I shouldn’t be surprised; this from the children who call Vermont, Gramont, and when quizzed on the state capitals, insist that the capital of New York is a place called Big Apple.
This is my first time in South America, and Buenos Aires is one of the most beautiful cities. It reminds me more of Madrid than say, Mexico (my lone pathetic South of the Border reference), the food is phenomenal, the people couldn’t be nicer, and the 80-degree weather and late sunsets in December are a joy. All of which I feel the need to downplay to Nate.
(Shh, don’t tell him.)
On the down side, it is a city in which it’s tough to be pale, over 25, and not in possession of a mini-skirt-friendly ass. Plus, the cautionary tales from our hosts here are striking mild fear into the hearts of even the most intrepid New Yorkers among us. Let’s just say they suggest we take cabs two blocks from our hotel to dinner. And you can’t actually hail one on the street, because there are imposter cabs that drive around, picking up unsuspecting tourists and…something something something. I kind of tuned out after that.
Traveling for business somewhere gorgeous and exotic and fabulous is always such a double-edged sword when you’re a parent. I can enjoy the fancy dinners and the crazy travel stories. (Remind me to fill you in on the lonely Argentinian Polo player who picked up our $400 dinner tab last night; the benefit of traveling with very cute single female coworkers.) I can enjoy the uninterrupted hotel room sleep. I can enjoy the grownup talk and sightseeing between meetings, the flea market on Sunday morning and the weeeee splurge on handbags at Prüne.
And God help me if I leave here before someone gets a video of me standing on a balcony with my arms outspread and hair pulled back, butchering the theme from Evita.
But while I’m traveling, I never feel entirely whole either. It’s like I’m here, but I’m missing three limbs: one that sleeps next to me at night, and two that call me in Orangina and describe the cotton candy at a friend’s birthday party over the phone in so much frenetic detail, I can’t understand a word they’re saying.
Thalia made me this picture before I left, “So I would remember her.” It seem to be working.