Luque-loos

Today we went to the compact colonial city of Luque, known for its Paraguayan harp music (??) and silversmiths. With its almost gaudy, colorful buildings set around the town green, and horse-drawn carriages, it was more what you’d expect (or want) to see in your ‘Lonely Planet’ travel guide ... Here we visited a shop where Marie had to inspect some work she’d dropped off, and the very animated clerk insisted on cleaning my silver pendant from Sue -- so we left it there while we strolled the streets.

Our busy day continued (having already had the biweekly flat fixed and tire changed, all for $1US) with a drive-by of the one and only jet owned by the Paraguayan Air Force; lunch at the Yacht Club in Asuncion (where we met the local soccer team)(and also checked the depth of the river, in preparation for the future arrival of DOMINO); a visit with Marilu and her family; and stop to see the Capitan; and we laughed … a lot!

Although we started making plans for Thanksgiving dinner at the casa, we received an invitation to celebrate at Marilu’s sprawling home (in a gated community in Asuncion) where they have a garden heady with jasmine and crazy with butterflies, a pool, and huge outdoor parrilla. Marilu’s son has just returned from his post in Washington, and his entire family speaks English -- a great bonus for me as my Castellano is slow in improving and I am entirely lost at Guarani … However, a smile and gestures can go a long way, so we had many great visits and more laughter. Marie has truly embraced her life here in Paraguay, and the people; with many amigos among the workers, locals and ex-pats, and I am getting to enjoy the benefits of her warm friendships.

The internet has been down for two days now, so we are going to hit the internet café in ‘town’ – I am typing this hastily and instead of writing any more, I’ll let my photos speak of the sights of Paraguay for now. Ciao!! XXOO

PS ' if you click on this photo (left) of the Asuncion YC it will bring you to my FB album of pix

@ Betsy Crowfoot

Fourth quarter blues

The year is nearly over and here I am: sitting upstairs of a casket factory, in Paraguay, watching the incoming rainstorm swiftly flood the turbid ground. My exciting adventure (my big mid-life crisis) has gone awry, and I don’t know how to get it on track – or even what that track might be.

Four days ago I arrived at the outskirts of Asuncion (the capital of Paraguay) where Marie and JP have given me the warmth of their friendship and the luxury of having a place to land and clear my head. The flat is comfortable, for sure – with great company, big bright windows, my own room (with a big cushy bed), internet, good food and drink (including unlimited coffee ;-), and the utter bliss of air conditioning.

From our upstairs perch, the verdant landscape and lazy river look peaceful, but that is just a veneer … you cannot ignore that this is South America’s poorest nation. In fact, this country is rife with corruption, pollution, poverty – and with that, crime (yet despite this, some truly delightful stimulating people I have had the pleasure of meeting). It is a dichotomy, of rich and poor; of beautiful and abundant natural resources … that are blatantly contaminated with trash, chemicals, and industrial runoff; of an ancient culture of native people … who barely subsist hand-to-mouth; where a horse-drawn carriage pulls up next to you at the stoplight and cows lumber along the sidewalk and it costs $1US to have your tire changed. Above the drone of the rain and tumble of thunder, Marie and I talk -- about how you can love and hate Paraguay all at once; for me, the bleak future of this country and the people is sorrowful.

Marie has brought me a cocktail and small dish of eggplant in garlic as a precursor to lunch, and after that, a brief siesta. For now, we watch with humor as the dogs romp through the swamp; laugh at the giant toads as they shuffle around; and contemplate the magnificent storms that roll through, obliterating the view of Asuncion in the distance. We listen to the animated songs of colorful birds; look for monkeys and pumas in the surrounding greenery; and wait for the rain to fill the river so that DOMINO can sail away …

More pix here

Norte to Paraguay

I have made another soft landing, in a small town on the outskirts of Asuncion: delighted to be at ‘Casa Dufour’ catching up with Marie and JP, admiring DOMINO, enjoying the greenery and racket of birds and frogs along the River Paraguay …

Nov 11 9PM

“Whiskey?” José asked, as he stood in the aisle with a tray of plastic cups and a fire-hydrant sized bottle of Southern Comfort. I was pretty shocked; but the trip to Paraguay is proving to be probably the best bus ride of my life; comfortable, smooth, clean; with friendly and excellent service! (perhaps excluding the dodgy 10-20 year old music videos …)

My final day in BA was spent with a long walk, lunch in Chinatown (funny, huh?) then back to Aurora’s where I crammed the last of my stuff (a few hand-washables that dried swiftly in today’s searing heat) into my Pigbag. Truly, I don’t need all five pairs of long johns and two wool sweaters in (80°) Asuncion; but I’m not keen to ditch any more gear - so my bag is the size of a pygmy hippo and thankfully Willy, Viviana’s husband, picked me up, brought me to the station, then stayed until I was securely situated on the bus in my comfy recliner seat; he having given the driver unforgettable instructions on exactly where to drop me off. For the one-millionth time: I have been so spoiled here … it is so nice to be loved!!!

Leaving Buenos Aires the land spread out and breathed a sigh of relief. Gone from the clamor of the city, the green hills stretched out: miles of verdant brush and pasture, dotted with simple homes, and livestock, along a highway so nondescript -- it could be the New Jersey Turnpike.

8:00AM – Nearly 12 hours later … the scenery is much the same. Green. Green. Green. But the pastoral landscape starts to look a bit more tropical, with palmettos, the occasional flowering tree, and clusters of what look like yellow irises, as best I can tell at the speed we zip by. There are humble casitas, and proud roosters. Cows. Dogs. Rubbermaid chairs. And mud. Lots of mud. This looks like a place where the laundry never dries.

The sky is cluttered with clouds, but not so much that you can’t feel the warmth of the sun, even through the windows. Chutes of dark rain streak down at angles. José serves breakfast: sweet coffee, and a tray of cookies and sweet crackers.

It’s so posh, I forget I’m on a bus ... until we have to stop and get off at the border, where my US passport gets a lot of attention. We wait for clearance, dodging a downpour amongst the beggars and peddlers and colorful stalls of hammocks and knick knacks. Shortly afterwards, we stop at the Mariano Roque Alonso pull-off where Marie is waiting outside, despite the light rain. I tell José the bus driver/attendant (he has shared the driving and serving duties with another man) that if he weren’t married with two children I just might fall in love and ride the buses to Paraguay for all eternity. But instead I get off, and start the next leg of my wayward journey.

Nov. 13 9AM – No wonder the internet’s not working: it’s Friday the 13^th!! While Marie makes protracted phone calls to set up yet another new modem, I fiddle with her groovy coffee-maker, trying to figure out how to make a large cup of strong coffee ;-) I’m on cup number three right about now and I think, whether I got it right or not, I’d better quit for today! Their home – an upstairs flat surveying the marsh, river, and city of Asuncion beyond, is comfortable, spacious … and has a/c.

The internet is ON! So I will wrap up fast before it craps out … Once again I’ve had a warm and loving welcome; comfortable place to stay; great conversation and humor; and the boat is REMARKABLE! Check out Domino! XXOO Love to all – Betsy

It's only hair ... !

Verging on insanity ... I decided to get my hair cut here in Buenos Aires, where I have absolutely no command of the native tongue (other than to order wine and ask for the bathroom).

Actually many fellow gringos/gringas had planted the seed, taunting me that I was going to get kidnapped by some sweaty gaucho because of my blonde hair and blue eyes ( ... and won't they be disappointed when they realize they got an old broad with no $$$!!). Dying my locks brown seemed an option - if not for the poor Espanol and towering height I could masquerade for a local; but as it was, I truly just needed a haircut.

Aurora (Viviana's mom) marched me to a salon around the corner where an impressive, sturdy woman (she looked like one of those Easter island Tikis) with straw-like ochre hair looked me up and down and up and down. 'Why did you bring her here?' she spat in Spanish. I felt like she was sizing me up to feed to her dogs. So Aurora and I left ... We went to another nearby salon where they offered to cut my hair right then and there ... but I stalled. They were all on the verge of antiquity (Shhh, Mora! Don't tell your Grandmother I said this!!!) and I just couldn't do the blue-hair-bob. I said I'd be back in the morning.

When I ventured out later (for a bottle of wine, and some awesome seafood empenadas for my trip to Paraguay) I came across a modern-looking salon with a chic young gal behind the counter. She buzzed me in and quickly we ascertained that neither she nor the proprietor Tony Ruiz spoke English, but they were game if I was.

Mariana washed my hair while I flipped through a dog-eared magazine with a mix of bizarre hairdos. 'No .... no ... no ... 'I said, pointing at styles that looked something like 'My Little Pony' meets 'Wizard of Oz' ... and then I pointed out a few I liked. Then Tony took over, and worked his magic.

The first few snips in the back were dramatic. My heart raced as I felt the hair coming off in huge clumps as he snip-snip-snipped feverishly, and I intoned my mantra: "It's only hair ... it's only hair ... " It was one of the quickest, and least expensive ($15US) cut & dries I'd had in a long time and I love it!! Okay so, I still look like the Queen of the Gringas but ... it looks good ;-) (No comments about the nose please!)

So tonight I'm in Buenos Aires, sitting on the patio of the penthouse condo in Belgrano, a nice neighborhood downtown. I have been absolutely saturated with love and attention since arriving in BA and having wonderful digs to relax in and enjoy is just part of it. Viviana's family is AWESOME and I have sworn if any of them ever need anything: money, a place to stay, a kidney - I am IN!

The world is a wonderful place: if you just let it ... XXOO Betsy

before & after


@ Betsy Crowfoot

A Sunday in Buenos Aires

12:00 - Sitting outside the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, enjoying the sunshine, jacarandas in bloom, a drum corp playing in the park nearby; trying to ignore the rush of traffic.

The appreciation of art crosses all boundaries, and I find in any city or country, you are never a 'stranger' or 'foreigner' in a museum. The MNBA is a classic, with the traditional masters (Monet, Renoir, Picasso, etc.) as well as a one full floor of Argentinian and Rioplatense art - stretching from the pre-Columbian era to modern, whimsical art. The work is eclectic: the atmosphere serene - and safe: there are guards everywhere.

amazing architecture and art at Recoleta

3:00 - At a cafe across from Cementerio de la Recoleta: the relief of a cold beer (Quilmes) which is included in my $30Peso ($7US) chicken burger special (along with salad, fries and coffee). I'm at one of the many identical bistros lining the park, with matching umbrellas, Rubbermaid chairs and tables, snappy waiters in white dress shirts and black slacks; and flocks of pigeons. An accordion plays "La Cucaracha". Cars honk.

The cemetery is magnificent. A full city block of masoleums, statuary, marble, brick ... here famous (and not so famous) Argentinians rest eternal in a style most people fail to enjoy during their mortal lives. Some memorials are impeccably kept: silver polished, flowers fresh; others are stuffed with caskets willy-nilly, and strewn with cobwebs. Eva Peron (Evita) Duarte's modest tomb is perenially clustered with tourists; and shaggy stray cats slink in and out of the shadows.

crowds cluster right before closing time, at the tomb of Evita

@ Betsy Crowfoot

"We were looking for a nose"

Aside from bearing a red carnation, I didn't know how to identify myself to Viviana and Willy, the strangers who would be picking me up in Buenos Aires. So I emailed this photo of me (right) and looked forward to my 2AM arrival on the flight from El Calafate ...

Now that we are friends Viviana has confessed: my nose in this photo looks huge ... GIGANTIC ... like Jimmy Durante's ... and in the wee hours of the morning, while my plane debarked, she says, "We were looking for a nose."

TWINS - SEPARATED AT BIRTH

She said a few blondes walked by ... this one had a button nose - no. This one had a husband - no. Finally I arrived, studying the crowd, and we hooked up; but it has been a source of laughter ever since. Yesterday we cracked up over my photo for my Paraguayan visa: how did my nose look? And today, I got to ride shotgun to the parilla on the Rio de la Plata, because - of course - I needed more room for my nose!



L-R: MORA, VIVIANA, JUAN












@ Betsy Crowfoot

The Kindness of Strangers

Yesterday morning I watched the snow flurry in big fat flakes that tumbled down on the streets of Ushuaia … today I awoke to birds twittering cheerfully in the balmy morning air of Buenos Aires.

How I would have loved to arrive in this cosmopolitan city looking chic and alluring (or at least clean) instead of in the jeans I bought four weeks ago, which hadn’t yet been washed, along with the layers of well-worn thermals and woolens. I am looking a bit savage these days, with broken nails, soiled clothes, work boots, sparse makeup, and my hair wildly unkempt. UGH!

Nov. 5 - I have been living on a moored boat in the scenic anchorage fronting Ushuaia, where I enjoy a spectacular view but also a very splashy RIB ride between the yacht and the dock. Hence my standard attire (two pairs of socks, long johns, jeans, three or four shirts, vest, hat, gloves) is complimented by my red foulie jacket, to ward off the icy spray. Whenever we go to a café or parrilla, I have to find a spot in the corner to strip down to a maneuverable number of layers; then pile them all back on before we head back out.

Besides being most generously free, my accommodations aboard the 37' sailboat are sturdy and humble: sort of ‘floating bachelor pad’ meets ‘automotive shop’ with a dab of ‘grocery store’ thrown in (as the captain is provisioning for his trip to Yendegaia). I’ve been sleeping in the v-berth on a very firm but comfy cushion where I can stretch out beneath an old sleeping bag he unearthed, which I believe belonged to his dog Jack (deceased three years ago) based on the aroma.

The boat has the most awesome heater – in the head (and I can only spend so much time there!) However the shower isn’t set up in the tiny bathroom, but instead in the small ‘pilothouse’ in between the companionway / galley and the cockpit / outside. I have yet to endeavor standing in my birthday suit in this frigid cuddy while providing a full view of my increasing pallor to 1) any occupants of the boat and 2) the entire population of Ushuaia …

Nov. 6 - Despite the hour (2AM), my appearance, and my personal ‘bouquet’ Viviana and Willy greet me warmly at the regional airport and bring me to their home in the north of Buenos Aires. I am once again overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness of strangers … Viviana and her family became friends’ of Holly’s over 40 years ago, in Seal Beach, and fortunately for me these ties have remained strong. They are the most delightful family, with a daughter Mora (23) and son Juan (18) both in college, and three dogs – including a two month old Rottweiler puppy! This has truly been a soft landing: to stay with such a bright, interesting and loving family ;-) If nothing else, this journey has reinforced my priorities: a reminder that appreciating what you already have is just as important as discovering and falling in love with something new.

Much love to you all!

PHOTOS: downtown Ushuaia; local YC and anchorage

GOOD THINGS ABOUT LIFE IN PIRIAPOLIS

1.

2.

3.

4.

To be continued …

(Just kidding)

I think if you’re going to ‘hit the reset button*’ in life, then the best way to do it is to really go for it. Ctrl-Alt-Delete. Erase the parameters: the culture, the comforts, status, familiarity … and just get on with it. So Piriapolis has been a good starting (over) point, for many aforementioned reasons. But (having been chided for whining too much) I decided today to list the many Good Things about Life in Piriapolis:

I’m with two wonderful companions, Stephen and Audrey, who are hard-working, excellent cooks and have good sense of humor!

And the wine is cheap.

I have a place to live and don’t have to pay rent.

Ample hot water.

Two duvets.

Another good thing about the Casa: there are no large insects, lizards or geckos, frogs splashing in the toilet, mice, or marauding monkeys -- as in some places I’ve been known to go.

I don’t have a car so I don’t have to worry about the price of gas. Or DUI.

And I never need to fuss about what to wear. Fleece, fleece, more fleece … and I’m ready to go!

The internet is free and I continue to lap up warm messages from friends and family all around the world.

Lots of exercise and no monthly fees!

The opportunity to try strange new vegetables and menu items … and play games like ‘guess the meat’ …

Beautiful scenery, with the greens of springtime and the Atlantic Ocean in the distance.

Really good books.

Awesome laptop and gadgets.

Exciting future plans.

The gorgeous yacht XPLORE:

[For the past two days we’ve had a fantastic storm: the wind howling through the tree tops; shrieking through the rigging. Rain blowing sideways. The muddy waters of the Rio de la Plata splashing up over the stone wall of the embarcadero. By law we cannot sleep on the boat on the hard, so we trek to La Casa Muy Frio for the night; but have been holed up on XPLORE during the days. The boat shudders with the gusts but is incredibly comfortable, warm and dry. We have a fully stocked galley (and library), snuggly bunks, heaps of duvets; electricity to power the stereo, lights and computers; water, wine, real coffee … she’s cozy and solid and even in her ‘undressed’ state (not yet repainted) she’s by far the most beautiful and powerful yacht in Puerto Piriapolis … and I take more than a small amount of pride in being onboard as part of her crew. ]

I have a LOT (alot alot) more to be thankful for on the whole, but this today is what’s good about life in Piriapolis, Uruguay. ~ Betsy

Sept. 19, 2009

(*I do need to point out that I’m not, like, on-the-lam or anything, I’ve embarked on this journey not because I have to, but because I can. But more on that later.)

THE FREEZING POINT OF MASCARA

Before I left California I stopped at the drugstore for some last minute necessities. ‘Like mascara, razors, and Bonine – for seasickness; although taking Bonine in the Southern Ocean is akin to fighting a forest fire with a squirt gun. ‘Full of Jello.

I dawdled over the selection of mascaras. So many kinds, colors, brands …  Did I want ‘fuller’ lashes, ‘thicker’ lashes,  or ‘longer’ lashes? ‘Clump free?’ And as I wandered a whole wall of cosmetics, the question that seemed to arise – much less than ‘Who needs mascara in Antarctica?’ – was instead, ‘What IS the freezing point of mascara?’

I entertained the thought of calling my blog “The Freezing Point of Mascara” … either that, or ‘The Freezing Point of Dish Detergent” (do you know that dishwashing soap congeals at low temperatures??) but both are ever-so-unglamorous and sexist at that, so I stick to the Upside Down Summer.