No llorer por mi, Argentina

If Spain and Italy were to have a lovechild and stash it far away from the Continent, Argentina would be the fruit of their loins.  It's very Euro-feeling, with the buildings and the wide boulevards, even the Spanish has the cadence and expressiveness of Italian.  For my first trip to South America, I thought another foreign marathon would be appropriate.  Maybe not the best idea leading up to NYC, but I threw race planning prudence to the wind and went for it.  Four of us (was supposed to be five) set out to run Evita's streets and enjoy the sights, sounds, and flavors along the way.
Pro tip - do NOT exchange money through official means or use a credit card.  Rather, find someone who will trade you dollars for pesos at almost twice the posted rate.  It makes a huge difference and is so much more affordable.
Carb-loading before the race was not ideal.  For a country with so many Italian immigrants, there is hardly any produce to be found on a menu.  Our usual meals consisted of steak and some form of potatoes.  Boy was it fabulous.  Our first stop once settled into the hotel was La Cabrera.  Empanadas were out of this world, so good that one of my traveling companions took some to go for her red-eye flight back home.  As we would soon discover, requesting the steaks be cooked "a punto" cooks the steak much more than the American palate prefers.  We also had good steaks post-race (more on that later) at Lo De Jesus, although service could have been a bit friendlier and intestines (chinchulines) are not "tripe".  Hands-down, the best steak we had was at La Brigada in San Telmo.  When we finally discovered that ordering steaks "jugoso" was the way to go, the waiter was able to cut our order with a spoon.  Like buttah, I tell you....
Tango is a really sexy dance.  However, it's not pornographic sport-shtupping, there's a plot, and it's not always romantic and loving.  Rather, there is an undercurrent of angry passion, longing, sadness, melancholy.  This comes out in spades at Rojo Tango at the Hotel Faena.  Amazing stuff, made me want to learn how to tango.  As our luck would have it, Steven Tyler was also at the show while in town for a concert, and after the show he had the pleasure of meeting the cast and posing for pictures.  The Puerto Madero area is much newer and swankier (read: more expensive) than other parts of Buenos Aires, but the show and our pre-theater dinner at Osaka were definitely well worth it.
I could feel some of the sadness that oozes out of the tango while walking around town.  La Recoleta Cemetary felt a bit creepy, with coffins exposed within the mausoleums rather than being sealed behind concrete or stone.  Outside the burial site, the political graffiti and demonstrations near the Casa Rosada and the murals that decorate the otherwise bleak La Boca made you feel that the wounds from La Guerra Sucia and prior have not fully healed.  However, this does give the city some soul and prevents it from feeling like any other place. Having a lomo de cerdo sandwich from a sidewalk parrilla that cost the equivalent of $3 is incredible, especially for the quality.  I hope Buenos Aires does not get too trendy and overpriced.
Mendoza was a nice respite after the race and usual hustle and bustle of life.  Despite obnoxious ticket prices on Aerolineas Argentinas (nice work creating a state monopoly, Kirschner), Entre Cielos was the ideal place to relax in between wine tours.  Rest was definitely what we needed after a marathon, steak meals at least twice a day, and then three wineries per day, which the hotel graciously set up.  M and I took advantage of the hotel's hammam, which involved several Turkish bath treatments before a massage.  How heavenly t odo nothing but relax and be pampered.  We ended up visiting Achaval Ferrer, Finca Decero, Septima, Catena Zapata, Ruca Malen, and Vina Cobos.  The landscape is stunning, and while the surrounding areas are not posh like in some American winegrowing regions, it still had incredibly charm.  Brindillas is a phenomenal restaurant, serving a beautiful tasting menu with impeccable service.  While the food was equally as good at Francis Mallman 1884, the maitre'd was a bit rude (aparently our reservation was misbooked but he insisted that reservations cannot be changed) and the service was just OK.
Before our trek home, one of M's colleagues took us for a boat ride on Rio de la Plata, and we floated our way through El Tigre.  The spring weather was perfect for a day on the water and was a nice closing for our South American adventure.  I'm looking forward to exploring more....

Sardegnaaaaah

Most people have never heard of Sardinia.  The majority of visitors are Italian, so it is somewhat off the beaten path from an American perspective.  Maybe when Anthony Bourdain visited with his wife did it get some attention, although I'd be willing to be most people couldn't find it on a map (it's west of Italy, just south of Corsica).  It's a place I've been dying to see, and it coincided well with TT's Eurotrip with two friends and his cousin.  Convincing them did not take much work, especially since I speak proficient Italian.

My cousin recommended renting a car and taking the auto-ferry.  While this was an interesting experience, I wouldn't do it again.  For starters, TT's choice to decline a GPS coinciding with his cousin's tablet not being able to get turn-by-turn directions delayed us an hour leaving Rome for Civitavecchia, and resulted in much strife. Lesson learned : 55 euros is worth every penny when reducing travel-induced stress.  If we had known that we could have camped out on the ferry, we wouldn't have booked a cabin.  However, seeing the stars over the Meditterranean was a beautiful sight.  It's not often you get to see that many twinkling bodies living in the city.

Olbia is about an hour drive to Santa Teresa Gallura.  While not as glitzy and overrun as Costa Smeralda, it still attracts a good number of tourists.  I stumbled across a cute B&B on Tripadvisor called Domus de Janas.  We had such a great time staying with them.  The proprietors both speak English and are very pleasant.  Our daily breakfast had a lovely assortment of fruit, pastries, homemade preserves, and espresso. Guests have access to two roof terraces, which adds to the experience.  I'm so glad I stumbled across it in my webtrolling.

The local beach is gorgeous - Rena Bianca is packed for a reason.  None of the other beaches really compared to it.  We drove within half an hour to find some of the others and had mixed experiences.  Rena di Matteu required a bit of a hike on some sandy hills, and on the way back to the car I stubbed my toe on a rock and had to hobble with a bloody foot.  Luckily it didn't get infected.  The previous day, when we tried to find the beach, we ended up further down at Cala Pischina, where we had made camp next to washed-up WWII ordnance.  This only became apparent to us when the carabinieri, the forest police, and the military all showed up to remove it.  After that, we stuck to Rena Bianca.

There were some decent restaurants in Santa Teresa Gallura.  I got to try horsemeat and wild boar cold cuts.  Fresh fruit was also quite good.  The real highlight was dining at the nearest agriturismo in Saltara.  We stuffed ourselves silly with pasta, homemade salumi and cheese, and the famous porcheddu.  The house red wine, served cold in pitchers, was awesome.  Our innkeeper couldn't recommend a good local winery, but this was good enough.

My only regret was not staying longer here.  We had such a pleasant time between the beach, local food, and just general relaxation.  Despite some of the logistical difficulties, it was worth the journey off the well-beaten tourist trap paths in Europe.  Buon viaggio!

Just When You Thought I Could Not Do Anything Crazier...

Ironman NYC. August 12, 2012. I will be at my computer Wednesday at 11:55am to start the entry process.

Tutte le strade portano a Roma

If you've ever wanted to immerse yourself in a particular city, a marathon - itself a tradition stemming from classical Greek culture - is one of the best ways to do so. Now imagine yourself at the crossroads of the ancient and modern, where structures built centuries ago stand besides or are incorporated into modern buildings. Visualize running on paths trod for many centuries and observing these relics free from the fingerprint-muddled barrier of a tourbus window. What surrounds you are not only the sights, but also the sounds, feelings, scents, emotions even, of several millenia. This is what the Rome Marathon is like.

This was my first marathon, as it was three years ago for a friend who recommended the race. With four half marathons under my belt and a handful of road races and triathlons, I felt ready to take the next step. Truth be told, I could have used about a month more of training to feel more physically prepared, not to mention more therapy on a nagging left shoulder irritation. About a month ago, I almost pulled out. My good friend and ex-colleague fell on her chin and both knees during a training run the week prior and almost didn't go through with it either. Nonetheless, we charged ahead for what proved to be a seemingly epic adventure, the beginning of which started when my hotel, 800 meters from the starting line according to Google Maps, was located on the other side of town. What good fortune to have cousins located an hour away who were able to drive me around town!

For those of you accustomed to pre-race expositions that rival major conventions, set your expectations a bit lower. The Palazzo dei Congressi was built during the Mussolini era and reflects the rationalist architecture of the time, symmetric yet severe. Once inside, forget about queuing and make way through the hordes for the bib number and then the race packet. Navigating the different booths feels a bit like a labyrinthe of yore without mythical creatures to fight off. Most of the merchandise are similar to items that can be purchased at home for a third of the price, and there is a smattering of promotional items. My cousin was a fan of the McDonald's pavillion, where you could have your face painted with the Italian trecolore and receive a noisemaker. We spent maybe fifteen minutes inside. Onto more important things, like pre-race carboloading! Between pasta, risotto, and bread, there are so many options for all diets. Most restaurants are more than happy to accommodate special requests.

The racecourse is one of the best I have encountered to date. The starting corrals are located next to the Colisseum, one of the most iconic landmarks in the world. Approximately three-fourths of the course pass by the major sighseeing attractions and distinct neighborhoods that make up modern-day Rome as well as Vatican City. Coincidentally, the city is still decked out for the recent 150th anniversary of Italy's unification. It's hard to resist taking photos while stretching or slowing down for a spell. The flat layout and mild spring weather make it ideal for runners of all levels. Besides water and Gatorade, refreshments included sugar packets, blood oranges, apples, bananas, and cookies, as well stations in between the refreshment stations handing out wet sponges. I found the port-a-potties lacking toilet paper but equipped with cranks to "flush" nasty bits down a conveyor belt. How clever of Italians to think of the aesthetics of portable toilets! (Shout out to Plamen, who I ran into in his AG gear towards the beginning of the race.)

The stretch between the 20-30km mark is quite far-flung from the main drag, the main landmarks being the Foro Italico (the Olympic stadium also built by Il Duce), the Rome Mosque, and a bridge that is still under construction, with volunteers and cops scattered throughout. Those on the slower side may feel a bit deflated from the thin crowd support on the home stretch. Sidewalks were deserted of spectators, and pedestrians and cyclists kept crossing in front of runners (me included) struggling to reach the finish. With an irritated shoulder and leg muscles I didn't even know I had screaming from kilometer 30, this made it even more difficult. However, sheer will carried me over the finish line, as well as thoughts of my mother. My maternal lineage hails from the Roman region, and thoughts of relatives long-gone on the same roads kept me going. Also, mom's health is not the best as of late, making it difficult for her to walk up the block. I was determined to finish, if only because I am able. At the end, I was almost destroyed, but not enough to collapse in a heap. Veni, vidi, vici! To celebrate my achievement, I had an medium (enormous) three-scoop cone at Gelateria Della Palma, somehow still able to stand. Delizioso!

Would I recommend this race? Conditionally. For the scenery, the spectacular cuisine, and the experience of running through two foreign countries, absolutely. If you speak Italian and/or are in a group, even better. However, converting 26.2 miles to 42.2 kilometers may throw the metrically-challenged for a loop. Those of us accustomed to races in the States are spoiled by drinks every mile (1.6km), whereas in Rome the refreshments and sponge stops alternate every 2.5km (just over a mile and a half) starting at the 5km mark (3.1 miles). For those of you who prioritize efficiency and order or are just plain impatient, this may not be for you. Most southern Europeans have a "get there when you get there" attitude. You will encounter this everywhere from the expo to the corral lineup to post-race medal engraving. Advance planning and packing is required since most stores close early and are shuttered on weekends. If I hadn't been so spent, the woman removing my timing chip with a pocket knife while still pinned to my shirt would have put me into a panic, . However, if you can go with the flow and cope with the unexpected, focusing on the excitement of the journey itself, go for it. In bocca al lupo...

In the Palm Beach of Your Hand

Here I am again in sunny south Florida. Despite the God's waiting room reputation, I quite enjoythe more laidback pace, great weather, and low prices. Plus, staying with my aunt and uncle, even though my parents have just acquired their own condo one floor below, guaranteees a long weekend of great food, alcohol, and good conversation. Why do I live in New York again?

How do you say "Meh" in Vietnamese?

Not impressed with Hue (besides our fantastic tour guide and another fun motorbike tour). The city itself, especially near where we are staying, does not have much charm. Plus our room has ants. We had to throw away most of our goodies.

The overnight train to Hanoi was much nicer than the last one, the conductor handed out free water and instant noodles. Our only visitor was a mouse or two. It still creeped us out, but it was head and shoulders better than bugs crawling up the walls.

Halong Bay is suitable as a day trip from Hanoi. M hated the seafood lunch, but despite that the rock formations were gorgeous. It was quite amusing to have fruit hawkers sail up to our tour vessel. The caves we visited were fascinating. I could have skipped the overnight stay in the mediocre overheated hotel, where we were told not to get massages, and the crappy indigestion-inducing food.

Almost home...

Shop Til You Drop

I take back what I said about overnight trains. Squashing roaches for half the night is not conducive to a good night's sleep. We've got one more long haul to go, which I hope is cleaner and less sketchy.

Hoi An is fantastic. A small town, much less hectic than HCMC, this is the bespoke tailoring capital of Vietnam. M and I have gone nuts, purchasing a winter coat, a knockoff Vivienne Westwood coat redone as a trench, ankle boots, and an ao yai (traditional Vietnamese dress). On our bike tour around the area, we are 10 minutes from rice paddies and fishing boats, peaceful and serene. The only mark against it is getting a corneal abscess from having debris blown in my eye during the saunter around town. But fear not, there is a fantastic opthalmologist in town who speaks French and English, the visit costing the same as my existing co-pay and generic drugs altogether. It's glasses for here on out tho.

Nha Trang

To get to Nha Trang, we took an overnight train from Ho Chi Minh City, my first ride ever. Overall, not bad! Would definitely consider it in the future. The rocking of the train seemed to help lull me to sleep, although the anti-malaria pills have been stirring up some wild dreams.

Nha Trang is, ok. Our hotel room looks like one of those shady true-crime reenactments. There are signs in Russian everywhere, ooray for the new ugly Americans on the tourist scene. For breakfast we had bo ne, sizzling steak and eggs with tomato, definitely breakfast of champions. The French bread they make here is second to none.

Our beach barbecue was awesome, one of the highlights of my trip. There's something soothing about the ocean crashing in the background, wiggling toes in the shore and feeling the wet sand stick to your soles. With food so fresh and simply yet tastily prepared. We were told the typical day at the beach is, drink copiously, throw your girlfriend in the water (preferably fully clothed), and pass out, grazing on food during the day. The other highlight so far was the motorbike tour the next day. Seeing Vietnam the way locals do, zipping through crowded streets and avoiding hazards, was the first time I have felt really and truly alive in a long time.

HCMC

After a fun-filled weekend in Hong Kong gossiping about work and bringing the 10-year reunion to Y, it's onto Vietnam. We found a good tour after the recommendation of another sorority sister, which was affordable and unstructured enough to take care of transportation and accommodation and leave flexibility for everything else.

Truth be told, I had no idea what to expect from this country. The war with the US, not to mention the Chinese and the Cambodians, must have devastated the country. My dad's impression after five tours with the Merchant Marine was that of "the @$$h0le of the world" - dirty, smelly, depressing. My glimpse out the window from the plane and noticing a parking lot full of motorbikes should have been my first clue.

My goodness, there are tons of motorbikes in this town - 9.5 million with a population of 8 million people. Crossing this street is riskier than using a meat slicer or working in a mine. Every time I cross the street I curse more than a Tourette's sufferer.

The Cu Chi tunnels were quite interesting. It's amazing how ingenious the Viet Minh and Viet Cong were, constructing miles of underground passageways, including booby traps with recycled or basic materials. The shooting range with Vietnamese and American heavy artillery, felt a bit inappropriate, but otherwise it was a neat site. I barely made it out of the sample tunnel, with my breasts and then hips grazing the opening.

I am a huge fan of pho. So far I have had a huge bowl, with all the various cow parts, as well as several glasses of cà phê sữa đá. There must be crack in the condensed milk.

Going Hongkers

My first trip to Asia! The flight, fifteen and a half hours in economy, turned out to be bearable. Since our headphones didn't work we ended up shifting around and taking turns stretching out in the row. We also got a US$50 credit for inflight duty free.

HKG is, in a word, awesome. There is so much energy, which you'd expect for having the same number of people as New York in a fourth of the landmass, but also great food, a very cosmopolitan feel, and a lot to do. It didn't feel that foreign, if anything I felt as if Chinatown got bigger. It was great to see two friends from work, one from college, and run around town for a bit. Having twice considered taking a role there, I'd definitely accept if offered the opportunity again.

For All You Triathletes Out There

It was hard being sidelined this weekend, but I also was happy to give the other participants support - "Hey, you walking, you've got a quarter mile left, pour it on!"

This is a nice article comparing triathlon training to playing complex piano compositions. Who knew?

New Orleans - The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Good: Hanging with JJD and WC, partying at Oz on Bourbon St, the burgers and lethal cocktails at Port of Call, running into a college buddy at karaoke who had just finished the marathon, gorgeous early spring weather, watching the gold medal men's hockey game on the large screen at Harrah's
Bad: Frank's waitress telling us they ran out of muffalatta bread after we walked in saying we wanted muffalatta, JJD's constipation from the lobster mac and cheese (or so he suspects), US losing to Canada in OT during the gold medal game
Ugly: Frank's appetizers look the same (bread crumbs with artichokes and bread crumbs with mushrooms), getting up at 4:15am to go home

Irie!

M, O, and I all made plans to go to Jamaica. As it turned out, the morning of our flight, M and O both got monster stomach bugs. M toughed it out and made it to the airport, whereas O could barely stand up and sadly missed our trip. (p.s. M is a guy friend. Yes, I traveled with an unrelated male. No, we didn't have any hanky panky. I don't care what "When Harry Met Sally" said.)

This yet again turned into my yearly do-nothing vacation. Last year was Tulum with O. There's nothing wrong with spending a few days on a resort eating, drinking, lounging by water, reading, and otherwise being inactive. However, next year, I'd prefer less children around. Nothing against my friends with kids, I am currently child-free and would like peace and quiet for a few days out of the year. Nothing wrong with that right?

Inevitably, food and drink will be judged stringently. Red Stripe beer is not bad, neither is Real Rock. There were several rounds of fruity rum-based cocktails. I also got into the local fare served on the buffet, maybe more so than the other crap.

The only non-inert thing we did was go down the water slide and take a kayak in the ocean. Since M can't swim, the options were limited. I think the sea kayaking freaked him out a bit, especially after we would go over waves. Those poor children swimming near us heard quite a few expletives. It's hard to teach an adult how to swim. My mission was to get M to float on his back and failed. I feel like I've been swimming my whole life - how do you explain it?

Getting hit on by waiters was interesting. It seems social networking has become the latest pickup lead.

"You single?"
"Yea."
"You should move to Jamaica and marry a Jamaican. They'd love you."
"OK I'll consider it."
"You on MySpace or Facebook?"
[bald-faced lie] "No I don't use those."

Yea, I still got it.

Portugal

It's a good thing and a bad thing that more Americans don't go to Portugal. It's cheap, friendly, not overtrodden (except the Algarve), easygoing, and has really great uncomplicated food and wine. The seafood is out of this world. Don't think about it too hard, just go.

Try-athlon

Many of you have expressed concerns about my mental health lately. Just to clear the air, lots of people do triathlons every year. Several thousand just participated in this morning's NYC Tri. Moreover, the Hudson is safe for swimming. It's similar to bathing in a swamp, yes, but the EPA tests it regularly. (Not sure if that will inspire confidence; maybe the fact that I wore a wetsuit is better.)

After having swum 1500 meters in said river, biking 40k (25 miles) up and down the potholed and puddle-slicked West Side Highway with extremely aggressive competitors whizzing past, and running 10k (6.2 miles) after that, I am exhausted and cognitively fuzzy but HOOKED! Training for this event has been challenging, and my cycling is still very slow. It doesn't help that I'm riding the bike I've had since I was ten, with some modifications to make it race-ready. The upside is that I have been eating ravenously but have trimmed down a lot. The triathlon club I joined has been great for preparation, and there are some great people in it. As an added bonus, triathletes are HOT.

Virginia Beach

Spending the 4th weekend with my coworker/friend and her family. We are both very much looking forward to doing not much of anything. Plus, our families are very similar so I feel right at home! Virginia Beach is great, although on the boardwalk I have to watch my p's and q's as there are great no-swearing signs.

Keep Austin Awesome

Austin is the one of only cities in Texas (I have been to so far) that I could live in. This was confirmed over Memorial Day weekend. We popped up to Fort Worth to visit M's sister M, and I quite liked it there, although I'm still not ready for the 'burbs. At least it wasn't Dallas. Big fan of the kolaches in West, Texas, tubing, and the kitschy neon signs all over town.

Relajar

Hola. This week I am on vacation in Mexico. Even though O and I planned on hiking, exploring a cenote, and snorkelling, I think we are just going to do nothing but morning yoga on the beach, swimming, and sunning/reading.

No Leftover Recipe: Stuffed Zucchini (Among Other Things)

M's 30th birthday was last night, so a bunch of us had brunch and then hit the Met. Given times are slim, we decided to cook instead of get dinner out. In addition to my mom's honey chicken recipe (family secret), I whipped up Yukon Gold and yam home fries and this zucchini recipe. Yes, it's Rachael Ray. From past experience, she either has good concept recipes that require very slight tweaks, or they just suck. This one probably needed slightly less liquid in the filling, but everyone devoured it. Happy Dirty 30!

Another One Bites the Dust

Upon arriving home from Australia, all tan and warm, not only am I greeted by snow/slush/rain, but also a padlock on the door of one of my favorite neighborhood cafes. Munch Cafe, a recent press darling in Time Out and AM New York, is gone. According to the owner, flooding that remained unaddressed by the co-op board or the building managing agent forced the place to shutter. While service was a tad slow, it made damn good coffee and was very friendly. I do hope it reopens again somewhere else on Yellowstone.