Tastes of Citrus with Hints of Chocolate

A friend and I took a day trip to a vineyard on Sunday. It made us smile to leave the city and see the countryside on the three-hour bus trip. The bus dropped us off on a country road, rather than taking us into the nearest city, Santa Cruz. We walked about a quarter mile to Viu Manent, a vineyard.

We turned onto the dirt lane that lead to the vineyard and reveled in the spring day and the breeze and the beauty.

We took a carriage-ride tour of the vineyard. They grow 26 varieties of grapes. We saw some vines that were 80 years old.

I love this picture of our driver.

We also saw the more scientific side of making wine. This is a wine laboratory. (In this case, I believe the more posh pronunciation of lah-BOR-a-tor-y is due.) On the right are different types of vats they use to ferment the wine. We tried some wine straight from the metal vat. It tasted raw.

We tasted six types of wine. The pencil was for jotting down notes, like "hints of lavender" and "pollinated by bees who also frequented clover." I stuck to check marks for the ones I like. The metal bucket is a spit bucket, which I did not use. High-brow or not, I don't look free wine in the face!

After the tasting we ate lunch on the patio of the vineyard's restaurant. This was our view. There happened to be an equestrian match going on. This is when we began to wonder if this was real life.

We began our meal with squash soup and a salmon and avocado salad. We continued with two bottles of wine. I had duck for my main, and we topped it off with a delightful little dessert that we ate so fast there wasn't a second for a photo.

I got on bus and couldn't physically hold my eyes open. I slept for two hours. A deep sleep.

Quick as a . . .

Can you spot the critter?

This fox trotted by our bus while I was on an excursion in the Atacama Desert. He didn't seem afraid and hung out for a bit, until we drove off. Our guide said some people feed them.

The older a flamingo is, the darker it is. Flamingos only get their pink color naturally when they live in the wild. Our guide told us if we see pink flamingos in a zoo, the color is artificial.

This little guy is called a viscacha. It looks like a rabbit except that it has a long tail.

This dude made his burrow on the edge of a remote salt flat. Maybe we were the first humans he had ever seen.

This is a vicuña. It is a smaller, wild relative of the llama. Their wool is the most expensive in the world. A few kilos of it costs thousands of dollars. Now is it illegal to hunt them.

This is a llama family. Llamas are bigger than vicuñas. These ones are domesticated but they roam free.

And this is me eating a cousin of the llama family from above. The look on my face isn't one of dislike, but rather of savoring. The meat was very flavorful and soft, not tough at all.

One Trip, Three Hats

Because this is how I roll.

Still a Nat Geo girl.

It was freezing and windy here. I took a video at this spot so I could get a panorama, and the wind sounds destructive. A big thanks to my friend Elaina for making the hat and gloves I am wearing; they kept me warm!

It was warm in late afternoon when we took this in the Valley of the Moon. I'm hiding the floppy hat I was wearing under my legs. It's great for sun protection but not so much for pictures!

Where in the World . . .

Last weekend I went to San Pedro, a little town in the Atacama Desert in the north of Chile. It was otherworldly and wild.

I left immediately from work Thursday afternoon and went to the airport. The flight was 2 hours and arrived in a mining city called Calama. From there it was an hour and half shuttle ride to San Pedro. Instead, some people take a 20 hour bus ride from Santiago. NO, thank you. I arrived at the hostal late and was bummed to find out that I was too late to book an excursion for the next day. I went to my room and immediately made friends with the guys there. They invited me to go on the excursion with them the next morning. I didn't even know where it was going but I woke up at six the next morning and blearily asked the guide for a spot on the bus, luckily I got one. There was a group of five of us traveling alone.

We snapped funny photos and swapped stories and felt like new old friends. That's a volcano behind us. That's also a lake. I'm not clear where the water comes from considering it is the driest place in the world . . . from snow from the mountains? It was really cool. I was wearing two pairs of gloves and pants and I can't tell you how many shirts.

We went to salt flats. We saw four flamingos where there used to be thousands.

Friday evening my friend Magda and her friend Aaron arrived. Our excursion on Saturday morning left at 5 a.m., necessary because we went to the geyers and they are most active in the morning.

In the afternoon we went to the Valley of the Moon.

The next day I went on an all day excursion to the Tara Salt Flats, which are very close to the border with Bolivia. They are wild and remote. We went off-roading and were at a really high elevation. I felt it in my lungs after walking a few steps up a little hill. 

We had a picnic lunch at a salt flat. I found myself thinking that I never wanted to leave.

Guess Where I Went

If you think it's the moon, you're close, ish. More to come in my next post.

A New Adventure

This morning, I woke up to this . . .

The sun rising over the Andes Mountains! I gasped when I saw them.

And so I begin a new adventure teaching English in Santiago.

Out for a stroll

There I was. In Spain. Studying abroad. Fulling my dream. A dream I had harbored, nurtured,coddled even, for six years. I had worked as a grocery store cashier, greenhouse assistant and museum interpreter --  in full period costume nonetheless -- to pay for this dream.


Then why was I in my room with the door shut and tears in my eyes? 


I felt lonely. I had opted to live in a Spanish home-stay without other American students. I was picturing me, madre, padre y unos niños. Instead, I was living with an elderly lady and her live-in housekeeper, which was ok don't get me wrong but it wasn't a family. No one to show me around. No kids to play with and learn from. (Kids are the best language teachers, I've found.) 


There were just 6 of us in my study abroad program. Myself and 5 other girls, who all - from the get-go - adopted a disdainful attitude toward me.Truly. This still puzzles me.


Anyway, there I was sitting in my new Spanish room on a Saturday afternoon. We ate lunch at 2, and I'm sure I took the customary siesta. Gotta love a socially acceptable afternoon nap. My body, apparently, was acclimating to the Spanish lifestyle before my mind.


After consulting a trusty street map. I decided to go out. Get some fresh air. Observe life in Madrid. I saw a big green splotch on the map and set my course thataway. Why not? I've always loved a good park. El Parque de Buen Retiro, this one was called. In English, the Park of Pleasant Retreat. With that name it had to be decent, right?


Families, puppets, bubbles, soccer players, lovers, churro stands. Walk farther. Hear distant drumming. Go with the flow. A pond with row boats. A grand monument. Stop and stare for a moment because this is Spain. It's probably old. And important.

I am here finally. I found the people and a window into their culture. As I walk along the edge of the pond, I see a tarot card reader, artists next to watercolors, a portable marionette stage. A violinist played a Josh Grobin song that reminded me, achingly, of my grandmother, who I knew would have been so proud of me. I put a euro in his hat. The memory associated with the song was worth so much more to me.

On the other side of the monument there were drum circles and people juggling and kids running around. I couldn't help smiling and smiling. I felt so connected, so happy I was experiencing this, so thankful.

I gained more than a bright afternoon in the park. I learned that the moment when I'm feeling at my lowest and loneliest, that's the time to go out and join the world. It's having with or without me; I only need to open my door and let myself be a part of it.

Oh, what a Saturday in the Park, Spanish -- not Chicago -- style, this time.