As a kid growing up, I absolutely loved to read!
Books and articles were always my foray into magical and imaginative places. My favorite books were ones of adventure, travel, history or sometimes, just even plain old make believe.
From the Little House Series by Laura Ingalls Wilder, to The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, to atlases or books on actual historical geography or the origins of things, I loved books of all kinds.
When I was 14, my mom introduced me to an author by the name of Bill Bryson. Bill Bryson, for those of you that don't know, is an American transplant that has lived in the UK for most of the past 35 years. Mom happened to pick up his book, "Notes from a Small Island", which chronicles his travels and life to and about Great Britain in the early 1970s. Bill uses such dry humor in his books, all the while giving the reader really useful trivia and perfect imagery in his writing. To quote the opening line from his book, "The Lost Continent" published in 1988, he states, "I come from Des Moines. Somebody had to." I think that has to be one of the most amazing introductions ever. This is one of my favorite books ever, if not THE most favorite, for many reasons.
In his book, "A Walk in the Woods", Bryson uses such humor and imagery that it is laugh out loud funny. His descriptions seem spot on, since I have nothing to compare hiking the actual Appalachian Trail. I liked his book, "In a Sunburned Country" where he describes having gone to Australia. That book is great, too, if you want something really funny to read.
In 2000, my mom called me up at work to tell me that Bill Bryson was coming to Kansas City to promote one of his new books, which I think was "In a Sunburned Country." I was elated!!! I couldn't believe that one of my favorite authors was going to be in my hometown! There was no way I was going to miss it. My mom, knowing how much I admired him, as well did she, purchased tickets to go see him at the Unity Temple right off of 47th Street in Kansas City, MO, on the Plaza.
We walked into the auditorium of the Temple. The seats were theatre-like seats that were upholstered in pink plush material. Awestruck that BILL BRYSON was only 10 feet away from my nose!!! IWhy the hell aren't there more people here?!" I thought to myself, as the auditorium had only about 20 people sitting there. Perhaps some people just aren't as cultured as my mother and myself.
Bryson finished his reading excerpt and began to take people to sign their books. Mom and I had both "Notes from a Small Island" and "The Lost Continent" in our hands. I stood in line waiting for his autograph, and thought of some really witty and influential things to say for my turn.
I was going to say this:
"Mr. Bryson, it is such an honor to meet you. You've inspired me to write comedically after having read every book that you've published thus far. I want to travel and write about the things I encounter, just like you!"
When my turn finally came, I stood in front of him agog. More of like a statue... Mom nudged me as if to say, "Move!" but I just stood in front of him with my mouth hanging open.
Instead, my careful speech went right out the window. All I could muster up was, "I like your books." with a dumb look on my face, my eyes big and my mouth hanging open like a lush. He looked up, smiled, thanked me and signed my book. Mom's turn came next. I can't remember what Mom said because I was in such a kerfuffle about what I had WANTED to say, but could not. ARGH! "Really, Ren?! That's all you can say?!!" I thought to myself. What was WRONG with me?!!!
In any case, my post today is not ALL about Bill Bryson. But just to say that I still aspire to become a travel writer like him. I also want to write about useless trivia that fascinates people, like myself.
I am getting there. I know that I will become a published writer someday. I've always had a knack for writing.
We'll just see how soon. :D
XOXO
Vallazza-Raptor
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
My Foray into Latin Dancing...Part One
Dancing is like second nature to me.
Look for the woman wearing a brightly colored dress in the middle of the dance floor. Yep...that's me! Shaking absurdly, It often looks as if I have an electrical current flowing through my veins.
Electricity pulses through my body as I hear the music. Immediately getting goosebumps, my limbs begin to move to the music. Putting on a song, I shiver when I hear the familiar strains of salsa, merengue, bachata, reggaetón, cumbia or tango. I put on my high heels. I slink into a sexy dress. I begin to dance around my living room. I look amazing, dancing by myself, with my inner Latina Goddess rhythm.
I first discovered Latin music as a child. Actually, I shouldn't say that I "discovered" it. It was actually played incessantly throughout my childhood in Kansas on my dad's tape decks and record player.
My father, being Ecuadorean, usually played the music of his youth. These were countless tangos by Gardel from Argentina,
or cumbias by Lisandro Meza from Colombia,
or salsa by Celia Cruz from Cuba,
or merengues by Johnny Ventura from the Dominican Republic.
He would put on his records and my sister Ro* and I would dance around the living room, in no particular fashion. The music moved us, as if we were marionettes held by invisible strings and our imaginary puppeteer maneuvered us through the room. My dolls would twirl in my arms as I danced.
As a child, I had no idea that there were sub-genres of Latin music. I thought it was all the same because they sang in Spanish. It wasn't until I was older that I realized the differences in the music, therefore there would be an obvious difference with the style of dance.
By the time I came into existence in the early 1980s, my parents were pretty much homebodies, having exhausted themselves in the 1970s to K.C. and the Sunshine Band and other forms of pop music. They were quite content to watch the occasional Brasilian or Italian soap opera, or to read through the occasional stack of books from the library. The few family get-togethers that we attended including a mix of American music as well, like Donna Summer or Blondie, etc.
I didn't really learn how to really dance to Latin music until I turned 17. I was at a baptism for someone whose name that I don't even remember. What I do remember is that they were Mexican and they played Mariachi music. I don't mind listening to Mariachi music at all. They're actually kind of entertaining, with their big sombreros, their little costumes and them strumming on their guitars or honking their trumpets. Anytime I listen to mariachi music, I keep waiting for my chips and salsa to magically appear in front of me.
As I've mentioned before in previous blogs, my family make-up has allowed me to appreciate music of all genres from different countries. But listening to Mariachi music ALL NIGHT makes you appreciate a mix of other kinds of music after a long while.
They finally put on a merengue. My dad said, "La saco para bailar." Meaning, "I'm going to take her out on the floor for a spin" (Keep in mind for those of you that think I've translated that phrase literally, get off the translation websites. They won't do you much good.)
I didn't get the moves correct, but my dad was patient with me for once.
Since that night when my dad took me out for a spin, I have had an insatiable hunger for Latin music and dance.
When I moved to Florida about 10 years ago, I didn't know a single soul. To pay the bills and also to meet people, I worked at a small Cuban restaurant in Saint Augustine, FL as their "Hostess Extraordinaire", a moniker coined by the flamboyantly gay bartender, Moranti. On Fridays and Saturdays, they had a live band that consisted of a guitarist, a congo player, a piano player, a saxophonist, a trumpeter and a singer. They had an open floor towards the stage and dancing would occur.
The Conga Player/Sometimes-Guitarist, was the owner's son who I shall refer to as "Junior", noticed me immediately. He began to teach me a few things here and there, initiating me into many things that could be considered useful & good, but some things most definitely not good. He first noticed that I was a terrible dance partner.
"Baby, you have let the man lead!" he would yell at me.
I thought I was doing well, but apparently, any time he took me for a spin on the dance floor, it was just a jumble of arms, legs and footwork. I looked like one of those twisty dolls with wire legs.
How was I supposed to know? He was supposed to be teaching me how to dance upright on the dance floor.
In any case, once I dumped him, I began to go out with some of my friends that I had met in my Spanish classes at school. To spare them from seeing their real names, I have affectionately bestowed upon them some nicknames.
Toaster Over and Squeak Rodriguez were two girls that I met at Flagler College during 2004-2006.
I met Toaster Over first.
We both were in a Spanish 101 class. I had no idea WHY I was even there. Didn't they know I was already a Spanish speaker? I was such a snob with such big ideas then. Ha Ha! It turns out that I would have to test out of Spanish 101 into the higher levels.
I mentioned this to a bunch of the other students there in my class. It was the second day of classes.
Toaster Oven immediately overheard me telling the others my plan. She turned to me and said, "I have an aunt that is Puerto Rican. I love practicing Spanish with her. I should test out of this class, too."
I remember looking at this petite girl with wild auburn hair and thinking, "There is NO WAY that some little red-headed American is going to test out of this class and I'm stuck here! Hell no!"
We both tested out of Spanish 101. I placed higher, for Spanish 301, but since I had only grown up speaking Spanish, I wanted some of the grammar that I had missed. I had already taken French and Portuguese in high school and in junior college, respectively. We both ended up in Spanish 201.
Throughout the year, Toaster Oven and I would collaborate on projects together. One such project had something to do with music. She came over to my dorm room to work on our powerpoint together. When she discovered that I had over 5000 songs on my laptop, she realized two things: A) I was cool because I had an iBook and B) I had lots of fun music that included lots of Latin music.
Thus began a friendship that continues to this day. Our project, which sadly has disappeared for lack of jump drives or the disappearance thereof, discussed the different genres of Latin music such as Son, Mambo, Merengue, Salsa, Bachata, Reggaetón, Tango and Cumbia, to name a few.
Over the summer in 2005, Toaster Oven went to Costa Rica for a study abroad trip and became close with one of the other girls on the trip, Squeak Rodriguez.
Now, I had seen Squeak Rodriguez before in some of my other classes during 2004-05. She had been in my Intro to Mesoamerica class on Wednesday nights and in one other class that was as boring as the hills. However, we never spoke to each other because A) I was oblivious to others because I was working four jobs at the same time and had no time to really socialize after class and B) I think she was shy or intimidated to approach a girl with pink hair.
Meanwhile, once school started back up in the fall, I kept my usual bump-n-grind of jobs. One Saturday night, I was at home which never happened. I usually kept busy working my derriere morning, noon and night when I didn't have class, typically working all seven days of the week. I get a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. I pick up and it's Toaster Oven! "Ren! Do you want to go to Orlando with me tonight?" she asked.
What's in Orlando, other than Disney?
She explained that she was going to be meeting her friend in Orlando to go out dancing. She also explained that this was someone that she went to Costa Rica with over the summer, blah blah blah.
We ended up going to City Walk at Universal Studios.
They have a place, or at least, they used to if it's not still there, called "The Latin Quarter". It's a restaurant that converts into a club after 9 p.m.. Food is great, music is great...it's amazing!
The friend we ended up meeting was none other than Squeak Rodriguez!
The three of us ended up having a great time with one another dancing all night long. Thus began a Three Musketeers type of friendship that also continues to this day.
Every weekend, without fail, the three of us would go to any place in the area that played Latin music. We would go as far as Orlando, which was about an hour and fifteen minute drive on some Saturdays. On Fridays, we'd drive up to Jacksonville and go to Havana Jax to dance all night long.
We'd get ready at each other's houses and leave early, around 9 p.m. as the clubs in North Florida close at 2 a.m..
The first time I went to Havana Jax on Atlantic Blvd., I was a disaster. The Girlies could hear me squealing with laughter when I'd mess up majorly with my dance partners. But I wanted to be a better dancer and meet people, make friends, etc. I'd keep going to improve my dancing skills. On Thursdays, we'd go to the now defunct Twisted Martini, at the Jacksonville Landing. I miss that place. The bartenders, bouncers and DJ even knew who we were. We even made Dancing Friends with various males who would go to dance there. I still keep in touch with several of those guys today. :)
One thing I discovered after the age of 17 is that there are not only different genres, but also different styles of dance within that genre of dance. There is Cuban style Salsa. There is Costa Rican style Cumbia. There is Dominican style Bachata. There is a myriad of different styles and it's hard to keep up. There are way more I could list here, but the list would be exhaustive.
My Ex and I met coincidentally at Havana Jax one night after having danced with the Girlies in 2006. He constantly criticized my way of dancing, stating it was difficult to dance with me. It was difficult to dance with him! He would turn me left or right in the middle of a beat and then I'd tornado myself into the wall or people.
It was awful. It's easy to blame people for their lack of leading skills, but I have to say he didn't know how to lead me very well. We did dance bachata well together when we were a couple. I guess it's just as well that we are no longer together, whether it be for couple or dancing reasons. LOL.
Since I am also musically inclined, I keep track of the beats with my feet or my hands. I don't need to count them, as others do. Of course, if there's a fast tempo, I step up the pace...literally. I once went out dancing with The Girlies and there was a dance class. One guy grabbed my hand and began dancing. The music was fast paced and my legs and hips immediately began to step in tempo with the beat. Well, the poor man counted aloud, slowly. I asked him what he was doing and he responded that he was trying to count on the ball change. I looked at him like he was nuts. I'm not a classically trained dancer. This is the part that is difficult for me. Trying to follow someone's lead when they're counting slowly against the beat is difficult. More like, disastrous.
I think it's important that when there is a woman who is dancing with her male dance partner, that the man KNOW how to lead. Nothing sucks more than dancing with someone who can't lead. I am the type of dancer who did not have professional instruction as I was learning. Therefore, I need a strong partner who knows what he is doing.
Stay posted for the next installment.
Look for the woman wearing a brightly colored dress in the middle of the dance floor. Yep...that's me! Shaking absurdly, It often looks as if I have an electrical current flowing through my veins.
Electricity pulses through my body as I hear the music. Immediately getting goosebumps, my limbs begin to move to the music. Putting on a song, I shiver when I hear the familiar strains of salsa, merengue, bachata, reggaetón, cumbia or tango. I put on my high heels. I slink into a sexy dress. I begin to dance around my living room. I look amazing, dancing by myself, with my inner Latina Goddess rhythm.
I first discovered Latin music as a child. Actually, I shouldn't say that I "discovered" it. It was actually played incessantly throughout my childhood in Kansas on my dad's tape decks and record player.
My father, being Ecuadorean, usually played the music of his youth. These were countless tangos by Gardel from Argentina,
or cumbias by Lisandro Meza from Colombia,
or salsa by Celia Cruz from Cuba,
or merengues by Johnny Ventura from the Dominican Republic.
He would put on his records and my sister Ro* and I would dance around the living room, in no particular fashion. The music moved us, as if we were marionettes held by invisible strings and our imaginary puppeteer maneuvered us through the room. My dolls would twirl in my arms as I danced.
As a child, I had no idea that there were sub-genres of Latin music. I thought it was all the same because they sang in Spanish. It wasn't until I was older that I realized the differences in the music, therefore there would be an obvious difference with the style of dance.
By the time I came into existence in the early 1980s, my parents were pretty much homebodies, having exhausted themselves in the 1970s to K.C. and the Sunshine Band and other forms of pop music. They were quite content to watch the occasional Brasilian or Italian soap opera, or to read through the occasional stack of books from the library. The few family get-togethers that we attended including a mix of American music as well, like Donna Summer or Blondie, etc.
I didn't really learn how to really dance to Latin music until I turned 17. I was at a baptism for someone whose name that I don't even remember. What I do remember is that they were Mexican and they played Mariachi music. I don't mind listening to Mariachi music at all. They're actually kind of entertaining, with their big sombreros, their little costumes and them strumming on their guitars or honking their trumpets. Anytime I listen to mariachi music, I keep waiting for my chips and salsa to magically appear in front of me.
As I've mentioned before in previous blogs, my family make-up has allowed me to appreciate music of all genres from different countries. But listening to Mariachi music ALL NIGHT makes you appreciate a mix of other kinds of music after a long while.
They finally put on a merengue. My dad said, "La saco para bailar." Meaning, "I'm going to take her out on the floor for a spin" (Keep in mind for those of you that think I've translated that phrase literally, get off the translation websites. They won't do you much good.)
I didn't get the moves correct, but my dad was patient with me for once.
Since that night when my dad took me out for a spin, I have had an insatiable hunger for Latin music and dance.
When I moved to Florida about 10 years ago, I didn't know a single soul. To pay the bills and also to meet people, I worked at a small Cuban restaurant in Saint Augustine, FL as their "Hostess Extraordinaire", a moniker coined by the flamboyantly gay bartender, Moranti. On Fridays and Saturdays, they had a live band that consisted of a guitarist, a congo player, a piano player, a saxophonist, a trumpeter and a singer. They had an open floor towards the stage and dancing would occur.
The Conga Player/Sometimes-Guitarist, was the owner's son who I shall refer to as "Junior", noticed me immediately. He began to teach me a few things here and there, initiating me into many things that could be considered useful & good, but some things most definitely not good. He first noticed that I was a terrible dance partner.
"Baby, you have let the man lead!" he would yell at me.
I thought I was doing well, but apparently, any time he took me for a spin on the dance floor, it was just a jumble of arms, legs and footwork. I looked like one of those twisty dolls with wire legs.
How was I supposed to know? He was supposed to be teaching me how to dance upright on the dance floor.
In any case, once I dumped him, I began to go out with some of my friends that I had met in my Spanish classes at school. To spare them from seeing their real names, I have affectionately bestowed upon them some nicknames.
Toaster Over and Squeak Rodriguez were two girls that I met at Flagler College during 2004-2006.
I met Toaster Over first.
We both were in a Spanish 101 class. I had no idea WHY I was even there. Didn't they know I was already a Spanish speaker? I was such a snob with such big ideas then. Ha Ha! It turns out that I would have to test out of Spanish 101 into the higher levels.
I mentioned this to a bunch of the other students there in my class. It was the second day of classes.
Toaster Oven immediately overheard me telling the others my plan. She turned to me and said, "I have an aunt that is Puerto Rican. I love practicing Spanish with her. I should test out of this class, too."
I remember looking at this petite girl with wild auburn hair and thinking, "There is NO WAY that some little red-headed American is going to test out of this class and I'm stuck here! Hell no!"
We both tested out of Spanish 101. I placed higher, for Spanish 301, but since I had only grown up speaking Spanish, I wanted some of the grammar that I had missed. I had already taken French and Portuguese in high school and in junior college, respectively. We both ended up in Spanish 201.
Throughout the year, Toaster Oven and I would collaborate on projects together. One such project had something to do with music. She came over to my dorm room to work on our powerpoint together. When she discovered that I had over 5000 songs on my laptop, she realized two things: A) I was cool because I had an iBook and B) I had lots of fun music that included lots of Latin music.
Thus began a friendship that continues to this day. Our project, which sadly has disappeared for lack of jump drives or the disappearance thereof, discussed the different genres of Latin music such as Son, Mambo, Merengue, Salsa, Bachata, Reggaetón, Tango and Cumbia, to name a few.
Over the summer in 2005, Toaster Oven went to Costa Rica for a study abroad trip and became close with one of the other girls on the trip, Squeak Rodriguez.
Now, I had seen Squeak Rodriguez before in some of my other classes during 2004-05. She had been in my Intro to Mesoamerica class on Wednesday nights and in one other class that was as boring as the hills. However, we never spoke to each other because A) I was oblivious to others because I was working four jobs at the same time and had no time to really socialize after class and B) I think she was shy or intimidated to approach a girl with pink hair.
Meanwhile, once school started back up in the fall, I kept my usual bump-n-grind of jobs. One Saturday night, I was at home which never happened. I usually kept busy working my derriere morning, noon and night when I didn't have class, typically working all seven days of the week. I get a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. I pick up and it's Toaster Oven! "Ren! Do you want to go to Orlando with me tonight?" she asked.
What's in Orlando, other than Disney?
She explained that she was going to be meeting her friend in Orlando to go out dancing. She also explained that this was someone that she went to Costa Rica with over the summer, blah blah blah.
We ended up going to City Walk at Universal Studios.
They have a place, or at least, they used to if it's not still there, called "The Latin Quarter". It's a restaurant that converts into a club after 9 p.m.. Food is great, music is great...it's amazing!
The friend we ended up meeting was none other than Squeak Rodriguez!
The three of us ended up having a great time with one another dancing all night long. Thus began a Three Musketeers type of friendship that also continues to this day.
Every weekend, without fail, the three of us would go to any place in the area that played Latin music. We would go as far as Orlando, which was about an hour and fifteen minute drive on some Saturdays. On Fridays, we'd drive up to Jacksonville and go to Havana Jax to dance all night long.
We'd get ready at each other's houses and leave early, around 9 p.m. as the clubs in North Florida close at 2 a.m..
The first time I went to Havana Jax on Atlantic Blvd., I was a disaster. The Girlies could hear me squealing with laughter when I'd mess up majorly with my dance partners. But I wanted to be a better dancer and meet people, make friends, etc. I'd keep going to improve my dancing skills. On Thursdays, we'd go to the now defunct Twisted Martini, at the Jacksonville Landing. I miss that place. The bartenders, bouncers and DJ even knew who we were. We even made Dancing Friends with various males who would go to dance there. I still keep in touch with several of those guys today. :)
One thing I discovered after the age of 17 is that there are not only different genres, but also different styles of dance within that genre of dance. There is Cuban style Salsa. There is Costa Rican style Cumbia. There is Dominican style Bachata. There is a myriad of different styles and it's hard to keep up. There are way more I could list here, but the list would be exhaustive.
My Ex and I met coincidentally at Havana Jax one night after having danced with the Girlies in 2006. He constantly criticized my way of dancing, stating it was difficult to dance with me. It was difficult to dance with him! He would turn me left or right in the middle of a beat and then I'd tornado myself into the wall or people.
It was awful. It's easy to blame people for their lack of leading skills, but I have to say he didn't know how to lead me very well. We did dance bachata well together when we were a couple. I guess it's just as well that we are no longer together, whether it be for couple or dancing reasons. LOL.
Since I am also musically inclined, I keep track of the beats with my feet or my hands. I don't need to count them, as others do. Of course, if there's a fast tempo, I step up the pace...literally. I once went out dancing with The Girlies and there was a dance class. One guy grabbed my hand and began dancing. The music was fast paced and my legs and hips immediately began to step in tempo with the beat. Well, the poor man counted aloud, slowly. I asked him what he was doing and he responded that he was trying to count on the ball change. I looked at him like he was nuts. I'm not a classically trained dancer. This is the part that is difficult for me. Trying to follow someone's lead when they're counting slowly against the beat is difficult. More like, disastrous.
I think it's important that when there is a woman who is dancing with her male dance partner, that the man KNOW how to lead. Nothing sucks more than dancing with someone who can't lead. I am the type of dancer who did not have professional instruction as I was learning. Therefore, I need a strong partner who knows what he is doing.
Stay posted for the next installment.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
The Hotel from Hell
Readers Beware - this is a long, but I think a funny post.
I travel often.
I travel often.
I love nothing more than to hop in my car, or hitch a ride with a friend, and go to places known and unknown.
A friend of mine from Pure Romance noticed that I liked to roadtrip, she asked me, "Would you like to ride to Miami with me in a few weeks? I have a Pure Romance party to do and I hate doing those drives alone." Of course, I said, "Hell yeah! I'm down for a road trip. I am a Roadtrip WARRIORESS!" I'm not even sure that "warrioress" is even a word, but hey, I like coining new words and phrases.
The plan was that she would pick me up on her way from work to Miami around 3 or 4 p.m., we would arrive at the party 5 or 6 hours later, she would do her demo for about an hour, take some fabulous orders and then we'd stay at her brother's house and then wake up early and come back to Jacksonville by mid-afternoon today (Saturday).
Unfortunately, unforeseen obstacles at her job along with traffic coming from her work to my house prevented us from leaving on time. By the time we arrived to the party late, the party people were more than in the festive spirit. My friend did her demo to a large group of women. In exchange for us driving down 5.5 hours to Miami, spend the gas and the money we spent on food, she only received a few orders and some change, probably only $150 in sales. Nonetheless, she was able to get some potential parties or consultants, so that was exciting. We left the party at around 3:45 A.M. after everyone had left.
"Girl," said my friend, "I didn't realize it was so late. My brother has to get up early for work. I can't be calling him at 4 o'clock in the morning. His wife got to work at 8." She did try to call them, but there was no answer. I even called a few people I know in Miami, but I realize it's too early in the morning. People are sleeping. I even posted on Facebook to see if anyone of my friends in the Miami area happened to be awake, stalking people on Facebook. Perhaps someone would come to our rescue!
To no avail, I suggested that perhaps we do one of two things:
- Drive all the way back to Jacksonville right then and there or;
- Get a hotel room in the area.
She looked at me with tired eyes, "There is NO WAY I can make it all the way back at this time of night, that is, unless you want to drive. "
I declined as I was tired myself. I didn't want to be responsible for wrecking a fancy car by hitting a deer on I-95. No, thank you!
I mentioned that I had a few bucks saved for an emergency on the trip, just in case. I said, "Since you paid for the gas, drove down here, paid for snacks and drinks, I'll cover a hotel room as long as it's cheap."
I was thinking maybe $50 or a eensy weensy bit more. I mean, there HAD to be a Days Inn or something like it around the area where we were at.
She pulls up a list of area hotels up on her phone and we called eight. All eight were fully booked due to spring break. I mean, all we wanted was a place to rest our heads for a few hours before heading back home.
We found one more hotel on the list. The name of this place was called, "Hotel Roma Golden Glades Resort". She called and the desk clerk said there was one room available at the oh-so-cheap rate of "$120.98 plus a $50 refundable deposit." I said, "That's a bit pricey. Let's look for another one."
I end up calling "Hotels.com" and they wanted to send us to a really "cost effective" hotel of $799 a night at Miami Beach on Collins Avenue. We both looked at each other as if to say, "Hell, no!"
By this time, it was 4:15 A.M.. We're either going to bunk down in the car or we are going to call that other pricey hotel. .
We called the Hotel Roma Golden Glades Resort, or whatever that hotel's name was. The man on the phone gave us directions.
After a short, 10 minute drive, we arrive at a location that is comical at best. Down the street, I could see bright lights and white columns. The most garish and most gaudy looking building I have ever laid eyes on came up before us.
The hotel looked something as is supposed to be depicted, but way more drab. I think in its heyday, it was a much nicer looking hotel.
As you drive through the "stately" coconut palms of the driveway, there are a bunch of broken down fountains that greet you. There are, AT LEAST, 25-40 whitewashed Greek and Roman statues that make you think, "This is overkill." I half expected Ben Hur to come flying about on his chariot and broom-bristle helmet in front of us!
We parked and walked up to the front door. On the way from the car to the front door, I noticed that there was a former restaurant or entrance that was boarded up with pink plywood right beside the hotel. I remember thinking, "Oh, dear...is this a Mario & Tio hotel?" My father and Uncle have particular knacks for choosing really crappy hotels. It seems that I am not that far off either when in a pinch.
A really bored looking security guard wearing headphones and playing with a smartphone unlocked the door for us. We walked into the lobby.
"Can I he'p yoo?" asked the desk clerk, who had a thick Asian accent of some sort.
"Yes, I called about 15 minutes ago wanting to know if you had any rooms available. Is that rate and the room still available?" I asked. He said yes and proceeded to tell me that check out was promptly at 11 A.M. and began to shuffle some papers around, all the while staring at my credit card as if it were a piece of filet mignon wrapped in bacon.
The man asked for the credit card and ID. He ran the credit card and then proceeded to make copies of both ID and credit card.
While waiting for him to check us in, I took a good look at the lobby. Behind the counter, on the left hand side of the wall were four clocks. Each one indicated time in four different world cities. These were New York, Paris, Miami and Brasil. BRASIL?! Come on! BRASIL is a country with FOUR different time zones, not a city. Maybe they meant the capital, Brasilia?
On the center wall, were three pictures of the kinds of rooms they had to offer guests. King, Executive and Suite. The pictures looked as if they were taken back in 1995. The bedspreads in the picture looked outdated, as well as the decor and furnishings. The countertops were green granite or marble tile that needed some deep polishing. The couches looked forlorn. Made of green leather or pleather, they sagged in some places. The cushions on the couch were cracking and flaking from wear and disrepair. Large, terra cotta tiles made up the flooring. If I had had a bucket of sudsy hot water and a scrub brush at the time, I would have knelt down and scrubbed the dirt and grime off the floor. The TV was a large, flat screen from the age of the dinosaurs had only three colors - RGB. Actually, I'm pretty sure it was one of the first flat screen TVs that came out in the 1990s. Like the ones that are flat in the front and have a tube in the back.
 |
| This is not a joke. |
He told us, "Room 321. Elevator on the right. Enjoy your stay!" At least he was pleasant enough for two very sleep deprived women.
I noticed the elevator must have been manufactured to European standards. It was tiny and not to mention, very wobbly.
On the third floor, immediately to the left, there is an ice machine that has "Out of Order" slapped haphazardly on the front of the machine. Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera out and ready for that one.
On the right hand side from the elevator are the rooms. As you turn the corner, you are greeted with a sight all too familiar if you've seen the movie, "The Shining", minus the kid on the tricycle and the crazy REDRUM twins.
 |
| The hotel looked similar to this. |
The hotel corridor was dark, with flickering lights. It smelled of either mold or cigarettes. I don't know which since the hotel claimed it was a non-smoking hotel. It smelled nasty. I noticed that the carpet had not been vacuumed in centuries, as there were dust bunnies collecting on the sides of the carpet nearest the walls. I kept expecting some big dude to come out of a room with a beer gut, a bottle of Budweiser and two hookers on each arm.
We got to our room door and opened our door with the card keys.
We got to our room door and opened our door with the card keys.
Upon entering, we were immediately assaulted with cold, tobacco-scented air conditioning. I found the air conditioner and immediately turned it to low, but that didn't do anything except blast more cold, dusty and tobacco-scented air on me. I was not about to get a headache and cold from sniffing that nasty air.
In the room were two double beds, a heavy tube TV, a nice looking dresser with handles that didn't work well,
and a worn looking table with chairs with major wear on the upholstery. In the dim lighting, I noticed there were some stains on the carpets. As I knew from the photos downstairs in the lobby, the bedspreads were outdated, but VERY worn. Mine even had a mysterious stain on it...
In the room were two double beds, a heavy tube TV, a nice looking dresser with handles that didn't work well,
I knew then that I had entered the Hotel from Hell.
You know what's even funnier? I even laughed about it!
I felt right at home.
That last line above was such a lie. I guess I meant to say that it all felt familiar to me.
That last line above was such a lie. I guess I meant to say that it all felt familiar to me.
It made me remember a time that I had stayed at a crappy hotel in Orlando. That's another story here.
My friend asked me why I was giggling uncontrollably. I didn't have the mental capacity to tell her the story right then and there. I mean, it was 4:30 A.M.! We were both exhausted. She had been up for almost 24 hours.
I peeled back the covers, half expecting circus roaches to come flying out of the sheets or centipedes to crawl out of the pillow cases, SOMETHING like that. With nothing but white blankness from the sheets, I gave a sigh of relief.
My friend had already put her pajamas on and sank into bed. I sat on the edge of the bed trying to get comfortable when, all of a sudden, I felt as if the mattress had swallowed me. I am not joking when I say this.
I felt like I was wallowing in a sand pit as the bed sank under my weight. It took a lot of abdominal work to get back up out of bed. I had my phone with me and noticed the clock said "4:40". Knowing that we'd have to be out of the room by 11 A.M., I tried to sleep. It took a while, but I got there.
Around 8:15, I awoke to car alarms going off outside.
The thing with me is that, once I'm up, I'm up.
I looked over my mattress hill and saw that my friend was still asleep.
I grabbed my phone and decided to post on Facebook how crappy this place was. Of course, I didn't have to read the reviews to find out that it was a piece of crap before posting to FB. I knew it!
Being that I thought our predicament was kind of funny, but also that I have had first hand experience in the hospitality industry, I decided, "Well, why not?! I'm here waiting for my friend to wake up. I'll go ahead and read the reviews on this place." I mean, were we the only people who thought this place sucked?
Oh, no.
Since I travel a lot and have a smart phone, I have various apps that assist me in getting to where I need to be or finding important information about accommodations, flights, etc. It's a shame I didn't think to use them yesterday.
Trip Advisor immediately pinged our location and this is what was found. The total reviews and pictures for this hotel can be found there, but I have highlighted my favorite reviews and photos down below. I even went on the hotel's website just to see what they had to say. Along with my own commentary as well and other photos I took while we were there.
1) The Hotel's Actual Website - click here to view it.
I felt anything BUT inspired...perhaps they meant to say, "revolted"?
The pool looked more like this, as a fellow guest and Trip Advisor reviewer took excellent note of this fountain below. If the fountain looks like this, you can bet you'll get scurvy just THINKING about dipping a toe into the pool.
When I think of Tropical Splendor, I think of the Dominican Republic. That country has a lot to offer in terms of Tropical Splendor, don't you think?
Not this. Looks more of a Concrete Jungle to me, I'd say!
I'm Italian, I should know what's what. That ain't Italian!
Well, I'll agree somewhat with this one. My room did happen to have two queen sized beds. I'm not sure what had slept on them prior. We had ONE TV, but that didn't work very well. In fact, I don't think it worked at all.
According to another guest review with their photo below on Trip Advisor, their room came complete with this fancy telephone!
When I went into the bathroom, I was skeptical about anything in there being clean or working right since the bed had been sketchy. Turns out, I was right!
The countertop sagged and was only adhered to the wall with badly applied caulking.
Now...for the cream!!!
2) Trip Advisor Reviews
As I laid in the bed waiting for my friend to wake up so we could get the hell out of there, I tried so hard not to laugh out loud from the reviews. I had tears streaming down my face.
This first one is my favorite!
(Please note, these are all screen shots from the Trip Advisor website.)
Dead rats, open toiletries, broken irons, yucky pool and a wholesome breakfast of Mini Muffins! Don't mind if I do!
The review below states he wouldn't even wish this upon his own enemy! He must care a lot about people, even bad dudes, to not want to send them there.
I liked the line, "Not sure when the remodel occurred, but they missed a bit of the hotel." I have tears streaming down my face already! Bugs having a buffet?! Priceless!
I'm jealous of this guy right down here. His bathroom came complete with a 2x4! Mine was just held together with caulking. Boo!
"Scary. Weird. Old. Strange." has got it RIGHT!
All in all, this is a place that you want to avoid like the plague.
As everyone else happens to say in these review, my stamp of disapproval is so great, that:
A) I would not wish this upon my worst enemy and;
B) If there were a negative stars rating, I would give this place a -2.
That being said, it did give us a place to sleep for a few hours which was necessary for our return trip. I did not utilize the shower there whatsoever. As soon as I got home, I hopped in the shower and fumigated all nastiness off of me. It was like being born again! (Which is what my name stands for anyways.)
I was so relieved when we left. The place is so bad that as you walk out to the parking lot, wasps buzz around your face. There were so many wasps nests there, it was unbelievable.
Friends and non-friends alike...please do not choose this place at all. I guarantee you will have an experience to remember if you do, but why not live vicariously through others?
My friend asked me why I was giggling uncontrollably. I didn't have the mental capacity to tell her the story right then and there. I mean, it was 4:30 A.M.! We were both exhausted. She had been up for almost 24 hours.
I peeled back the covers, half expecting circus roaches to come flying out of the sheets or centipedes to crawl out of the pillow cases, SOMETHING like that. With nothing but white blankness from the sheets, I gave a sigh of relief.
My friend had already put her pajamas on and sank into bed. I sat on the edge of the bed trying to get comfortable when, all of a sudden, I felt as if the mattress had swallowed me. I am not joking when I say this.
I felt like I was wallowing in a sand pit as the bed sank under my weight. It took a lot of abdominal work to get back up out of bed. I had my phone with me and noticed the clock said "4:40". Knowing that we'd have to be out of the room by 11 A.M., I tried to sleep. It took a while, but I got there.
Around 8:15, I awoke to car alarms going off outside.
The thing with me is that, once I'm up, I'm up.
I looked over my mattress hill and saw that my friend was still asleep.
I grabbed my phone and decided to post on Facebook how crappy this place was. Of course, I didn't have to read the reviews to find out that it was a piece of crap before posting to FB. I knew it!
Being that I thought our predicament was kind of funny, but also that I have had first hand experience in the hospitality industry, I decided, "Well, why not?! I'm here waiting for my friend to wake up. I'll go ahead and read the reviews on this place." I mean, were we the only people who thought this place sucked?
Oh, no.
Since I travel a lot and have a smart phone, I have various apps that assist me in getting to where I need to be or finding important information about accommodations, flights, etc. It's a shame I didn't think to use them yesterday.
Trip Advisor immediately pinged our location and this is what was found. The total reviews and pictures for this hotel can be found there, but I have highlighted my favorite reviews and photos down below. I even went on the hotel's website just to see what they had to say. Along with my own commentary as well and other photos I took while we were there.
1) The Hotel's Actual Website - click here to view it.
I felt anything BUT inspired...perhaps they meant to say, "revolted"?
Yeah Right! Maybe they hired a set designer from the adult film industry to create that "look" and "feel". Also, the lobby did not feel cozy. It was DIIIIRRRRRRRTTTTTAAAAAAY!!!
 |
| When I was there, the fountain didn't even work. |
 |
| Well, I didn't see HER and the pool didn't look like that! |
The pool looked more like this, as a fellow guest and Trip Advisor reviewer took excellent note of this fountain below. If the fountain looks like this, you can bet you'll get scurvy just THINKING about dipping a toe into the pool.
When I think of Tropical Splendor, I think of the Dominican Republic. That country has a lot to offer in terms of Tropical Splendor, don't you think?
. |
| Photo by Renata Vallazza. Please do not take without permission. Barahona, R.D. 2010. |
Not this. Looks more of a Concrete Jungle to me, I'd say!
 |
I'm Italian, I should know what's what. That ain't Italian!
 |
| Oh, my! How ITALIAN! |
Well, I'll agree somewhat with this one. My room did happen to have two queen sized beds. I'm not sure what had slept on them prior. We had ONE TV, but that didn't work very well. In fact, I don't think it worked at all.
According to another guest review with their photo below on Trip Advisor, their room came complete with this fancy telephone!
When I went into the bathroom, I was skeptical about anything in there being clean or working right since the bed had been sketchy. Turns out, I was right!
 |
The countertop sagged and was only adhered to the wall with badly applied caulking.
 |
 |
| This was the underside of the counter...complete with a ROACH and masking tape! |
 |
| Bathroom vent that had not been cleaned in centuries. |
 |
| "Replace Filter Every 3 Months". I don't think it's been changed or cleaned AT ALL!!! |
One thing is for certain - they are not "green" at all. They're dingy, dirty and smelly. But one thing is for certain: they sure are conserving the Earth's vital resources by not doing any washing nor cleaning!
 |
| I think they replace all the towels directly from the floor anyways. |
 |
| Towels are dingy and Dirty Bathtub |
Now...for the cream!!!
2) Trip Advisor Reviews
As I laid in the bed waiting for my friend to wake up so we could get the hell out of there, I tried so hard not to laugh out loud from the reviews. I had tears streaming down my face.
This first one is my favorite!
(Please note, these are all screen shots from the Trip Advisor website.)
 |
| RUN!!!! |
Dead rats, open toiletries, broken irons, yucky pool and a wholesome breakfast of Mini Muffins! Don't mind if I do!
 |
| Well then! A dead rat! |
According to the post below, you can be stolen! Within one hour, too!
 |
 |
I'm disappointed I didn't get to see any wildlife in my room! I like reptiles. They would have had a feast from all the yummy cockroaches in my bathroom or as the post below states, from under the bagel tray!
 |
My room was also missing an iron, much like this reviewers room.
 |
I liked the line, "Not sure when the remodel occurred, but they missed a bit of the hotel." I have tears streaming down my face already! Bugs having a buffet?! Priceless!
I don't even want to know if our door locked or did not lock. Thank you Lord that we are home safe now. I wasn't even aware that it was close to a strip club. Well, I'll be!
This review needs to review some of his or her spelling techniques and grammar. I've since discovered that "matters" stands for "mattress". According to the hotel, Subway is fine dining!
Also, he states that he and his wife wore their socks in the shower and tossed their PJ's after use in this fine establishment. Especially after reading this review, I think I might have to do that if hot water doesn't do it for my clothes.
I'm jealous of this guy right down here. His bathroom came complete with a 2x4! Mine was just held together with caulking. Boo!
 |
 |
| Ain't that a fact?! |
 |
| This reviewer is Swedish. |
This guy below must have sub-par standards. Ripped lamp shades, broken chairs...and not minding if other people's hairs are on the bed?!!! YUCK....
 |
| This still sounds really bad to me. |
All in all, this is a place that you want to avoid like the plague.
As everyone else happens to say in these review, my stamp of disapproval is so great, that:
A) I would not wish this upon my worst enemy and;
B) If there were a negative stars rating, I would give this place a -2.
That being said, it did give us a place to sleep for a few hours which was necessary for our return trip. I did not utilize the shower there whatsoever. As soon as I got home, I hopped in the shower and fumigated all nastiness off of me. It was like being born again! (Which is what my name stands for anyways.)
I was so relieved when we left. The place is so bad that as you walk out to the parking lot, wasps buzz around your face. There were so many wasps nests there, it was unbelievable.
Friends and non-friends alike...please do not choose this place at all. I guarantee you will have an experience to remember if you do, but why not live vicariously through others?
Crappy Hotels
My parents live in Kansas City, the Land of Amazing BBQ. As such, I don't get up there very often to see them, and since they are getting older, they don't drive down much. One day in 2008, they called and said they were coming to visit my son and I.
I was ecstatic! They were even bringing my favorite uncle with them! They were going to a family reunion in Orlando of my dad's cousins and were going to stop and pick us up.
My mom had exclaimed to me that my uncle had gotten us a great hotel in Kissimmee for only $35 a night! What a bargain! I imagined myself being able to spend some quality time with my now-ex as he was always working and I never got to see him. Plus, with my parents being there, I could pawn our son with them for a few hours while my ex and I would have hopefully gotten down to "business" and get some "quality" time together, if you know what I mean. Wink wink.
Alas, that was not to be at all. We arrived at our destination. My ex asked me, "Is this for real?" when he saw the outside. I didn't know if the location was correct as it looked run down.
We went inside our room and discovered some grossness.
That hotel had roaches everywhere and was positively filthy. My ex went to pee and comes back with a horrified look on his face. "Baby, there were ROACHES in the toilet!" he said to me. "I'm not even sleeping under the covers. This is a nightmare. Don't even have your feet touch the floor, nor your socks!" As I laughed at what he was saying, he didn't find the situation funny at all. He fumed while he tried to sleep on top of the covers.
Since I wasn't going to be rocking the boat with him anytime soon, I went to my parents room next door.
When I was a kid and would tag along for the road trips that my parents often took to Texas to visit relatives or other places, we had several rituals. One of them is that my mom has a habit of wanting to soak in hotel bathtubs and read a book. She'll stay in there for hours soaking in nice, hot water, while everyone else has to do the potty dance waiting for her to get out. I guess it's because she assumes the bathtub is clean and that she can just soak. She probably just doesn't feel like doing that at home and taking the time to squirt the tub with cleanser and giving a little scrub even though their bathroom at home is fairly clean. Well, anyways...her bliss was cut short when black water or something nasty of that nature came chuffing out of the faucets. My mother screamed and got out of the bathroom very quickly.
My father began to shout talk and say "AH! I don't know why you need to take a bath! Just take a shower!"
"But, Mario, I LIKE to take a bath! My feet hurt!" my mother pleaded.
"No! You wanna get some crazy shit from that water?! EH?!" My dad has a way with words.
My mother was determined though. She cleaned that bathtub as best she could and let the nasty water run until it was clear enough to draw a hot bath.
That water still looked nasty, like someone had peed in it. Nevertheless, she was still determined.
The next morning when I saw my uncle, I admonished him. "Tio! What kind of crappy hotel is this?!"
He looked at me with his signature goofy look. "Renatita baby! I got this hotel because it was the most affordable! It even came with breakfast!"
Breakfast was at the IHOP next door for a low affordable price of $7.99!
My ex woke up and asked when we could leave. I told him after breakfast. He then asked where breakfast was, and when I told him, he said he'd rather eat something at a Wendy's on the way back to Jacksonville.
That was definitely a trip and hotel stay to remember.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
I Heart Argentina! Parte Dos
Welcome back for the second installment of "I Heart Argentina! Parte Dos".
I am your host, Vallazza-Raptor.
As I was saying in my last post about Argentina, it is a country I hold dear to my heart. I love that country. I think it's amazing. I've been trying to figure out different ways to see about living there temporarily, just for the fun of it. I'm all about new experiences, even if they turn out to be not what I was expecting, etc.
I could go around the country, much like I do here in the United States, and explore! I'm out to discover!
One staple of "discovering" that you must do while in Argentina is to go shopping or go to the shopping.
3) El "Shopping"
Argentines LOVE to shop. At least, all the ones I have met love to go shopping. They all want to take you shopping, too.
The first year I went to Argentina, my friend, Ale, who is an English teacher, invited me to visit her classes. She lied to her students and told them all that I spoke no Spanish whatsoever. I had to pretend I was really dumb and play along. It was a lot of fun.
The little girls that were in her class were all tittering with excitement as they asked me different questions in the little English that they had learned thus far in their little lives.
A.S.'s students were about middle school aged and of course, into boys and shopping and talking on the phones, much like the kids here in the U.S..
One little girl with cupcakes printed on her shirt asked me, "Do you like muffins?"
"Yes," I replied.
Another girl piped up, "Do you like frogs?"
I thought to myself, "Well, no." But I knew these kids were trying very hard to impress me, so I said "Yes. They are cool!" nodding my head.
The third question from an older girl was, "Do you like the shopping?"
I was puzzled as she had put a definite article in that sentence before the activity.
"You mean, do I like to shop? Yes, I like to shop," I said.
All the girls in the class, who outnumbered the boys by 2/3, were elated! The girls were squealing as if I had given them a million dollars. One of the girls, Lucrecia, gave me her number. She said to me in English, "You must call me so that we can go to the shopping."
I ended up not calling, only because they found out their teacher's home phone number where I was staying. The girls called Ale, asking to take me to go shopping at the mall, which is literally down the street from Ale's house in Bahía Blanca.
An adult with a bunch of squealing little 11-12 year old girls who are showing her the mall is hilarious.
"Renata, do you like the shopping here?" One little girl asked.
"Yeah, it's okay. They don't have very many clothes," I mentioned.
Another little girl told me that they call the malls "The Shopping" in English or in Spanish "El Shopping". It seems to be a very Argentine and Brasilian thing, as in Brasil, they say, "Eu vou no shopping".
This entire time, these kids had been asking me if I liked going to the mall, and here I thought they were asking me I merely enjoyed shopping.
Truth be told, in comparison with American shopping malls, there is none. This one was tiny, but it had a lot of nice stores and unique items that were outrageously priced for Argentines.
Now while the "shopping" in Bahía is smaller than what I am used to in the U.S., there is one in Buenos Aires called "Galerias Pacificos" which is ABSOLUTELY beautiful! There are four stories of all kinds of shops, all Argentine, except for maybe your random "Zara" or "Levi's" store, but it's amazing!
Take a look at the video for Galerías Pácificos here.
There are also some cafés on the bottom floor which are really nice, have decently priced food and good seating location when it's not overrun by masses of people.
4) El Estación Del Omnibus - RETIRO
The first time I landed in my hopefully soon-to-be-adopted homeland, I was intrigued by the announcers in the bus station. The main bus terminal is in an area of Buenos Aires called "Retiro". I assume that once upon a time (think back to the early 1900s), it was a lovely place, but it is now plagued with some shady people.
Bre (the student I took) and I found a place to sit down after having walked all over the place in Buenos Aires and we were immediately bombarded by homeless people. Also what greeted us was a cacophony of noises that were (of course) foreign to us.
We took it all in stride!
We both sat at the bus station for a good 6 hours before our bus came. A friend of mine booked our bus tickets to leave at midnight, so we had spent a good deal of the day wandering around Buenos Aires on foot. By the time we got to the bus station, we were exhausted. Another friend had lent me a guide book that had crappy maps with horrible cardinal directions. I am a Map Snob. I know my Cardinal directions and I also know where the sun lies in the sky, where it rises and sets...that map in the book was CRAP!
I am your host, Vallazza-Raptor.
As I was saying in my last post about Argentina, it is a country I hold dear to my heart. I love that country. I think it's amazing. I've been trying to figure out different ways to see about living there temporarily, just for the fun of it. I'm all about new experiences, even if they turn out to be not what I was expecting, etc.
I could go around the country, much like I do here in the United States, and explore! I'm out to discover!
One staple of "discovering" that you must do while in Argentina is to go shopping or go to the shopping.
3) El "Shopping"
Argentines LOVE to shop. At least, all the ones I have met love to go shopping. They all want to take you shopping, too.
The first year I went to Argentina, my friend, Ale, who is an English teacher, invited me to visit her classes. She lied to her students and told them all that I spoke no Spanish whatsoever. I had to pretend I was really dumb and play along. It was a lot of fun.
The little girls that were in her class were all tittering with excitement as they asked me different questions in the little English that they had learned thus far in their little lives.
A.S.'s students were about middle school aged and of course, into boys and shopping and talking on the phones, much like the kids here in the U.S..
One little girl with cupcakes printed on her shirt asked me, "Do you like muffins?"
"Yes," I replied.
Another girl piped up, "Do you like frogs?"
I thought to myself, "Well, no." But I knew these kids were trying very hard to impress me, so I said "Yes. They are cool!" nodding my head.
The third question from an older girl was, "Do you like the shopping?"
I was puzzled as she had put a definite article in that sentence before the activity.
"You mean, do I like to shop? Yes, I like to shop," I said.
All the girls in the class, who outnumbered the boys by 2/3, were elated! The girls were squealing as if I had given them a million dollars. One of the girls, Lucrecia, gave me her number. She said to me in English, "You must call me so that we can go to the shopping."
I ended up not calling, only because they found out their teacher's home phone number where I was staying. The girls called Ale, asking to take me to go shopping at the mall, which is literally down the street from Ale's house in Bahía Blanca.
An adult with a bunch of squealing little 11-12 year old girls who are showing her the mall is hilarious.
"Renata, do you like the shopping here?" One little girl asked.
"Yeah, it's okay. They don't have very many clothes," I mentioned.
Another little girl told me that they call the malls "The Shopping" in English or in Spanish "El Shopping". It seems to be a very Argentine and Brasilian thing, as in Brasil, they say, "Eu vou no shopping".
This entire time, these kids had been asking me if I liked going to the mall, and here I thought they were asking me I merely enjoyed shopping.
Truth be told, in comparison with American shopping malls, there is none. This one was tiny, but it had a lot of nice stores and unique items that were outrageously priced for Argentines.
Now while the "shopping" in Bahía is smaller than what I am used to in the U.S., there is one in Buenos Aires called "Galerias Pacificos" which is ABSOLUTELY beautiful! There are four stories of all kinds of shops, all Argentine, except for maybe your random "Zara" or "Levi's" store, but it's amazing!
Take a look at the video for Galerías Pácificos here.
There are also some cafés on the bottom floor which are really nice, have decently priced food and good seating location when it's not overrun by masses of people.
4) El Estación Del Omnibus - RETIRO
The first time I landed in my hopefully soon-to-be-adopted homeland, I was intrigued by the announcers in the bus station. The main bus terminal is in an area of Buenos Aires called "Retiro". I assume that once upon a time (think back to the early 1900s), it was a lovely place, but it is now plagued with some shady people.
Bre (the student I took) and I found a place to sit down after having walked all over the place in Buenos Aires and we were immediately bombarded by homeless people. Also what greeted us was a cacophony of noises that were (of course) foreign to us.
We took it all in stride!
We both sat at the bus station for a good 6 hours before our bus came. A friend of mine booked our bus tickets to leave at midnight, so we had spent a good deal of the day wandering around Buenos Aires on foot. By the time we got to the bus station, we were exhausted. Another friend had lent me a guide book that had crappy maps with horrible cardinal directions. I am a Map Snob. I know my Cardinal directions and I also know where the sun lies in the sky, where it rises and sets...that map in the book was CRAP!
Anyhow...we finally tired of walking and decided to get to the main bus terminal and wait there for our bus to leave for Bahía Blanca.
Bre and I sat for six hours in the bus terminal with our luggage. One thing about Argentines is that they love to shop, as I mentioned above. One of my many best friends, who lives in Argentina, buys stuff online and sends it to my house. It is my job to bring it to her as I'm an American, I won't get asked questions in customs. I don't think I've ever been to Argentina and taken less than two suitcases. They also weigh almost the maximum of 50 lbs. That's a lot of weight for your arms to pull on each arm, in addition to wearing a backpack.
You're probably wondering what I am talking about. Why would I need to take so much stuff down there? Don't they have it there...etc?
No.
Imagine paying for a pair of Levi's in the U.S. for, let's say $60 USD. In Argentina, they cost $300 USD. Insane, isn't it? Not to mention, if you're an Argentine, you have to pay an exhorbitant tax on everything upon your return should you buy overseas if you do go abroad.
It's crazy.
Imagine two women, with four to six suitcases. We're tired. We're hungry. We cannot leave our suitcases. We have to pee. When you go to the restroom, you have to pay for toilet paper. The line for the toilets stretches around the corner about 30 feet. No joke. There's only ONE ladies bathroom. You must take turns if you're traveling in pairs. If you're by yourself, as I was one year, you pray to the Lord that you don't have any kind of mishap with your bowels or bladder. Thankfully, I was lucky that year. Other years have not been so fortunate. :s
When you're hungry, if you don't speak Spanish, your teacher (me) has to go translate for you. You take all of your luggage with you. The best thing is to honestly just take a bunch of snacks. Buy sandwiches and take snacks and drinks. That's what I'll do the next time I go.
After ordering your food, it arrives and you devour it. Then you buy a soda or a bottle of water. Plain tap water is not free at restaurants in Argentina. In fact, if Argentines order water, they normally order "Agua Con Gas" or in English, Sparkling Water. If you want still water, you order "Agua sin Gas". Drinking sodas are interesting, too. They will give you an old fashioned bottle with a straw. NEVER drink your sodas straight from the bottle. In fact, never drink any beverage straight from the bottle in Argentina. You will have no idea where that bottle has been or know who nor what has trodden all over it. Safety first! No sense in getting communicable diseases because you put your lips over a soda bottle.
You finish your meal, and you look for somewhere to sit with all of your luggage. You find the first available seats to discover that you've just camped out on top of the the Resident Homeless' abode. There are more than enough transients in the bus station that really do make the Retiro Bus Station their home.
You move yourself and your students to another location. You are surrounded by some interesting people. I once met a former nun, a blonde haired and blue eyed Bolivian woman, a Brasilian man and a few Policemen. (Check the link for "43 Hours" for that story.) The Blonde Bolivian lady was quite an anomaly. I have an aunt from Bolivia who is the typical indigenous featured Bolivian. The Blonde lady was born and raised in Bolivia. She moved to Argentina for a better life and a better, but found nothing but racism and poor jobs. I thought about the irony as I couldn't have figured out if she were Bolivian by her features. The only thing that gave her away as being Bolivian was her accent.
The Brasilian guy was on his way to San Miguel de Tucumán, which is near the border with Bolivia. His bus ride was going to last 36 hours. Holy cow!
The only person I worried about was the nun. She was all by herself, had no phone and no way of knowing whether or not her niece was going to pick her up from the Bus Station. I remember giving her a kiss and hug as I was about to depart and asked her to please take care of herself while alone at midnight in a sketchy bus station. I often wonder if she ever met up with relatives.
For those of you that have seen "Office Space" and can remember the bubbly red head in the background who had a sing songish voice talking on the phone, Retiro Bus Station has one of those, too. Actually, several sing songish announcers.
Inside the bus station, there are time tables of the most recent departures and arrivals to the bus stations. Also, the announcers will announce these locations of arrival and departure over loudspeakers to the entire station.
"Un colectivo a Mar de Plata sale a las veinte horas y treinta minutos (20:30=8:30 p.m.)"
(A bus to Mar de Plata will leave at 8:30 p.m.)
The announcers do this for quite a while. In fact, they never stop. The become less frequent in the evenings, but during the day...it's incredible. They NEVER STOP ANNOUNCING. I feel like it's a song or like a Bollywood musical when they announce.
You finally hear them announce your bus. "En la plataforma 8, un colectivo a Bahía Blanca sale a las 23 horas y 45 minutos." (On Platform 8, a bus will leave for Bahía Blanca at 11:45 p.m.)
This brings me to the bus...
5) The Bus
My students all thought the buses were going to be something like the ones people see in movies about Mexico -- full of chickens, covered in tarpaulin, and full of drug lords. When I explained to them that Argentina is not like that, at least the parts I have been to, that puts them at ease a bit. I explained to them that they were going to be enjoying themselves immensely.
The buses are actually double decker busses. They look like this:
You drag yourself, your luggage and your exhausted student(s) with their luggage to the binary and wait for the bus driver to load your luggage into the bottom of the bus. You give him a tip, since that 's a nice thing to do. He gives you a little ticket so that when you arrive at your destination, you can retrieve your luggage.
They check your tickets, tell you where to sit and you find your seat.
Your seat has several options. First of all, you can recline or otherwise, recline the seat completely flat if you wish to sleep. You get a pillow, a blanket, a little food tray with a bottle of water and a "privacy" curtain if you want to draw it between you and your fellow seat mate. A movie with Russian subtitles from Thailand or who knows where plays on the T.V. screen and is dubbed in Spanish. It is one of the coolest things ever.
You then have the option of falling asleep or staying awake. I typically sleep on my way to Bahía Blanca. On my way back from Bahía, I stay awake and cry as I have just left my fellow friends and compatriots. Such wonderful people!
One year, my seat was at the front of the bus on the second level. What a view! It was nice being able to see the sunrise that morning upon my arrival into Bahía Blanca.
Stay tuned for the next installment of "I Heart Argentina, Parte Tres". I will be discussing the nightlife and the jewelry in that blog.
Thanks for reading!
Bre and I sat for six hours in the bus terminal with our luggage. One thing about Argentines is that they love to shop, as I mentioned above. One of my many best friends, who lives in Argentina, buys stuff online and sends it to my house. It is my job to bring it to her as I'm an American, I won't get asked questions in customs. I don't think I've ever been to Argentina and taken less than two suitcases. They also weigh almost the maximum of 50 lbs. That's a lot of weight for your arms to pull on each arm, in addition to wearing a backpack.
You're probably wondering what I am talking about. Why would I need to take so much stuff down there? Don't they have it there...etc?
No.
Imagine paying for a pair of Levi's in the U.S. for, let's say $60 USD. In Argentina, they cost $300 USD. Insane, isn't it? Not to mention, if you're an Argentine, you have to pay an exhorbitant tax on everything upon your return should you buy overseas if you do go abroad.
It's crazy.
Imagine two women, with four to six suitcases. We're tired. We're hungry. We cannot leave our suitcases. We have to pee. When you go to the restroom, you have to pay for toilet paper. The line for the toilets stretches around the corner about 30 feet. No joke. There's only ONE ladies bathroom. You must take turns if you're traveling in pairs. If you're by yourself, as I was one year, you pray to the Lord that you don't have any kind of mishap with your bowels or bladder. Thankfully, I was lucky that year. Other years have not been so fortunate. :s
When you're hungry, if you don't speak Spanish, your teacher (me) has to go translate for you. You take all of your luggage with you. The best thing is to honestly just take a bunch of snacks. Buy sandwiches and take snacks and drinks. That's what I'll do the next time I go.
After ordering your food, it arrives and you devour it. Then you buy a soda or a bottle of water. Plain tap water is not free at restaurants in Argentina. In fact, if Argentines order water, they normally order "Agua Con Gas" or in English, Sparkling Water. If you want still water, you order "Agua sin Gas". Drinking sodas are interesting, too. They will give you an old fashioned bottle with a straw. NEVER drink your sodas straight from the bottle. In fact, never drink any beverage straight from the bottle in Argentina. You will have no idea where that bottle has been or know who nor what has trodden all over it. Safety first! No sense in getting communicable diseases because you put your lips over a soda bottle.
You finish your meal, and you look for somewhere to sit with all of your luggage. You find the first available seats to discover that you've just camped out on top of the the Resident Homeless' abode. There are more than enough transients in the bus station that really do make the Retiro Bus Station their home.
You move yourself and your students to another location. You are surrounded by some interesting people. I once met a former nun, a blonde haired and blue eyed Bolivian woman, a Brasilian man and a few Policemen. (Check the link for "43 Hours" for that story.) The Blonde Bolivian lady was quite an anomaly. I have an aunt from Bolivia who is the typical indigenous featured Bolivian. The Blonde lady was born and raised in Bolivia. She moved to Argentina for a better life and a better, but found nothing but racism and poor jobs. I thought about the irony as I couldn't have figured out if she were Bolivian by her features. The only thing that gave her away as being Bolivian was her accent.
The Brasilian guy was on his way to San Miguel de Tucumán, which is near the border with Bolivia. His bus ride was going to last 36 hours. Holy cow!
The only person I worried about was the nun. She was all by herself, had no phone and no way of knowing whether or not her niece was going to pick her up from the Bus Station. I remember giving her a kiss and hug as I was about to depart and asked her to please take care of herself while alone at midnight in a sketchy bus station. I often wonder if she ever met up with relatives.
For those of you that have seen "Office Space" and can remember the bubbly red head in the background who had a sing songish voice talking on the phone, Retiro Bus Station has one of those, too. Actually, several sing songish announcers.
Inside the bus station, there are time tables of the most recent departures and arrivals to the bus stations. Also, the announcers will announce these locations of arrival and departure over loudspeakers to the entire station.
"Un colectivo a Mar de Plata sale a las veinte horas y treinta minutos (20:30=8:30 p.m.)"
(A bus to Mar de Plata will leave at 8:30 p.m.)
The announcers do this for quite a while. In fact, they never stop. The become less frequent in the evenings, but during the day...it's incredible. They NEVER STOP ANNOUNCING. I feel like it's a song or like a Bollywood musical when they announce.
You finally hear them announce your bus. "En la plataforma 8, un colectivo a Bahía Blanca sale a las 23 horas y 45 minutos." (On Platform 8, a bus will leave for Bahía Blanca at 11:45 p.m.)
This brings me to the bus...
5) The Bus
My students all thought the buses were going to be something like the ones people see in movies about Mexico -- full of chickens, covered in tarpaulin, and full of drug lords. When I explained to them that Argentina is not like that, at least the parts I have been to, that puts them at ease a bit. I explained to them that they were going to be enjoying themselves immensely.
The buses are actually double decker busses. They look like this:
You drag yourself, your luggage and your exhausted student(s) with their luggage to the binary and wait for the bus driver to load your luggage into the bottom of the bus. You give him a tip, since that 's a nice thing to do. He gives you a little ticket so that when you arrive at your destination, you can retrieve your luggage.
They check your tickets, tell you where to sit and you find your seat.
Your seat has several options. First of all, you can recline or otherwise, recline the seat completely flat if you wish to sleep. You get a pillow, a blanket, a little food tray with a bottle of water and a "privacy" curtain if you want to draw it between you and your fellow seat mate. A movie with Russian subtitles from Thailand or who knows where plays on the T.V. screen and is dubbed in Spanish. It is one of the coolest things ever.
You then have the option of falling asleep or staying awake. I typically sleep on my way to Bahía Blanca. On my way back from Bahía, I stay awake and cry as I have just left my fellow friends and compatriots. Such wonderful people!
One year, my seat was at the front of the bus on the second level. What a view! It was nice being able to see the sunrise that morning upon my arrival into Bahía Blanca.
Stay tuned for the next installment of "I Heart Argentina, Parte Tres". I will be discussing the nightlife and the jewelry in that blog.
Thanks for reading!
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