thefutureisred

Homeless & Loving It: 2011 Presents Its First Challenge

Only four days into 2011 and absurdity abounds.

We had to move out of the house we'd been renting last Wednesday, and the new house is still a bit on hold due to a series of complications, so just before new year's day, we were, essentially, homeless.

Then Ani and Maxi, two friends of ours took us in. Then Mary, another good friend, invited us to her place for New Year's dinner. Then Dennis, a.k.a Victor -- because apparently Argentines simply cannot understand the name Dennis -- traded a website for his hotel in exchange for giving us a place to live for the next two weeks.

Dennis is fantastic in so many ways. Obviously, because he's given us a place to call home, but also because he walks around all day long in his bikini bathing suit and loves to chat about anything, but especially his girlfriends.

I feel like I'm in some made for TV movie. Something funny, not the cheesy sort of crap you find too often on the Lifetime network. Something you'd find maybe on HBO, you know, creative but allows nudity and obscenity. Keeping that in mind, imagine the scene that followed when we found a bat flying around our room late last night.

The hotel, Campo de Esperanza, is just a little way down the road from our last place, but there is so much more wild life here. Perhaps because of it's proximity to the river?

Mani loves the new place. This photo shows him hunting for a family of cats that lives in the the trees behind the house. Truly, he has not a chance of actually catching them. In spite of his almost fifty pound heft, he's a puppy at heart and the white mama cat easily intimidates him.

Yes, that about sums up life right about now. Am I frustrated? Yes. Am I grateful? Absolutely. The sheer number of people who have helped us most definitely takes the edge off our uncertainty.

Besides, this isn't the first time we've been homeless. It's just the first time that we've done it with a dog and a couch.

Rules of the Road: How To Drive In Salta, Argentina

Visitors to Salta often ask if they should rent a car to see the area instead of going on a pre-arranged tour. My answer: Why not?  If you share the car with others, it'll cost the same or less. You can stop to see many things tours don't cover, and best of all, you can go at your own pace (a particular boon if you're traveling with a little one who is easily carsick). But there are a couple things you might want to know before getting behind the wheel.

It's nutty out there. The roads of Salta City during the day are packed. You share lanes with buses, cars, taxis, motorcycles, bikes, produce pushcarts, pedestrians and the occasional horse drawn cart. Many intersections have lights, which eases the crossing, but many, you navigate with your wits and guts.

The US State Department offers the following advice on driving in Argentina

Traffic accidents are the primary threat to life and limb in Argentina. Pedestrians and drivers should exercise caution. Drivers frequently ignore traffic laws and vehicles often travel at excessive speeds. The rate and toll of traffic accidents has been a topic of much media attention over the past year. The Institute of Road Safety and Education, a private Buenos Aires organization dedicated to transportation safety issues, reports that Argentina has the highest traffic mortality rate in South America per 100,000 inhabitants.

I guess not exactly helpful advice as much as a warning, really, but as with anything in life, a cool head, a bit of attention and the ability to ignore constant honking will serve you well. The following few tips may also come in handy.

Who Has Right of Way?

Right of way, I find, belongs to the largest vehicle.  As you approach an intersection, look in the direction of traffic. I would normally say use caution, but if you move too slowly, the cars driving toward you perpendicularly will not slow down to allow you to pass. In six months of driving here, not one person has given me the go ahead.

At first, I just waited until the street cleared enough to allow safe passage, but during busy times, this left me sitting with no hope of ever getting through. Meanwhile, cars behind me would beep, honk and even yell out their windows. While I've never seen the middle finger -- perhaps more of a New York-ism -- I have been offered many a various hand gesture that clearly means the same thing.

Noah says he's found a rhythm to the passage of cars through such intersections. I have yet to find the same music. Instead, I white-knuckle my way across with the mantra "Hit the gas. I'm gonna make it!"

Bus Drivers Scare Me Most

Bus drivers are notoriously angry. To quote a Salteño friend: Ellos comen malhumor para desayunar. It doesn't sound anywhere near as poetic in translation, but basically They eat bad mood for breakfast.

After a few rather unpleasant experiences while living in the center of town, I even began walking everywhere just to avoid getting on a bus. While driving, though, you can't escape them. They push up right behind your bumper blowing horn if they think you're moving too slowly. And they always think you're moving to slowly.

There are ways, though, to use buses to your advantage.

Using Larger Vehicles To Shield You

Let's say you're trying to cross an intersection, and there's a bus or anything larger than you in the lane beside you. Allow the bus to move ahead, then keep pace with the bus allowing it to protect you from oncoming cars. Only the craziest driver will tangle with a bus, so you're pretty much free to pass. If that unlikely crazy driver does try to beat the bus through, he will undoubtedly lose and hit into the bus instead of you.

How To Use Your Hazard Lights

Lila's school is in the center of town, and the space in front of school as well as the streets surrounding are strict no parking zones. This is when hazard lights come in handy. Instead of parking far away and walking, you simply find an empty space, stop the car and turn on the hazard. Then you're free to leave the car for a short period of time.

This tip does not come intuitively to North American drivers for whom such action would immediately lead to a ticket and a big fine. Yet, people do it every day here. 

Parents line up in front of the school two lanes deep, cars, SUVs and even a few HILUXes empty with lights a-blinking. Squeezing into these two waiting lanes, though, requires you to parallel park which becomes complicated when you still have a third lane of moving traffic on the other side. (I am always amazed that three lanes of traffic can even fit on these streets really meant for two small cars.)

Instead, I park around the corner where it's completely empty, well, except for a few lanes of moving traffic, but the sides of the street are clear. Just watch out for vehicles as you get out of the car.

How Long Can You Park With Hazards?

You can't stay forever, but there's no need to rush.

I have enough time to walk around the corner, let someone at the school know I'm there. Then, they contact Lila's classroom. I chat with the other parents milling about outside school while Lila gathers her things, says goodbye to her friends and makes her way out the door. Sometimes, we detour to a nearby bakery to pick up a snack for her ride home.

Pedestrians and Peatonales

Remember the old rule: Look Both Ways Before Crossing the Street?

Based on the way people cross streets here, I'm guessing there's no Spanish equivalent. People hurl themselves into the road regardless of whose path they're crossing. They do not look where they're going. They do not worry about who may be barreling toward them. They seem to have an innate perhaps even religious belief that they will find the other side in safety or conversely they simply don't care

It's your job to make sure no one gets hurt.

Streets that cross the pedestrian shopping areas -- peatonales -- are particularly tricky, because you tend to face large groups of people all crossing at the same time. The flow of pedestrians from peatonales will not slow down during busy times, so you have no choice but to move slowly, slowly ahead, inch by inch, until you've passed through the crowd.

The advice I give here applies equally well in many other Latin American countries as well as other places in the world. Panama, Costa Rica, Israel and Italy for sure.

One Caveat: This information has been culled through experience driving the streets in Salta and not from any knowledge I have of actual law. If you want to know that, I suggest checking the Argentina tourism website or national roadways website.

There is some good news!

Outside of Salta city, the roads miraculously mellow, even when traveling short distances to San Lorenzo and Castellanos, where we live. Roads leading to Cafayate, Cachi, San Antonio de los Cobres or any of the other towns nearby are smaller, easier and are rarely busy. Even bus drivers seem to calm down once they leave Salta city limits.

So should you drive in Salta? That's ultimately your choice. I can say, though, it took surprisingly less time than I thought to get used to it, and I, for one, always prefer finding my way around on my own instead of by tour bus.

Photos by jglsongs, iversonic and papajuan74.

Why Did We Choose To Live In Salta?

There are many reasons, we chose to settle in Salta for a while. But really, the answer comes down to one thing.

Lately, this question seems to be popping up a lot. Friends, family, people I've met through this blog and even from Saltenos, surprised and happy to meet an American family who seems to love this place almost as much as they do.

We didn't leave New York City just to travel. We left on an open ended journey to find a new place to call home. Along the way, yes, the proverbial travel bug bit, making it very difficult to decide on just one place to settle.

So why, then, Salta?

The weather here is lovely. Never too hot. Never too cold. Salta is a city, big enough to find everything you could possibly want or need. Ok, maybe not maple syrup, but that's a small price to pay to live in such a lovely place. Still, it's small enough not to feel overwhelmed and overcrowded.

There's a well working system of buses. Wifi cafes and local internet make it easy to stay connected to the world outside of Salta, and it has an international airport making it easily accessible from anywhere in South America. As I explore more, I find unique places and people who show me a different way to view the world.

But really, it's the people here that make me want to stay.

People here use a particular figure of speech in response to a Thank You that sums it all up for me. You don't say You're welcome as is the case in English. It's not the French Je vous en prie. And not even the de nada you hear in other Spanish speaking places.

Here, they say Aye, por nada and always said with such warmth and meaning that you truly feel that you are indeed welcome, that whatever has been done for you comes from the heart with no strings and from a a complete and utter generosity of spirit.

When Noah was sick last year, our neighbor, who I barely knew, helped us find medical care. When we needed a place to stay but the apartment we wanted to rent wouldn't be ready for another week, Monica (again) took us into her home for that week while our new landlord, another person we'd just met, stored our stuff and drove us around town making it easy for us to make the transition to our new place.

I feel this open friendliness everywhere I go. From the person behind the counter at the one McDonald's in town to an accidental bumping of arms when walking through the busy Peatonal Alberdi -- one of many pedestrian shopping areas -- in the center of town.

At first, I didn't trust it at all. Fifteen years in New York -- home of the "Hey! Great to see you. I'll give you a call and we'll get together" then you don't get the call, taught me to that words don't mean what they seem.

Salta is helping me unlearn all that. It's a slow process, but I find I am more relaxed, more comfortable with people, less worried about how these social interactions will affect Lila.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that the cost of living in Salta is less money and of better quality than just about any other place I've been. There's lots to do and a great school for Lila. All the fruit and vegetables in the market here -- the fabulous mercado municipal on calle Urquiza -- has been locally grown. The wine region here is incredible. Travel just a half an hour by bus, and you'll find some of the most beautiful country I've ever experienced.

Nothing in life is perfect. I'm aware of that, and as easily as I list the positives, I could supply you with a list of negatives as well. Maybe another time. For now, I'll be a bit more Salteño in that respect and not worry so much about what I don't have and what isn't.

Photos by Morrissey and Juan M

Welcome Home, Burning Man! Welcome Home?

I've been writing home for as long as I can remember. 

My first really big project developed itself into a discourse on the nature of home. Winter, senior year of college, my best friend Jen and I drove cross country to explore Native American culture in the United States, mostly focused on the Lakota Sioux, also known as Oglala, in South Dakota. I came away from that project clearly seeing how so many Native Americans consider this land their home, yet they have been displaced from it. I am the opposite. I have not been forcibly moved, and yet my connection to the United States is far more tenuous.

So upon first entering Black Rock City to hear the warm greeting of "Welcome Home!" I was discomfited. It felt strange, wrong. "This is not home," I told them silently.

No place is really home to me.

Brooklyn? It once was home, but I don't feel that way anymore. South Africa? I don't even remember it. Atlanta? My parents sold the house I grew up in almost a decade ago, and while I feel entirely comfortable in their house, it doesn't feel like home to me. Panama? No. South of France? Gorgeous, but not home.

In a sense, Noah, Lila and I attempt to create our home in Salta, but I suspect no where will ever have the weight and permanence of what I think home should have. Perhaps that's why travel comes so easily to me. I don't feel sad when I leave a place because for me leaving is as inevitable an event as arriving.

But staying, relaxing, creating a place, one place that is no longer an apartment, la casa or even a tent, but is regardless of brick and mortar, independent of form and furniture, a place I feel safe calling home, that has eluded me thus far.

I suspect I'm not interested in having a real home.

I like flitting around, a couple months here, a few days there. So on the eve of our return to Salta, I find myself apprehensive. We plan to go back, rent a house for a couple years (yes, years!), work, live life. And so you know, we decided to stay in Salta -- aside from it being a lovely place to live -- when Lila told us she didn't want to move around anymore. "Why do we keep going places and not staying," she asked. So it was time to be still for a while.

I'm finding the prospect of creating one place as home, becoming an expat instead of a traveler, as difficult and overwhelming as the process of selling everything and packing up to go. It's Newton's Law of Motion applied to travel. A body at rest prefers to remain at rest, and a body in motion, well, you know how it goes.

Yesterday, I asked Lila where she calls home.

She points straight down to the ground. "Right here," she told me. Right in Granny and Grandpa's house. She is also excited to go back to Salta, to return to school and see her friends and teachers.

I find great satisfaction in the thought that somehow, we have created a life for Lila in which she has a space to call her own. Maybe more than one even.

Photo courtesy of eyesplash's flickrstream

Medical Emergencies While Traveling Through Salta

So my haitus has been quite a bit longer than expected. After all, a week in internet time is an eternity.

Lila and I are fine, but Noah just isn't getting better. He has been in bed for days, but I started to worry when he began to be verbally unresponsive. So we've been forced to explore the health care system in Salta.

This is what I learned:

You can call for a doctor to make a non-emergency house call any time of day or night. That number is 0387 4212123 (NOTE: The previous number I posted was not correct. I have updated and verified this one) and is specifically for travelers, non-nationals and those who don't have health insurance.

It's 55 pesos for the visit. That's, roughly, 15 dollars. It still floors me how much cheaper quality health care can be outside the US. It's better to take a house call before going to the hospital. Your hospital visit goes more smoothly with the house call recommendations.

It may take a couple hours for the doctor to arrive. The doctors are extremely thorough and seem to have a strong working knowledge of herbal medicine in addition to allopathic.

The doctor who visited our casita last night was calm, patient and took his time as he ruled out everything from drug interactions to meningitis.

Bottom line? No emergency run to the hospital. We will, though, take Noah for bloodtests in order to rule out any infections or diseases, because "we are, after all, near Bolivia and Paraguay."

Thank you to Monica, our upstairs neighbor who helped me navigate the system, find the doctor and even drove Lila to school this morning. Actually, thank you doesn't quite cover my gratitude.

Thank you also to AJ, who sent constant e-mail support. And thank you to you Twitterfolk @olivosartstudio @vickybaker @umarket @integralhack @claibornem who provided insight, information and support. Funny how people you've never met can become a community.

A Slow Walk Through Salta

I'm On my way to pick Lila up from school but don't have to be there for another 30 minutes.

Let's take a walk.

Whenever I first arrive in a place, I find it's easy to overlook much of what's there. There's so much to assimilate that it's overwhelming. Soon enough, the city begins to open up to you, and you see, hear and feel so much more.

Can someone explain why there are suddenly hundreds of red Salteno cabs jamming the street and honking? In this town, where I have yet to see a traffic jam of any sort, suddenly, this? Perhaps it's a parade or protest. Like yesterday, when hundreds of people marched around the Plaza de Julio, the central plaza of Salta, carrying signs, banging drums and occasionally blowing off loud pop guns. The plaza is surrounded by cafes with Wifi, restaurants, a beautiful cathedral as well as the symphony, Andean museum and a modern art museum.

 carry on to see the fruit vendors pushing their carts around the cars. One offers me a pear.

There's the Andean cooking school that specializes in dishes made with llama. Yes, llama, the animal. There's the santeria store. The motorcycle dealership. A whole row of places for haircuts. Why would they have 10 or so all on the same few blocks? Or is it just very American thinking to believe you'll have better business if you don't have as much competition?

Each time I walk these streets, I see more and more. An art store where you can paint and fire your own pottery. Camping supplies. The butcher and hardware store.

At what point, though, does the street become too usual to notice anymore? Does the walk become just the road between Point A and Point B? Is that when it's time to go somewhere new? Or perhaps, there's more of a need to refocus?

Ah, I have arrived.

Fiction: The Parable of the Bus Driver

A bus driver tried to kill me today. I don´t think he would have minded much had he destroyed all of us, the way he drove.

First, he ran over some kid´s soccer ball. Big pop! Leaving a group of ten-year-olds looking shocked and dejected on the side of the road. Then he almost bashed full on into a car. Thankfully, the car stopped just in time and the bus driver swerved sharply to the right to avoid decimating the poor man's automobile.

Most of the time, buses around here go around at all speeds with both doors wide open, passengers holding on so they don´t fly out.

Today, the doors were shut. That Bus Driver, he blithely ignored my shouts of "Abre la puerta, por favor!" Everyone, every single head on the bus turned to look at me, but not The Bus Driver. So I ran to the front door. People were still stepping on the bus as he hit the gas to leave, all the while me pleading with him to stop, please stop. He was not happy, but he did.

Then, I ran to the back where Lila -- five years old -- still sat and quickly began to to shepherd Lila to the door, down the stairs and out. We didn't have enough time. He stepped on the gas again, leaving me holding Lila by one hand, swinging in mid-air. I screamed again "Para. Para. Para." Please stop!  Others on the bus began screaming as well, and again. Finally, he did, albeit with an evil sideways glance and a mouthful of bitterness and sighs.

I grabbed Lila under one arm, grabbed the rest of my things in the other and leaped to safety.

What to do? I gathered the biggest New York City attitude I could muster to throw in The Bus Driver's direction, but by then, he was long gone. Besides, I thought to myself, I am not in New York anymore, and I am the stranger here.

How Can You Be Homesick When You Don´t Have A Home

We packed the car to stuffed and drove out of Brooklyn. Over the Verrazano into New Jersey and on on on. We went through Hershey, Graceland, Rome, Paris and Amsterdam. Panama City, Lima, Miami, Buffalo and Buenos Aires. And except for a brief and terrible moment in Harrisonburg, VA, where Noah and I got into a screaming fight and almost called everything -- the trip, the marriage, the whole thing -- quits, we never looked back.

Well, of course I looked back. I thought about friends, places, memories, but I never felt sad.

Until recently.

The past two months I´ve been horribly homesick. Which home? I´m not even sure. I just miss...well...I miss.

• I miss our IKEA MALM bed in Brooklyn and the way the maroon curtains tinted the room with their color.
• I miss Monteleone´s bakery. Amazing cheesecake and canoli. Truly the best you´ll ever have.
• I´m sad that my Lexington Coop bag got ruined when I washed it.
• I miss lazy days sitting with our newborns at Naidre´s (used to be Cammareri Brothers Bakery of Moonstruck fame)
• I miss Chinese food. Lord knows why. I never eat it when I can get it. But the fact that I can´t find any places here that are in anyway similar to the Chinese food I want, suddenly, I need it.
• I miss Sunday afternoons with the whole fam damily in Atlanta.
• I miss knowing where to get a good  haircut and where to find shoes that aren´t gladiator sandals.
• I miss peanut butter and maple syrup. (PLEASE IF YOU VISIT BRING SOME)

Most of the things I miss are silly. Usually food. Usually foods I don´t eat. It´s random what will strike a chord and suddenly this deep longing develops somewhere between my stomach and my heart.

Would I go back? I suppose it´s possible for us to leave here and return to any of the places we´ve lived. Top choices being Brookyn, Buffalo (clearly I´m eating my words on this one) and Atlanta.

But we´re here now, and much as I miss, I don´t want to go back. I want, well, I´m not entirely sure what I want. It´s hard to believe whatever void in me can be filled with peanut butter and sweet and sour chicken with tangy neon sauce and bits of pineapple.

What is it I want? And why did this start now? I don´t know.

Anyone else care to take a guess?

Oh What A Lovely Day

We spent the day in El Debenir - the hectare of land in Salta where we now live in exchange for work. There's composting, a vegetable garden, dog, cats, lots of plants and medicinal herbs, a playground and plenty of room to roam between our casita, the geriatric home being built and the main house. Today Lila and I made lentil soup, then picked tomatoes, basil and lime from the garden for a salad. Then, we started a paper making project. We found pieces of wood for the frame and started soaking old supermarket circulars.

 Then Lila put on her tutu and shirt and danced while I sang Baby Beluga. Then all three of us took the bus to a nearby heladeria with a play area. When I got back home, I worked on my Hot Momma case profile. The Hot Momma's Project is a collection of cases as part of a leadership program housed by the GWU School of Business. It's been a long lovely day, and I find myself here as the day turns into tomorrow, feeling for the first time since we arrived in Argentina, a little bit more relaxed and normal.

What Do I Know Two Years On?

I just realized it's been exactly two years today that we moved out of our apartment in Brooklyn. And here I sit on a bus somewhere between Buenos Aires and Salta.

The bus left just after dark and now that it is finally light out, I still can't see out the window because of the rain fogging the glass. I have yet to catch my first glimpse of the Argentinian country side.

I'm not entirely sure what awaits in Salta, but I do know we'll be meeting some friends there. Janis Roze, an old professor of Noah's and a group of people lead by a man named Augustin are developing a community in land they bought just outside of Salta. It seems we can play some role in developing this community. That's all I know right now.

Quick Update: Where Are We Going Now?

So Lila was sick for a couple days. Then Noah and I caught whatever she had, so we've all been taking it easy.

All in all, we've spent a lot more time inside lately, which also happens to coincide with some particularly hot weather.

The timing of this has been perfect. While cooped up in the house, we've been planning the next few weeks. We were able to extend our stay in Rony and Michael's apartment for another week. And while I'm happy to be heading to the country soon, I'm also happy to have a bit more time to do things in Buenos Aires. After the 15th, we head to Salta. How we're getting there? We'll either fly or take the bus. What we're doing when we get there? I dont' know yet.

All I know is we go to Salta on either the 14th or 15th. Will spend a few days in Salta. And then will head to the Jujuy province. I've heard it's hotter there, but beautiful. That's what everyone says. "Oh, muy caliente." Then i think they see our faces. "Pero muy hermoso."

What's happening in Jujuy? I'm not really sure.

In the meantime, I've been writing a lot. I've also just started a writer's group with three other people, all other Couchsurfers. Two of us write in English. The other two in Spanish. We meet at a cafe near to hear, one of the few with outdoor seating that's not so close to the road you feel you're drinking your cortado on the West Side Highway. And it's been wonderful to be working and talking with writers again.

I hadn't realized how much I missed it.

How, Exactly, Did I End Up Here With You?

Someone posted a comment here a few months ago saying something along the lines of how Noah and I must really like each other a lot in order to travel together the way we do. I suppose she's right. We must like each other. We must also work together really well. Seamlessly.

Right?

When I look through the posts I've written over the last year and a half, I notice that I have many about parenting, religion, family, so many other things, but not a single one about relationships. That must mean something.

Noah and I always have a lot going on. Where to go? How to get there? How long to stay? Where to stay? What to eat? How much will it cost? What will Lila do? How is Lila doing? Where can we find other kids for her to play? Where will she go to school? How is she adapting to the change? What will we do during the days with her?

And somewhere in there, the Noah and Leigh part of the equation becomes fuzzy.

Add to that a continual change of culture. You see, things move at a very different pace in Argentina. From what I can tell, no one plans ahead. Oh, they may have an idea of what the plan could be, but no one would consider telling you it's a finalized plan until the very last minute, because, quite frankly, things change. 

Add to that, all of us have adapted to the Argentinian schedule. Oh, and it's a wonderful way of life, really. It seems the day, in many ways, revolves around dinner, which doesn't even think of beginning until 10pm. This means, even if we eat earlier than most, Lila still doesn't go to bed until 11pm. Often not falling asleep until after midnight. She then wakes up at noon, at which point there's a rush to eat, dress, and head out for our day's activity.

Add to that, we are always together, rarely have time alone and generally spend most of our time in relatively small apartments and rooms with no real personal space at all.

We put ourselves on hold. We come last because so many other things need immediate attention.

Noah and I have been together a long time, almost twenty years.That's a good decade of marriage longer than many of the people we know our age. Over that time, I've learned a few things.

1. All couples fight. Our fights are much more mellow these days then they were in the past. Partly because there is a little girl around to hear them. Partially because we just don't have the energy or patience for huge dramatic arguments.

2. That you will not always be 100% (or even 50%) sure of each other. A friend of mine complained to me that she and her husband of 4 years were getting along horribly. She didn't like his family. She didn't like the way he interacted with their new son. She didn't feel he understood what it was like to be home all day with a child with colic (that I'm sure he didn't.) I began saying "Noah and I have been together long enough..." when she interrupted me. "Yes, I'm sure you guys don't have these petty fights anymore."

"Lord no," I told her. "I was going to say, we've been together long enough to know that at some point every relationship will go through a time when you seriously consider ending it."

Truthfully, it's when you work your way through those times that the marriage becomes stronger. It's easy to think of the day he proposed with a smile. Try doing the same when you think of the time she threatened to end things. Or he walked out angry one morning and didn't return or even call until well after dark. When you both thought "This is it. I can't live with this shit anymore."

3. You will repeat the same fights over and over for years and years. Some fights remain. A few drop off to be replaced by others, but mainly, it's the same thing year after year. Some see the lack of resolution as sign that the marriage isn't working. I've learned that that is simply the nature of tying your life to and living with another human being, especially when you spend a lot of time together. In the words of an old friend of mine, someone who happens to be the rector of an Episcopal church in New Jersey, "You marry the person who aggravates the least."

I suppose over the time, we've mellowed. The fights aren't as intense. We've learned to put off the issues and discussions until a more appropriate time. We've learned how to simply overlook some of those things, accept that your partner isn't going to change, accept that some of those things you can't stand, that you thought would be a relationship deal-breaker are simply part of your life now.

We are still learning to differentiate between those things that are important to bring back to the table for discussion and those that can be safely buried.

So with all this mess, how do you know if you should simply just end it? That, I can't answer because that is not my concern.

Right now, we are once again in between places. We leave this particular apartment in about a week. I'm not sure where we're going next. Possibly directly to Salta. Possibly to do some WWOOFING - work in exchange for room and board in a nearby community. I don't know yet.

On Friday, I'm going with a friend to a WWOOF site called Eco-Yoga Park just outside of Buenos Aires to see what's there and make sure they have room for us. If they do, we'll go for a week. If not, we will go to Salta. Whatever happens, we will have to make plans, and they will have to be made quickly.

Once all this has been figured out, once we arrive in Salta and have a place of our own, once Lila is settled in a daily routine with other children, then Noah and I will be able to talk. Sometimes it feels like that moment, that time will never arrive. But it will. It always does.

How Many Jews Does It Take To Make A Christmas Party?

Tomorrow night, there's a Couchsurfing Christmas dinner. Argentinians are with their families and don't seem to be around so much these days, but there are a lot of us others floating about.

Originally, I offered our place for the dinner, but when it seemed like more than 20 people were coming, the venue was switched to elsewhere. Now it's at Dan's place, and I'm doing what I can to help him organize.

Now it looks like it could be upwards of 50 people. This should be a lot of fun.

For me, this Christmas dinner is about meeting new people and spending time with other travelers who are away from home on a day they would normally be with family and friends. It's not just about the particular holiday.

But what about Lila? How does she see all of this?

I know I'm Jewish and it has always been such a part of my identity that I don't think twice about it. I know at least a few of my family members are worried that Lila will not be brought up properly Jewish. And if they want her to be Orthodox, then no, she will not be properly Jewish. I do, though, want her to know that she is Jewish, know the holidays, learn Hebrew, and have some idea of Jewish History.

I also want her to be able to go to a Christmas party, wish someone an Eid Mubarak or experience a Hindu wedding and not feel like she's doing something wrong. In fact, I hope she would want to know about other people's traditions, holidays and enjoy the celebration.

A few months ago, though, Lila got very upset when we told her she's Jewish.

"No," she shouted. "I'm not Jewish. Not Jewish." She stomped her feet and left I shocked. "What was that?" we asked ourselves. The first thought that we never wanted our families to hear her say these things, because they would most certainly blame it on us. That was fall out I did not need.

But I don't think either of us are anti-Jewish nor do i believe we have passed that message onto Lila.  It did make me wonder who in her life portrayed "jewish" as something bad. Then again, with a child of four years old, you never know how connections come together in their growing brains.

So how to deal with this Judaism issue? I don't want her to think I'm upset with her for not seeming to want to be Jewish. Because, really, I'm not even sure what it means to her to be Jewish. Then add to this, the constant travel? It's not easy. It's a priority to meet families with children because I want to make sure Lila doesn't spend all her time with adults, entertaining herself. But we rarely meet other Jewish families.

Much of our Judaism comes when we spend time with family and close friends. We light Chanuka candles with the cousins. Last Rosh Hashana we spent with Ken in Buffalo. Succot was with Ken, Rachel and finally my parents in Atlanta. We spend shabbat with friends in NY, with my parents, with Noah's sisters. And we do as much as we can on our own. I do have to admit, though, what we do on our own is a bare minimum, particularly when finding housing or transportation to the next city is on our minds.

This year, on the first night of Chanuka, we tried going to the Chabad chanuka lighting. When we arrived, we found nothing but an enormous chanukiya with the shamash and one light already lit. And crickets chirping.

So yesterday, when Lila asked me "When will Christmas be here," I started to worry about this again, because she hasn't asked a word about Chanuka.

What will we do?

We'll still go to this Christmas dinner, because it's important to have community wherever you are. But to make a point for Lila, we bought the makings of our own chanukiyah and will bring it along and light it, so we can all celebrate together, all of us, all the holidays. Everyone is welcome.

Buenos Dias, Argentina... Am I Making Any Sense At All?

I thought I understood Spanish when we lived in Panama. Until I crossed the border into Costa Rica when I sat in a guard booth just after crossing into Sixaola chatting with the border patrol while Noah went back into Panama to stamp the passports we forgot to stamp. All of a sudden, not a single thing made sense.

This last time in Panama and Costa Rica, I understood everyone. So again, I thought I understood Spanish.

Until we landed in Buenos Aires.

The pace of the language is different. Here, they use a more elegant Spanish and incorporate far more words than you hear on a daily basis in Panama or Costa Rica.

In Panama, it's Buenos when you want to say hello, morning, noon or night. Buenos Aires, not only do you have to know whether it's morning, noon or night, you have to remember how to conjugate the masculine or feminine forms of the greeting. Dias, masculine Buenos Dias. Afternoon, feminine, Buenas Tardes. Which is all well and good when I can go and look it up in a book or online, but generally, I don't have that kind of time when saying a quick good morning.

But it's really the prononciation that kills me. What really gets me is that "double L." As in villa, zapallito, zapatilla, muelle, orgullo and endless other words I've used in the past and been understood. Stress on in the past.

Villa, easy right? Vee-Ya. That's how I'd say it in just about every other Spanish speaking situation I've encountered. Not so now. Now it's Vee-zha. Zappa-zhito, moo-zhay. And if you don't say it that way, you won't be understood.

As if I would have been understood using the Panamanian version of words. Fresa. Maracuya. Mantequilla. That would be strawberry, peach and butter respectively. But mantequilla would not be pronounced in the Argentinian Man-Teh-Key-zha, because that is not the word for butter here. It's manteca. Fresa becomes fruitilla. Melocoton becomes durazno.

Of course it does. And I've heard tell that things change once again when you leave the city.

I have now truly mastered the Blank Look, No Entiendo method of communication. I'll be teaching lessons in the fall.

And now that I've probably confused all of you as much as I have myself, I'm off to take my first all Spanish yoga class.

Landing Softly With A Bump

We're here. Finally, after more than six months of planning, thinking, figuring, we're here.

Yep, We're here. I have to keep telling myself that, because most of the time, I'm not sure where I am.

Our flight here took us through Miama, Panama, Bocas, Costa Rica, Lima and then finally. Here. There were at least three sleepless nights and one-almost missed flight in there, but it was great fun.

Buenos Aires is sort of a bizarro New York. Every new place somehow reminds me of a place I used to go. Or a sort of melange of places. Palermo is like the East and West Villages melded with Park Slope. Recoleta reminds me of parts of downtown Manhattan. Even the smell brings back spring mornings in the city. The odor of concrete, cigarette smoke and exhaust, but here whisps of baking bread and roasting meat creep in as well. No one makes eye contact. The streets are lined with London plane trees. Cabs everywhere, as well as everything you could possible want and need right outside your door.

There's culture shock, for sure, but it's more from spending time in Central America and then coming here to this bustling metropolis. Here, I'm immediately comfortable because it's a city. I know city. Country is far more confusing when you can't just step out your door to find food. Only here, everyone speaks Spanish, the people look a bit different and the empanada's are much better.

I am also painfully jetlagged. Without an alarm, I wake at noon. My entire self feels heavy and I feel like I'm walking through water. Until around 11pm, when I wake up and am ready to go.

Slowly, it's hitting me. We're here. I don't know anyone. I don't know my way around. This place, so familiar in its citi-ness, completely overwhelms me; it is enormous. I haven't felt this way since, well, since I moved to NYC.