DON'T BOTHER ME, I'M CRABBY!

Whoever coined that was obviously a sophisticated, citified woman who had just experienced her very first weekend ever 'camping'. It wasn't such a crazy idea (my friends told me after they stopped laughing), it was only May, no bugs yet, and the cause was noble - volunteering for the official annual Horseshoe crab census count under the full moon in Cape Henlopen, Delaware. The crabs have been around 350 million years; it remained to be seen if I could survive two days.

Rule #1: Think twice before testing the great outdoors with a buff Nordic companion, no matter how cute he is. We were driving a van - not like a delivery van as I had feared, but a large, plush one, big enough to hold all our supplies and equipment; enough for Army maneuvers, in fact. I don't understand why he seemed genuinely puzzled that my belongings did not fit neatly into a backpack. Along with all the required gear, a girl still needs her pillow, chair, Starbucks, sleeping bag with built-in magnifying mirror and Chanel flip-flops, right?

It rained the entire day of the drive up to Delaware. But, being the perfect party planner, I had called ahead to verify that there were rooms available in Lewes as an alternative to a wet tent, which for any sane person is not an option. His alternative: Sleep in the van, of course! Since I’d never even made out in the back seat of a vehicle in high school, I certainly wasn't about to spend the night in one now. But as we sped right by the B&B's, me waving wistfully out the back window and choking up with grief as they disappeared into the horizon, I realized my fate was sealed.

It was actually pretty cozy after we set it all up - the equipment was in the wet tent, we in the cushy, dry van. With soft music, the light of the moon through the trees, it was the Ritz Carlton by comparison. It's all relative as they say. I was with a true Viking to whom the great outdoors was second nature; or probably first nature; to him, a civilized hotel is unworthy, what with all those annoying man-made conveniences like bed linens, hair dryers, and room service. I assumed I was in good hands.

That night, we embarked on our first 'stroll to the beach' maneuver, in the pitch dark, along a wooded trail, with rustling in the forest that I just knew came from bears and coiled snakes. We plodded on....and on....and on, my feet killing me, begging to turn back, whining that I was still 'in training' – until we were finally stopped by a Do Not Enter, Secure Area barrier. Whew! Now we could go back. Not! Like a dutiful girl scout, I halted but the warrior leapt over the barricade and disappeared into the black never-neverland, for what seemed like hours. So I took a much needed rest. We finally reconnoitered for the trek back, only to get lost amongst giant sand dunes, like Moses in the desert, wandering around, no water, no manna from heaven, no map. I never thought I'd be so elated to see a campsite.

The next day was another exercise, this time covering the entire length of the beach, sun blazing, perfect sky, with my 'Get in shape' sergeant by my side. (I kept insisting "Round IS a shape!", to no avail.) The Horseshoe crabs had obviously been on just such a forced march and were found dead where they collapsed, unable to make it all the way to the end of the Point. I wanted to join them. But I trudged and waddled to the end and back, where Harald the Horrible had jogged ahead in perfect form and settled in to await my eventual return.

The food was delicious, especially the lamb steaks which he grilled to perfection. Tip of the day: Don't eat meat on a camping trip if you're not used to it. Fortunately, the public bathroom was within sprinting distance and remained my best friend for most of the day. I decided not to further test my system, so while he sipped Pinot, I guzzled Canada Dry. Little did I know that meant I would have to drive the van. What? I'm 5'3"; how am I supposed to conduct a locomotive? My panic reared its ugly head but the choice was made clear: either drive or walk. (Note to self: Next time (ha!) just say "Yes Dear", then shoot him.) I finally decided it was preferable to risk our lives with me driving than try to hoof it yet several more miles at night and become roadkill. I pity the driver behind me as I zig-zagged the giant tank down the dark road, but we finally made it to the crab census in one piece.

Although there were zero, count ‘em, zero live, spawning Horseshoe crabs to count because of a recent storm, the event was unique and serene, the lighthouse twinkled and beamed, and we twinkled and beamed back. Remarkably, even the dead horseshoes were an awe-inspiring sight, like little slain knights in shining armor scattered across a battlefield.

Would I do it again? Perhaps, armed with experience, imodium and relationship-training. There's a lot to be said for a taste now and then of the simpler life, where nature rules, and the sight of giant campers skulking silently by their campsites is preferable to the cacophony of the city and traffic jams. And I’d know next time to slip a sedative into my companion's drink upon arrival.

DON'T CRY FOR ME, ARGENTINA

How did I like Buenos Aires, you ask? I liked it a lot. Mainly because it's cheap!
Let’s start with the important stuff:
A curling iron cost $5. But there’s a catch. After letting it sit for fifteen minutes, the rubber tip and rubber ring holding it to the handle melted. When I returned it, they said I should not have left it on for more than 10 minutes. Silly me! It happened to the second one also. OK, the third one too. For $5, I had to keep trying!

It's cheap to eat, too! Lunch in a parrilla in the best part of town, Recoleta, was typically great steak, salad and good wine for two for $11. Dinners averaged $20 including tax and tip. Though at one restaurant, we handed over a $100 peso note and got $50 back, which was fine until we tried spending it elsewhere and were told "Falso!" Guess this particular place saves the counterfeit stuff for us drunken, ignorant gringos, awash in cholesterol and alcohol. Our complaints to them only yielded their version of “How do I know it’s mine?”

Then there are the ‘all you can eat’ restaurants. Now, I’ve nearly bankrupted such places back here so I was up to the challenge. Great quality, massive choices. I played my hand, but the house beat me!

The 'white food' is delicious too – Atkins must be turning over in his grave: It seems almost everyone eats ice cream, meringues, cookies, lots of unusual breakfast pastries, along with the customary high tea at 5 or 6 p.m. with more goodies. So civilized. I ate it all and didn't vomit until the day before I left.

I only got dressed up once - to dine at a new restaurant just featured in Gourmet Magazine and located in Santiago, Chile (went there on a 3 day side trip). Unfortunately, El Jardin Secreto was indeed so secret it had closed down five days earlier. We made up for it at other local eateries by consuming huge and succulent quantities of ceviche and Chilean sea bass coupled with superlative Merlot. All meals began with complimentary Pisco - like a strong whiskey sour.
Being a much more expensive city than BA, a typical dinner in Santiago was $20,000 Chilean dollars – very scary - I still have no idea what it really cost.

The weather was fine - no rain at all - 80's for a few days then 50-60 the rest of the time. Mock me if you will, but I wore all 7 pairs of shoes (a pair at a time), all jackets and turtlenecks, often two at once to keep warm. "All black, all the time" worked well. When the feet gave out, taxis averaged $1.50.

I had heard BA was the leather shopportunity but I wasn't very impressed; lots of it but nothing worth trading in current attire. Besides, it is almost impossible to negotiate without the language - or do anything without Español for that matter. We added "o" to many of the words, and sometimes it worked but not enough to get by-o. Except for "n-o".

The people were wonderfully kind, helpful and friendly. As soon as they heard me utter ‘buenos días’, they assumed I knew Spanish and rattled on and on about who knows what. I politely nodded and smiled a lot. I have probably agreed to send all their kids to American schools.

We actually took a private Spanish lesson for only $10/hr. Not bad except it only works in Argentina where the words are pronounced with letters that do not appear in them. For instance, LL and Y is SH. Who thought that up?

Who knew my credit card wouldn’t work outside of North America? Apparently, I was supposed to notify not only my mother but also Bank of America that I was leaving the country. It was declined a humiliating three times before they finally agreed I was I and I was there.

It was easy to keep in touch by internet. Every few steps is an internet café without the café. It costs about 20 cents per hour. And with my phone card, clients never knew I wasn't at home in bed, I mean in my office. Oh, and before I forget, cappuccino is only $1.25. Take note, Starbucks.

You can see the old charm and elegance that used to be. But BA is poor, the country is poor, the people are poor. Kids help open cab doors to pick up change. I felt safe though, didn't wear much jewelry, didn't see or hear of any problems. But it was best to walk with eyes to the ground. That was to avoid tripping on the broken and chipped sidewalks, most in great disrepair, I learned after the first few ankle twists. (Not that Washington streets are much better.)

Made it to the beautiful Recoleta cemetery that includes Evita Peron’s family crypt. The mausoleums are buildings - many look as large as my apartment. But the ghoulish state of many of the above-ground graves is evidence of either lack of attention or money. I also clawed my way through the mobbed Sunday flea market at San Telmo where lots of graceful Tango was being performed and the main things for sale were a type of antique pewter and some real silver…lovely objects, crying “Buy me!” and several now adorn my dresser.

Hotels are cheap! Our 4 star hotel in a good area was $40/night including buffet breakfast and 21% tax. Just don't select the scrambled eggs – there it’s scrambled salt. I luxuriated in large modern bathrooms to die for and good service throughout. A great lifestyle is so affordable! Who knew?

I did not want to leave. My friend rented a gorgeous apartment for $500 per month, furnished with antiques and a large terrace. But I do have a job so I went to the airport and after an hour in line, was told the flight was delayed until the next morning. We were all shlepped to a five-star hotel, had a great dinner, and luckily, flew home first class the following day, spending the next 10 hours reclining in my barca-lounger-in the-sky, napping, eating, and watching all the movies I had missed in theaters. Oh, and let’s not forget a final shopping spree – Duty Free objects, presented to me for inspection. I simply waved my credit card and picked up all those items I never knew I couldn’t live without.

So don’t cry for me, Argentina - I’ll be back.