keep in mind we are talking about 15-20 Columbians probably ages 35-45+.  These were not kids.  What ensued is a bit of a blur but basically we had a bus driver watching the passengers more than the road, drunk Columbians singing songs, drinking wine (despite the driver’s rants) and standing up on the bus, a 20-year-old tour director with no control and about eight Americans wishing they boarded another bus.  The very distracted driver pulled over a few times to scream and carrying on about the noise and wine and each time five or so Columbians would get off the bus to use nature’s bathroom. 

The last straw for me and for Landra occurred when the bus driver nearly crashed into a truckload of pigs.  We literally saw it happening.  Landra said ahhh.  I screamed DESPACIO(slow) and then the driver slammed on the breaks and halted the bus.  When the Columbians realized what happened, they started yelling, “peligroso,” which means dangerous and they jumped into the driver’s face.  It was a bad scene and I thought for sure I was about to witness a brawl.  Instead, the very drunk Columbians started hugging the bus driver saying, “tranquilo,” while a few slightly more sober folks tore him a part.  Tranquilo means calm and at this point Landra and I were anything but calm.  In our frantic state, we didn’t know what to say in Spanish or whether or not we should risk our lives on this bus or get off and be stuck in the middle of nowhere an hour and a half away from Buenos Aires.  Our Chinese American friends were in the front row and looked terrified.  Landra somehow bonded with one of the Columbians and told him someone needed to take control.  There were several women who accompanied their husbands/boyfriends but none of them did a thing.  We were wondering if it had something to do with Latino culture.  We even pleaded with the young tour director but she was hopeless.  The situation didn’t get any better and between the Columbians hugging and talking to the driver and the passengers acting completely unruly it proved to be a miracle we arrived home safely.  Once we landed on solid ground in Buenos Aires, Landra and I headed to a café for dessert and dulce de leche to calm our nerves.  We were both pretty fired up and in disbelief of what occurred.  It was then that Landra reminded me I gave the Columbians our bottle of wine during lunch.  Nothing like aiding and abetting but in my defense I would like to point out of the 14 or so bottles the Columbians consumed I highly doubt our bottle was the one that pushed them over the edge.

One last update…My Canadian friend returned my credit card after Landra stalked him all weekend via Facebook and text.  We even tracked him down last night after our nightmare excursion but to no avail.  Today, we happened to be at the same restaurant at the same time and my card is a go.  YEAH!!!!!  First time for everything right?

Plugging away with my private tutor and schoolwork, I decided some fun was in order.  I read about an organization called Spanglish on Facebook and decided to check it out.  The purpose is to improve language skills but I would more or less equate it to a cross between speed dating and meet up organizations.  For 5 minutes, I spoke English with my partner and then for 5 minutes we spoke Spanish.  My first partner was a crack up.  After being married for 34 years, one day she asked her husband why they were still married and he said he didn’t know.  She said, “I looked at him and thought I don’t like him I am rich I want a divorce.”  They have 3 children and 2 grandchildren and she said she talks to him more now than before and she loves her live.  She is taking an art course in NYC in September for a month and wanted to improve her English.  Another partner, a college student, told me she hated the United States but she dated a guy from Texas and decided she wanted to learn more English just in case she met another potential boyfriend.  What?  Finally, I ended up with some random chain smoking 43-year-old who told me he inherited millions 10 years ago so now he enjoys traveling.  He loves the United States and wanted to teach more American’s Spanish.  The only thing I could get out of my mouth was my parents live in Chicago, I have one brother and I’ve been traveling since November.  Clearly, their English is much better than my Spanish. 

During Spanglish, I also met a few other random guys from the States who I recruited to join me at the American sports bar for the first NBA Finals game.  I’ve never been one to shy away from men in sports bars but I was pretty impressed with my assemblage of Argentineans and Americans with the token Israeli and Canadian.  When the game ended, I decided to head home as it was late and I had school in the morning but apparently I missed quite the fireworks.  The bill had not been settled and everyone went crazy arguing over 50 pesos ($15).  Unfortunately, Landra and I had walked out with the freeloader, a 19-year-old Argentinean cutie pie who clearly played the two American men she picked up. 

It wouldn’t be a night out on the town if I didn’t lose something right?  At some point in the evening, I pulled out my driver’s license to show my new Argentinean friend out to spell my name.  No one in Argentina gets my name right so I feel compelled to spell it.  Well you know where this story is going.  My driver’s license and my credit card are buddies and when I pulled out the license, I dropped my credit card on the ground.  The minute I got home I started looking for it and realized quickly it was gone.  Keep in mind two weeks ago I left my ATM card in the machine so now I am down to one way of obtaining cash.  I sprang into action and called my credit card company to put a block on the card then I frantically called the bar until someone finally answered and said they didn’t have it.  After stalking the bar the next day to no avail, I had nearly given up when Landra texted me the Canadian had my card.  Elated and in complete disbelief at my great luck since I NEVER EVER get anything back, I am still trying to connect with this guy four days later.  Cross your fingers!!!!!