Rasmenia

For our last full day in Salta & our final free day in Argentina, we’d planned another tour. This one, however, was a bit different. This time, our guide & driver were two separate people. We rode in a little bus rather than a pickup truck, would be making fewer stops & wouldn’t be hanging out in any strange, tiny outposts with mummies or singing gauchos.

Instead, we’d sit in our comfy seats while our guide pointed out all the cool shit on the side of the road, the cool shit we’d see later & various stories about the area. Then we’d go check out a winery before being set loose to run amok in the town of Cafayate.

Like our previous tour, we made a few stops to check out the scenery & take photos. The only problem with making these stops is that Olivier is part monkey & cannot resist the urge to climb on rocks & things, so he’d wander off, then a little bit later, I’d have to wave him back down from wherever he’d perched himself.

The guy playing & selling his little flutes was in no way concerned with the monkey man scurrying behind him.

Along the road to Cafayate, there are various rock formations that appear to look like something else. We cruised past them in a vehicle, so it was difficult to get decent photos, not to mention the fact that imagination also plays a big part in being able to see that this rock formation really does look like a solemn monk, or that this other one looks like giant toes.

The most impressive was “The Titanic.” Well, because it looked like the Titanic sinking.

It really did. I swear. If you squint & play that shitty Céline Dion song while looking at this photo, you will be able to see it, too.

We continued on until we arrived at a winery, where we were given brief tour & then anyone who wanted to could attend a tasting. There were about a dozen of us in the bus, but only four of us were at the tasting because most people are weirdos. So, Olivier & I tried out a few of the wines with an unfriendly German & a painfully shy Australian.

Everyone else scurried back to the bus while Olivier stopped to buy some wine & I shot the shit with our guide.

“So, you live in France, but you come from where in the United States?”

“Colorado. You just follow the mountains up a while & there it is.”

“Ah! You’re from Colorado? It’s not so different than here, then?”

I looked at his sandy brown hair, his sunglasses propped up on his head… T-shirt, fleece jacket, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t a care in the world. The way he looked, he could’ve been from Colorado himself.

“Nah,” I said. “Not so different at all.”

A few blocks away, we stopped for a couple of hours so that all of us tourists could explore, get some lunch, or loiter in the park.

Olivier & I went to a restaurant with a big, shady patio so we could eat outside. Since I’d gone overboard with the empanadas, we decided to get a big, hot grill full of meat. Going to Argentina & not trying out the beef is a shame (sorry, herbivores) & I didn’t feel like I’d made my red meat quota, so I was pretty excited about it.

Maybe a little too excited. This grill had a variety of meat sizzling on it & it all looked great. I grabbed a piece of liver. It was good. Then I had a some steak. I was on a roll & there was no stopping me. That, combined with me being a somewhat adventurous eater was not good.

Olivier tried to talk me out of putting that piece of kidney meat in my mouth, but I just wouldn’t fucking listen… & I paid a terrible price: a mouth full of urine-soaked meat sponge.

I don’t care how good you think your reasons are, I caution you all to NEVER, EVER PUT A MEATY URINE SPONGE IN YOUR MOUTH.

Avoid any weird meat that looks like this lumpy piece of shit. Unless you like to drink pee.

Once we’d all been gathered up in the bus again, we stopped at a few more natural attractions, the most interesting one being the natural amphitheater. Of course, there were more monkey shenanigans when Olivier decided to climb all over the place, this time inspiring a couple of fellow travelers to engage in the hijinks.

Then, our guide informed us that it was time for the “surprise.” I wasn’t too excited, assuming that “surprise” meant some quaint roadside bullshit, or another wacky rock formation. But, it turned out that the quaint roadside bullshit was super-cute & fun, as they took us to a little place with llamas.

Even though I was bursting with giddiness, I patiently waited for all the other passengers to exit the bus safely & assisted the elderly down the steps.

Nah… I’m just kidding. It took all my self-control not to shove people out of the bus in all my excitement to pet the llamas.

He nibbled corn out of my hand & OMG IT WAS THE BEST DAY.

After we’d finished with all that, it was time to head back toward the hotel. Being in a group, this means our little bus dropped each person off at their lodgings, rather than dumping us all off at one place. One by one, we waved goodbye. “Au revoir, ciao, bye, adios.” Whatever.

Even our guide was dropped off before Olivier & I were, our hotel being farther out of town than anyone else. So, we moved up to the front of the bus. We hadn’t really spoken to the driver all day, so Olivier started chatting with him in Spanish, as the driver spoke no English. Me, I don’t speak much Spanish, aside from a few useful or ridiculous phrases, but I understood all right, so I just did a lot of smiling & nodding.

By the time we reached our hotel, the two of them were high-fiving, engaged in some big discussion about rugby, talking about the driver’s kids, fist-bumping & being best friends.

This is pretty much how it was with most of the people we talked with during our time in Argentina. Talking to a new person is as comfortable & fun as talking to someone you’ve known for a long time. I felt no sense of stiffness & formality… a person doesn’t have to know you well enough to joke with you – they’re willing to kid around & laugh with you right off.

It’s a place that makes you friendly… even when you’re not a friendly person. Which I’m not.

Then there’s the feeling of being closer to home, even though Paris is actually about a thousand miles closer to Colorado than Buenos Aires is, it is culturally a world away. People in Argentina don’t find it strange to smile at a stranger. I talked to some of them about it. They told me that it’s normal; it’s friendly & nice. As many people know, this is not the case in many parts of Europe, especially in & around Paris.

While talking to some of my new Argentinian friends, we had a laugh over the chaotic streets of Paris.

“City plans should be in a grid.”

“Indeed they should. I got lost over & over again in Paris. Four lefts should make a circle, not a zigzag that takes you to the next quarter.”

“And it’s so dark in Paris in the winter. 8am. Nothing but darkness.”

“Yeah. Even the faces of the Parisians. Dark all winter long.”

“It’s too bad they don’t smile more. It’d brighten things up.”

“It sure would. Let’s have another beer. And smile!”

The endless fashion show that is part of the daily life in France was a world away. In Argentina, everyone was relaxed, casual. Strolling around the city sidewalks in a pair of shorts & sandals on a hot day was normal & not a colossal offense answered with silent sneers & derisive frowns.

I mentioned this to one of the locals I talked to; that I felt so relaxed & comfortable.

“Well, we’re not without our problems. Just like any place, I think,” she said.

“True enough,” I said. “But the human thing. You guys seem to have that figured out.”

She shrugged. “If you have that, everything else works out, I suppose.”

Truth. As long as you avoid the pee meat.

A couple of months ago, I got a few messages from friends back home in the States about this:

Oh… & also, this:

For a few days, the Internet was abuzz with various articles about the Star Wars burgers in France & Belgium. Not surprisingly, those articles were riddled with comments from all of the very smart Americans who made it their mission to correct the spelling of “Dark Vador.” Even the very smart writers at Huffington Post were confused as to why the name was “misspelled.”

To avoid that here – & to prevent me from having to make fun of you – let’s clear it up right away & make it known that the character’s name in France is Dark Vador. Okay? Got it? (This translation prevents his name from being pronounced like “Dart Vah-day.”)

Now, then… moving on. As soon as Olivier & I found out about these, we knew we had to give them a try. We don’t eat at Quick very often & the closest one is about 30 minutes away, but we decided to make an exception.

The first problem was, the dates on the advertisement didn’t apply to the Quick in our area. Possibly, they were dates for the same promotion in Belgium. So… we waited. We kept an eye on the Quick advertisements & as soon as they arrived, we drove to the Quick in Chartres.

When we got there, only the Dark Burger & the Jedi Burger were available. The Vador burger would be available a month later. Okay, no problem. We immediately made plans to return in a month to get our weird, black-bunned burgers. I ordered the Dark Burger & Olivier got a Jedi Burger & as an added bonus, some cheesy stars. Cheesy stars!

Exhibit A & Exhibit B.

There was some mystery surrounding the Jedi Burger. What was it topped with? What could those mysterious chunks poking out from under the bun be? Big onion chunks? Cheese curds? Apple chunks? Marshmallows?

Seriously. Marshmallows? Sorry, people don’t eat a lot of marshmallows around here. Cheese curds? This isn’t Wisconsin. Cheese here might come in a wheel or a block, a slice or a slab, but never a squeaking curd.

As underwhelming as it is, it’s just chunks of cheese. Chunks that are melted by the time you actually have the burger right in front of you. Like most food, the real thing has nothing at all to do with what’s pictured in the advertisement.

There really is some meat & stuff in there. Honest.

As far as the taste, it was mustardy. The bun was heavily dusted with flour & it was filled with cheese & a mustard sauce. This is all according to Olivier, who was able to provide me with feedback on his Jedi burger when he wasn’t otherwise occupied.

Making Darth Maul box battle with Yoda box is actually a damn good time.

The Dark burger, much to my surprise, had a reddish-orange bun. I guess I couldn’t really see that in the ad, but I saw it right away when I opened the box. I saw somewhere, in the comment section of one of the aforementioned articles, some speculation as to what might be on the bun. Special spices? Bagel seasoning? (What is bagel seasoning?)

Well, prepare to be underwhelmed again. It just had some poppy seeds on it.

There was a black pepper kind of mayo in it. As far as I could tell, it was the exact same black pepper mayo that Quick uses for some of their other burgers, like the Quick ‘n’ Toast, which is what I typically order from there when I do go to Quick, so… really, the Dark Burger didn’t taste much different than my other visits to Quick.

I have no idea why the bun was reddish-orange. I’m guessing it’s just food coloring, since there was no special taste.

But that isn’t what you want to know, is it? You want to know what in the hell is up with that funky black bun, right?

Prepare for more disappointment.

Like I said, we made plans to return the following month so that we could try them out. Yes, we were actually willing to put those things in our mouths & bodies, in spite of the fact that neither one of us really gives much of a shit about Star Wars. (C’mon… it’s not like they were Star Trek burgers, people.)

Unfortunately, Quick fucked us. Usually, the limited edition burgers last for one month. The Dark Vador Burger? Four days. FOUR FUCKING DAYS.

Which made me think… maybe it was a little too weird for the French public to justify putting it on the menu for a full month. This wouldn’t surprise me at all. I mean, these guys feel revulsion at things like blue cake frosting or peanut butter, so the black bun might a be a bit much for anyone who’s not a full-on Star Wars nerd.

But, we did get cheesy stars. Did I mention the cheesy stars?

I’m willing to bet that we’ll get another chance. I’m sure that the next time George Lucas releases a Star Wars movie in 3D, there will be some bizarre fast food item or black bunned burger being sold in Europe that I can eat for my American friends back home.

Until then, I think I’ll be eating normal, green-colored salad. I think I might still have some star cheese floating around in my system.

Five years. Five years since I’ve worn a dress. Five years since I’ve had my feet in a shiny new pair of girl shoes, standing next to a crazy French man in a funky pinstriped suit with a pink ribbon in his hair. Five years since we stood there next to one another, in la mairie du 18éme arrondissement in Paris, listening to some very official-looking guy who rattled on in French.

I barely spoke any French at all then, but it seems that very official-looking guy was jabbering on about wedding vows. I didn’t really understand any of it, but apparently, we got married that day.

I think so, anyway. I really have no idea what Fancy Sash was talking about.

I’ve read that the typical gift for a five-year anniversary is wood.

Fucking wood? Sure, wooden things are nice, but, um… no thank you.

Usually, on our anniversary, we’ll go away for the weekend, or pick a really nice place for dinner because Olivier & I really dig a nice quiet atmosphere where we can be alone. Also, we really, really like dinner. Ok, food in general.

This year was no different. Well, it was slightly different. We were in Greece, after all.

We woke up early, got ready & had breakfast at our hotel. We stuffed ourselves with more of the thick, creamy deliciousness of the Greek yogurt & thick, dark Greek honey. Then we were in the metro that took us closer to the Acropolis.

As it turned out, we couldn’t have picked a better day to go. March 25th is Independence Day in Greece, so all of the historical sites were free for the day. We just strolled right in without needing to get any tickets.

Olivier & I stopped to check out a few sculptures at the entrance, then made our way slowly up the southeastern slope of the Acropolis. Within a few minutes, we arrived at the Theatre of Dionysus. The cool part is, it’s not fenced off, so you can walk right in & sit on the limestone seats.

We continued on, passing ruins of the Sanctuary of Asclepius & the Stoa of Eumenes. Just before we reached the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, we of course met up with another one of these awesome Athenian dogs.

We continued on, passing more ruins until we finally reached the top of the hill. Climbing the steps, arriving at the place where an enormous statue of Athena Promachos once stood. On the north side, next to the fallen ruins of the Old Temple of Athena, stands the Erechtheion:

Which was impressive. By impressive, I mean staring slack-jawed with awe & wonder, trying not to have a total geek-gasm in front of all the other tourists.

I almost managed to keep my geeking mess to myself… until I found myself standing in front of the Parthenon. Standing there, looking up at this thing, it was one of those surreal moments where you feel kind of like you’ve been magically inserted into a movie set, or a photo in some travel guide.

One of those moments when you look up at something & feel so very small. When you see what human beings can accomplish, how long it can last… & you start to ponder just how little you’ve accomplished & just how temporary you are.

You know that feeling? It was kind of like that.

A subtle reminder of what slackers most of us really are.

With all of the history surrounding us, all of the awe swimming around in our slack-jawed heads, we did what any two sane people would do: asked a stranger to take a photo of us being dorky tourists.

A person can geek out on something for so long before they have to move along to get their nerd on elsewhere. We took our time to make our way back down the slope, enjoying the view from the top, overlooking Athens. Once we reached the bottom, we only had to walk for a couple of minutes before arriving at the Acropolis Museum, which had also waived the entry fee for Independence Day. Score.

The museum is still quite new, having only opened in 2009. The really bitchin’ thing about this place is that an ancient Athenian neighborhood was discovered underneath the site of the museum & has been incorporated into the museum’s design. As you approach the entrance, the glass flooring lets you see the ruins of the old neighborhood below.

Inside, there are several sculptures & other artifacts from the Acropolis & visitors can watch a cool little movie explaining the history of the Parthenon from the time of its construction up to the present day. This actually pretty interesting because maybe you didn’t know, but the Parthenon has been through some serious shit – the Roman Empire, Christians, Ottomans… Venetian mortars. Serious. Shit.

But, anyway… like I was saying.

What the hell was I saying?

Oh. Right. Five years. This was still our anniversary, after all.

We had made a dinner reservation the day before at a nice place in the Plaka, which is the old part of Athens. It’s the area just under Acropolis, so it is quite touristy. But, we weren’t in the mood for off-the-beaten-path. We were all about a nice, mooshy, sappy, lovey food fest with plenty of wine & ouzo. This was just the place.

The restaurant, Ελαία, (Elaia) has a rooftop dining area & we had a view of the Erechtheion as we drank our booze & ate our food. It’s now one big blur of ouzo, salty cheese, lamb & tarama. I would provide photographic evidence of this outing, if it weren’t for the fact that all of the photos taken that night look like total shit. This is likely due to a combination of poor lighting & good ouzo.

We decided to skip dessert & instead stopped for some gelato on our way back to the hotel. We took our time, strolling around, being all tourist-like, stopping now & then to peek inside a shop. It didn’t take long before another one of those Athenian doggies came along & decided to walk along with us for several blocks before he got bored & ducked into an alley.

By the time we returned to our room at the Apollo Hotel, my feet were screaming. Calves & lower back, aching. I was sore & exhausted as though someone had kicked my ass, then stuffed me full of meat, booze & gelato.

It felt AWESOME.

But all day long, until we had finally passed out for the night, I couldn’t help but wonder what all of those structures & sculptures that I had been surrounded by all day must have looked like when the Acropolis was thriving, when it was crawling with Athenians & worshippers instead of tourists.

Sure beats a piece of wood.