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Travel

The diva treatment

September 21, 2010

The best thing about Buenos Aires is how you never have to make any plans. Just walk outside and see where the day will take you.

And so it was yesterday with my visit to Teatro Colon, considered to be one of the top five opera houses in the world — and totally not my intended destination for a Monday afternoon.

But I was in the neighborhood, and I heard that the theater has incredible tours, so I popped into the front office to inquire.

ME: Hello. Do you have tours?

FRONT DESK GUY: No tours. We’re closed.

ME: Oh. Are you open tomorrow.

FDG: No tour tomorrow. Closed.

ME: Do you ever give tours?

FDG: No.

Until that moment when I was turned away, I didn’t realize just how much I wanted to see the inside of the place — and now it seemed like I was fresh out of luck. Beyond buying an expensive ticket to a fancy opera, the tour was my only way to get inside the stunning 1908 building.

On a whim I walked down the alley on the side of the building where I saw a security guard.

ME: Hey, are there any tours of this building?

SECURITY GUY: No tour, but go inside. They speak English.

He nudged me toward an open door. I figured at the very least I’d get to see the lobby, so I played along and walked inside.

There was a woman at a box office desk.

ME: Hola! Do you have any tours?

LADY: No. No tours. Not until spring, when we have more visitors.

ME: Oh. That’s a shame. I really wanted to see the place.

LADY: Sorry. Oh, but I could give you free tickets to this afternoon’s show. Do you want that?

ME: Absolutely!

And that’s how I found myself at the Concierto de Primavera inside a massive and gorgeous theater. For free.

The show wasn’t a full opera, so no buxom ladies in Viking helmets, sadly.

What I did get was a masterful orchestra playing selections from a variety of operas, accompanied by incredible soloists. Baritone Fabian Veloz sang a piece from La Traviata that was a gift to my ears. An oboe, playing the melancholy “Oblivion” by Astor Piazzolla, made me weep. And during the big Brahms finale, I leapt to my feet and clapped until my hands were red and raw.

For two flawless hours, I was inside one of those perfect travel moments — where it feels like the whole world is working in your favor and every dream can come true.

 

Be a baller

September 20, 2010

Whether you call it football or soccer, one thing is certain — attending a game in South America is a must.

For me, there was no better place than Buenos Aires, where I could root for one of the nation’s most beloved teams, Boca.

Though my knowledge of the game is limited — um, I saw “Bend It Like Beckham” once — I find it really easy to get caught up in the energy and excitement of a crowd. The home team was winning, the stands crackled with electricity and I sang and cheered until my throat went dry.

Interested in checking out a match for yourself? Here are my top tips for how to score some major points.

DO

Go with a group, especially if it’s your first time. The stadium is crowded, the situation is overwhelming and the fans are nuts. And we’re not talking about the kind of nuts where they paint their tummies and wear cheese wedges on their heads. These fans will set you on fire.

Scream your fool head off, even if you don’t know the words to the chants.

Stay tucked well underneath the balcony where the visiting supporters sit. The fans tend to get rowdy and throw things at the fans below. That includes waste … human waste.

Stay in your seat until the police say you can leave. Once the game is over, visiting supoprters have 30 minutes to leave the stadium. When they have cleared out, home team fans can go.

Roll up your pant legs before leaving. For some weird reason, fans of the losing team all get the urge to piss at the same time on the stairs of the stadium, leaving the winning team’s fans to wade through muck and puddles.

Chat with the cute guy next to you by mumbling something like, “Moreno is really taking advantage of that defensive lapse and controlling the tempo of the game.” Should that fail, simply yell “OLE!”

DON’T

Buy a soda. It’s guaranteed to be flat and expensive.

Take anything valuable with you. There are pickpockets everywhere.

Root for another team while sitting in the home team section. This is a matter of life or death. Seriously.

Lose track of your group and spend an hour waiting for them on a very dangerous and dark street corner in a country where you don’t speak the language, all while wearing the rival team’s colors. (Not saying this is what happened to me. Just a random suggestion.)

GOOD TO KNOW

No alcohol is sold inside the stadium. So if you want to be a belligerent drunk, get spirited before the match.

Sometimes fans set off a bunch of flares inside the stadium, creating a lot of smoke and chaos. This appears to be acceptable behavior.

Most of all, have a fantastic time!

 

Grape expectations

September 15, 2010

I can support anything that pairs drinking with an otherwise healthy activity. So when I heard it’s possible to bike from vineyard to vineyard in Argentina’s wine country, I was immediately up for the challenge.

In Mendoza, drunken cycling is not only allowed, it’s encouraged.

Deborah and I rented bikes from a tour company, Mr. Hugo’s Bikes, where we were outfitted with old-school BMX bikes. Someone thrust a map at us and we pedalled away.

Our first stop was Trapiche Winery. I decided that guzzling wine at 10 a.m. is perfectly acceptable when it’s in a place this swanky.

Besides, we were just doing what the adorable tour guide told us to do.

Trapiche’s big thing is that they make organic, biodynamic wine … which basically means they plant pretty flowers in between their vines.

Also, they have cows.

And, naturally, we sampled the fruits of their labor.

The remainder of the day was a blur of wine, vines and other assorted pretty things.

Altogether, we rode about 15 miles, which is admirable, given the not-quite-sober conditions.

It was the perfect way to see wine country. Even though we biked it, we still found time to sip back and relax.

 

Cut down to size

September 14, 2010

We visited the salt flats of Uyuni, Bolivia, and discovered it’s the little things that make us happy.

 

When monkeys attack

August 31, 2010

Behold, the noble and fierce monkey!

OK, actually that monkey is pretty damn sweet. His name is Romeo, and he was my constant companion during my two-week volunteer stint with the Inti Wara Yassi organization at Parque Machia.

Inti Wara Yassi runs three wildlife sanctuaries through Bolivia, and they provide a home for mistreated animals. There are some extreme cases of abuse — like a puma who was practically crippled by jumping through flaming hoops at an illegal circus — but the majority of their birds and animals have been seized from exotic pet black market.

I was assigned to Monkey Park, where more than 400 monkeys live independently, reintroduced into the jungle. They’re not quite wild, because we still feed them and they do have interaction with humans, but it’s as close to natural conditions as they’re ever going to get.

I worked nearly a 12-hour shift each day, starting with breakfast for the monkeys each morning. They eat bananas, of course, but they also receive a quinoa porridge that was supplemented with lots of monkey-riffic vitamins.

My job also included preparing monkey lunch and dinner, cleaning monkey cages and scrubbing monkey blankets — though most of the monkeys live without any captivity, we lock up the spider monkeys each night to keep them safe from poachers and thieves — and lots and lots of monkey cuddling.

Like with Martina here, who I think looks a little bit like an Amish dude.

And, of course, Romeo, oh Romeo!

Then, one week into my work, tragedy struck.

A hulking monkey, Renor, hopped onto my lap. He’s the number-two guy for the alpha monkey, so he’s larger and far stronger than most of the other capuchin monkeys. Imagine a big playground ball made of muscle and fur.

After about 15 minutes on my lap, he suddenly hopped off, grabbed my hands and chomped down on me. First he bit down on my right hand, but didn’t puncture the skin. He moved on to my left hand, where he made two deep fang holes into the thumb, then a couple more holes on the hand. At one point, I heard his tooth hit my bone.

During one of the bites, he pulled my hand away, creating a gash in my flesh. Then he very calmly looked me in the eye and lapped up the blood. He didn’t seem angry or spooked; he was simply gnawing on me.

He had a tight grip on both my hands, so I couldn’t do much except let him go all vampire on me. I was afraid that pulling away would cause him to react even more violently.

Another volunteer heard me curse and walked into Monkey Park to see what was going on. When he approached, Renor scampered off into the jungle. I headed for the clinic, where the sanctuary vet gave me a couple stitches. (I was told that the last time Renor bit someone, he gave the guy 72 stitches, so I got off lucky.)

Here’s how my wounds look one week later.

It was difficult to return to Moneky Park the next day.

If I had done something wrong and caused the monkey to bite, that would have been one thing. But Renor’s behavior was so erratic and random, I was scared something would happen again. Plus, at the same time, the alpha monkey was acting particularly aggressive and biting at least one volunteer per day.

I’m proud of myself for going back, though. Monkey Park offers volunteers a lot of quiet time, and I did a lot of thinking about what it means to work through fear, find confidence … and trust your monkeys again.