The chore that I hate the most!

Cleaning the inside of my car is not my favourite chore. Okay, it's my least favourite chore. I would rather do anything else than clean the inside of my vehicle.

Today I spent a frustrating hour contorting my body to scour out some of Sparky’s accumulated dog hair from under the dash, on the floor mats, and under or between the seats. I scrubbed at pawprints and vacuumed up some of the sand and gravel that he tracked inside my pretty blue Mazda 3. 

And that got me thinking about the cars of my childhood. When I was a little kid, Dad owned a 1950 beige serviceable Ford; it might have been a Customline Ford. It was a functional vehicle barely big enough for two adults, four growing daughters, and the family dog. 

The four of us were assigned the job of washing the car and cleaning the windows inside and out. I don't remember my mother owning a vacuum until the mid-to-late fifties. Yes, the car was Dad’s and the vacuum was Mom’s. It was the 1950s. 

So, how did we clean the inside of the car? Think about it. Two adults who smoked in the vehicle with the windows rolled up. Four messy, noisy kids. And a farty Cocker Spaniel who shed a lot. 

Somewhere in the late 1950s, Mom eventually got a big, awkward Hoover Constellation vacuum, but the back alley where we cleaned the family automobile didn’t have electricity, so vacuuming the inside would have been impossible. In 1955, Dad was able to upgrade to a maroon-coloured two-door 1955 Oldsmobile Super-88. He was pretty darn proud of that car. 

I remember one Saturday morning when Dad told us to wash and wax The Oldsmobile. We very industriously applied wax to the entire vehicle, only to discover that it was the worst possible scenario. The particular type of wax that we were given was to be applied in small areas and then buffed off as soon as the surface clouded. We scrubbed furiously at the hard wax in hopes of removing it before Dad discovered our mistake. 

Yeah, no such luck. He was less than impressed when he had to apply his muscles to remove the mess. 

Our next family automobile was a smaller, sportier one, a Mercury Meteor. There were only two of the four daughters at home by that time, plus a large, white dog who also shed a lot more than the Cocker Spaniel. The Mercury Meteor didn’t last long because Dad was long-legged, and the car was too small. 

The final family car was a big, long, boat of a thing, a copper-coloured 1967 Dodge Monaco. And we still had the big white dog who shed an amazing amount of fur, and who went with us whenever possible. 

 

Our driveway didn’t have an electrical outlet, and I am pretty sure Dad wouldn’t have spent money on someone else cleaning his car when he had two healthy, strong teenage daughters living at home. 

I’ve driven and owned an eclectic assortment of vehicles since I became a licensed driver many, many years ago; everything from a two-hundred-dollar junker to a 1915 Overland delivery truck, to an expensive Aston Martin. 

I love the freedom of a car. 

I just hate to clean the inside.

Cheers, Lynda and The Mucky Sparkinator

Eating and drinking our way across dog-friendly Argentina

Park pooch at San Rafael, Argentina

We spent a week exploring Argentina, sightseeing and eating our way across the province of Mendoza. There are amazing wineries, fabulous restaurants, and dogs of every size, shape, colour and variety.

Using the Petit Suter Hotel in San Rafael as our base, we investigated the surrounding area. Situated in the semi-arid southern region of Mendoza province, San Rafael has a population of around 170,000 inhabitants. It’s a vibrant community with lots of amenities, including several gourmet restaurants. A wide and delicious selection of only Argentinian wine is sold in every corner store. No imports allowed.

Wine, wine and more wine!

While exploring the various communities, we saw a well-balanced interaction between the residents and the street dogs. Strays usually stake out their territory by napping in doorways of restaurants, stores and gas stations. 

Many locals stop to give the dogs a bit of food and a pat on the head. The snowy winter months would be harder for the animals, but right now the strays are in good condition, with no sign of scrawny moms scavenging for food so that they can feed their babies. This is one of the most dog-friendly countries we have ever experienced.

Gas station dog gets a handout

As mentioned in our previous articles, the roads in Argentina are well-maintained, but directional signage is very scarce. It makes for interesting daytrips. 

We’d head out with a destination in mind, only to find ourselves in a completely different hamlet. 

As long as there was flavourful food and tasty drinks at the end of the adventure, we were happy.

Plate-sized hamburger

In one instance, we headed south-west from San Rafael towards El Nihuil via highway #173 and instead arrived in the town of General Alvear on highway #143, a good bit east of our original destination. That gave us a good laugh while we searched for a local restaurant that was open for lunch on a Saturday. 

Again, we stopped at the corner gas station, asking for suggestions. Just a block away was a local eatery serving dinner-plate-sized hamburgers and litre bottles of Andes beer. 

The food was tasty and the owners were friendly. The street dogs politely waited for handouts.

Another afternoon, Carlos, the owner of the Petit Suter Hotel, suggested that we drive twenty kilometres west to the next village, Veintecinco de Mayo (25th of May) and have lunch at his favourite restaurant, the Villa Bonita. The route was fairly straightforward, enabling us to find the eatery without traversing the Andes in search of the village. 

We enjoyed a hearty meal of meat, stewed and covered with a pastry crust. 

Hi!  Want to share with me?

My body was craving dark green veggies – broccoli, spinach, and asparagus. Lawrie, on the other hand, was as happy as a pig-in-poop with the menu choices of meat, meat and more meat.

I bundled up the leftover beef and carried it back to the gas station dog near our hotel. He was a very happy mutt that day. 

A few days later, we were headed back north to Mendoza City, the past week having passed in a blur of food and wine. 

On our way north, we veered into the Salentein winery for one last chance at purchasing our favourites. On the off-chance, we asked if we could have lunch in the restaurant. We hadn’t thought to make the normally required reservation. 

Salentein Winery lunch.

Fortunately for us, the young woman who manages the bar and restaurant remembered us from the previous week. She said she could squeeze us in – yippee!  

Another amazing lunch served with delicious wines and an outstanding view of the snow-capped Andes Mountains.

It was a darn great way to end our adventures.

Hasta Luego from Paradise

Cheers, Lynda & Lawrie

Isla Mujeres Mystery series

or

Death in the Vineyards 

Celebrating our birthdays in wine country, Argentina

Beautiful sculptures in city parks

It’s something we promised ourselves several years ago, when we moved to Mexico, to travel in South America because it was now so much closer.  Sure, it’s closer, but some of the countries are still a long way away. On Saturday, February 18^th, we flew eight hours south to Santiago, Chile, then another two hours east to Buenos Aires, Argentina. In the end, it was well worth the time. 

 

Buenos Aires is an old and glamorous European-style city with a population of twelve million in its greater metropolitan area. 

The ancient buildings are amazing, the public parks are plentiful and huge, and the residents are very cosmopolitan and friendly. 

Ancient rubber trees in city parks

We stayed in the upscale Recoleta neighbourhood with its fashionable restaurants, designer shops, and model-thin residents. Not a place for anyone bigger than a size two to shop for clothes. Not our size. Not our style.  Lawrie and I haunted the outdoor shopping plazas for two days, purchasing only two casual t-shirts.

The best way to see the inner city of Buenos Aires is by the hop-on, hop-off tour buses that operate from nine in the morning until six in the evening.

Boca neighbourhood is interesting, touristy

The cost is about $30.00 USD per person to use the buses for a day. The traffic in Centro is thick, at times coming to a standstill with the congestion of commuters, buses, delivery trucks, and motorcycle riders filling every available space on the roadway. We have driven in many big cities around the world, but we had to admit we were happy to let the taxi or bus drivers do the hard work, giving us time to enjoy the sights.

Recoleta Cemetery

One of the most famous sights is the Recoleta Cemetery, located in the neighbourhood where we stayed. 

It covers fourteen acres of land, and has approximately 6300 large tombs, some as big as a small house, holding the remains of the rich and famous of Argentina, including several past presidents, the granddaughter of Napoleon, and Nobel Prize winners. 

Recoleta Cemetery has been designated as one of the ten most beautiful cemeteries in the world.  Who knew there was a worldwide rating system for cemeteries?

Statue supporting a rubber tree

Some of the interesting differences that we noticed between Mexico and Argentina.

The Argentinian cities are very clean and relatively quiet. They are also big into recycling, with one communal container in each block for cardboard and metal. 

We rented a car and visited several places during our three-week adventure, and rarely did we see vehicles that weren’t well-maintained, including functioning mufflers. Wow, what a treat compared to the collection of barely-held-together-beaters that are the norm in Mexico.  We kind of missed the heart-attack-inducing vehicle backfires common on Isla.  

In Mexico, we have topes, the marked or sometimes unmarked speed bumps, in towns and cities. 

In Argentina, they have reverse-topes, dropping the front wheels into a shallow ditch. We didn’t see a lot of warning signage, but soon learned in small villages to keep watch for the neck-jarring drop.

Centro Park in Buenos Aires

The main Argentinian highways are very easy to drive on, with one minor exception – the lack of signage. Usually, we would spot our turn-off after we had passed the exit point, necessitating a turn back at the next overpass, and a bit of scrambling through the narrow one-way streets to get to where we were headed. We completely missed one shopping district three times, deciding in the end that perhaps we really didn’t want to go there after all, and found a tasty restaurant to enjoy a leisurely lunch.

Many pampered pooches in Buenos Aires 

Most Argentinian city dogs are well-fed, pampered pets, wearing collars or harnesses, and are walked on leashes.  Dogs are welcome in every park, and every pet owner picks up the doggy-doo-do. There are doggy-day-care services that walk the pooches, sometimes ten at a time, through the parks before returning to a large, penned-in area where the canines can play and interact with each other.

Meat, meat, and more meat!

The food in Argentina was amazing, but not exactly what we had expected. Yes, there was beef, and more beef, with a side order of beef that was standard in every restaurant, with nary a vegetable in sight. But since it was settled by the Spanish back in the 1600s, we expected more spice, more heat to the food. Instead, it had a very northern European touch, subtle flavours, and not spicy.

And one very perplexing Argentinian habit, the placement of a plastic bottle on top of a car’s roof. We spotted this in a number of places before Lawrie finally asked someone what it meant. 

It’s a For Sale sign for the car. Ingenious!

For Sale - plastic bottle on the roof

This week’s blog post was late. We arrived home late Wednesday afternoon after a twenty-four-hour trip. 

First, we had a flight from Buenos Aires to Santiago, Chile, then an eight-hour flight to Mexico City, then another flight to Cancun, a bus trip to Centro, a taxi, the Ultramar passenger boat, and a final taxi, collapsing inside our front door, grateful to be home but happy we experienced Argentina.

Next week’s blog: Wine Country Argentina! Yum!
Cheers, Lawrie and Lynda 

Our birthday lunch at O. Fournier Winery, Argentina

Isla Mujeres Mystery series

or

Death in the Vineyards

Sweating for fun, sweating for work – it’s a matter of perspective

Early morning joggers can enjoy this view

In the early mornings, right around sunrise until an hour after, the roadways along the Caribbean side of the island are littered with people. People walking. People running. People cycling.  Some are exercising for health, others are using their feet or bicycles to get to their jobs.

Groups of joggers are scattered along the route: three women, a man, two women, and several solo guys pound along the roadways, dodging stray dogs and potholes. Decked out in the latest brightly coloured athletic gear, including leggings, tank tops, hoodies, and footwear, these folks are serious about their fitness routine. Their large iPhones or equivalent smartphones are strapped to a bicep, earbuds jammed into their ears, and music pounding out the beat as they run along the outer perimeter road to Punta Sur and back.

Bike riders in Centro

Four youngsters sharing two single-gear bicycles, each with a passenger balanced on the foot pegs poking out from the rear axle of the bike, slowly grind southwards, headed to one of the numerous construction sites near Punta Sur. The rider stands straight and still, with hands resting on the peddler’s shoulders. It’s a way of getting to and from their manual-labor jobs. It’s hard to know which part of this duo works the hardest. The one peddling the bike. Or the one balanced on round metal pegs. As kids, we did the same thing, but the goal was to get to the playground quicker, not to arrive at work six days a week by eight in the morning.

Ab exercises at work

A group of construction workers, in their twenties, trudge southwards towards their job wearing jeans, battered t-shirts, and sometimes runners, but more often than not, cheap disposable sandals. 

They have a measured pace, arriving at the job for the eight o’clock start time. They will labor until sundown, and frequently later. It’s not uncommon to see workers toiling under inadequate lighting until late in the evening.

Ab exercises on the beach

Vehicles, golf carts, and motos are beginning to appear on the roadways as parents make the frantic dash to school. If the child doesn’t arrive before the gates are locked, then the parent is stuck with sorting out childminding problems for the day.

Our friend, Yaron, pushes past on his multi-speed bike, his muscular legs churning like pistons. He zooms up and down this road from first light until he finishes his routine number of laps, or time. His fitness level is impressive. He lifts the fingers of his left hand in a half-wave and smiles while fiercely concentrating on the bumps and challenges of the local road. Hitting a pothole or rock while piloting a skinny-tired bicycle can result in flying lessons for the rider.

Early morning biker rider - selling tortillas

The dog walkers generally have a more leisurely pace while the dogs sniff, pee, sniff, pee, and repeat. A few walkers, such as Ana, have big dogs that set a faster pace. She almost jogs to keep up with her exercise mates. 

We routinely run across Melissa and Issy, out for their morning constitutional. And Carol’s seventeen-year-old Alfie is blind but knows his way along the sidewalks and pathways. 

Our Sparky likes to visit with him, but Alfie prefers his solitude instead of an inquisitive wet nose investigating his private areas.

2011, the Navy groups use smaller trucks now

A squad of Marinas from the naval infantry is on an early morning circumnavigation of the island. Riding in a grey truck, they smile and waggle a couple of fingers in greeting, trying to look seriously bad-ass in their combat gear while grinning a hello.

An hour after sunrise, the road is nearly empty. Even though it is now a week into December, the daytime temperature is hitting 30 degrees Celsius, or mid-eighties Fahrenheit.

It’s time to find a shady spot.

We are waiting for our trees to grow this tall

Hasta Luego

Lynda, Lawrie, Sparky, and Thomas

Isla Mujeres Mystery series

Or 

Death in the Vineyards

Doggy dreams in paradise

Dreaming in paradise

He’s an old, slightly arthritic, black dog snoozing in the sunshine under a rickety red table: dreaming.  His feet twitch, and his eyelids flutter as he relives his younger years.

He dreams of racing with his neighbourhood pals along the white sand beaches, dashing into the rolling surf to retrieve a floating coconut, tussling with his friends over possession of a stick.  

Summer camp for pooches

On hot summer days, there were always plenty of neighbours who would play with him.  

The humans liked to wade in the warm ocean, splashing and laughing – willing to toss a stick for him to retrieve, again and again. 

Tiny but tough!

Sometimes, when he was younger, he would roam the nearby neighbourhoods looking for a girlfriend or two. As he tramped up and down the streets, he occasionally met up with other male dogs who didn’t want him trespassing on their territory.  

Scuffles ensued, and one or the other of the dogs would suffer a tattered ear or a bitten neck. No matter. He’d shake it off and head back home to lick his wounds. 

"Maybe I can find a treat here ..."

Occasionally, when he explored the island, he would nose out a tasty treat near a taco stand, something dropped by a customer, or perhaps left in an unsecured garbage can. Even following food vendors could be like winning a lottery. As the vendors stopped to sell their goodies, tidbits might escape and fall to the ground. Bonus! He wasn’t starving, but different foods were always a welcome change from the normal dry dog kibble provided by his humans.

Stay out of my territory!

He was so much luckier, he thought, than the rooftop dogs, the ones that were confined to the upper level of a house, unable to run free.  

He loved to torment them by strutting past, tail in the air: look at me.  I’m walking in your neighbourhood.  I’m checking your garbage cans for treats.  And I’m romancing your ladies.  

The rooftop dogs would bark and growl in frustration, unable to reach him, unable to teach him a lesson about trespassing.  

Tony Garcia photo credit

This was the best game ever! Even better than chasing cats and iguanas.  

Although he thought that riding on a moto-scooter, like a few of his luckier friends were allowed to do, would be the very best adventure.  

He would stand nice and tall with his paws on the handlebars, and pretend he was steering the motorbike.  Awesome.

Then he was dreaming of another late-night adventure a few years ago when a strange boat landed on the beach in front of his house. A group of twenty people scrambled off, tossing aside unwanted clothing and food items.  

Cuban refugee boat - shade for a friend

Early in the morning, several Navy Marines and the municipal police arrived to check the boat. Someone mentioned Cuban refugees.  

He had no idea what that meant but he and his friends thought that Christmas had arrived, as they nosed around in the castoffs for soggy crackers and discarded packaged foods. Living near the beach was always interesting.

Home Sweet Home

As he snoozed in the sunshine, a noisy group of tourists stopped in front of his resting place, exclaiming over the beautiful shells and trinkets that his humans had for sale.  

Yawning, he stretched and slowly ambled out from under the table. 

Ah well, I might as well get up and be friendly, wag my tail a time or two.  Maybe I can earn my kibble by convincing the tourists to buy a few more shells. 

Apologies to the pooch and his people for fictionalizing his life. He was an interesting-looking dog that we wanted to write about.

Hasta Luego

Lawrie, Lynda, Sparky, and Thomas the Cat

Isla Mujeres Mystery Series

Or

Death in the Vineyards Mysteries

Or

The Adventures of Thomas and Sparky