A Walk of Art

Walking the lanes and alleys in Melbourne is a sight to behold. Street art is encouraged within the city, so all variations of street art can be found in nearly every alley in most every neighborhood. If you think you’ve seen it all, just come back next week, as the alley will probably have a whole new look by then. The most famous alley in the city is Hosier Lane, where everything from dumpsters to staircases are colorfully annotated with an expression of self, a political message, or a challenge to societal norms.

The Great Ocean Road

Just 2 hours outside of Melbourne lies the aptly named Great Ocean Road, a coastal highway that stretches a couple hundred kilometers through both rugged and pristine coastline. Photo ops are littered throughout the drive, with the main draw being the 12 Apostles, a set of rock formations settled just off the shore. Coastal towns, hidden coves, rainforest, kangaroos, and koalas make the drive anything but mundane. I was in a constant state of anticipation of what was coming up around the next curve.

Adding to the adventure was the act of driving itself. Thankfully, I found a fellow traveler in my hostel that was planning to drive the road as well, so we were able to split costs for the 2-day adventure. Aside from company, I was also provided a navigator. It was good thing, too, as it required all my mental capability to not turn onto the wrong side of the road or go the wrong way through the roundabouts! Surprisingly, it didn’t take long to get used to being on the other side, though I still haven’t quite mastered the art of parking. Activating the turn signals was a challenge on its own, as more often than not I ended up turning on the windshield wipers, instead!

The drive went without a hitch. Two days of stunning coastline views, a little bit of camping, great company, and koala & kangaroo sightings made for a quintessential adventure on the Great Ocean Road.

Melbourne

After an ideal start to the trip in Sydney, the next stop on the adventure was Australia’s other major city, Melbourne. As far as geography goes, I liken Sydney and Melbourne to California’s competing cities, Los Angeles and San Francisco. Like San Francisco, Sydney sits in gorgeous topography, nestled into a harbour and littered with skyline views. Melbourne on the other hand, while near the coast, is relatively flat and dry, save some mountains on the horizon. Flying in, the landscape looked very similar to that of the greater Los Angeles area, albeit not nearly as sprawling. When it comes to the culture of the two cities, however, it’s quite the opposite. While I wouldn’t necessarily equate Sydney to LA, Melbourne screams San Francisco. And Austin. And maybe a little Portland, too. Coming from Sydney, where both the city and the people were always neatly buttoned-up, it was immediately clear that Melbourne was quite the opposite. Any and all styles go. Walking down Bourke street you’ll find performers, homeless, businessmen, exuberant youths, nomads, and hipsters, all hanging out in front of a high end fashion boutique. The mesh of lives, ideals, and styles is woven together seamlessly.

Turn down one of the main streets in the city center, and you’ll more than likely find yourself immersed in a world of street art, as spray paint cans and cigarette butts line the alleyways. Don’t turn around back to the main drag though, else you might miss out on the award-winning speakeasy cocktail bar located at the end of the lane. Endless nondescript cafes, bars, and restaurants are speckled throughout the city. I felt like I needed a treasure map to find all the hidden gems. Though I didn’t have a treasure map, I did have something just as valuable: Local Friends. I wouldn’t have made it to half of the tasty eateries and bars without the help of some former travel friends and coworkers. Thanks Alex and Lee!

About these bars. These aren’t your standard. There’s Berlin Bar, where east literally meets west, with half the bar covered in communist decor, while the other half looks a bit more...western. Or Bar Americano, which requires you walk down an alley within an alley to find a corner cocktail bar that holds all of 10 people at a time. You never know what the seemingly non-descript establishment you’re walking into may have on the other side. Perhaps you’ll get a rooftop view of the skyline, or maybe a DJ spinning records from the cockpit of a 1950’s war plane.

While Sydney was easy on all the senses, Melbourne focuses almost entirely on every aspect of one’s sense of taste.

Food, Drink, Style.

Melbourne.

Escaping the City

While Sydney really is a great city, I tend to relish in my time outside the concrete walls and happenings of city life. Thankfully, with a short 2-hour train ride from the city center, it’s possible to escape into some pretty pristine environments. The Blue Mountains get their namesake from the reaction of chemicals within the Eucalyptus leaves with the air. A blue haze results, which blankets the rolling hills of forests. From photos, I didn’t expect to be too impressed, but it really is striking when you first see it. Perhaps I arrived at the right time, as the late morning haze had yet to lift from the afternoon sun. There’s plenty to do in the relatively large National Park. I chose to escape the throngs of Selfie Sticks and walk a loop trail that brought me to the 3 Sisters, through Rainforest, under and above waterfalls, and apparently through some (very angry) bird habitats. Giant cockatoos and parrots were none too thrilled that I was trespassing along their trail. After a long day of hiking, I enjoyed a meat pie that I’d heard so much about (it did not disappoint) and headed back to Sydney, rejuvenated by my break from the city, and ready to do some urban exploration once more.

As I think about it, aside from the great food, views, and activities the city offers, it’s really the accessibility to nature that has me so keen on Sydney. The city is there for the taking, but a short ferry ride gets you to a serene coastline, or a secluded community, where the hustle and bustle is no more than a backdrop to your day’s activities, or lack thereof. 

Between the Flags

Beach life in Sydney isn’t all that much different from what I’ve been used to the last few years living in Hermosa Beach, California. Juice bars, cafes, and surfboards line the beaches, as the chiseled bodies soak up their tan from the sunshine (hole in the O-zone and all). Getting to and around the beaches, though, is a different story. The first beach I visited was Manly beach (apropos, I know). Rather than take the easy ferry, I instead ventured on the 10km coastal walk from Spit Bridge to Manly. Accompanied by my local guide, Natalie, the walk took us through the outlying communities that dot the hills in Sydney’s outer harbour. Small beaches provide great vantage points to watch the multitudes of sailboats making the most of the sun and wind. The walk passed through all sorts of different environments: beach, rainforest, bush, finally arriving at the community of Manly, a lively promenade leading to soft sand and surf. The 20-minute ferry back to Sydney was just as enjoyable, and a lot less strenuous than the journey out. Getting up close and personal with the Opera House and the Harbour bridge by sea was just the way to cap off a great day.

Bondi Beach, Sydney’s most famous, provided a similar vibe and another great coastal walk. From the edge of the beach, the Bondi to Coogee walk hugs the Cliffside, passing through a handful of beaches along the way. Around every corner were incredible views of the surf pounding against the cliffs, followed by pockets of serenity at the local beaches. After finishing the 2-hour walk, I caught the bus back to Bondi for some proper beach activity, namely laying my towel out and getting sunburned. Throngs of tourists and locals alike find their spot on the sand, taking the necessary swim breaks as the lifeguards direct the crowds to swim between the nomadic flags placed on the shore. I ended my day swimming a couple laps in the famous Icebergs, a seawater lap pool built into the cliff side.

Who says a little exercise shouldn’t come with a view?

Sydney

In all my previous travels, there’s been a language barrier that’s added a bit of mystery and adventure to the sights and scenery. Upon touching down in Sydney, though, it all felt…familiar. I could read every sign. Everyone had an answer for my questions. I could actually ask questions. In English. I didn’t even have to point and make up my own dialect of sign language. Sure, I’m still travelling, but the ease and familiarity of it all has at times caused me to forget that I am quite literally half a world away.

Sydney is, unequivocally, stunning. The views from the harbour, both from land and sea are mesmerizing. I found myself staring at the Opera House from every which angle, as I couldn’t help it capturing my gaze. Neighborhoods perched on the surrounding rolling hills provide innumerable glances at the skyline, best viewed from the rooftop bars and restaurants speckled throughout the city.

Sydney is clean. It’s bustling, yet surprisingly peaceful. While some locals may protest, it’s very easy to navigate by public transit. It’s connected. In less than 30 mins, you can take a ferry from the main harbour area to most every corner of the surrounding neighborhoods leading out to the Pacific. It’s global. Asian, European, even Mexican (!) cuisine can be found within walking distance from any place in the city…and it’s all delicious! Great food was not something I was expecting as I planned my trip to Sydney, but I was pleasantly surprised.

Taking in the city sights, exploring the character-filled neighborhoods, and relaxing on the soft-sand beaches, I’m ashamed to admit that I was looking to finish the sentence of, “Yeah, Sydney is great, but…” and I never could do it. I still can’t. Aside from a high cost of living, and perhaps some onerous liquor laws, the city is great in every way. It’s easy on all the senses:

Gorgeous. Quiet. Fresh. Warm. Delicious.

Well, there is one thing: The WiFi is trash. When your hostel charges $5 for a day’s worth of slow internet, there’s a problem.

Hey, there’s got to be something wrong with this place, right?

Retirement

About 4 years ago, I met with a financial adviser to start planning savings strategies for both near and long-term goals. We prioritized what my focus areas would be, and he posed the question, “Do you want to retire early?” Naturally, I confirmed this seemingly trivial question with an emphatic, “Yes!” and proceeded to watch him crunch some numbers that resulted in a strategy that showed, if I saved ‘x’ amount of money in accounts ‘x, y, and z’, I could retire at 55 years old, free to do whatever it is I wanted with myself after that. Clearly, we had different definitions of the word, “early.”

Isn’t it a bit strange that many of us spend our whole lives working and saving to one day do everything we want to do, even though that ‘one day’ is more often than not 30-40 years from today?

Why?

How can you be sure that everything you’d like to do right now will be the same when it comes time for your planned retirement? Wants and desires change over time. Priorities shift. A spouse changes your focus. The gift of children changes perspective. Life events throw curveballs in even the most airtight plans. With near certainty, I can venture a guess that my current wants and desires at age 28 are not going to be the same at 48. With that in mind, I’ve taken it upon myself to ensure that I continually pursue that which fulfills me at any given phase of my life.

And so…I’ve retired.

How long will this retirement last? I honestly don’t know, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. For at least the next 2 (possibly up to 6) months, I am going to do everything I can as a 28-year-old retiree that I might no longer want to do when it comes time for my next retirement. I’ll be spending a month in both Australia and New Zealand, chasing kangaroos and hobbits, before I head to Southeast Asia, where perhaps I’ll ride a motorbike through the jungle, the typical agenda of a retiree.

So, strap in and enjoy the ride, and see if you can keep up with an old retired guy… 

A Year in the Air

In the fall of 2014, about 6 months after I’d returned from my adventure through South America, I needed a change. Work was good, but not great. My travel itch had faded slightly, but had not disappeared. In my eyes, my career needed to progress, but up until this point my work and my travels were always mutually exclusive of each other. Work supported my ability to travel, but the two never played nice together.

By dumb luck or by some divine intervention, I stumbled across an enticing job posting while in the midst of applying for a different job that would have almost permanently reinforced the divide between work and travel. A month later I was on a plane, headed to Seattle, Washington for the week to provide consulting services I did not yet know I possessed. I went back to Seattle again the next week. And the week after that. And the week after that. A few months of Seattle weather in the winter can easily depress a Southern California beach resident, but I was invigorated by the newness of it all. Every week was a scavenger hunt to find new food, new people, new corners of the city, and new challenges at work. For the first time, I had figured out how to establish a symbiotic relationship between work and travel, and I dug it. The frequent flier miles and hotel points were just icing on the cake!

For the better part of the last year, my work (or travels, however you want to look at it) took me all over this country I’d somehow neglected during many of my previous travel jaunts. I spent the better part of the spring sampling Texas BBQ and touring Astronaut training facilities in Houston, as I got the chance to work on the next generation of American-made human space transport. The summer months brought me to sleepy Huntsville, Alabama, where a smile and hello was simply not enough to connect with some of the warmest people I’ve met. Conversations and relationships came first, and productivity was simply a byproduct. Throw in a couple trips to Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, Florida, a week in St. Louis, Missouri, and some weekend trips to New Orleans and Chicago, and you end up with quite a year of both fulfilling work and abundant travel.

After well over 100 flights, I’d touched nearly every corner of the United States, read at least a dozen books, listened to hours of podcasts, sampled all the local cuisines I could, and contributed to the development of some of the most advanced technology the world has seen to date. 

Now, what to do with all those frequent flier miles...

Full Circle

In July of 2007, along with 30 or so other students, I took a South American geography test under the dim light of a rainforest lodge somewhere in the Peruvian Amazon. Of all the tests I’ve taken in my life, I remember that one the most vividly, as I treated it as more of a checklist of all the places and landscapes I wanted to see than any sort of exam.

This entire trip has been manifesting itself in my head since the day I took that test. As I sit here on my flight back to California, I’m having a difficult time grasping the idea that I just experienced being present in each and every one of those answers I scribbled down 6 years ago.

I knew back then, and it didn’t require going on this trip for me to realize, but it sure became all the more clear in the last 6 weeks or so, that this world truly is a beautiful place.

Thanks for coming along for the ride once again, see you on the next continent!

La Paz and the Death Road

The bus ride to La Paz from Uyuni was only 12 hours. Piece of cake, I thought. The service even came with dinner and breakfast. Luxury, right?

Nope.

The “road” that connected Uyuni to La Paz was most definitely not a road. I wouldn’t even call it a path. The bus was just traversing the open land, going through rivers, scaling boulders (at least it felt like that) and for some reason going around hairpin turns that couldn’t have been any more stable or smooth than just driving a straight line between the two cities. Apparently I’d been spoiled with my recent South American bus experiences.

Luckily, we made it in one piece. After crashing for a couple hours in my hostel, I set out to explore the city. Settled between mountain ranges at around 12,000 feet altitude, smaller and less developed than the other South American capitals I visited, La Paz holds a certain charm that makes it an enjoyable city to explore. Markets fill the city, ranging from typical farmers’ markets, to juice and food stalls selling 2 course lunches for about $1.25, to the “witches market,” riddled with everything from potion remedies to good-luck llama fetuses to souvenirs. It may be a bit grimy and dangerous, but La Paz doesn’t lack for character.

Feeling pretty content with life’s accomplishments after seeing the salt flats, I was basically playing with house money on my final day in La Paz. So, on the last full day of my trip, I went mountain biking down the World’s Most Dangerous Road, otherwise known as the “Death Road.” Since the skinny, rocky, curvy, uneven, blind-corner filled path wasn’t nerve-wracking enough in itself, the rain on top of the mountain made for a few slippery moments on the way down that needless to say puckered me up a bit. Luckily, some areas were heavily covered in fog, making it difficult to see that the edge I was riding next to was almost 1500 feet down in some areas.

Thankfully I survived the descent, unlike the 20-something bikers that have died in the past, and even have the T-Shirt to prove it!

Salar de Uyuni

When planning this trip, there were 3 things that I based my itinerary around: Iguazu Falls, Patagonia Hiking, and the salt flats of Bolivia. The first two sights lived up to the hype, and I wasn’t expecting the last to be any different.

Leaving from Chile, I set off with a group of 6 in a beat up Land Cruiser for a 3 day adventure through the highlands of Bolivia. The first two days we traveled through desolation. No signs of life for miles aside from the caravan of 4x4s making its way towards Uyuni. The scenery seemed to change every 30 mins, once again overwhelming my senses. Lakes of every different color, desert that seemed to change shades around every corner, wind swept volcanic rock formations, massive peaks, geysers, flamingos, llamas, and gringos made for a tour well worth it even without seeing the flats.

The third day, however, trumped it all. Upon arrival, the flooded flats looked like nothing more than a dirty lake. As we drove in, though, the ground became whiter and whiter as the deep water faded into a thin layer that mirrored the sky above. Standing on the seemingly endless flats with no clear understanding of where exactly the horizon was located was both perplexing and astonishing. We did our best to take some funny photos while still standing in awe of a landscape I honestly could not have imagined existed. While I think I could have just stared into the distance all day, our tour finally came to an end and I was on my way to my last stop: La Paz, Bolivia.

Note: Check the reflection in the group photo, it spells “Uyuni” the town for which the salt flats are named.

Dunes and Wounds in the Desert

Over the course of 4 days, I traveled almost the entire length of Chile by bus. In case your geography is a little rusty, look at a map, it’s a long ways! A 24 hour bus ride (Yes, you read that correctly) from Santiago left me in San Pedro de Atacama, a small town situated in the world’s driest desert.

Adventures abound in San Pedro, and having my time cut short, I set out to accomplish everything I could in 48 hours. I’d like to think I succeeded:

Sandboarding, sunset overlooking the Valley of the Moon (which looked more like Mars), geysers at sunrise, effortlessly floating in salt lagoons, salt flats, and midnight stargazing to top it all off. I woke up both mornings with quite a headache, which I couldn’t figure out if it was due to the altitude, the dry air, the lack of sleep, or the tumble onto my head I took while attempting to bomb down the sand dune.

My second day I spent 20 of 24 hours on one tour/adventure or another. Thankfully I was able to get a solid 4 hours of sleep before getting picked up for my next adventure, into Bolivia for the Salar de Uyuni!

Santiago and Valparaiso, Chile

Having lost a few days waiting for buses and adding a stop or 2 in Patagonia, I finally made my way to a couple Chilean cities. My first stop was Valparaiso, a once important port city now famous for its winding streets, street art, and hippie crowds. Valpo was great for exploring, as every corner I turned revealed a unique painting or alleyway. A jazz concert in the main square capped off a pretty efficient 24 hours in the city.

Next up was a short (a relative term) bus ride to Santiago, the capital of Chile. On my last adventure through Europe, I met a couple friends from Santiago, and was able to meet up with them once I arrived. We had a great dinner catching up and sampling traditional Chilean food and wine (hence the purple teeth and lips in the photo).

In typical coincidental travel fashion, as we walked out of the restaurant, we ran into another friend of mine from Cal Poly who had just started a new job at the restaurant next door. We had planned to meet up the next day, but why wait when you can run into each other at midnight in a city of 6 million people?

A visit to a nearby winery, a walking tour of the city, some great Cal Poly reminiscing and catching up made for a great last day. Epitomized by a nightcap Terremoto (translation: Earthquake), a famous Chilean drink consisting of cheap wine, grenadine, and pineapple ice cream, my time in Santiago was short, but most definitely sweet.

Bariloche, Argentina

My final stop in Patagonia was Bariloche, Argentina.

Having spent the last 2 or 3 weeks in Patagonia, I didn’t anticipate Bariloche looking much different than the rest of what I’d seen. I was wrong, of course. Bariloche reminds me a little bit of South Lake Tahoe, only with a dozen or so lakes instead of one. A ski town during the winter, I took advantage of the semi-good weather and rented a bike to explore the area. Great views, small villages, small bays, and crystal clear lakes made the sometimes grueling 25 mile ride well worth it.

Alas, my time in Patagonia was finally finished. Everything I could have wished to see and experience, it most definitely lived up to any and all expectations.

El Chalten

Apparently a week of trekking wasn’t enough, as once I showered off the layer of filth from Torres del Paine, I was back into Argentina, to visit its trekking capital, El Chalten.

From the sleepy little town of El Chalten it’s possible to do a variety of day hikes, the most famous of which is the 3 hour hike to the base of Mount Fitz Roy, one of the most challenging peaks to climb in the world. While I didn’t quite make it to the summit, the views were still spectacular, and the hikes were manageable now that I was no longer hauling around my pack.

You might recognize the peak and range in the photo, as it’s the logo for the “Patagonia” clothing brand. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sporting any gear from the company, so I missed out on some good product placement!

Next up, a flight to Bariloche, Argentina, for some more Patagonian adventuring!

Torres del Paine

Following my glacier trekking, I crossed the border into Chile to begin a 5 day trek through the Torres del Paine national park in Chilean Patagonia. Finally able to make use of the tent and sleeping bag I’d been hauling around with me for the last month, I set off with enough cans of tuna and beans to last through the winter.

During my 5 days on the trail, I witnessed the gamut of scenery and weather. From massive glaciers to jagged peaks, roaring rivers to crystal clear lakes, drastic valleys to flowered meadows, the park had it all. While I hit some bad weather on the first day, it cleared (by Patagonia standards) for the last few days, making for some pretty stunning vistas that made me forget how much my feet hurt. In total, I walked somewhere close to 50 miles during the trek, thankfully lightening my load each day as I devoured my food supply.

The last morning, I was up at 4am to make the 40 min trek up to the famed Torres for sunrise. While it was a bit chilly on top, seeing the majestic towers appear at first light was well worth it, a perfect end to a quintessential week in Patagonia.

On Thick Ice

After almost a full 24 hours of buses and border crossings from Ushuaia, I arrived in the small town of El Calafate, the home base for travelers looking to catch a glimpse of the Perito Moreno glacier, which, as you can see in the photos, is a sight to behold.

Walkways allow for fairly close views, keeping a safe enough distance to not be struck by the gigantic ice sheets that regularly fall from the face of the glacier. The shear size is difficult to capture, and not just in photographs. Realizing that the ice chunk falling in slow motion down into the water could actually be the size of a car is hard to fathom.

After listening to the glacier creak, crack, and splash for an hour or so, I headed to catch my boat for the real adventure: trekking on the glacier. Equipped with crampons, I explored (with a guide) the top of the glacier, walking along crevasses filled with the bluest water I’d ever seen and staring in awe at the landscape that I was completely engulfed in. The trek ended with a surprise whiskey on ice, freshly hacked off the glacier - my new favorite cocktail. Although I may have trouble ordering glacier whiskey next time I’m at the bar…

The same feelings of being humbled and floored by grandiose surroundings that I felt at Iguazu Falls returned once more at Perito Moreno. Who knew water could be so mesmerizing?

To the End of the Earth

I have to admit, I cheated a little bit. Ushuaia, Argentina, the southernmost city in the world, is the end goal for many adventurersthat drive or ride the length of the Americas down to as far south as roads on this Earth will take you. I caught a 4 hour flight from Buenos Aires instead, but I’ll still claim at least some of the bragging rights of making it to the end of the world!

It was a breath of fresh air, literally, arriving in Ushuaia. Finally able to break out the winter and hiking gear that I’d neglected in my backpack thus far, I spent 3 days getting my training in for my upcoming trek through Torres del Paine. The Tierra del Fuego national park was beautiful, as was my trek up to the Martial glacier above the city. I also got to hang out with some penguins; unfortunately, I think they were just barely too big to fit in my carry-on to take home with me.

What seemed like endless sunlight made for long days of exploring that had me worn out to say the least. There’s a certain mystery about looking out over a mountain range knowing that there’s nothing on the other side, that the only place you may find a trace of civilization past where you’re standing is on the ice fields of Antarctica.

Only one way to go from here! North I go for some Glacier trekking on the Perito Moreno glacier in El Calafate…

ItalSpanglish

After a few days in Brazil, I was feeling pretty good about learning to converse a little bit in another language. With Portuguese being similar to Spanish and Italian, I could pick up on a good portion of what people were trying to say and could kinda sorta get my point across for the simple things.

All confidence was lost, however, when I arrived in Argentina and realized just how rusty my Spanish was. Having done my best to rid my brain of all Spanish and replace it with Italian, I found myself no longer able to move my mouth to say what I wanted to say. It either came out Italian, English, or some strange version of Spanish mixed with the two. I’ve dubbed this new language:

ItalSpanglish

I’ve found that it’s understandable in certain situations, but most definitely not all:

Just walking into a hostel where they only speak Spanish? Nope!

Discussing with a Tango show host, who seems to have memorized a handful of English phrases, where I can and can’t sit and what’s reserved for dinner and for show? Not a chance!

Talking about the beach in California over some Malbec and Steak with a few 20-somethings? Now we’re talking!

And finally, explaining to an Argentinian girl that your new-found hostel friend from Australia really is a phenomenal dancer? Well, I might as well be fluent!

Here’s to the next month of new languages and hopefully fewer snickers and giggles after my conversations!

Buenos Aires

After getting a little taste of the outdoors in Iguazu Falls, I was back to the city life once again in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Known for its world class steaks, sultry tango dancing, and buzzing nightlife, Buenos Aires did not disappoint.

Thanks to some semi-shady, but legitimate, US dollar exchanges, my money went a lot further than I had initially expected. This meant delicious steaks and Malbecs just about every night for a week. I spent my days exploring the various neighborhoods, from colorful “La Boca” to old school “San Telmo” to modern “Palermo.” Nights were spent at dinners until midnight, local pubs, live music discos, dive-bar tangos, and one full-on Tango performance that had my jaw dropping the whole evening. Throw in a couple days at the park, a stroll through the elaborate Recoleta cemetery, and more than a few espressos at the endless amount of cafés in the city, and I’d say I experienced Buenos Aires to its fullest.

One experience that sticks out was once again an evening with some locals. Through friends of friends of a friend I met in my hostel (still following?), I went to eat at a local steakhouse. Our crew consisted of 3 local porteños, 3 Spanish visitors in town on holidays, and 2 Americans. My broken Spanish got me through a great dinner with lively company, before we headed off to a dimly lit dive bar for some after dinner drinks, where my Spanish got significantly better, at least I think it did. We were treated to multiple traditional musical performances from our tables a few feet in front of the tiny stage. No microphones, just a couple guitars and powerful voices. The crowd sang along while I pretended to know the words as well.

No one could tell the difference, nor did they care, as even the gringos were Porteños that evening.