Contraband
Sometimes you wake up needing adventure.
My happy trekking shoes.
So I put on my happy trekking shoes and walked out the front door. My destination: Contraband Coffee. Had I ever been there? No. Was it close to home? No—twenty blocks away, to be exact. Was that going to stop me? Heck no.
I started walking.
Pepto pink was the color of my walk.
A young studly guy walked a small fluffy white dog who wore a pink sweater. Neither one looked happy about it.
A woman strode by swathed in black, except for the slash of pink around her neck.
A VW Cabriolet in the same pink was parked on the street. What kind of person drives a pink Cabriolet? I’m picturing a goth rocker.
I'm thinking of making a modest one like this.
Gingerbread houses!
I'm thinking of making a modest one like this.
I passed by a store that had gingerbread houses in the window. I stood and stared in for a moment before I realized it was workshop where you could make your own gingerbread house, like those ceramic shops where you paint dishes. How cool is that?
Have you ever made a gingerbread house? I’ve ALWAYS wanted to but never have, but I think this is my year. Who’s going with me?
Nibbles of interest.
Along the way, I walked by a new bakery that giving out bites of treats. I took the scone sample because I didn’t want the dude peddling calories to feel rejected.
I also saw this cool-looking bar called Black Sheep. How appropriate, right? For those who don’t know me… In my family, I’m the oddest one out. I’m the one who doesn’t have a real job, who goes dancing all night, who skips out of the country on a lark. Black sheep, thy name is Kate.
I show you guys a lot of cafe pictures. It's better than the alternative, I guess.
My sister is odd too, but somehow I have the reputation. She seems to blend in better. I don’t understand that. She’s the one more likely to run off to join the circus.
Twenty blocks, a dozen good mornings, and two fewer layers later, I arrived at Contraband.
The sun streamed through the windows, bright and happy. Since I’m a creature of the light, this instantly lifted my spirits, which were already pretty high.
And they have white orchids in the center of the main communal table. I picked at bright spot at one of the tall tables and sat down with my latte.
Adventure achieved.
New York
One evening, our author sat curled in the corner of the couch, reading. Her Magic Man lay with his head cradled on her lap, staring at the ceiling, obviously plotting—perhaps even world domination. That was his way.
But then suddenly he said, "Beloved, let's go to New York tomorrow."
The author looked up and smiled. "Yes, let's do." So they packed bags and hopped on a plane for the East Coast.
The plane ride was lovely. The pilot, so enamored by the author, gave her a tour of the cockpit. He even let her sit in his seat and press buttons. She only pressed the alarm once.
"What shall we do in New York, beloved?" the Magic Man asked.
She tapped her finger to her chin and thought about all the delights the Big Apple had to offer. The Met, Central Park, Times Square, the little lingerie store in Grand Central Station... And then the perfect idea came to mind, and she gasped. "I would greatly delight in going to eat chicken wings."
"Then you shall," said her man. And they joined Parisa and Logan for a bacchanalia of wings and beer.
Glutted on wings, our duo roamed the city and saw great things. But they longed for the peace and solitude of the country, so they hopped in a car and merrily drove to a land called Connecticut. In this land, they did much, like wade in the pond and play golf and drink bubbles with lunch.
And when they tired, they lay in the hammock and watched the hawks soar over the lake, even though the Magic Man's father was certain the hammock would fall under their combined weight.
Lying in the hammock with her beloved, our author would watch the view and dream of One Day. "Dearest one," she said to her man, "perhaps we can get a rustic cottage on the lake too."
The Magic Man kissed her temple. "Which one would you like?"
"That one." She pointed to a modest little place on the other side of the lake.
The Magic Man nodded. "It looks quaint, though perhaps we should get something that has more room for when we invite friends to stay."
"True. You are ever so wise," she said (without irony).
And they stayed in that hammock, tangled together, feet dangling, dreaming of their future, until it was time to return to Manhattan and another week of adventure.
The Super Pancho
Friday I decided I was going to go on an adventure. In the morning, I trekked to Retiro (a forty-five minute walk) to have breakfast with a friend. After breakfast, I'd planned on going to a nearby café I'd spied the previous night on the way to dinner. I was going to write and then go into uncharted Buenos Airean territories.
Nature, however, thwarted me. Picture torrential rain and thunder so violent you could feel the sound waves through your body.
So I tried again Saturday. Only this time, I had a specific destination in mind: the Super Pancho stand in Recoleta, outside the cemetery.
What is a Super Pancho? you ask. Frankly, I have no idea.
Okay, that's a lie. It's a hot dog. Only it's not just a hot dog—it's a super hot dog. I'm not entirely certain how it becomes a super dog, but I'm sure it's a fairly impressive metamorphosis. This is Buenos Aires, after all.
But, Kate, how can you not be sure when you went to investigate? you ask this time. Because, dear reader, the Super Pancho stand I trekked across town to try was deserted when I got there.
I wandered around, lost and confused and without purpose, for a while. But then I spied a bakery, which isn't hard to do since there's one on every block in this city. (I'm not exaggerating.) I walked in and bought two sandwiches de miga and an alfajor the size of my palm.
Sandwiches de miga: a crustless sandwich with three layers of bread and an assortment of fillings. I got one with ham and egg, the other with salami and cheese.
Alfajores: Argentinian Oreos. It's two cookies sandwiching a dulce de leche center. The traditional alfajor is dusted with powdered sugar and edged with coconut flakes.
I also bought two apricots from a fruit stand and then took my picnic to a park bench, where I sat and ate and flirted and listened to music. Not quite the adventure I'd planned, but I wouldn't change a second of it.
Well, maybe I'd change the part where the guy followed me for eight blocks, trying to get me to go to a movie with him on Sunday. But even that wasn't so bad. Especially since he kept saying, quite reverently, that I was so beautiful.
BTW, if anyone knows how to say Bugger off, dude in Spanish, please email me.