Reims, Day Two

It was a dark and stormy night.

No, really.

The hot, humid weather here in Reims broke at about midnight last night with a fierce electrical storm that woke up pretty much everyone in the hotel. In its wake, it left cool, breezy weather. We're pretty happy about that.


We started the morning with a low-key breakfast in the hotel lobby and then we headed back to the Cathedral to get a better look. We were in such a jet-lagged haze yesterday that we missed all the details. This is gothic architecture, beautiful and creepy, with flying buttresses and headless bishops. We're a little blasé about old churches. They're beautiful, but we've seen a lot of them and we don't linger. We were more interested in this one for a couple of reasons... its sheer scale, and Marc Chagall's stained glass windows. The facade, the windows, the pulpits, and the organs (the largest of which was so big that we couldn't tell, at first, that it was an instrument) stand in stark contrast to the spaces provided for worshippers. Unlike the beautiful pews at a newer Cathedral like St. Patrick's, this one has row upon row of simple wood chairs that lack in ornamentation and are nailed together in rows of various sizes. Really, we were fascinated by this place. It took several generations to complete, and as grand as it seemed to us, we can't even fathom what it looked like to the medieval peasants who built it.

Our only commitment for the day was a 2:15 PM tasting appointment in Vertus, so we decided to spend the morning and early afternoon touring the surrounding areas. Our first stop was the amusingly and appropriately named village of Bouzy, a tiny, quiet collection of Champagne houses with many familiar names on the walls. We toured the village on foot, and then drove up a path through the vineyards to a lookout spot high above Bouzy for a panoramic view. The vines seem to go on forever, in perfectly manicured and delineated sections owned by God knows how many growers.

From Bouzy we drove to Epernay and Le Mesnil Sur Oger. We passed a few of the larger Champagne houses and spotted tour buses in their lots, but we knew we wouldn't see any buses where we were headed. We made our way to Vertus, where we killed a baguette and a wedge of raw milk brie de meaux on a park bench before our appointment at Veuve Fourny et. Fils. We had no experience with Fourny's wines before our visit, but since they're distributed by Kermit Lynch, we knew they'd be up our alley. We were early, so we walked up a block to the village cemetery. In a small village like Vertus, the names on centuries-old tombstones are the same names you'll find on local mailboxes. Ancient graves are as well tended as new ones. This cemetery is older of course, but it reminded us of the old McBride Pioneer Cemetery outside Carlton. If you have to be dead, what better place to rest than in the shadow of great vineyards?



One stone in particular caught out attention: a memorial to members of the French resistance who were killed by the Nazis during WWII. Many vignerons in Champagne went to great lengths to protect their wine during the Nazi occupation, even building hidden tunnels and vaults to keep their best vintages from being stolen or destroyed. They considered their wine a national treasure, and we've seen several monuments here that commemorate their efforts. As we learned during our tour at Fourny, many of the caves survived, but most of the buildings above them did not.

When we made our way to Fourny, we were nervous. We've visited many wineries over the years, but always in Oregon and California. French and German wines are our true loves, but the language barrier is intimidating. The moment Charles Fourny greeted us with a huge smile and fluent English, we relaxed.

In American tasting rooms, you usually pay a fee to taste the wines, and then the fee is refunded with a purchase. Sometimes the tasting rooms are staffed by people who participate in the winemaking process, but generally they are not. We had no idea what to expect here, but we were absolutely blown away by the experience. Charles, who is both an owner and vigneron at Veuve Fourny, spent more than three hours with us, showing us every aspect of how he produces his Champagne. He walked us through the vineyard, through the winemaking facilities, through the caves, and then into a diningroom to try the wines. We learned so much from him about Champagne in general, but also about the distribution process. We learned about how the chalky soil contributes to the outstanding minerality in these wines, particularly the ones that are 100% Chardonnay. We also learned why distributors serve an important purpose in the post 9/11 world.

We did not see any wine for sale in the tasting room, and the topic never came up. To our surprise, though, he gave us a bottle of vintage Blanc de Blancs to take home. From start to finish, it was our own personal Euro Disney.

It was dinnertime by the time we made it back to Reims. We were too tired and disheveled for anything formal, so we settled into a casual brasserie for a long, relaxing meal. They were kind enough to provide us with an English menu. The translations were imperfect, but absolutely charming. We both started with the "droppings of goat" (actually a goat cheese crottin atop puff pastry and ratatouille) and they were de-lish.

Off to Beaune...

Reims, Day One

Another year, another mostly uneventful flight through Frankfurt. We like Lufthansa for its no-frills teutonic efficiency, and we were sorry to hear they discontinued direct service from Portland to Europe as of next month. The flight's always full, but somehow, it loses money. Oh well.

Frankfurt is Lufthansa's hub, with non-stop flights from Germany to pretty much every part of the world. Every time we took that flight, I couldn't help but notice the odd collection of travelers it attracted. There were always a lot of passengers from India-- Lufthansa was the primary link between India's skilled labor force and Intel. This particular flight was chock full of Eastern Europeans. I usually get cranky when the passenger in front of me reclines for the duration of a ten hour flight, but it's truly impossible to be annoyed with a woman in a drab, Ceaucescu-era muumuu and a flouncy babushka who peeks back every hour or so to ask me if I mind that her chair's in my lap. Shucks.

An hour after we boarded our connection in Frankfurt, we were in Paris with our luggage. It took slightly longer than that to get our rental car in Paris, but we were out of the airport and headed to Reims in our surprisingly spacious Citroen by about 1PM local time. The drive was wonderful. The grass was greener, the sky was bluer, the clouds were fluffier. We delighted in it! We passed through long stretches of empty space punctuated equally by modern industrial or agricultural sites and beautiful, ancient villages. A few minutes after we passed a Home Depot-sized garden emporium, we passed a tiny village surrounded by medieval stone walls.

Our first hotel here, the Hotel Azur, is clean, comfortable, and exceptionally basic. After we showered and got into some fresh clothes, we set out on foot to see Reims. It was about 85° out-- stifling in the bright, midday sun, but perfect in the shade.


First stop: Cathedral of Notre-Dames. The current building dates to 1211, but it replaced an older building that was destroyed in AD 496. Note: this picture is from Wikipedia. There's some scaffolding in front of the Cathedral that made it impossible for us to get a decent shot.

Our next stop was a pedestrians-only stretch of Reims lined with shops and restaurants. The architecture was beautiful, but at eye-level, this area was an eyesore. It reminded me of the Leidseplein in Amsterdam-- a collection of international chain stores (including Le Golden Arches) and mediocre restaurants that are absolutely teeming with tourists.


By 6PM we were absolutely certain of two things:
1. we wanted to find a place to sit and have a drink, and
2. we'd be asleep as soon as possible.

We found a neighborhood place called Le Bistrot Henri IV near our hotel, and settled into a bottle of mineral water and a € 9 liter of unnamed rosé from Aix en Provence. We sat inside, but just by the door so we could listen to the loud, jovial group of locals seated outside. They were... fantastic. All smiling, all laughing, all shouting over each other with a guttural passion that's only possible in French. We didn't speak. We listened to them the way you listen to music-- you don't have to understand a word of the lyrics to enjoy the song.

After our liquid dinner, we went back to the hotel and fell asleep by 7:30. We're not quite on local time, but at least we didn't sleep through our first full day in Europe like we usually do. Hey... it's progress!

Up next... the real reason to be in Reims. Champagne!

France (and un soupçon more), 2009

Last year we waited too long and got snookered out of using airline miles to get to Europe in the summer. That story had a happy ending, since we went instead to Argentina and had a wonderful trip. But we really wanted to do a trip to France, since Melissa hasn't been there yet. So this year we prepared early and were able to cobble together a "free" trip for both of us: it's an ugly routing on the way home (Paris-Toronto-Vancouver-Portland), but it is, after all, free.

Once our flights were in place, we set about putting together an itinerary. We wanted to visit some of the famous wine regions in France, as well as spending a few days in Paris. After significant (and most enjoyable) research, we came up with the following plan. One of the great things about travel these days is the ease with which we are able to research options for lodging, dining, and tourism. There's a wealth of awesome information out there, and we made the most of it. We're pretty excited about our trip, which includes the following:

15-Jul Wednesday
Depart Portland at 1:15PM on Lufthansa 469 to Frankfurt, then Lufthansa 4214 to Paris

16-Jul Thursday
Arrive at Paris De Gaulle, pick up rental car and drive to Champagne, about 2 hours north and east of Paris. Our hotel is in the famous town of Reims. We're staying at the Hotel Azur (Tel: +33 (0) 3 26 47 43 39)

17-Jul Friday
Tour the Champagne region.

18-Jul Saturday
Drive south and east through Chablis to Burgundy. We're staying in Beaune at the Jardin de Lois (Tel: +33 (0) 3 80 22 41 97).

19-Jul Sunday
Tour the Burgundy region

20-Jul Monday
Drive south through the Beaujolais region to Lyon, then further south into the Northern Rhone valley. We're staying in a small village called Cliousclat at the Hotel la Treille Muscate (Tel: +33 (0) 4 75 63 13 10)

21-Jul Tuesday
Tour the Rhone region - we have several appointments to visit wineries in the area.

22-Jul Wednesday
Our longest driving day. We will drive through the French Alps, visiting the Parc National de Vanois and passing into the Aosta region of Italy. We're spending the night in the scenic town of Saint-Vincent at the Hotel Bijou (Tel. +39 (0) 1 66 51 00 67)

23-Jul Thursday
Should be a beautiful day of driving. We will drive north through the Great Saint Bernard Pass into Switzerland. We'll drive to the town of Tasch, which is the last stop before reaching the car-free village of Zermatt, at the foot of the Matterhorn. Interestingly, Zermatt is less than 25 miles as the crow flies from Saint-Vincent, but we'll be driving well over 125 miles to get there. In Zermatt, we're staying at Le Petit Hotel (Tel: +41 (0) 2 79 67 59 00).

24-Jul Friday
We'll drive through Switzerland and cross back into the Alsace region of France, with Strasbourg as our destination. Staying at the Hotel Cathedrale (Tel: +33 (0) 3 88 22 12 12).

25-Jul Saturday
Last day of our road trip - returning our car at the airport and taking the train into the 5th Arrondissement of Paris. We're staying at the Hotel Pantheon (Tel: +33 1 43 54 32 95)

26-Jul Sunday
Paris

27-Jul Monday
Paris

28-Jul Tuesday
Paris

29-Jul Wednesday
Depart Paris on Air Canada 881 to Toronto at 10:30AM. Next connection is Air Canada 115 to Vancouver, then Air Canada 8129 to PDX, which is scheduled to arrive at 9:45PM.

All good things...

We woke up Sunday morning and acknowledged something we'd been denying for days: I was sick. I had a deep, dry cough, and I was very tired. I adopted a don't ask, don't tell attitude about my temperature, which was probably two or three degrees higher than it should have been. See, we have a nasty habit of getting sick on vacation. My sister-in-law Laurie has a theory that you power through life, but the day you leave for vacation, you relax and inadvertently let down your defenses. We'd planned to spend our last morning at the Jardín Japonés, but instead we spent most of it relaxing at the hotel. We spent some time chatting with our B&B's other guests, and then went to our room to finish packing. Our flight from Buenos Aires to Santiago didn't leave until 9PM, but Lorena advised us to get to Ezeiza three hours earlier. We decided that our last meal in South America should be at a classic old Buenos Aires establishment-- not at the airport. We took a taxi to Talcahuano 937 to try El Cuartito, a pizza place that's been a favorite among locals for nearly 75 years.

Argentina has deep ties to Italy, and those ties are reflected in the cuisine. Pasta and pizza are very popular here, and even the ubiquitous empanadas look a whole lot like calzoni. We'd had neapolitan pizza at Piola and Filo, but real Argentine-style pizza is different. For starters, it's thicker. As we discovered at El Cuartito, it's also cheesier.

El Cuartito is a classic old pizza place. The waiters are terse, and the walls are covered by sports posters and old magazine covers.
We ordered a small muzzarella pie, and another with jamon (it's under the cheese!) and sweet peppers. Unless you specify otherwise, all pizzas in Argentina seem to be topped with aceitunas even if olives aren't in the description. We also ordered a single slice of fainá. Fainá is a flatbread that's made with chickpea flour, and it's a traditional accompaniment to Argentine pizza. It's got a crisp crust, but the texture is a little like polenta. I'm not exactly sure what purpose it serves; we nibbled at it and then abandoned it to focus on our pizzas. El Cuartito's pizza is thicker and cheesier than the Neapolitan-style pizzas we generally prefer, but we enjoyed our lunch. More than the food, we just loved the old world vibe.

El Cuartito is in the center of town, a very short walk from Avenida 9 de Julio. Moments after we left the restaurant, and for the very first time on a street in Buenos Aires, I was concerned that we were about to be robbed. Buenos Aires is pretty quiet on Sundays, and the only other people walking along Paraguay toward 9 de Julio were a couple who were ripping open garbage bags on the street and searching the contents for... anything worth anything. Mostly, they found shreds of paper, and they didn't seem happy about that. We didn't speak, we just walked confidently past them. As we did, I noticed the woman's face-- she was completely strung out on something. She looked crazed. Several months ago, I read an article in the NY Times about paco, a cheap, highly addictive form of cocaine. Despite the scourge, we'd never seen any indication of drug activity in Buenos Aires before that moment. The couple moved on to the next set of garbage bags, and we reached the corner of 9 de Julio.

9 de Julio is a wildly wide avenue, with six lanes of traffic in each direction. We'd passed the Obelisco dozens of times during our stay in Buenos Aires, but we'd never bothered to take a picture of it before. Generally speaking, we prefer to take pictures of things that we can't easily find in Google-- ourselves, a certain old tree that caught our eye, maybe, or the label on a bottle of Uruguayan rosado that we'll never see again. We rarely take pictures of prominent landmarks because, well, someone else has already done it far better than we would. This wasn't so much a picture of the Obelisk as it was a picture of our last view of downtown Buenos Aires before we hopped in a cab to check out of Casa Palermitano and then leave for the airport.

Back at the hotel, we popped in to have one last chat with Lorena and Lucas. I'm really not a bird person. I've never been creeped out by anything more than the giant aviary at the San Diego Zoo. Lucas was different. He was like a cat with feathers. I enjoyed watching him eat peanuts, corn, and pickles, and I started to get a sense for his moods. One day I said to Steve "Lucas looks tired." As if on cue, he yawned ten seconds later and we both cracked up. On Sunday, Lucas was kind of moody. Just look at that cold shoulder! We said our goodbyes to Lorena and Andrea, who gave us a bottle of one of their favorite Argentine Malbecs and a pair of embroidered Casa Palermitano washcloths to remember our stay with them. We hugged them goodbye, and took one last look at the urban casa that had been our home for the past twelve nights.

When we got to Ezeiza, we were grateful for Lorena's suggestion that we get there early. The line to check in was very long, but we had entertainment. They guy in front of us boogied to whatever was on his iPod for a solid hour, occasionally singing audibly or doing a full turn. There was a dark side: every time the line moved, he bent his lithe frame in half to pick up his luggage and showed us a shocking amount of butt crack.

Within five minutes of boarding the plan, the passenger in front of us pooped himself.
We paid our exit tax, passed through security, and made it to the gate with half an hour to spare. Our flight to Santiago was packed, but it was on time. When we got to Santiago, though, we were stunned to see our flight to LAX was already boarding. We hurried to the gate only to find that our 11 hour flight was populated by a huge group of pajama-clad, giggly teenage girls returning to LA, and a large group of good looking male Uruguayan soccer players. When we boarded, the reality of our seat assignment was far worse than we imagined: the teenagers were scattered about and keeping to themselves. We had a functionally deaf older couple behind us who had to scream to hear each other, and a sick, screaming toddler and his clueless dad in front of us. We grasped hands, took a deep breath, and prepared ourselves for the worst. Within 5 minutes of boarding, dad was changing the world's stinkiest diaper right there in the seat. A flight attendant pleaded with him to use the bathroom, but when he didn't budge, she brought all the wet wipes she could muster. My thoughts immediately turned to the next occupant of that seat.

Then, shortly after take-off, we learned that LAN's amazing in-flight entertainment system was malfunctioning, and the countless movies, TV shows, documentaries, streaming music, and video games that had kept us and everyone else so happy on our LAX-SCL flight two weeks earlier would be unavailable. The flight crew rebooted the system a few times, but it never worked perfectly. In some seats, such as Steve's, it never worked at all.

The flight got off to a bad start, but shortly after the dinner service, the lights dimmed. Like Lucas does when Lorena puts a towel over his cage, Steve and I-- along with the toddler, his dad, the almost-deaf couple behind us, and nearly two hundred teenagers-- fell asleep. We hit some wild turbulence over the Pacific, but when I finally pulled out my ear plugs at 5AM, almost everyone was still asleep. With insistent button-pushing, I convinced the TV screen in front of me to play a movie. The flight attendants served breakfast-- an omelette floating in some sort of liquid. It was so unappealing that even Steve, who ate thymus glands in Argentina, wouldn't taste it. We landed on time, and although we expected a long, tedious trip through customs at LAX, we were out in the sunlight with our luggage an hour after we landed.

South Americans have a curious custom that we noticed on each of our seven LAN flights. As soon as the plane stops, the passengers applaud. Are they just grateful to be alive? Or is it a way of thanking the pilot for a job well done? We have no idea why they do it, but it's endearing. And on that final flight, we gave in and clapped too.

Rodents of Unusual Size

After our big meal at Bar Uriarte last night, we slept like babies. We stumbled out of our room for coffee at 11:30, and bumped into Casa Palmeritano's newest residents, who'd just arrived this morning. They're from Brooklyn-- like me!

This is our last full day here, so we wanted to tie up a few loose ends. Norma doesn't work on Sundays, so we wanted to tip her personally and thank her for taking such good care of our room. Norma has radar; the moment you wander into the dining room, she drops whatever she's doing in another part of the house to squeeze oranges for your jugo de naranja exprimida. She always offers to make us some eggs, but we're usually too stuffed from the previous night's dinner to eat anything more than a couple of medialunas. Norma whistles while she works-- really.

We also wanted to pay Lorena today, in case we didn't see much of her tomorrow. I've said it before, but I've never encountered a better value that Casa Palermitano, and I've never encountered more welcoming hosts than Lorena and Andrea. In addition to providing us a very attractive, clean, comfortable, and spacious room for the bargain-basement price of $58 USD a night, Lorena and Andrea have helped to make every aspect of our trip better. They've not only called cabs, drawn maps, and made dinner reservations for us, but they've been friends to us here. They've given advice on how to stay safe, and chatted with us extensively in their office about Buenos Aires, their home, their plans for the future, and their hilarious, pickle-eating parrot, Lucas. Lucas plays in Lorena's hands like a puppy. She can turn him over, rub his belly, and put her fingers in his mouth. By contrast, Lucas will only speak for Andrea, but he won't let her play with him. Our flight is tomorrow night, but we reserved the room through Monday because we didn't want to check out early. Since Lorena had the room open anyway, she wouldn't take our money for Sunday night. She's just like that. We didn't want to risk offending her, so instead of insisting she let us pay for Sunday night, we asked her if we could take her and Andrea our for dinner. We have a 9:30 reservation for four at (drumroll) Bar Uriarte. We hoped to get back to El Establo, but we're kind of beefed out.

Dinner plans in place, Steve and I left for the zoo. Jardín Zoológico de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires is in the Palermo Barrio, not far from our hotel. We've walked passed it more than once, but never quite made it through the gate. Before she and Larry left for home yesterday, Marcia warned me that the zoo here is more old school. "It might be upsetting to an animal lover," she explained.

There are several species of birds and rodents that wander freely through the park and approach people for food. There are kiosks everywhere that sell "animal food," and you can hand feed almost anything that lives in the Buenos Aires zoo. Animals with major fangs are out of reach, but for safe animals that you can't hand-feed, there's a chute you can use to pass food into the cage. We have petting zoos in the U.S., but it's hard to imagine a zoo that would allow animals-- any animals-- to wander freely.

The majestic aquatic turtles live in a glass tank the size of a small bathroom. Granted, they don't move much, but the enclosure had a goldfish-in-bowl look to it. Then there was this guy, a beautiful blue and gold macaw surrounded on one side by bricks, and on the other by a chain-link fence.

Animals from all over the world are represented at the zoo, but our favorites were some of the more unusual local speciments. The carpincho (capybara in English) is a rodent that's bigger than a large dog. Carpinchos are valued here for their leather. In fact, one of the current residents at our hotel, Chase from Los Angeles, showed up to breakfast in his handsome new carpincho slippers. The craziest-looking animal we saw was the giant anteater. Although these are usually harmless, an anteater attacked a zookeeper here last year and left her in critical condition.

It was about 70 degrees and sunny the whole time we were at the zoo. Not bad for winter, huh? It was a beautiful day, and we really enjoyed ourselves. We walked back to the hotel, and stopped at Munchi's for one last taste of Argentine helado-- frambuesa y chocolate amargo. Mmm, mmm.

Andrea and Lorena called a taxi to take the four of us to Bar Uriarte for our 9:30PM reservation. The staff recognized us from the night before, and they were extremely friendly and welcoming. We started with a sparkling Trumpeter Rosado de Malbec and some cheese croquettes. We ordered a couple of starters to share, and then moved on to our entrees and the best vino tinto of our trip-- the Flecha de los Andes Malbec. Steve and Lorena both ordered ojo de bife (ribeye) with goat provoleta and chimichurri. This may be total blasphemy, but Bar Uriarte's meats are better than a top notch Parilla's. Our waiter overheard us debating the various desserts and offered to make up a "special dessert tray for four." It was more like dessert for forty! We made a valiant effort, but the four of us barely made a dent in this tray.

I started to doze off on Steve's shoulder between entrees and dessert, and I suspect that's how Lorena and Andrea will remember me: ¡La chica que se durmió en la cena!

The same, but different.

We'd tentatively planned to spend our Friday at the Buenos Aires Zoo, but then we bumped into Larry and Marcia from Seattle. It's their last day in Buenos Aires, and they invited us to join them at Caminos y Sabores, the "roads and flavors" expo at the La Rural Exhbition Center. It sounded like fun! Artisans travel from all over Argentina with their chocolates, oils, vinegars, spices, cheeses, salamis, beers, wines, licors, Fernets, leather goods, wool, silver, etc.

Larry and Marcia suggested we take the subway; the Bulnes station is about five blocks from our hotel, and La Rural is only two stops away from there by train. Cabs are so inexpensive here that we'd never bothered to try the subway. We pay about $4 USD for a typical cab ride across town; subway fare is $0.30.

The subway in Buenos Aires feels oddly like the subway in New York. The air is heavy, warm, and moist, and hits your face at high speed every time a train arrives. We got off at Plaza Italia, and walked up to La Rural. We've seen so many professional dog walkers in Buenos Aires, but this time, we actually had our camera at the ready. We counted sixteen, but there were leashes and paws everywhere.

As we approached La Rural, Steve noticed a majestic old tree. The trunk was huge! Here's a picture with Larry in it, just for perspective. We've seen several trees like this here, and every time I see one, I expect to see a door open up and a family of elves to scamper out.

The expo was interesting. It's open to the public for a small admission fee, but most of the vendors traveled to the big city in hopes of finding stores to sell or distribute their products. There were some really interesting wool and leather goods. One thing that caught our eye was a cow hair "agenda" that was designed to conceal a handgun. Might come in handy with the Supreme Court's recent interpretation of the Second Amendment!

We particularly enjoyed trying the cheeses. We tried one (I think they called it Queso de Campo) that looked like swiss cheese, but was mild and springy like day-old macaroni that's bloated from soaking up cheesy bechamel. Most of the cheesemakers call their goat cheeses "Queso de Cabra"-- goat cheese. We tried several different kinds, all with the same name. We finally bought a disc of a moist, firm one with a texture somewhere between a slicing and crumbling cheese, and took it back to Casa Palermitano (along with a $6 USD bottle of sparkling "Lambrusquino") for a light lunch. We also bought some wildly fragrant vinegars and a chimichurri-inspired dip to take home to the States.

We lingered over our wine and cheese in Lorena's diningroom for a long time, and then decided to read for a bit and take a nap. I know, it's a hard life when you're on vacation! For dinner, Andrea made a 9PM reservation for us at Bar Uriarte. Restaurants often struggle to create spaces that are both attractive and comfortable, but Bar Uriarte is both. It's a gorgeous space, but it's warm and inviting. The service was better than any we've encountered in BsAs, the wine list was extensive, and the food was delicious. And per the post below, we tipped like Americans, not like Argentines.

We started with a burrata and tomato confit salad. Burrata is the freshest cheese you'll ever taste, and it's as milky white and pliant as marshmallow fluff. We've had a lot of bad tomatoes in Buenos Aires. It's winter here, but that doesn't stop restaurants from throwing pale, flavorless tomatoes into their salads. The tomato confit was a much better idea! One thing we've really enjoyed here, besides the meat, is the mushrooms. Hongos are very popular in Buenos Aires, and they're usually delicious. We had a grilled polenta and mushrooms appetizer at Filo that we loved. Bar Uriarte's mushrooms are served alone on a plate with a few shavings of pecorino, but that's all they need. They're like little hunks of succulent, fatty meat. We relented and scooped up the smaller ones with some grilled flatbread that they'd left of the table, but only because we couldn't get them with our forks.

We've been drinking a lot of Malbec here, but it's always very primary and fruity. I suspect the better ones can age, but we never see older bottles on restaurant lists. I don't remember the producer, but we chose a reserve Syrah with dinner last night that was a little older and had a lot more character. It had a slightly herbaceous and coconutty American oak flavor to it, but not to the point of distraction. It worked well with our skirt steak and sweetbreads. Why isn't skirt steak more popular? We've had our share of tenderloin, sirloin, and ribeye here, but nothing packs more meat flavor for the buck than a good old fashioned skirt steak. As a kid, I used to order these "Roumanian tenderloins" for dinner at the Kosher deli. I hereby resolve to cook more skirt steak in 2008.

By 11PM, we'd moved on to coffee and crème brûlée flavored with (what else?) dulce de leche. A man with what had to be hair plugs came and sat next to us. He was at a sunken table for ten, so we were a couple of feet above him and totally fixated on his head. The hair around his head's perimeter was typical-- just coarse, graying, middle aged hair. The stuff in the center was soft, fine, darker, and stuck up like a baby duck's fuzz. We couldn't take our eyes off it. I had an almost irresistible desire to touch this man's hair-- and so did Steve.

Bar Uriarte could have been in Portland. Hell, it could have been in New York or Paris. When we got up to leave, we encountered a sobering reminder of how Buenos Aires differs from those other cities: the front door is bolted shut. A charming hostess peered out the window, and decided it was safe to let us out.

Random thoughts

Fast salt - use salt shakers in Argentina with extreme caution. Their normal-looking shakers release ultra fine salt from ultra big holes.

Small feet - I tried to buy a pair of Merrell all-weather mocs to hike around Iguazu Falls, and discovered that my feet, which are size 9, are freakishly larger by Argentine standards. I was laughed out of two shoe stores (they tried to convince me to wear 8s at both. "They stretch!")

To drink or not to drink the water - we use tap water to brush our teeth, and we haven't had any problems. We keep bottled water for drinking, and always order a bottle of agua con gas in restaurants. Even the locals seem to prefer bottled water. I don't think the tap water is dangerous, but if you're on vacation for only a week or two, it's not worth the digestive adjustment period.

Traffic lanes are mere suggestions. On a four lane street, it's common to see six or seven improvised lanes of cars. The cars are small, and they weave through traffic with so little room to spare that you feel you could be crushed from either direction. It's really terrifying, but it works. Traffic flows relatively smoothly, and most of the cars have seatbelts.

Cars are different - The ones we see in Buenos Aires are primarily Renault, Peugeot, VW, Ford, and Chevy. We've seen a handful of Mercedes (mostly tiny A160) and BMWs, and a lone Volvo wagon. Other than a handful of Honda Fits and a lone Toyota Corolla, we haven't seen many Japanese cars at all. The vast majority of cars seem to have manual transmissions, and we haven't seen a single airbag in any car in Buenos Aires. We take half a dozen cabs every day, so we've been in a lot of cars!

Two yellow lights - in Buenos Aires, traffic lights turn yellow before they turn red, but also before they turn green. My observation is that they blow they yellow light that comes before the green one regularly, but they seem to heed yellow before red. I guess you have to heed one or the other if you want to stay alive here.

Table charges - many restaurants charge a small cover fee for each person at the table. They range from about 2 pesos to 6 pesos, or about $0.66 to $2.00. This is NOT a tip; it's the restaurant's "cover charge." If it sounds like a scam, consider this: restaurants do not ever-- ever-- rush you here. You can order a cappuccino, and sit at a table all night. At one restaurant, Señor Telmo, we eavesdropped as a woman at a neighboring table tried to dispute the charge. Her husband had lunch, but all she'd had was a cup of coffee. She pleaded for ten minutes for them to drop the 2 peso charge, but the restaurant adamantly refused. Some of the higher end restaurants don't have a table charge, but most do. We've spent 250 pesos on dinner, and still been hit with the table charge. In Uruguay, our check also had a charge (that worked out to less than 50 cents per person) for the musicians who played during dinner.

Tips are appreciated here, but they're smaller. In restaurants, a tip is never guaranteed, but servers expect about 10%. Quite honestly, the service level rarely warrants more. The server takes your order, and brings your stuff to the table. You flag him down if you need anything else. You flag him down for the check. You pour your own wine and water, and you grind your own pepper. Not all restaurants accept credit cards, but even among the ones that do, you can't leave a tip on the card. Be prepared to leave cash. We've had a couple of experiences (notably at El Establo) where service was outstanding, and on those occasions, we've tipped 20-25%.

More on tipping - Porteños generally give taxi drivers no tips at all, or small tips by rounding up to the next peso on cab fare. We've left small, 1-2 peso tips for the most part. We've deviated from this local practice when a driver has gone out of his way for us. For example, the driver Lorena called to take us to Chacarita made multiple stops. We tipped him 20%. Our B&B's housekeeper and breakfast cook, Norma, has taken very good care of us. We leave what's considered a good tip (by local standards) for her every day-- 5 pesos, or about $1.67. It takes very little money by American standards to reward good service here, and the locals are truly grateful. We plan to leave a significantly larger, American style tip for Norma on our last day.