Santa Fe Epiphany

Being on vacation means leaving the country. Or so I believed.

Deciphering accents, learning new customs, and fighting the time change always seemed to do the trick.

Last Thursday, as we flew over Georgia O'Keeffe's precious southwest, I pretended the "New" in New Mexico was purely for decoration and I was indeed travelling to a Spanish speaking country.

To my dismay, no one checked my passport, everyone spoke English, and the bathrooms were squeaky clean. I wouldn't have to adjust my travel lens. But something amazing happened as our dear friend Todd (I pretended he was a hired driver for a while) drove us from Albuquerque to Santa Fe: I turned off my Blackberry...and kept it shut off the entire weekend.

Every day I raved about how relaxed I felt. Picking out a necklace from a local artist, it suddenly dawned on me: my refusal to pay international cell phone charges forced me to leave my phone at home. Could it be? Was the reason I felt truly on vacation connected to being totally unreachable?

Guilt started to creep in as I delighted that being out of reach meant a break from expectations, demands, and obligations. I quickly reminded myself how much I loved texting and talking on the phone, yet vowed never to bring the CrackBerry on vacation.

As we devoured delicious Southwestern specialties in first class restaurants, soaked ourselves in Ojo Caliente's springs, experienced Santa Fe's World Class Opera, and visited the museum quality art galleries, I realized you don't need to leave the country to 'really' travel. Who knew?

Passionate in Buenos Aires

Everyone dances in Buenos Aires - intimately and fiercely.

Passion is the common denominator and tango is the social equalizer.

Walking into the traditional Milonga (dance hall), you are immediately struck by the age range. A 25 year old forehead tightly pressed against a 70 year old's. Even more inspiring is the shocking revelation that the dancers have never met, yet they are dancing so intimately, you would think they were in love. And then you realize that they are, for that moment - swept away by the intensity of the rhythm, totally consumed by the palpable sensual energy in the room. Hundreds of strangers and couples dancing together for decades - all circling the room till dawn -every weekend.

It's easy to mistake Buenos Aires for a South American version of NYC - the sea of taxis, world class museums, endless entertainment, ultra hip restaurants, and bustling bars (we loved them all!) But look a bit closer, and you realize B.A. is entirely in a class of its own.

Visit any city in the world, and you are bound to see your name on a key chain. Not me. My name can only be seen slightly misspelled on a prune bag (Mariani). But in Buenos Aires...every tourist stand boasts a Mariana magnet.

As much as they would like to, B.A. drivers do not talk on the phone while operating their vehicles. If they did, they would most certainly die. You see, everyone has the right of way. Lanes are purely for decoration, traffic lights are mere suggestions, and stop signs don't exist. And yet...our NASCAR-inspired taxi rides were true highlights, as proud cabbies eagerly showed off their sprawling city by playing tour guide.

The most commonly sold items on the street are socks and feather dusters. And although we never saw either being purchased, there must be a real market for both.

Speaking of markets...the number of Sunday outdoor fairs must appear in the book of world records. We saw at least 10 within a few mile radius - each one specializing in something unique.


Going to the cemetery is a social experience, and feels more like visiting some famous old friends (like Eva Peron) rather than mourning their death.

Strolling the streets of the Recoleta cemetery (pictured left), each grave an architectural marvel, is reminiscent of visiting Pompeii.

Speaking of ancient roots... B.A has 250,000 Jews, 90 synagogues, 12 Jewish schools, a profound Shoah (Holocaust) Museum that we visited, and dozens of kosher restaurants.

During our oldest synagogue in Argentina tour, a fellow traveler found his grandfather's name in the immigrant directory. Aftter many tears of joy and a very touching immigrant success, we were fast friends, experiencing Jewish history in the making.

Although the Pink House (pictured left) is no White House, it is empowering to see the balcony from which Evita (and Madonna) delivered her famous speech (and song) and visit the room where the executive branch meets. To get the full effect, we got a healthy dose of the daily protest going on outside.

So while Buenos Aires shares some characteristics with other cities in the world, such as The Best of Bob Marley CD playing everywhere, countless Che Guevara memorabilia, and a contagious obsession with sports, it is definitely in a league of its own.

Drenched in Iguazu

We left the countless stray dogs of Salta for coatis, tiger herons, cappuchin monkeys, toucans, parrots, and armadillos of Iguazu Falls.

Sunshine and rainbows greeted us at Iguazu National Park. We hiked through the lush forest to the falls, took a boatride that literally soaked us (twice) under one of the waterfalls, fell in love with armadillos...all the while boasting of the unusually perfect weather, confident we would see most of the 500 animal species.

So naturally the next day we awoke to a major thunderstorm. But since we were leaving later that day, we had no choice but to hike to Garganta del Diablo (Devil`s throat).

Nothing can prepare you for the imposing sight and feel of Devil`s throat.

Legend has it that a jealous and wrathful god caused the riverbed to collpase in front of his beloved Naipur and her lover, producing a line of precipitous falls, forcing the girl to fall and turn into a rock at the base. Caroba, her lover, survived as a tree overlooking the rock. The intensity of that story is matched and captured by the thunderous, explosive, and drenching falls.

Overlooking this infinity of liquid, rain washing over you, mist from the falls gently caressing your face, you forget about the shaking cold and drenched body and only focus on the suddenly cleansed soul.

Operation Shot and Awe

No trip is complete without a personal assessment of the local health care system.

To celebrate the purchase on my new Tango-inspired dress, my partner-in-shopping and good friend Laura and I feasted on tasty delights at an oudoor cafe in the main plaza. As we were paying the bill, I felt like someone shot me in the foot. It was a Vespa. (Not the popular Italian scooter, but the "non-European" hornet).

How do you know if you´re allergic to a Vespa? You writhe in dibillitating pain as your foot starts to double in size and the redness quickly creeps up your leg.

The pharmacist cursed at the site of my foot, pushing all the other customers aside and selling me the shot solution, which I carried across the street to the clinic for immediate injection. The minute Laura and I entered the clinic, we were instantly seen, my butt was injected, and I felt miraculously better.

(Shot solution:$6, butt injection: $1, not having to spend countless hours in the ER, fill out endless forms, and waste the entire day...priceless).

But I digress.

The primary reason for Argentine travels is not to conduct research for the sequel to Sicko, but to celebrate Scott & Natalia´s wedding.

Natalia´s father owns a 1,500 acre working ranch called Estancia Vista Alegre, complete with 100 horses, 35 workers, and a house that looks like a Spanish Style Four Seasons. For two days we experienced it in all its glory.

Friday night´s festivities started with an hour long horse-show, a traditional Asado, and dancing till 2am.

We were a little nervous the wedding celebration couldn´t measure up, until the wedding happened.

Where is InStyle weddings when you need it? We celebrated in awe: ceremony for 200 guests in the candle-lit courtyard, followed by dinner set in the patio that can only be compared to Sevilla´s Alcazar, two incredible multi-course meals (first at 8pm and second at 2:30 am), flowing liquer, 18 dessert trays, and continuing dancing till 4 am (complete with a personal dance lesson for me!).

The 11 hour wedding extravaganza flew by, and luckily neither the Vespa nor the injured knee held me back.

Searching in Salta

When travelling to a socialite destination wedding in a remote province of Argentina, it´s important to...bring a dress. Or you could forget the perfect dress (intended to blow the minds of the Atherton elite) at home and find one there. Naturally, I opted for the latter.


After exploring Salta´s charming shopping district, I have two clear options: dress as an Incan peasant (some flattering choices there) or pose as a contestant on Dancing with the Stars. In other words, cover myself in a traditional poncho garb or glow in glitter. Either way, I´m slightly horrified.


And speaking of horror...after my unproductive shopping excursion, I set out to explore the gem of Salta: Museo de Arquelogia de Alta Montaña, the premier museum of Northern Argentina. The centerpiece of the display is a mummified body of a 15-year old girl, one of three children discovered on a mountain peak in 1999. She is perfectly preserved with her intricately plaited hair, unmarked skin, clothing, and jewelry. It is shocking but you can´t look away. Confused by her facial expression, I couldn´t help but wonder: was it a peaceful passing? a tortured death?


Incans used to offer the lives of high-born children to please (or appease) the gods. After a proper celebration, the children were well-fed and drugged, then brought to the highest mountain peak and left to die. It was considered a priviledge and performed in order to ensure continued fertility of their people and land.


As I relish the delicious tastes of Argentine food and wine from the amazing welcome party last night, I try not to judge and instead focus on feeling immensely grateful to experience Argentina in all its glory...now if only I could just find a dress!