I’m pleased to introduce my father, Papa Bruce, who is our guest blogger this week. His writing is accompanied with pictures taken by my stepmother and the kids’ mémère, Maggie:
The first half of my life I lived in the Bay Area where a winter vacation meant a ski week at Tahoe. Now, as a Cape Codder, a winter vacation means Florida or the Caribbean. I’m pushing 70, writing from un estancia en Uruguay, mi primo winter vacation: Go big or go home.
Maggie & I are creatures of habit, a summer week in Vermont, weekends in Maine and frequent trips to the Northwest for my work and visits with three of our four “kids” and all four grandchildren. Joining Rachel, Kyle and the kids for two weeks of their round the world odyssey has pulled us wonderfully out of our comfort zone.
We’ve sandwiched this remote, idyllic estancia–a birders paradise–between apartment stays in the slowly gentrifying Palermo neighborhood of Buenos Aires, a metro area of over thirteen million.
The massive city, a combination of southern Europe and southern Latin America, is a frenetic yet relaxed conglomeration of graffiti-tagged neighborhoods. Cabbies set speed records and are routinely passed by wrong lane mopeds and small motorcycles: Previously I only witnessed this while watching Bourne Identity on my 47″ Sony.
Sean and Julia, twelve in five days, both drink it in and look forward to the familiarity of home. All six of us are iPad connected, Sean’s apparently growing out of his left hand.
Times change: Embarrassing to admit but my previous passport had a picture of three–me, six year old Aaron and four year old Rach, off to Greece for seven weeks to visit Fulbright friends. We were disconnected from family, friends and home the entire time. Could I do that again?