micheleandtom.com

I have learned something new on our little foray to Vegas — Cirque du Soleil acrobats and dancers are really sexy until you put them in a burlesque show with costumes that feature cut outs for women’s breasts. Then, we just found ourselves distracted by tiny boobs and didn’t really get the context of the acrobatic routines.

For the ladies out there, the show sports lots of hunky men with padded packages, often with a zipper running over the crotch of their outfits. Sadly, feeling like we were watching a Thunder from Down Under show really subtracted from the traditional Cirque experience as well.

The show’s saving graces were the comedians, who were very funny, and the male contortionist, who grossed out the crowd, much to everyone’s delight. If you’re going to see this spectacle, and you don’t enjoy being the center of attention, avoid the first few rows in the front of the theater! Poor Tom, this was a lesson he learned the hard way, as we were interviewed (which means put on the spot) by the transvestite mistress of ceremonies and the opening act comedian (who gave us the autographed post card you see above).

All in all, the sexy Cirque show — not so erotic. Our favorite is still Ka, which is a must see if you are ever in Sin City.

“What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas.” You can’t escape that tag line. So rather than fight ’em, we decided to join ’em and are now losing money in this neon lit inferno of a city! (Don’t worry, we didn’t bring the kids, we left them at home with my awesome parents — thanks for watching them Mom and Dad.)

We are staying at the Encore, which is the smaller cloned version of the Wynn hotel. (They were offering a very nice deal on a suite with some resort credit you could use on food or spa treatments.)

The room is kind of a trip…in a good way. Pictured below is but one of the many mothballed construction projects we can view from our 53rd floor windows to the north on Las Vegas Boulevard. I also love our rotating television, which is shown below as well. When sitting on the bed, the TV is framed by the backdrop of the city, and you can swing that flat screen around 180 degrees so that when you are in the living room/office, you can watch the TV as well.

The suite also comes with a TV in the bathroom, separate shower and bath, A/C that works in 109 degree weather, a roomy safe, the crazy expensive sensored mini bar that charges you if you remove anything for 60 seconds, and teeny tiny bathrobes. (I think they all must be modeled on Steve Wynn himself, who is not strapping, by any means.) Misc. thoughts on the Encore: fabulous service, they make you pay for wireless Internet access, the casino has natural light (very disorienting), the casino doesn’t smell like an ashtray, the casino is totally dead (may be why it isn’t smokey), the hotel charges extra if you want to use the gym, and their room service is awesome.

On the latter, we ordered the following, with a straight face, on our first night: grilled asparagus, pork pot stickers, chicken satay, a greek salad with chicken, and two root beer floats! Everything was quite good — pictured below.

As I’ve tweeted a zillion times, which, yes, is a reflection of my excitement, I upgraded my flight home using miles because of my back and rib injuries. I mention this, not because of the aforementioned delight, but because the lounges for zee upper class passengers in Buenos Aires and Atlanta were the first places that I experienced a real cultural shift.

At the EZE airport, the upper class waiting area featured a ton of families, complete with kids running around, TVs blaring soccer…frankly, it was a bit raucous. (One American woman stomped out in a snit because it wasn’t to her liking.) What is interesting though, is that the prevailing attitude of the Porteños waiting for their flights was one of cultivated leisure. In Atlanta, on the other hand, the inhabitants were nearly all businessmen, with very few families, and most were trying to pose with a sense of importance and imperative.

Which made me realize, in Argentina, one really doesn’t witness people rushing about with an urgent awareness that they have to be somewhere.

More culture shock came upon emerging from immigration/security and the bowels of the airport tram in Atlanta. Where did the escalator deposit me? Straight into a food court, complete with the requisite long line of people at Dunkin Donuts for their morning coffee.

Nothing says “Back in America Baby” like a good old fashioned food court stuffed with fat Americans.

My flight was processed through security and immigration concurrently with a planeload of colorfully garbed families from India. While trying to make my way through the police-state measures now instituted to gain entry into my insane country, I found myself in the midst of a sea of Indian women with permanently affixed metal bracelets and rings attempting to pass through the metal detectors together with their cute smiling Indian babies crawling underfoot through secure TSA areas as authorities screamed “PICK UP THE BABY, PICK UP THE BABY.” All was chaos about me, but I had a wonderful tranquil feeling of relief that I wasn’t the one in a foreign land causing the hold up because I was screwing up unknown bureaucratic procedures.

When I arrived in Portland, I was greeted by mom-made Rice Krispy Treats (I’m so spoiled) and had a huge bowl of cherries waiting for me as well (which my intestinal system is not too happy about this morning as I over-indulged, which I am wont to do with cherries). Anyhow, as I went to toss out a few cherry stems and pits yesterday, I had to stifle a gasp when I opened the cabinet under the sink.

“My God, that kitchen garbage can is huge!” I wanted to say. But I tamped it down because I had some sense of awareness that the statement would be weird. It’s the little things, I guess — like paper towels that are huge and don’t fall apart when introduced to liquid — that make me realize I’m not in Kansas anymore. (Wizard of Oz reference for you non-Americans.)

Well, the little things and the fact that everyone in this city wants to eat at 6:30 pm too! (I went out with a friend (Thanks Steve!) on my first night home and the establishment in question had a waiting list for the evening meal at merienda (tea time)…talk about weird!

I’m used to being the only person among tens of millions that wants to eat dinner at 6:30 pm.

I love Argentina.

Where else would you find a guy from Long Island named Fred, who has gone to the trouble of importing a Lincoln Town Car into the country (when we all know that bringing anything into Argentina is never easy), all with the express intention of becoming the best native English speaking driver for hire in BA?

I used Fred’s services to get to the airport today and can recommend him highly. He was 15 minutes early (something to remark upon in Buenos Aires), he had drinks in a small cooler (water and a soda), the car was wonderful, and I didn’t feel that I was participating in a Grand Prix while trying to get out of the country! Also, if you are traveling with a big family, everyone fits. He even called Tom after we arrived to let him know I got here okay.

His Web site features a nifty online interface for reserving his services.

Quick BA Airport Notes For people flying out of Buenos Aires this winter, know that the airport is really hot because they overheat everything in the winter here. Wear layers so you can strip down! It took 21 minutes and 37 seconds to get through security and immigration for a night flight (8:30 pm scheduled departure) on a Sunday.

I depart on a long trip to The North tomorrow. What last minute rituals am I completing?

Well, first I had to watch a video of casting on for my next scarf knitting project, which you can see pictured here. (I don’t knit often enough to remember how to cast on, how lame is that!) Everyone cross your fingers that they don’t abscond with my lovely wooden knitting needles at security. (I’ve traveled successfully with them thus far, but one never knows.)

Next, I had to download some trash novels to my Kindle to temper my Infinite Jest reading, which is taxing, to say the least.

Then, there was the joy of finishing two presentations for the Mayor’s Institute on City Design in the midst of a complete break down of the ever-sucky Windows operating system, which was running on a virtual machine on my Mac, and resulted in my being unable to print, and limped along when I was working with PowerPoint…well, let’s just say that was a nightmare.

Arranged transportation to airport. Check. Trying out Fred at Silver Star Car! Will report my findings after what I hope is a smooth ride.

The travel socks, crap, I can’t forget the travel socks! I am going all old lady and will be bringing a pair of cotton compression socks with me for the flight that are supposed to improve circulation and therefore comfort on long hauls. (Tom and I both bought a pair and will report back as well!)

My God, between the knitting and the socks, I’ll have to order some hot water with lemon and I’ll be set — granny all the way.

And now, they are saying my flight is going to be leaving 2 hours late, but I still have to get to the airport at the original time, even though they changed my connection in Atlanta to reflect the later departure. *BIG SIGH*

I feel weird leaving before Tom and the girls — I am going to miss them! (I’m going back a few days early for the conference.)

There are a few documents that we wish we had brought with us when we came to Argentina last year.

The first item we should have carried with us was an original long-form birth certificate for each daughter. (A long-form is the one that shows the names, ages, and birthplaces of the parents.)

The second documentary task that we should have completed prior to leaving the Estados Unidos was getting a notarized letter authorizing each other as parents to travel alone with either kid as well as make make medical decisions solo, if needed.

Technically, Argentina requires citizens of all countries who are traveling alone with their children to be accompanied by a letter such as the one I describe above. From what I hear, it’s not enforced very stringently with foreigners, especially if the kids are 7 and older, but you never know when that may change.

As we learned today, it’s a good idea to avoid having to go to the US embassy in Buenos Aires for notary services, if you can. They confiscated our phones, my knitting (wooden needles) and our Kindles before allowing us in the waiting room — bereft of entertainment, it was a bit mind numbing.

Today we strode through the Recoleta Cemetery and visited the resting place of nearly everyone for whom our neighborhood streets are named: Dorrego, LM Campos, Gorostiaga…it was a photographers dream and a feral cat lovers paradise. (The feline population was a huge draw for the Zs and their pal Emilie, although the maze-like walkways wending through the tombs were popular as well.)

Tom was a bit piqued that we didn’t locate Evita’s burial site (what I like to call results-oriented tourism), but we managed to wander and enjoy regardless! (If you have time, click on the pix to see the beautiful details from the tombs.)

Being the incredibly together and organized people that we are, this last weekend we realized that our 90 day visa allowing us to chill in Buenos Aires was expiring, well, as of today!

We had two options: renew or extend said visa. To extend the visa, we would have had to dance attendance upon the Argentine immigration office, and after a few hours in a few lines, we would have had our visa extended without actually setting foot outside of the country. Ultimately though, we ruled out this option because of long line rumors, the possibility we might need a birth certificate for the girls, and, mostly, because the thought of standing in various lines at a government agency with two squirrelly and highly irritating children was more than we could bear.

Cue lovely, crisp fall day perfect for a ferry ride to Colonia, Uruguay on a rocking family HOMESCHOOL FIELD TRIP! Funnily enough, it turned out to have some educational value, as the heyday of Barrio Histórico in Colonia is the same period of South American history we are currently studying at home.

There is nothing that a Buenos Aires cabbie hates worse than a passenger slamming their door while entering or exiting the vehicle. (I’m serious, they get super pissed.) Tom feels horrible when he inadvertently closes his door with hulk-like strength. And then, he gets to feel doubly bad when he can’t sufficiently apologize in Spanish!!

We’ve noticed that cab drivers seem to associate door slamming with Americans. We’ll often be on the receiving end of “Don’t slam the door,” from the taxista, followed by the question, “Are you from America?”

These types of conversations have led us to the realization that, OMG, we are gouache American passengers. Tom and I try not to be gouache American anything, so we are diligently working on implementing a kinder, gentler door close. (Perhaps this is a good reason to skip workouts!?!) I try to explain to our yellow-car conductors that we have kids and owned a minivan back in the States with very heavy doors…blah blah blah. Unfortunately, this explanation seems to lead them to believe that I’m really a wordy gouache American, so I’ve quit!

Anyway, all of this leads me to wonder, does every nationality have its own door closing technique? Can cab drivers roughly tell where your from by how you handle taxi etiquette?

1. Make sure all ropa blanca is included — towels, blankets, sheets, pillowcases. Sounds funny, but after our Punta del Diablo experience, we learned to scan for towels and check for sheets immediately upon entering a room or a cabin.
2. Breakfast Monotony. Prepare yourself for the fact that hotel or cabin-included breakfast will be exactly the same everywhere you go in the country. I am not exaggerating. Of course, I love the medialunas (little sweetened croissants), rolls, jam, butter, coffee, and fresh orange juice. What wore me down after awhile was the same slimy tasteless piece of Oscar Meyer-like deli ham, folded in half, next to the same slice of tasteless white cheese, folded in half. (Fresh fruit salad does appear occasionally, but know that you are hitting the jackpot if you get some!)
3. Travel with cash. Many places don’t take credit cards and ATMs aren’t always available. (Poor Tom had a money belt with about a zillion Argentine pesos in it by the end of our trip because we had to hoard cash to pay for our apartment up front when we returned to Buenos Aires. It was quite a brick to pack around in a money belt. Needless to say, he got really tired of me saying, “is that your money belt, or are you just happy to see me?”)
4. Barking in Bariloche. The dogs in Bariloche are spoiled outdoor dogs that bark at everything all day and all night long. If you read an online review of a cabin/house/hotel that mentions dogs barking, heed their advice and stay somewhere else, because when we were there, it sounded like we had six rabid dogs chained in our bedroom every night.
5. Travelers checks, if you need to cash ’em, hop over to Chile. Travelers checks are about as valuable as toilet paper in Argentina, but you can really rock them in Chile.
6. When in southern Patagonia, fly if you can afford it. The bus rides are long, slow, and in our case, either really really hot (traveling sweat lodge) or smelled like we had our head stuck down an outhouse for the entire ride. Many of the roads are not paved, and traveling over gravel for long periods of time on a bus can make even the most iron stomach get a little queasy.
7. Control thy thermostat. You may want to note who controls the heat in the hotel/cabin you are renting if you are traveling to the colder climes of the south. (Ironically, our issue was that the rooms were sweltering!)
8. Internet/WiFi reliability in the more remote parts of southern Argentina really fluctuates during prime time. Our experience was that access practically disappeared from late afternoon until late evening every day, so plan accordingly. Also, some locales only have satellite connectivity, so you don’t have the juice to Skype, stream, or move large files.
9. Bring toilet paper and alcohol gel on long bus trips. (Click here for our other bus tips.)