Caribbean Dispatch

OK – I’ll be brief when I complain that I had to settle for a western Caribbean cruise. A Mediterranean cruise (and the prices were low after that horrible Italian disaster) required too much air fare for each family member and Jake’s girlfriend, Larissa. An Alaskan cruise sounded gorgeous and maybe not so predictable, as cruises go, but Elise only had six vacation days with her new full employment and was not about to spend them “in a cold place with loads of old people.” I wondered if cruises to Cuba existed, knowing how Americans can get away with no passport stamping there and traveling with three Brazilian citizens. All the cruise lines that had attempted Cuba were no longer dealing with Cuba, and the kids would have none of Mom’s educational, historical, cultural enrichment approach. And why a cruise, anyway? Well, our kids pay their own way; we are all together, yet able to do many different things; sunning is involved; the lodging and food are included; and I’m the only one who objects. “First world problems,” as my kids would say! So Port Canaveral, Florida on the Royal Caribbean line it was.

To mitigate the tourist atmosphere of Orlando the day before the cruise, we all headed for the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral. While a bit sterile, it is full of interesting installations and artifacts, including a piece of moon rock one can stroke. I thought the highlight was the live talk by astronaut Wendy Lawrence, a four-trip specialist to the Space Station. We did not go to the separate area with an astronaut museum and simulated astronaut training, but I’m guessing that going through astronaut training (or watching others go through it!) would spice up the day aplenty.

Elise and I were suckers for this photo mock-up of Newton!

 

 

We all surrendered completely to touristy Orlando that night, attending a dinner/comedy show at Wonder Works – an annoying design feat of a building which appears to be upside-down. The show featured the most hilarious comedian and talented magician imaginable: one man named Tony Brent. We also managed a truly lovely Mother’s Day brunch the next day ahead of cruise embarkation. Thanks, m’loves.

I’ll just let the photos of the cruise speak for themselves. Chances are many of you are not overly sensitive to your surroundings as I am and would not suffer from this design work as I did!

Yikes.

 

 

 

On our first day at sea Jake was diagnosed with mononucleosis. He arrived with a very sore throat and swollen lymph nodes in his neck, for which a Las Vegas doctor had given him antibiotics. This was his second dose of antibiotics in a month after having jumped barefoot inadvertently on a piece of plastic in Thailand, developing quite an infection in his heel. He received excellent, inexpensive care in Thailand, but was clearly depleted from all the antibiotics and now feverish, nauseous, and turning a bit yellow. The ship’s impressive Columbian doctor initially suspected hepatitis and explained ‘quarantined in the stateroom’ and ‘leaving the ship in Jamaica’ to us while we all awaited the results of the blood test, which took only an hour. It turns out that mono was the good news: “You can stay on the ship, just don’t kiss anyone!” Since mono is a virus, the doctor suspended the antibiotics immediately and ordered plenty of rest and non-alcoholic liquids. Jake managed the two shore excursions that required the least walking from the ship to a chaise lounge. He had a few days of miserable fever, but managed most dinners in the dining room, a couple of cruise trivia games, miniature golf, family card games and $500 in winnings at the blackjack table with the less-vigilant-than-Vegas dealer. We admire his fortitude while in great pain and his willingness to hang out with us when possible.

Elise and Larissa, who are great friends, entertained each other most days and nights while Jake rested:

In the meantime, Newton and I enjoyed a nice jazz spot on the top floor, he played a few losing rounds of Texas Hold ‘Em (Jake: “I can never get Dad to learn the basics”), and I unsuccessfully tried my skills at the “Finish the Lyric” contest, where in lieu of the Cole Porter and show tunes I expected were ‘80’s pop songs for which I knew only the title line. The whole family made a decent showing at the Michael Jackson music I.D. contest, thanks to Elise and Larissa.

Our four shore excursions were:

Labadee is a beautiful Haitian island leased by the Royal Caribbean line. They have organized a surprisingly lovely beach area on a peninsula of the island.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Falmouth, Jamaica, is an overlooked colonial town that Royal Caribbean is converting into another port of their own. This time, the new square they’ve built is lackluster, consisting of all the usual duty-free suspects. Some restoration has begun in the old town, though Newton and I appeared to be the only passengers from the cruise to explore it.

Our ship looked like a surreal, photo-shopped monster while in port:

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Grand Cayman is another underwhelming port, but with a gorgeous reef for snorkeling. Luckily Newton talked me into going under for a few seconds at a time (since I panic if that thing is over my nose for very long) because the other-worldly scene that greeted me was something one does not forget.

Cozumel, Mexico, made a good stop for us. Larissa found a very nice deal online ahead of the cruise where a 9 kilometer taxi ride landed us at a lovely beach resort, Mr. Sanchos, complete with food, drinks, snorkeling and kayaking.

I loved the time with my adorable family, and fun was had indeed, despite my pickiness and Jake’s misery. Speaking of which, when we returned to Port Canaveral Jake’s throat had swelled beyond the ability to swallow food or liquid, so he was feeling worse than ever. (I know, perhaps because he didn’t JUST rest?…and we were all accessories to that crime.) Newton had jumped off the ship posthaste to catch his flight to China for business. I picked up a rental car for the next leg of my trip and we took Jake to an emergency room in Orlando. He managed a meal and liquids after intravenous cortisone for the swelling, around ten different people attending him, and several hours waiting for the results of an unnecessary blood test. Yet another new face had triumphantly announced that he had Mono. Duh. Once home, he went to another emergency room in Las Vegas, and three days later was admitted to a hospital for a night with worsening dehydration. The throat eventually managed to swallow again. Thank goodness he is finally on the mend with much caretaking by Larissa!

And what was my rental car for? A ROAD TRIP with my sister Donna to Savannah, Charleston and Ashville!!

 

Love,

Sandy

Buenos Aires Dispatch

I think my favorite feature about Buenos Aires is that all over the city on any given night are a number of locations - clubs, boites, community centers – that teach the tango to the city’s citizens (and ambitious tourists.). This dance, which originated in the slums of Buenos Aires in the late 19^th century along with the inimitable tango music, combined rhythms from Africa, Spain and Cuba with the music of a vast population of immigrants from Europe. By the 1920’s, not only had it become chic in Buenos Aires and across the La Plata River in Montevideo, but in Paris, as well. Serious musicians formed tango orchestras, and the endless variety of tango steps and flourishes sprang forth. Tango’s popularity had ups and downs amidst right-wing dictatorships, the military junta and even the arrival of rock and roll. It looks like it is here to stay, which makes this dance-lover as ecstatic as the fierce, elegant, seductive dance itself. Yes, we spent an evening at a club with a group lesson going on. I was able to supplement my one all-day tango lesson ten years ago in New York with a couple of new steps and a renewed sense of the spirit of the tango (which borrows some of its flame from flamenco – my theory).

I also love the emphasis on design in Buenos Aires. From several museums dedicated to design to the incredible ubiquitous store design to shops dedicated to excellent local designers of clothing, jewelry and all sorts of wares, one feels the intentionality of beauty in the city. Not to mention that a significant portion of Buenos Aires looks like Beaux Arts Paris. As Newton’s cousin from São Paulo commented on our photo here, Buenos Aires “is our Paris.”

One must then extrapolate third world realities and reconcile the battered sidewalks…speaking of which, they have no pooper scooper laws; the famous baroque bureaucracy; a malfunctioning post office; and the fact that poor squatters from elsewhere can shut down an entire truck-lined highway in one direction on a Saturday to emphasize the need for a school bus in their recently-erected neighborhood. In this case the logjam was not caused by a typical truckers’ strike.

But I’ll get back to the beauty, as we were re-impressed (we’d both been here before years ago) by the acres and acres of gorgeous open green spaces that we passed just getting from the airport to our old friends’ Joe and Guadalupe’s apartment in the Recoleta neighborhood. The boulevards are so wide that one needs two cycles of ‘walk’ signals to get across, but there’s something akin to yet another park down the center! There are loads of these outstretched trees everywhere.

We had a thrilling evening with our friends at the restored-to-grandeur Teatro Colón, where the Orquesta Filarmónica played early 20^th century atonal Shostakovich and Richard Strauss (not Johann) to such perfection that it might as well have been tonal, it was so disarming.

After the concert, we loved the hip décor, hustling young handsome waiters, diverse crowd and excellent pizza at Piola (Libertad 1078).

I never stopped looking for Cary Grant when Joe and Guadalupe’s elevator descended to the ground floor despite my lack of resemblance to Audrey Hepburn! They have such a lovely apartment.

Joe and Guadalupe lived in Manhattan for many years. Now they divide their time between Buenos Aires and Cleveland, Ohio. They frequent the Jockey Club when they’re in town, and we had a fun, if not profitable, Saturday with them there.

                          

We loved the famous old Recoleta cemetery, and when Joe and Guadalupe had to prepare for their return to Cleveland, we got a hotel room in a cozy niche across the street.

We had a morning at the serene Jardín Japonés, a gift from Japan and one of countless gardens in the city.

The new Puerto Madero neighborhood has old docklands converted into modern high-rises, great restaurants and an active promenade.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We adored the San Telmo neighborhood Sunday market and spent the day on the square and along the avenues lined with venders, replacing our stolen leather wallets, securing a Cuban cigar for a friend, finding two small antique snifters, and loving an exquisite rendition of street tango music delivered on a small keyboard and an accordion. Because the Brazilian ‘real’ currency is strong there are many Brazilian tourists in the city, so the tango segued into Brazilian samba with a large imported rhythm section. Some years Brazil gets the Argentine tourists! Newton decided to use English with our hotel desk clerk after she appeared less-than-amused by the Brazilians there; the rivalry is old and involves soccer, economies, arrogance, etc.. Where wine is concerned, I say Argentina wins. We had such great inexpensive wines, unaccustomed as we are. The food is also wonderful, and what fun to go out for a week and spend so little.

But we must recommend the best place of all…not so inexpensive, but with the most creative chef and chic design: Tegui in the Hollywood section of Palermo (5852 Costa Rica).

We were there at night with romantic lighting, but I found this wide black and white stripe wall to the right, opposite the lush garden on the left, one of the most stunning restaurants I’ve ever experienced.

There are so many good choices in the city, including bars and restaurants in old mansions and palaces.

Newton was always happy anywhere he had Argentine beef and ‘papas fritas:’

Needless to say, our suitcases clanked with wine bottles when we caught our flights home. We’re still enjoying it, along with more tango music on the iPod at which cue I leap up and assume a strong-but-slivery stance and pretend as I saunter that my flip-flops are stilettos.

Love,

Sandy