February March April in Recife...

Over the last eight weeks, the Schlinks have fallen into a comfortable routine mostly consisting of school, work, and beach. Deets started kindergarten and joined a soccer team. He's been tasked with reading and math homework nearly every night at an impressive pace of curricular expectation. Margo isn't far behind with twice weekly homework assignments such as learning how to tear pieces of paper, rolling them into balls and gluing them down; a development of fine motor skills for three year olds. Glue is probably her favorite thing at the moment. That, or lipstick. She and her brother both swim twice a week at school too. Last Friday I broke the news to David that his back ordered sunga (bikini brief swim suit) finally arrived and he'd be required to wear it from now on. His response: but it's so tiny! Sure is, kid.

I had a work trip to San Diego where I spent the week dealing with buckets of fake blood, asphyxiated babies, mass casualty situations, and meeting my nursey cohorts literally from all over the world. I filled up a notebook, agonized over my IV placement skills, and drank a ton of beer with old friends to soothe all that learning. When I got back, I got talked into joining a ballet class. While I have yet to purchase a tutu, I love the regiment and conformity of it all. All the women coif their hair in tight buns and present themselves in chest popping leotards. They couldn't be any nicer. It's not a class where we perform recitals which is a double bonus- sorry to disappoint those looking for a good laugh. I know I would if I saw me dance. I'm quite awkward.

Mark travelled a little too. He flew to Rio de Janeiro where he participated in what I can only imagine as nail biting, collaborative, show-and-tell work meetings. In classic Mark fashion, he trekked along the beaches, hiked Pão de Açucar, and blasted through the city on foot. In a downpour. He too, drank beer and ate fancy food with old and new friends. He continues to work his tail off and looking to the future, mostly about the big move to Namibia and fantasizing about grilling zebra meat. 

Back in Recife and between the work trips, we rekindled our motivation to do the beach thing, heading out nearly every weekend to surf, boogie board, and/or snorkel. Most of our trips focused on Maracaìpe for the big waves. I'd hide under the umbrella and nag my children to put on more sunscreen to the point that Deets tried to avoid me altogether. Mark and Deets would fight waves or go boarding- heck even Margo tried it a few times. We'd wash out the taste of sea water with coconut water and beer, and do it all again the next weekend.

One weekend we decided to branch out and went to Serrambi, a swanky, isolated, and tranquil beach good for snorkeling. The catch: there are no services aside from the occasional ice cream vendor or the price gouging services at the Serrambi Beach Resort. Going rate to use their umbrellas: 100 Reais/person. Unprepared yet determined to have a good time, we endured the cloudless, breeze-less sky. While Mark snorkeled with the kids I wallowed in the disconcertingly warm water and pretended to love it. Margo exfoliated my hair with handfuls of sand while she waited her turn to snorkel. It was 100% my fault, but since I didn't jump onto the snorkeling train soon enough nor express my desire to leave, I morphed into an angry cur, yelling my indignation to anyone who'd listen. Good thing everyone else was also too hot and tired to pay me any attention.

I swore off beaches. Until the next weekend when I got talked into going back to Maracaìpe with some friends. So we returned with smiles and everything. Now this weekend has passed and we spent today at Porto de Galinhas, the most popular beach in the northeast. It's a huge touristy sandy spread one hour south of Recife, known for "piscinas naturais" (shallow pools good for snorkeling) and scuba diving. There's boat tours, dune buggy tours, vendors and curios available from the moment you make eye contact. You don't ever have to leave your chair. The busyness and milling of people has its own charm, and the collection of colorful sail boats add to the atmosphere of eternal optimistic paradise. I still need and want to spend more time in the town itself, which is a mixture of quirky, hippy, and tropical chic. Unfortunately our trip got cut short due to a down pour so we opted to drive home soaked and crusted in sand, but for the first time ever- not hot. Perhaps obviously I will return for a do over but with a proper camera and dry clothes in tow.

Despite not being a huge fan of the beach, I am glad we resumed taking advantage of the weekend day trips. So much so, that I've begun planning the next several weekends with enthusiasm: a return to Porto and uncharted territory north of the city: Maria Farinha. We will see. It breaks up the week, though I relish the monotony of homework and projects- it's like our kids are turning into real people. 

Deets' new sunga.
Yes- we feed this kid.

A snapshot of nursing fun.
For more: https://goo.gl/photos/RsTguagSK18rpDnX8

Zinka's awesomeness. Maracaipe Beach.

Dancing. Sorta. Boa Viagem.

Master of the boogie board.
Maracaipe Beach

Porto de Galinhas

Porto de Galinhas

Carting snorkel gear to the boats:
Porto de Galinhas.

Scuba tanks: Porto de Galinhas.

Carnaval 2016

Argentina came and went. It was all things a good vacation should have: great weather, fun activities, family time, and a working credit card. But I was pretty happy to come home. Home, where the humidity instantly cured my dry chin (I don't know why, don't ask) and my dirty jeans sagged even lower from the heat. We walked off the plane into a lavishly decorated airport, all ready for Carnaval 2016. I appreciated seeing the hallway lined with Pernambuco umbrellas and giant staring dolls (bonecos gigantes). I practically forgot Recife's week of nonstop of partying and dancing, and for about half a second I thought I should rally and do my part. Instead, all four of us slept like hibernating bears for about a week.

A colleague of Mark's plays in a drum group called Quebra Baque, and were making Carnaval rounds throughout the city, so we did emerge from the apartment for an afternoon downtown to support them and do what everyone does during Carnaval besides drink: people watch. Even having attended several events last year, I never did see the famous "coboclos de lança."  This year I did. Dressed in ridiculous amounts of cow bells and metallic fringe these folkloric warriors essentially symbolize the state of Pernambuco and during Carnaval, they literally part the crowds with their bulky costumes, noise and quantity- something like 10-15 of them in a row. This is particularly useful since the streets are packed with bands, dancers, spectators, and vendors- all of which march in seemingly random paths. These glittering, spear carrying warriors bring vague order to organized chaos. If that makes any sense. 

The drums were hypnotic and fabulous, even Deets got into dancing and pirating his way through the crowd. After a couple hours of great music, photography and diligent child-watching, the party was just getting started. Mark and I needed no words to communicate our readiness to go home. To sleep. 

Barlioche Paleontology Museum

We couldn't resist another museum to see dinosaur bones. After all, Mark already talked up Argentina's reputation for unearthing bones of the largest shark known to man: the megalodon. We needed to confirm this so on our last leisurely afternoon in Barlioche, we set out to walk a whopping 500 meters to the Paleontology Museum. After kilometers of hiking and driving and busing, this was an fantastic discovery. 

The museum is tiny. Single room tiny. But adorable and remarkably packed with fossils. By the time I handed over the cash (4 USD ) to enter for two kids and two adults, the kids had already gone through the museum. Needless to say we went through a second time so slowpokes mom and dad could enjoy. At the "far" end of the room, a five foot wide gaping shark mouth with monster gnoshing teeth. It was amazing even if was only a reconstruction. 

I loved this museum so much we bought t-shirts and was saddened when they had run out of adult sizes. 

Afterwards we strolled to the lake's chilly edge to say goodbye to Barlioche. I stood there amazed by the hard core Argentinians swimming and wondered if my tolerance to cold would ever be up to snuff. When did I get so wimpy? When did dipping my toe in a lake suddenly become a badge of honor? Sad.

Megalodon 

Giant sloth!

Ankylosaurus shell.

Cerro Tronodor, Nahuel Huapi National Park, Argentina

To get the heart of Nahuel Huapi National Park we knew at some point we'd need to rent a car. We had been deeply annoyed in El Calafate when our Hertz reservations went sour, leaving us to scramble for transportation so I wasn't feeling the rental love. Luckily, Budget had our back and made everything easy. We were given a 200km range to, leaving a 20 km cushion to get us to, from, and lost around Cerro Tronodor, an extinct volcano/mountain peak shared by Chile and Argentina. The guide book promised multiple waterfalls and 8 glaciers, including the Black Glacier (aka: Ventisquero Negro) which is covered in volcanic ash and dirt, thus making it a dirty looking glacier. Which it did. But the concept was pretty cool. 

I'm so glad we rented a car because had we used our own, I'd have wimped out due to the 90 minute long potholed dirt roads. I'm equally glad we didn't take a tour bus, I'd have barfed. A lot. Deets too probably. The loud drive notwithstanding, our first view of Cerro Tronodor stopped us in our tracks (actually it was the lumbering tour bus that suddenly hit the breaks on the one-way road but I digress.) From there we drove even deeper into the park past Pampa Linda, a popular trailhead and camp ground and finally into the parking lot where we could hear roaring water.  I waited for my teeth and butt cheeks to stop chattering and scrambled after Mark and the kids into the Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat).

We hiked to the trail's end point and picnicked in the blazing sun, watching tides of glacier water free fall into the creek. Hiking back down we stopped to cool our feet in the water where the kids played for over an hour and watched glistening shirtless people amble across the slick rocks. Somehow these yahoos didn't burn, yet I did. Two matching shoulder stripes near my backpack. What is this? Amateur hiking? 

We could only exit the park via the one-way street after 4pm, which in truth wasn't enough time. We wish we had planned to camp or hotel up in Pampa Linda for another day to savor it all. An hour and 30 minutes later we washboarded our way out of the park and onto civilized asphalt back to Barlioche.  All good things must come to an end. Besides, I was running out of clean underwear so maybe it was time to go. 

Cerro Tronodor

Deets and Mark leading the up Garganta del Diablo.

As far as we could go.

Collecting volcanic rocks. 
Which promptly were taken away 
by airport security: "weapon threat"

Waterfalls. Check.

The Black Glacier dumping into Lago Manso
Manso: meek, mild, gentle, tame.

Barlioche

Every place we'd been so far in Argentina was exhilarating with the kind of crisp beauty that makes you want to explore forever. By the third week and fourth city, I lost a little steam. Luckily Mark would have none of it and proceeded to drag us into the center of Bavarian style Barlioche on our first day. Forget modern hip playgrounds, we had a canon to play on. Forget hippie homestyle restaurants, we had breweries. Forget the emerald colored lake, we now had multiple glittering sapphire lakes. More fresh air, more adventure, more fun. 

Our family owned B&B was awesome: big breakfasts with fresh cake and fruit, a kitchen at our disposal, and fast internet. We could really relax, drink wine and binge watch Brooklyn 99 while the kids slept, and no one thought anything of it. If there's anyone out there who wants to stay on the east end of Barlioche, Kospi Guesthouse is a great option. 

Granted it took us a few tries to figure out transportation- the bus system works off a travel card (named the Sube) that can only be purchased and recharged at certain kiosks, many of which were closed or had disgruntled employees. After several attempts and two trips to the Visitor's Center, we charged our card (which was lent to us by the guesthouse) and boarded the stifling bus. Good news: one card can pay for everyone in your party. Annoying news: you are charged based on the number of kilometers you plan to travel, so you need to plan accordingly and know exactly where you want to get off. Otherwise the bus won't stop. This resulted in us backtracking along the narrow and dusty road more than once. 

Nevertheless we figured it out and did several trips out of the city. First stop was the Berlina, a brewery with a playground and real, grassy grass! This was the number one requested place to visit for our kids. On other days we went to Blest located next to Berlina, to Manush in the town center and to Lowther Brewery when were feeling sleepy and wanted to stick close to the guesthouse. The beers were tasty with a good variety: visit them all. 

On one particular bus trip that involved a crabby wife and two malingering kids who were frustrated with unavoidable backtracking, we ended up at the Cerro Campanario Chairlifts in efforts to make something of the day. For something like 120 pesos, a chairlift would bring us to the top for views of Nahuel Huapi National Park. It also would bring us to masses of tourists slopping their way around the mountain top with unrelenting teems of bees and flies. Admittedly, the view was gorgeous once we acknowledged the surrounding nuisances, but part of me wished we had earned it. The chair lift experience left us feeling meh and wanting for a bit more isolation. No harm done though, we'd make up for it with a trip to Cerro Tronador...

Margo blowing up mountain tops in the town center.

Oasis.

Shoes optional.

View going down of Lago Nahuel Huapi.

At the top.

So. Blue. 

Laguna Capri - El Chalten, Argentina

Part of me wants to die when Mark suggests we take the kids hiking. The whining. The dusty slowness. The whining. The non-stop coaxing session. The whining. Then there's dealing with the kids.  However the other part of me never fails to be impressed by his unfaltering confidence that we can easily accomplish these goals, and I guess we did travel all the way down here to hike a few mountains.

A gorgeous 2 hour drive from El Calafate on Highway 40, Argentina's Route 66, is a burgeoning town named El Chaltén, "The Smoking Mountain" and is an outdoorsy haven. In fact, Lonely Planet 2015 named it as a "city to know" in the world and with good reason: the mountains are super gorgeous with glaciers, waterfalls, and a mess of hikes for all abilities and motivations. The town is adorable with breweries, ice cream stores and artisanal shops. It's a mini El Calafate but with a much smaller flux of tourists. 

Mark had his sights set on a 4km hike to Laguna Capri, about two hours up. We started at 12:30 with plans to picnic at the lake before meeting our taxi by 5pm. The driver and trail volunteer both wished us luck with a dash of arrogance that we'd be unsuccessful in our time frame.  Unfazed, up we went. Sure, we had a few deep breath moments, but overall the hike was enjoyable with a few steep climbs and uncomfortably dusty walks through the meadows. Mark was 100% right. After calming Deets' fear that our picnic would roll in the sparkling cerulean lake, we sat down to enjoy the view. We even had enough time to share a bottle of wine and laugh at half-naked hikers try to bathe themselves while ruining everyone's photo ops.  Refreshed and full, back down we went, arriving at precisely 4:50pm. 

Our driver was gracious enough to drive us to a brewery for celebratory drinks and ice cream, and to the Rio de las Vueltas to soak our crusty feet. Tossing our clothes, boots and backpacks in the trunk we headed out. On the way we saw several herds of guanacos (red furred llamas) which completed our hopes for the day. We arrived to my favorite restaurant Viva la Pepa for another round of carrots, beer, and lentil stew at 8:30pm for another late dinner. He pulled right in front, humored onlookers watched us unload the trunk like a group of hitchhikers. To my surprise, the kids literally ran back up the hill to our B&B after dinner, before crashing into bed. It was a very good day. 

Views along the famous Highway 40

Laguna Capri- the guidebooks say 4 hours round trip,
I'm assuming they mean 4 hours
 for people using an ankle boot and neck brace.

Above Laguna Capri

Fitz Roy Peaks- where only well equipped
experts are allowed to climb it- people
who say funny things like "crampons."

Doesn't even do justice of the amount of dirt they collected.

Success!

Guanacos apparently are very camera shy.
Or perhaps scared of squealing children.

Sunset in El Calafate

I mentioned before our South B&B was adequate. While I wasn't a big fan of sleeping in taco folding bunk beds and having to beg housekeeping for clean towels, it was spacious and clean with responsive owners who were on site all day. I liked them- a brother and sister and their 5 or 6 curly haired dogs + occasionally appearing mother who parked herself in the restaurant every afternoon. I appreciated the pro-diversity acceptance badge of honor and their willingness to book us excursion reservations. Every morning we ate fresh baked white bread and coffee, and every evening Mark and I would scour their wifi to watch Brooklyn 99 on Netflix.  We even had a wide angle, spectacular view of Lago Argentino and town below every night. It was pleasant. Here are a few photos Mark took on a rare, windless sunset at 10:30pm. Was it worth our pricey single 5-sleeper room? I'll let you decide...