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

Carnaval & Robbery Dispatch

So, I’ll begin with Carnaval, which arrived on the heels of our travels, because that happened first. The sights and sounds of neighbors returning to their beach houses descended upon us, as always. The traffic on our highway, Rota do Sol (‘route of the sun’ to the beaches south of Natal) increased exponentially during these 5-6 days. Various bearable and unbearable versions of music ensued, ranging from simultaneous background murmurs to the office vibrating with too-heavy woofers from across the street.

We joined friends in the square in Ponta Negra where an annual parade with giant puppets originates. I dug out my Carnaval wig!

Several of our friends have houses in the northern beach town of São Michel do Gostoso, and others were renting places for the weekend. We accepted the kind invitation from Hian and Ana Paula to stay over in their rental for a couple of days. The town was alive with parading. We were very happy just marching (dancing) along and stopping to take it all in while gabbing with our buddies.

 

 

Monday of Carnaval was spent at a lovely Gostoso beach with some gentle waves, sun, a little hike for a vista, great company and grilled fish. We left in time to drive the two hours home before dark, EXCEPT… that one wrong turn. Our altered route took us through every little town and Podunk Junction where ‘Drag’ parade day was happening. We were stuck in traffic for 3 hours following ‘blocos’ of hairy beauties dancing behind trucks with speakers. It was much better than getting stuck in plain ol’ traffic.

 

 

Upon the hour we had initially planned to arrive home, we reached the raft that carries the car across a river if one has missed the road to the new bridge. As the always-sudden darkness fell, we joined the crisscrossing raft parade. Carnaval turned out just fine.

Blasting music concerts near the point between our beach and the next characterized the last two nights of Carnaval. The sound was carried across the water to our bedroom till 4:00am. Festive!

And then the evening of Ash Wednesday descended and the beach and beach houses were abandoned, the music gone, the traffic non-existent, and all became oddly dark and quiet as it does every year.

That Friday we went to a nearby pizza and crepe restaurant run by a guy from Uruguay – really one of the few places nearby to eat at night.

While we sat with a beer awaiting our food, a guy who looked like he was dressed up like an Arab – a cloth tied all around his head and across his face - appeared and approached the couple at the table in front of us with a gun at the end of his outstretched arm. At first we both thought it was a joke, having just seen so many Carnaval costumes. Immediately two others emerged from the bushes and plants surrounding the open restaurant and headed towards the only other two tables with customers. I commented, “Oh, this is a robbery,” and Newton said, “Yes, stay calm.” The owner was just heading out of the kitchen when all of this happened. A masked guy came right over to us and had us follow the others into the kitchen, out of sight from the deserted Rota do Sol that runs in front of the restaurant. I had picked up my purse from the chair, which the robber immediately took from my shoulder along with Newton’s wallet from his back pocket. Of course, the shock prevented much reaction other than just cooperating and hoping no one would get hurt.

I cannot do justice to what only later had the horror/comedy impact of the next moments: feisty Newton decided he might rescue his BRAND NEW iPhone from the US by tucking it into his underwear. A robber noticed and started going for it from the outside of the jeans while the robber who had been behind us placed his gun on Newton’s neck. The phone was rather gingerly worked all the way down Newt’s pants leg and out. I was greatly relieved that the operation to extract it was done without roughness.

All of us were crouching or lying on the kitchen floor, and Newt now joined us (I was under a table next to him and the owner was just beyond the table). The other two couples were a Potiguar native couple who looked a little too poor to be there, even though the restaurant is simple. It turned out that the kid worked there and was able to have a ‘date’ with his girlfriend. Damn. The other couple lives down the block near the restaurant.

It is hard to recall all the minutes that passed with low, gruff orders and such, but when the robbers came to collect watches and…OK – this is emotional - my diamond ring and both our wedding bands, I still recall being rather numb and just hoping their somewhat gentle manner would not change. The owner got pulled to his feet to go back out to the cash register. When they brought him back, they asked about more money in his living quarters. He said there was none, only his family there. His wife and two daughters, 6 and 8, then appeared in the door and joined us crouching on the floor. I felt very sorry for them all going through this, as the generally low-key robbers were the most verbally threatening to the owner while in front of his family.

Because the robbers had also collected car keys from pockets, the owner and we expected them to drive off in our cars. We all stayed on the floor waiting to hear the sound of engines after the robbers left the kitchen. Feisty Newt whispered to me under the table, “I’m gonna get those fuckers with my phone tracker!” After some time, there was no sound and someone got up to confirm they were gone. Our car keys had been left on a table. (Whew.) Cars probably make it much easier to get caught, or possibly the robbers don’t know how to drive.

We hightailed it home so Newton could play the young sleuth on the computer with his iPhone tracking feature. It took quite some time to reach any police, but once we did (through our security company), Newton was in contact with them, following the route of the iPhone signal. As a result, the police actually found some guy in a solitary house in nearby Pium Valley. He had escaped from prison nine days before and had a stash of cell phones, but he turned out not to be one of the three at the restaurant. We were all summoned to the local police post to I.D. the guy from the safe anonymity of a tinted-window car. None of us thought he had been at the scene and none of the cell phones matched, though our robber was clearly an acquaintance of his. The phone signal had moved away from the house when the police had raided and then gone into the woods behind a small settlement of houses. Newton continued talking back and forth to the police, who were reluctant to confront an armed man in the woods in the dark. They finally came over to see the satellite image of the signal’s whereabouts, then went out trolling again. Newton wanted so badly to both help the police catch the guy AND get his cell phone back. He spent the rest of the night tracking the signal, which became more erratic and stuck as the charge became weaker. At 5:00am (daylight) the police gathered to converge on the last phone signal area. Nothing. The head policeman had been particularly excited about this technology and had been pretty diligent the whole night, but the police would have needed to be on the case immediately when the signal was nearby and then to have plowed into the dark after the guy.

We filed a police report with the list of stolen items. Because we had so recently traveled to the US, we were still carrying our New York drivers’ licenses in addition to our Brazilian ones, plus a couple of US credit cards in addition to our Brazilian ones. My good leather purse itself would have soon been packed away to protect it from the marezia (sand and salt in the air), but I hadn’t yet put it away. Newton had just refilled both our wallets with cash in reais. In the purse were expensive sunglasses, travel notes; my Brazilian health insurance card; car and house keys, and Newton’s previous iPhone that I had just inherited when he bought his new one. Adding up the price of everything - getting new house locks, cell phones, replacing car keys and wallets, replacing licenses (a relatively small amount for NY State, but five trips, 6-1/2 hours of waiting and several fees for the Brazilian ones, which we were renewing because it was coincidentally near renewal time), wedding bands and the most valuable item taken, my diamond ring Newton gave me on our eighth anniversary…the tally neared $6,000. We laugh that we were so unsuspecting and felt so safe around here that we practically had ROB ME written on our foreheads! The poor Potiguar couple lost some money and the neighbor couple lost their wedding bands and a watch. I feel some grief for my diamond ring, but the robbery was most devastating for the restaurant owner who, it turns out, had also been robbed in December. His family has never stayed another night there and the restaurant has never opened again.

I hardly need to say what remains to be said, as anyone would know that none of this means anything next to still being alive and sound. As horrible as one might imagine the experience to be, we remain grateful that the robbers had the expertise or the dispositions to remain calm. I’m sure if someone had become hysterical or others at the restaurant had been armed, as the gun lobby in the United States recommends, flying bullets would have left someone wounded or dead.

My left thumb still habitually fiddles with my ring finger, evoking a phantom sensation there. I find that my bare hand tells a big story: of an object that has significance which is only a shadow of what it symbolizes. If I did not possess what the ring represents, the ring would only be a commodity. If the ring were recovered and I got it back tomorrow, I would cry with joy. But here is Newton walking through my life beside me. At this moment I don’t want another valuable thing that someone can take away.

The police told us that the escapee, who went straight back to prison, named two of our robbers by nicknames the police had never heard, so they remain at large. The third robber was just a nervous kid.

Very soon after all of this we heard from a friend about a Brazilian airline special that was ending the following midnight. We didn’t think long: off for Buenos Aires the next week!

Love,

Sandy