Christmas in the Rocket's Red Glare

by Andrew

With just 10 days until Christmas, an apartment the size of a taco , and two gonzo children, I now understand why sales of expensive liquors rise so dramatically in December.

Nevertheless, Christmas in Buenos Aires is a pale shadow of its tinseled American counterpart. Firstly, it's summer here, which does take some of the snap and crackle out of the season's festivities. Second, Argentines would never dream of trampling a Walmart employee to death unless he were manning the meat counter.

Sure, businesses here put up a few garlands and lights, but the shop windows aren't festooned with mechanized nodding reindeer, and the TV commercials haven't changed much. Even more noticeably, people who attend church once a year don't snarl "Feliz Navidad" at you if you happen to say "Felices Fiestas!"

None of this festive understatement has phased Graham and Katharine in the slightest, however. You could put our children in the middle of the Kalahari in December and they would happily pass the time building an airstrip for Santa with bleached bones. They are genetically programmed to get stuff at this time of year.

The children have had to make some adjustments, of course. Here, in no particular order, are the issues with which we are grappling:

1) Logistics. Santa can only bring what will fit into our suitcases. This is a dictum that has been handed down by me, and the children have been instructed to pass the order on to Santa in their Christmas letters. No doll houses, bicycles, or swimming pools, please. The children have been noticeably cold toward me ever since.

2) Lack of chimney. Katharine was appalled when she walked into our first-floor apartment and saw that it lacked Santa's traditional ingress. Fortunately, we do have a small patio and the children have our assurance that we will leave the French doors open on Christmas Eve.

3) Lack of Christmas tree. As in South Africa, real Christmas trees are something of a luxury, and most residents make do with an artificial one. We don't even have that, leaving us no choice but to decorate a dusty little ficus tree on the patio. The children are making decorations from the cardboard inserts in old toilet rolls. Katharine hopes that Santa leaves extra presents out of sheer pity.

4) Greed. By now, we are all weary of hearing the excesses of Wall Street. Make no mistake, though, the rot goes much deeper than that. For the past few days, Katharine has been weighing a scheme that could quite possibly destroy the very fabric of our universe. For the sake of profit, she wants to bring together two of the most powerful magic forces known to man: Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.

For six weeks now, Katharine has been clutching a tooth that fell out as we drove to Miami. She refused to put it under her pillow in the United States, hoping instead to make a killing on the foreign-exchange market. Panamanian pillows flunked the test after she discovered that the balboa is pegged to the U.S. dollar. She has been marginally more enthusiastic about the Argentine peso, and has watched closely as the dollar strengthened from 3.0 pesos to 3.4. But with Christmas just around the corner, she saw the chance to hit pay dirt. What would happen, she mused, if she put her tooth under her pillow on Christmas Eve?

Have we truly come to the point where a 7-year-old child will risk everything to increase her return by a few points? Who knows what will happen when Santa's magical emanations collide with the pixie dust of the Tooth Fairy? It simply doesn't bear thinking about. Katharine, her eyes set on a big score, couldn't care less. Fortunately, there is still hope (see below).

5) Anti-aircraft fire. As in much of Europe, Argentines enjoy their big celebration on Christmas Eve. The whole country shuts down in the afternoon and the rest of the day is family time. As midnight nears, it's common for the residents of Buenos Aires to count down a la New Year's Eve before discharging tons of fireworks into the night sky. From what we have been told, the resulting explosions make Beirut look sleepy.

As excited as the children are about the prospect of fireworks, they are more terrified by the possibility that Santa will be blown out of the sky as he attempts to make his deliveries. In hopes of avoiding friendly-fire accidents, Graham wants Rudolf to exchange his red schnozz for a flashing blue-and-white police beacon. And, in the event that this safety precaution fails, Katharine and Graham have mobilized their own fire brigade on our patio. They spend hours practicing fire-suppression techniques with the cleaning hose, convinced that Santa will appear smouldering on our doorstep with a Chinese rocket lodged in his beard.

This distressing image has given even hard-hearted Katharine pause. Not only is she concerned about exposing the Tooth Fairy to anti-aircraft fire, but she also worries that Santa and the Tooth Fairy might collide during mid-air maneuvers. If that happens, she can kiss her profit margin goodbye.

At this point, we don't know what will happen with Katharine and her tooth. Ecuador uses the U.S dollar, so it's a bust from an investment standpoint, leaving only Costa Rica. Hopefully, it's not known as the Rich Coast for nothing.

As for Christmas, we're prepared, fire buckets at the ready, staring up hopefully into the sky.


Scenes from Jumbo, a super-supermercado


California plums for sale!


Onions make her cry.


Dried fish.


Cheesy grin.


Katharine hamming it up.


We really, really miss Food Lion.


Scary doll.


Everything has a price.

Hiking With an Assassin

By Louise

After spending two days in El Calafate standing around gawking at glaciers, we felt the need to seriously stretch our legs on some hiking trails. So we headed to El Chalten, a dusty town within the Parque National Los Glaciares in southern Patagonia. It’s a small, granola/tourist town that was settled in 1985. The town accommodates hikers and climbers eager to hurl themselves at the Fitz Roy massif; Cerro Fitz Roy being one of the toughest climbing peaks in the Andes. Graham had his sights set on it.

The mountain range that surrounded the tiny town was jaw-droppingly beautiful. Even though it’s summer, many peaks were blanketed in snow. Without binoculars, the Glaciar Grande—that flowed between Cerro Solo and Cerro Fitz Roy—looked like a field of trampled snow. With binoculars, we could see that that the snow and ice were actually hundreds of feet thick. We all wished we could hike on a glacier but the walk was four hours long one way and we weren't prepared. Much to Graham's dismay, our goal was to complete two different hikes that would take us only 350 meters up, but would give us vastly different views of the mountains.

As we walked, we did our best to talk in loud voices and disturb all wildlife and any peace other hikers were looking for. We talked about glaciers, global warming, moss, puma attacks, and Santa. It being the season and all, Katharine, who had been walking while sharpening a stick, was keen on reviewing her Christmas wish list. So what if the most amazing mountain scenery surrounded us; let’s focus on the big guy in the red suit.

I asked Katharine what she wanted. Without looking up from her stick sharpening, she very coolly said, “I’m going to ask Santa for a complete assassin’s kit. One with a grappling hook, machine gun, knife, and motorcycle. I want to be an assassin when I grow up.”

I think we may be one of three families on the ES who don’t own a gun. Aside from knocking off the occasional backyard fowl, we’re pretty peaceful. So this was weird; not to mention that she’s seven. But then Graham, rolling on the ground with laughter, explained that Katharine wanted to be the woman in the movie we watched a few days earlier. Oh yeah, that movie, the one starring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie as husband and wife assassins. Yes, we know it was inappropriate.

Assassin discussion continued for days until Katharine saw part of an episode of Colombo— dubbed in Spanish—and changed her tune. “I don’t want to be an assassin anymore. I don’t want big lips. I want to be a detective.”

That settles it: Dear Santa, Please send Katharine a raincoat for Christmas.


The road to El Chalten.


The assassin leads the way.


Down in the valley


Laguna Capri with Fitz Roy massif in the background.


Glacier with Fitz Roy massif on the right.





The assassin tests the water.


Taking a break: It's tough hiking with regular folk.


Assassin with her sharpened stick.

Horsing Around at Punta Delgada

By Katharine

On our last day at Punta Delgada, we rode horses along the cliffs above the elephant seals. We walked from the hotel to a farm building where they saddle the horses. There were bunches of sheep skins in piles and heads in buckets. Chickens were running around, and horses roamed the place.

A man named Raoul whistled and the horses came. First, he brought out a tan horse that was very big, and he said “el caballo del nino” and pointed to Graham. Graham got on with the help of Raoul. Then he saddled a tannish brown horse and said “el caballo de la nina” and pointed to me, so I got on. After that, Raoul took two black horses out for my dad and mom.

We kicked the horses and started. We didn’t have to steer because the horses followed the path. We walked along the cliffs, which was very scary but beautiful. Then we went through the plains, and stepped on bushes. My horse ran up a hill and across a dirt road, which really scared me because she would not stop when I pulled her reins. Finally, we were done.

After we stopped, Roxanne (the boss of the hotel) ran to us and said she had spotted three orcas. We said “adios” to Raoul, and ran to the cliff. We saw the orcas swimming along the beach, but they didn’t steal a seal. Roxanne said that she thought they had just eaten.


Salted sheep skins. The lamb is on the asador.


Raoul saddles Katharine's horse.


Katharine with her trusty steed.


The magnificent three ride again.


El gaucho guapo.


I hope our riders aren't French.

Elefantes Marinas de Chubut

By Katharine

Our family stayed in a hotel next to a lighthouse at Punta Delgada, on the Peninsula Valdes. We went to see a colony of southern elephant seals down on the beach. We sat in the back of a Land Rover on the way, while the guide in the front seat talked to me with a walkie-talkie. The ride down was great, because you could see the sea and the cliffs, and the path was bumpy, dusty, and lumpy.

When we stopped, she led us down a big, sandy cliff to the beach where the elephant seals were lying. First we heard a noise that Dad thought was elephant seal farts, but the guide said that they were calling. It sounded like a burp to Europe. They burped so loudly that they nearly blew our ears off.

We sat on the beach, watching them from 10 yards away. Some were in big groups and some were by themselves. Every few seconds, the seals would try to cover themselves with sand using their flippers. When they opened their mouths to call, the inside of their mouths were a bubble-gum pink. Their eyes were big and black, and the whites of their eyes were red, making them look bloodshot.

A male elephant seal is the size of a Punch Buggy, and can weigh 8,800 pounds. A male is the size of seven females. The full-grown males had gone to the ocean to get food, so only the girls and the young males were left with the babies. They were shedding, so we found lots of skin and hair on the beach.

Elephant seals eat fish, squid, and other sea animals. They can stay underwater for two hours and can dive 4,900 feet deep.

On land, the elephant seals move on their bellies like worms. Their back goes up, then their middle goes down, and then their front goes up, just like a seesaw. They are so fat that when they do the worm, the fat rolls up and down.

We wished for an orca to come to the beach to eat an elephant seal. They come really fast and fling themselves on the beach. When an elephant seal tries to get away, they pick them up and eat them, and then go back into the water. We didn’t see that happen, but we did spot some orcas (read my post about horses).

When we left the beach, Graham and I took the Land Rover, while Mom and Dad walked back to the hotel. We got to drive the Land Rover with the guide. She pressed the brake and the accelerator, while we steered.

Katharine coordinated all movement.


Elephant seals on the beach below.


Making the descent to the beach.


Louise now feels good about her weight.


Louise enjoys a spa treatment.


Dermabrasion helped a little, but not much.

A Black-Tie Event in Patagonia

By Katharine

In Patagonia we saw penguins, not just one but half a million. We visited the biggest penguin colony in South America. It was a two-hour drive from Puerto Madryn to Punta Tombo. When we got there, we saw penguins walking everywhere. A guide said to us that we could not touch them.

The penguins were sitting on nests in holes that they had dug in the ground and also under bushes. Many of the nests were filled with chicks or eggs. The penguins are called Magellanic penguins because they were named after Ferdinand Magellan, the first man to sail around the world. They are small. They look like South African penguins. They have pink circles around their eyes, a black back, and a white face and chest. They reached a little bit above my knee.

After the nest is built, the mom lays 2 eggs at a time. It takes 5 to 6 weeks for an egg to hatch. The chicks stay in the nest for 1 month. After that, they leave the nest to grow adult feathers. The parents swim up to 600 km for food to give to the babies. They eat shrimp, fish, and krill. Both chicks are given equal care. Usually, they survive. The predators are the sea lion and petral.

We walked on gravel paths and over bridges through the reserve. The penguins were on there, too. We got about a foot away from them. They sing a crazy song that sounds like a car horn. They do it to attract a female. Two of them were fighting. They were pulling at each other and biting their tails.

When we were leaving mom was videotaping a penguin, when another penguin came up behind me and nipped my pants. It didn’t hurt, though. Penguins are cool birds.

Click image for larger view.


Penguin in nest with chicks.


Penguins at the Battle of Ypres.


Penguins view local wildlife (guanaco).


Penguin having trouble flossing.


You lookin' at me?


A gala event on the beach.


She can't swim 600 kms but she's a cutie.


Okay, okay, I'm short for my weight.

My Visit to Patagonia's Glaciers

By Graham

Three days ago I saw one of the most amazing sights.

My family and I were on a three-story boat on the waters of Lago Argentino in Patagonia. For the first time in my life I saw icebergs and glaciers. Icebergs are chunks that have fallen off glaciers. They are all different shapes and sizes. In Patagonia some are as big as houses and some are the size of a baseball.

Two hours later we saw their source: the gigantic glacier Upsala, 100 m tall, 50 km long, and 10 km wide. It towered over us. Once Upsala was the biggest glacier in South America; now, it is losing 200 m a year, due to global warming. A glacier that loses more ice than it gains is known as an unstable glacier.

We noticed that the glacier was blue. This happens when the ice becomes very dense. Years of compression slowly force out tiny pockets of air trapped between ice crystals. Extremely dense ice absorbs all other colors in the spectrum except blue, which is what we see. If glacier ice is white, it usually means lots of air is trapped inside.

Glaciers are formed when snow stays in the same place all year, and then new snow piles on top of it for years and years. The compression forces snow to recrystalize, forming grains similar in size and shape to a grain of sugar. Slowly, the grains become bigger and the air pockets between them become smaller. After two years, the snow turns into firn, which is between snow and glacier ice.

We sailed two hours to reach an even taller glacier, called Perito Moreno. Named after a famous explorer and environmentalist, the glacier is 250 square kms and one of three stable glaciers in Patagonia. It is fed by the Southern Patagonian ice field, along with 47 other glaciers.
Watching ice fall from the face of the glacier into the lake was amazing. Some of the pieces must have been the size of a house. A gigantic piece of ice would crack off the glacier and tumble into the water, creating a sound like a savage beast grumbling. It just blew thunder away. I jumped every time I heard it.

Sabias Que?
* Glaciers produce 75% of the world’s fresh water.
* Presently, 10% of land is covered by glaciers.
* During the last ice age, glaciers covered 32% of total land area.
* If all land ice melted, the sea level would rise 70 m worldwide.


Click image for larger view.

View of Perito Moreno glacier.


Graham is splashed by glacial water.


Now we know why the Titanic went down.


Hues of blue.


Hielo azul sin martini.


Only blue light is reflected from the densest ice.


Impersonation of Wall Street.


Video of calving ice at Perito Moreno.

Lisp and Clear

By Andrew

My inability to speak Spanish with any degree of competence has had one small benefit: My arms are getting fit. I spend much of each day pointing at esto, eso, and those thingies over there. Ordering breakfast at a bakery, I could just as easily be directing aircraft at O’Hare.

When pointing fails, I admit that I revert to what is known among linguists as the English Method: I speak ever more loudly—in English—until I am understood. The British ended up with a large empire using this technique, which the natives found intimidating. It’s a little known fact that India was won when Sir Clive stopped to ask for directions.

What frustrates me most is that I can actually read Spanish. All those years of French and Latin, tossed with a smattering of Italian, allow me to decipher a good deal. Seeking some use for my expensive education, I now prepare pre-emptive phrases for any looming confrontations, such as haircuts (see earlier post), beer-ordering, and helado consumption.

This is a technique that was originally employed by my father when we lived in Switzerland. Dispatched to the bakery with orders to procure a dozen rolls, my father would practice his line all the way down the street. Unfortunately, Dad pronounced the German for twelve, zwölf, in much the same way a wolf greets the full moon. By the time he reached the bakery, all the dogs in the neighborhood were howling sympathetically and my father’s nerve had failed him. He would proceed to order thirteen rolls instead, which invariably evoked a glare from the dour Swiss lady manning the counter.

Rattling off rehearsed lines also has an unfortunate side-effect. People talk back. If you’re lucky, they stay on script and you can sweep out of the store feeling fluent and worldly. All too often, though, they fire off a long burst, the only word of which I understand is peso. This is my cue to thrust great wads of cash at them and then stand there waiting expectantly.

To some degree, Spanish itself must take some blame for my problem. True Spanish demands that the speaker lisp alarmingly every time a word containing “c” pops up. This is not good. At my boarding school, people who lisped were beaten up behind the cricket pavilion, so I’ve always been keen to keep my vowels and consonants crisp. Lisping runs counter to all that, plus I tend to splodge a thick mist into the air every time I attempt it. This is fine when it comes from a right whale in the Golfo Nuevo, but less acceptable emanating from me.

Buenos Aires, too, must shoulder its fair share of responsibility. In a linguistic evolution that I do not yet understand, the good residents of BA have reshuffled their pronunciation of the Spanish alphabet. Pollo, pronounced “poyo” worldwide, here is delivered as “posho.” Yo, spoken in Spanish much as it is in English, is pronounced “jo” here. I spent the first two weeks in BA wondering who this Joe fellow was and why everyone was talking about him.

Delivered by a resident in full flight, the BA accent sounds like someone sweeping the floor—it’s a gentle back-and-forth ssshing noise. To duplicate the BA accent accurately, place 16 marbles (the small ones will do fine) in your mouth and say as rapidly as possible: “Surely, sister, some sheep stole your shish-kebab.”

As you can imagine, the combined effect of the lisped “c” and the BA “sssshh” has left me in a pickle. Every time I open my mouth, I sound like a drunk, gay man. Apart from one fellow who was wearing sparkly sneakers, most Argentines have recoiled in absolute horror. I am now placing all my linguistic hopes on Ecuador.