If only we could dance like no one's watching

One of my favorite things about visiting my parents in The Villages, a colossal city of "active-adults" awkwardly transplanted in the middle of central hicksville Florida, is going to one of the town squares around 5:00pm when the festivities begin, and do so this early because everything closes at 10pm, apropos to the age group. Everynight, rain or shine, a band blares music from the gazebo, sometimes oldies, sometimes classic rock, but it always draws a crowd, and this is when the old folks come out to dance. Whether it is a bunch of women square dancing, the local dance club doing the electric slide, or an adorably old couple decked out in beautiful attire dancing the tango, it is a sight. It always leaves me wondering, what has happened to dancing? Hundreds of years ago, a dance hall is where you would meet your husband, and up until a few decades ago people's nightlife centered around the foxtrot, the waltz or the hand jive. Today if people say they are going dancing, it means getting as drunk as possible and sweating on eachother in a dimly lit room. After our first salsa lesson in Montevideo, Uruguay Mick and I left wondering; when we get home, where can we do this dance without people making fun of us? Wouldn't it be great to have organized dancing again? I think so.

After Buenos Aires Mick and I headed to (as my friend Timmy used to like to say in his travel blog) a "UNESCO protected site" called Colonia del Sacramento in Uruguay. The Portuguese founded Colonia in 1680 to smuggle goods across the Rio de la Plata into Buenos Aires, and it still has all its historic charm.The old town is a small peninsula surrounded by the ocean, with cobblestone streets, an old lighthouse, and charming tile-and-stucco homes.

Unfortunately we spent our first afternoon there searching for an ATM that worked, and after a few hours of panic and conversations about what are we going to eat without any money (and a lecture to Mick from the newly nicknamed "The General" (yours truly) about how it is important to have a back-up plan), I exchanged a $100 bill and we went out to eat.

The next day we rented bicycles and rode along the coast to get out of the main tourist area. All along the sidewalk were locals sipping their national drink, Mate, a ceramic mug filled with what looks like oregano (but tastes like a green tea on steroids), a metal straw coming out the side (with a filter on the bottom) and a large thermos filled with hot water, which they pour in every couple of minutes. It isn't exactly a practical drink to carry around, but every single group had their Mate (hundreds), some even with special Mate carrying cases.

On our bike trip we saw an old bull ring shut down by the government decades ago, stopped in at an horse racing ring where I tried to feed an angry horse an apple (which provided Mick with much entertainment, as it began to kick and I subsequently ran away as fast as I could), and sat near the beach while reading his and her books. Later that night we took an evening stroll through the beautifully lit old town.

Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay, was next on our sites. After a 2 hour bus ride we arrived at the bus station and I used by Spanish skills to ask "cual numero autobus necessito viejar de el cuidad?". Ok so to any real Spanish speaking people, that probably makes no sense, but basically I was asking which bus do we take to get into the city. After the intial question people seemed to think I knew Spanish, and would answer a million words per minute. As we walked away Mick would say "well, what did they say?", to which I would answer, "I have no idea." We continued this same process with 5 or 6 people, and eventually seeking to have an "adventure" Mick wanted to try and walk. So 1 hour and 40 minutes later with our heavy backpacks on and the feeling of murdering someone, we arrived at our Hostel.

The next day we walked all around Montevideo which we thought was pretty dirty, with garbage everywhere and the constant smell of urine (or so Mick thought). We checked out the Plaza Independence, the Mercado del Puerto (housing a bunch of cute restaurants), an old jail that had been turned into a shopping center, and ate lunch at a craperia (like crapes, not crap). The city's redeeming quality was how laid back it was. It seemed none of the shops opened up until later in the day, and everyone worked to live, instead of the other way around. People moved slow. Cars let you walk across the street with a nice wave. It was completely chill.

That night we took our salsa lesson. During the warm-up we were like two escaped monkeys, jumping around in the back of the room. Everytime the group would turn around and see us I would be embarrassed and want to leave, but then one of the teachers spent the entire lesson teaching us the basics. And it turned out to be a ton of fun!!



After another night in Buenos Aries, and an 18 hour bus ride, we arrived in Port Iguazu Argentina, the gateway to Igazu falls. Since the bedbugs had returned and wrecked havoc on my body, out first job was to exterminate, by dunking all my clothes in boiling water. Then we spent an entire day checking out the falls, and it was completely breathtaking!!! We hiked down to the bottom, across the top, and did a 6K walk to the "Devils Mouth", where the water debris can be seen hundreds of meters away, and the noise sounds like an oncoming freight train. We even payed an extra $50 to see the falls in a full-moon walk. There are no pictures to prove it (since it was pretty dark) but the whole experience was magical.



Last night we took a 20 hour bus ride to Cordoba where we will stay for about 5 days!